They moved to the riverbank for the night since the squeamish bard had insisted that he couldn't sleep on graves. Valerien watched him shake out earth and leaves from his hair and torn clothes. It was a hopeless endeavour.
Kirin took off his boots and dipped a toe into the river.
"Are you sure you can't heat it?" he asked wistfully.
"I am. And your Idris couldn't do it either. It won't kill you."
The bard still hesitated, so Valerien gave him a helpful push. Kirin plunged in with a startled yelp, thrashing as the water closed over his head.
Valerien frowned. It seemed deeper than he had expected. He didn't know if the human could even swim.
"Bard?"
No answer came. He leaned closer to look in. Something grabbed his ankle, and he felt himself falling forward before he even knew what was happening.
When he swam back up to gasp for air, two strong hands pressed against his shoulders and pushed him under again. Panic almost overwhelmed him. A Fae created of earth and fire didn't do well in water.
When he came back up spluttering, Kirin's laughter rang like victory. To Valerien's surprise, it swept his anger aside. It was a bright, unguarded sound he had never heard from the bard before.
Valerien grasped for him, but he swam away in strong, quick strokes.
"Get back here, you young fool. The current is too strong!"
Kirin just dove under. The setting sun and the shadows of the trees on the riverbank made the water too dark to see. The blond head broke the surface right in front of him, splashing water into his eyes.
"Stop showing off," Valerien muttered.
"You lied. The water around you is much warmer," Kirin complained.
"I didn't lie. It is just my body heat warming the immediate surroundings, because I was created of fire."
The bard cocked his head like a curious bird. "How long can a being made of fire survive submerged in water?"
This man really was smarter than was good for him. For either of them, really.
"Certainly longer than a human," he bit off, though he wasn't quite sure if that was true.
Kirin huffed and playfully splashed more water into his face. Valerien caught his wrists. Despite all the exercise, he was still shaking with cold.
"Be still," Valerien ordered.
He scooped up water into his hands, warmed it up, then let it drizzle over the bard's head to rinse the remaining dirt out.
Kirin's face turned upwards, and he moved closer into the warmth.
"Take off your clothes," Valerien said.
All the joy disappeared from the bard's features while his whole body stiffened in fright.
"I won't even look. But you can't wash like that. Just get rid of these clothes. We have new ones."
He got out of the river and poured the water out of his boots, then put them next to the fire to dry. Once he'd changed, he leaned against the tree and watched the stars. The air was becoming noticeably colder once the sun set. It didn't affect him much, but he regretted leaving both tents with Elinor.
His eyes wandered back to the silhouette of the lithe figure in the water. The memory of the little slave locked up in that stinking shed crept up on him. For all his squeamishness, Kirin was quite resilient for a human.
Valerien thought back to the disgusting creature called Finn, who had offered himself to him for money and security. Kirin was never submissive like that, even when he was scared and helpless. There was something rather impressive about it.
The bard heaved himself onto the riverbank and quickly wrapped his blue cloak around him before he came closer to the fire. As he had promised, Valerien looked away while Kirin changed into the new clothes.
When he sat down by the fire, he was still shaking with cold and clutching his wet cloak. His teeth started to chatter, then he sneezed.
"Come here. The last thing either of us needs is for you to become sick," Valerien said, extending his arm.
The bard gave him a suspicious look and gingerly touched his hand.
"Can you warm me up like you did with the water?"
"Not if you don't want your blood to boil or severe burns. Just come here for a moment."
Kirin warily moved closer. He stiffened when Valerien put his arms around him, but then slowly relaxed against his chest.
The wet blond hair tickled Valerien's nose, and he leaned his head back against the tree. Kirin touched the cuff on his wrist and pressed against it curiously.
"What is that metal? How does it come out?"
"It's Arcanite. It is a magic metal forged to submit to the will of the High Fae knight it serves."
"I didn't know you were a knight, too, your demonship."
"It's not that impressive. Every High Fae has to serve in the army for at least twenty years, and if you don't prove completely useless, they make you a knight."
"So how long do you have left?"
"I finished my term long ago. I only have to go back in case of war."
Kirin turned around in his arms to squint at him.
"But you look younger than Owain, and he is not even thirty yet."
"I told you already – my body was created like this and will stay more or less the same the day my soul returns to the Source."
The blue eyes grew wide. Valerien turned him back around, but that didn't stop Kirin from inquiring further.
"How old are you then?"
"Two hundred and seventy-four."
The bard's head flew back, almost hitting Valerien's nose.
"Stop that."
"But … don't you have a natural life span?" Kirin asked, his voice filled with wonder.
"Most High Fae bodies start to fall apart after a millennium. But I've never seen anyone wait for that. We know when the end is close, so most people choose to return to the Source before they grow weak."
"You mean they kill themselves?"
"Well, you could say it like that."
Kirin pondered that for a while. Valerien didn't quite know whether to be amused or irritated when the bard leaned his head back onto his shoulder as if it were a pillow.
"So if your people live so long, in Fae years, you are barely older than me," Kirin finally concluded.
The very idea stumped Valerien for a moment, but then he couldn't help but grin.
"I think you are on to something there. How old is your High Warlock?"
"Fifty-five."
"And he is old for your species?"
"Yes. There was a witch on Ynys Mon who lived until he was almost seventy, but he was a very rare exception."
"So, most humans die at around fifty? Sixty?"
"If they survive their childhood, yes."
"So in that case, you are older in human years than I am in Fae years."
That seemed to amuse the bard. He let out a sleepy chuckle and nestled against him. It made Valerien's body react in unwelcome ways. Sometimes, he really wondered if this young fool was provoking him on purpose. One moment, he was all shy; the next, he would cuddle up to him like a lover.
"You are warm enough now," Valerien said and pushed him away.