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In his chamber, Tobi pours himself a cup of bark tea and spends a long time delighting in the contents of the trunk. He has breeches and a linen shirt, an embroidered waistcoat and best of all, his spare pair of boots. He puts the waistcoat on over his alit and pulls on the boots with a sigh of pleasure. They fit him perfectly and it feels good and slightly strange to be wearing footwear. He decides not to wear the pair of leather breeches or the linen shirt. He would dearly love to wear a pair of breeches, but he thinks maybe he ought not to be quite so defiant. Not yet, but perhaps Harok will allow it when he sees how much more comfortable Tobi is in normal clothing. Perhaps he will even allow Tobi some of the Ambolk clothing that the other Solwen wear.

Tobi struts about the chamber for a while, getting used to his boots and waistcoat.

When he feels brave enough, he throws his cloak over the ensemble and ventures out into Urynwud.

It is truly a joy to be wearing boots as he strolls around. And no one seems to even notice or pay his shod feet much attention at all.

He wears the boots to cross the courtyard back to the stables and enjoys how much easier it is to climb to the top of Baby’s cage and drop inside.

He keeps both the boots and waistcoat on for the rest of the day, even to dinner in the Sacred Hall. He only removes them to sleep.

He thinks that Harok might even enjoy them. When Harok returns Tobi will show him all the clothes he has found and Harok will be pleased with his kushir’s cleverness and how delightful he looks in his fine Azurian clothing.

It has been three nights. Harok ought to return some time today. He should be here by dinner time. Tobi thinks of how sweet it will be to have Harok’s firm, strong hands on his body. His deep voice growling in his ear. Harok’s strength holding him down, working his big tongue or thick fingers into Tobi’s body, making him spend hard before he even takes him. It is past noon. He is sitting by his fire with Baby curled at his feet, and enjoying a second cup of bark tea, when there is a knock at the door. It is opened by one of the guards.

In the doorway is a messenger who Tobi recognises. “Kushir, Irgo Harok has returned. Please come with me.”

Tobi’s heart leaps.

Tobi joins the crowds outside in the courtyard. The iron gates in the zhilvar are open to the forest, and a procession is streaming through. The rain that has marred the last few days has stopped. As if Harok has brought back the sun with him. The air is damp and hazy and the forest smells earthy and sweet as summer fades into autumn.

Tobi pauses outside and scans the figures in the procession. Men in leather armour, swing down from horses. He finds what he searches for easily. Harok. He is sitting on Embox, caught in a golden shaft of afternoon sunshine. Tobi’s breath catches in his throat.

Harok’s great wide shoulders make it impossible for Tobi not to think of Harok covering him, bearing his weight on his big arms as he drives into Tobi’s body, claiming him as kushir. Harok’s close cropped beard defines his heavy jaw. His hair is braided back from his face. His eyes crinkle in the sunshine, almost vanishing under his heavy brow, but when he sees Tobi, he smiles broadly, dismounts and strides over, ignoring all others, including Mereli, who is there too, leaning on his staff and clearly keen to speak to Harok.

But Harok only has eyes for his kushir, taking Tobi with big, warm hands on his waist and kissing him so deeply and thoroughly, with such greed and passion behind it, that Tobi cannot think of anything, in that moment, but Harok’s hands on his body and Harok’s tongue in his mouth. He feels his cock stiffen under his alit and groans with need. When Harok pulls back from the kiss, leaving Tobi breathless, limp in the arms of his Irgo, his king, it takes all of Tobi’s strength not to beg Harok to take him right there, in front of all.

“I missed you, Irgorye” Tobi murmurs in Ambolk. Balian-sen, Irgorye.

Harok kisses Tobi’s nose. “Balian-sen, Suskara,” he says, then, lower, “Balian-sen, kush.” Tobi colours as he deduces the meaning: I missed your hole.

Tobi squirms against Harok’s body. The statement seems even more filthy in Harok’s jagged Ambolk and deep commanding voice.

“I am your kushir,” Tobi says in Ambolk. “Always.”

“Always, Suskara,” Harok replies. He leans in to kiss Tobi again, his hands slide down and then up, under Tobi’s alit, warm on his flesh. Harok’s desire is so intense and obvious that Tobi thinks for a moment that perhaps Harok really will take him on the cobbled stones of the courtyard.

But when Harok pulls back from this second, ravenous kiss, Tobi notices that Harok has a deep slash across his chest, tearing through the edge of the glyph that is carved there. Tobi touches it delicately. “Irgorye?”

“Zoran, Suskara.” Harok says, before leaning close whispering more sweet words of Ambolk against Tobi’s skin.

Zoran. Of no concern. Nothing. The rest of what Harok says is soft, familiar Ambolk bedchamber words about how Tobi’s body and mouth are all Harok needs. The words, in Harok’s deep rumbling voice make Tobi squirm.

He wants more. He wants Harok’s passionate words to become passionate actions, he does not wish to wait until the evening, but Harok is already turning away as he speaks. Dismissing Tobi without a word the way he so often does when he has duties to attend to as Irgo. Mereli is still standing beside them, waiting patiently and somewhat awkwardly for Harok’s attention and, as soon as he has it, the two of them begin to talk in fast, incomprehensible Ambolk.

Tobi looks away, down across the courtyard. Behind the warriors, some carts are being brought into the yard by the traders. Tobi spots Lymok greeting with his trader friends. The carts are loaded with wooden boxes, like the ones Tobi saw in the kitchens. These must be supplies arriving for Urynwud. Tobi looks down at the carts that are being unloaded. Goods bought in Ceruleum. Bales of raw wool and tools and sacks of rye and barley. Tobi glances at Harok. He is talking to Mereli. He is paying Tobi no attention and nor is anyone else. There’s nothing for Tobi to do but wait. He slides his hand under his cloak and strokes the embroidery of his fine waistcoat.

As he does so, a voice behind him growls low, “Kushir?” Followed by something in Ambolk that Tobi doesn’t understand.

He turns to see Harok is right behind him. He stares at Harok’s big chest. Harok grabs Tobi’s wrist, pulling Tobi’s arm up painfully between their bodies.

Baby snarls and Tobi shushes her quickly.

“Irgorye, I do not understand you,” Tobi stammers out.

From one of the carts, Tobi sees Lymok turn around. He looks at Harok for a moment then comes over, carrying some tools. He says something to Harok in Ambolk. Greeting him.

Harok’s grip on Tobi’s wrist is still painfully tight.