The Merry Men Masquerade

20. Lady Porcelain

Ronan was not surprised to see his curtains drawn when he arrived home; he had told Amir via Phoebe-mail that he would see his sister tonight. He breathed a sigh of relief all the same.

An orangey blur greeted him as he entered, shooting down from the second floor to careen into his chest like a small clay cannonball.

"Oh!"

Ronan pried Phoebe from his clothes to hold her in front of his face. Huge amber eyes studied him. "Hello there. You aren't quite who I was expecting."

Footsteps drew his gaze upward, to where the man he was expecting padded down the stairs, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "He's been antsy ever since you sent back that last letter." (Felix's studies had determined that Phoebe was, sure enough, male. Amir refused to change his name.) "I think he was worried about you."

Ronan gave a halfhearted laugh. "Good to know I'm so transparent even a lizard can tell when I'm anxious."

Apparently satisfied with his inspection, Phoebe wriggled out of Ronan's grip. Amir came to stand in front of him, lifting both hands to brush the dried streaks from his cheeks.

"Hello, beautiful," he said. Ronan shut his eyes, leaning into his touch. "What do you need?"

In lieu of a response, Ronan swayed forward into Amir's chest. Amir wrapped him up, and Ronan sighed into his warmth.

"I'm not going back," he muttered.

"Okay," said Amir. "If you do, I'll be here."

Ronan did, in fact, go back.

Not two weeks later, he half-dangled from his sister's windowsill with his toolbelt open around his waist. His perch was precarious, but this route was more efficient, and the window hadn't seemed particularly hard to open. He proved himself right in about a minute, pushing past the curtains.

His eyes met dim light and the sight of his sister standing with her back to the door, wielding a brass clock like a weapon.

She heaved a great breath when she recognized Ronan, dropping her arm to her side as the stress left her shoulders. To her credit, the clock did look heavy. "Oh, good. I thought it might be you, but-" she stopped short, tensing once more. "You came back."

"That I did," Ronan said, drawing the curtains behind him. "I want to talk."

Elena nodded slowly, then quickly. "What of?"

Ronan stepped further inside to lean against one of her bedposts, very nonchalant, not at all questioning his own sanity for coming back here or contemplating how long Bandit would hold a grudge if he swan-dove right back out the window after summoning her mid-sleep.

"Oh!" Elena's hands came suddenly to her cheeks, flustered, before wrapping around herself. She hurried to one corner of her room, stopping before her wardrobe. "How crude of me, greeting you in my nightclothes" - as if she hadn't been dressed this way the last times they'd met - "I should-"

She threw open the door, grabbed the first item her hand landed on, then froze, turning over her shoulder to Ronan. Changing while he stood meters away would hardly improve her manners. She eyed a door along the opposite wall, probably to an ensuite, then looked his way again. Ronan met her ruffled stare with disinterest.

"Right, okay, of course." Elena hesitated, then let go of the garment and turned stiffly away from the wardrobe, clasping her hands in front of her. "What is it you-" the wardrobe door clipped her side. Clearing her throat, she sidestepped and shut it gently. "Wanted to discuss?"