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Emissary Serihk didn’t look like he was planning on leaving Harrison’s side for a moment, though. Oliver took a glass of a bubbling light wine from a passing waiter and drifted into the corner, watching them. Serihk wasn’t on any of the Turners’ lists—no one wanted to engage with him, least of all Oliver.
But Oliver might have to if the qesh refused to leave off carrying around his human consultant’s drink and fussing over the little napkins the waiters with the hors d’oeuvres kept trying to pass him and whether he could hold them and his crutches at the same time.
For what it was worth, Harrison looked quite capable of managing crutches and drinks at the same time, and his dark brows gradually descended lower and lower over his piercing eyes. Finally, he turned to Serihk firmly, said some things that made Serihk press his lips together tightly, snatched his little napkin from Serihk’s long fingers, and then hobbled on his own over to a decadent table of refreshments.
Oliver didn’t waste any time casually making his way over to the table and plucking a little berry wrapped in some sort of fragrant leaf from the platter Harrison was eyeing. “You don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself.”
Harrison eyed him, then grabbed two berries, holding one in his napkin and stuffing another into his mouth. “And you look like you’re enjoying yourself too much.”
“Looks can be deceiving.” Oliver chuckled. He popped the berry into his mouth, and a surprisingly pleasant sweet and savory flavor burst over his tongue. It was hardly correct to stand next to the table and gorge himself, but Harrison didn’t seem like the type to appreciate correctness anyway, so Oliver took another and ate that one too. “Honestly, I find these sorts of events draining.”
“Really?” Harrison raised an eyebrow. “I thought working events like this was your whole thing.”
Oliver shrugged. “It’s not my whole thing, but yes, I’m good at it. Doesn’t mean I like it.”
A beat passed, and Oliver realized he didn’t think he’d ever told anyone that before. He frowned. Such a simple truth about himself, and he’d never actually told anyone.
“How is your daughter?” he asked before he could dwell on it more. “She left the ship before it…”
“Exploded, yes.” Harrison ate two of the leaf-wrapped berries at the same time, licked the juice off the pad of one of his calloused fingers, and then waved his hand. “She’s fine. Already on her way to Klah. She won’t see any fighting—not this time around at least.”
Oliver sighed, thinking of the smile in Mal’ik’s eyes when Astrid had shown him her gatlung. “That’s good.”
“Yup.” Harrison hobbled a few plates down to what looked like cheese cubes, and Oliver followed him. “So what are you doing hiding out here at the snack bar with me? Trying to avoid this draining event?”
“Not quite.” Oliver picked out a cube. Tangy. Not bad. “I need something from you.”
Harrison didn’t bother to look at him, surveying the cheese plate. “You want to know where Mal’ik is.”
Oliver’s throat constricted, and he fought the urge to glance over his shoulder to see if there was anyone around that might see whatever emotion had surely just overtaken his face. He waited a moment until he was sure his voice wouldn’t crack. “Yes.”
Harrison selected a slice of creamy white cheese but only set it on his napkin as he awkwardly turned in place to face Oliver fully. “And you think I’ll tell you?”
“I’m hoping you will,” Oliver said honestly. But that seemed inaccurate, not forceful enough. He mentally filed through all possible ways he could put weight behind the statement: threatening, coercing, bribing, cajoling. Those were his usual tactics, and he knew they would never work here. He had only one tactic left, and he had never used that one before. Vulnerability. “Actually, I’m begging you to.”
Harrison’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. “Begging, huh? You ever done that before?”
“No.” No, Oliver had never thrown himself at the mercy of anyone. He wasn’t even sure Harrison was the merciful type.
Harrison’s brows lowered again, and he stared at Oliver for a few moments. Oliver let him stare, feeling almost as exposed as when caught around a klah’eel without any scent cream. Once the urge to fidget was about to become unbearable, Harrison huffed a laugh. “That Mal’ik really did a number on you, didn’t he?”
Oliver frowned, trying to discern if anyone had just been insulted. It was the truth, though, wasn’t it?
The strong, kind, gentle, upstanding man had stepped into Oliver’s life, shown him what it was like to be cared for and to care, and changed everything forever. Oliver could never go back to being the sort of man that would let Mal’ik go out into a dangerous world alone and unprotected while Oliver sat in comfort and luxury and provided the weapons to be used against him.
“Yes, I suppose he did.”
Harrison gave him an almost abashed half smile, and his eyes flicked over to Emissary Serihk, who was talking to a Klah’Eel diplomat but clearly angled in such a way as to keep an eye on them. “Lucky for you, I know a thing or two about posh men who get too attached to the rougher sorts for their own good.”
Emissary Serihk could apparently take it no longer, and after glancing at them to see them both looking at him, he excused himself and made his way over to the sidebar they stood at. He opened his mouth when he got close, but Harrison beat him to it.
“Tell him where Mal’ik is.”
Serihk’s mouth snapped closed again. He straightened his back and laced his fingers behind him. He looked at them both, then nodded to one of the side rooms that lined the hall.
They filed into the room, Oliver exchanging his empty glass of wine for a full one along the way, and then shut the door behind them.
“Why would I do that?” Serihk asked, turning back around to face them. Harrison stood next to Oliver, just a little taller even when hunched in his crutches, and it wasn’t lost on either Oliver or Serihk whose side he was standing on.
