Kevian settles with his supper at one of the long tables. He's eating alone, but at this point, he is well used to that. As one of the clerics who finds himself sent across the country frequently, never staying long in any one place, he spends a lot of time in unfamiliar temples. He almost prefers the company of the non-religious, but he can't justify the expense of taverns and inns when there is food and lodging available at a local temple. Especially when it's even a temple specifically for The Lovers!

Unlike smaller settlements, where the entire Senary might be under one roof (or just as common, share living and eating facilities but have separate, small worship areas), Ronewell is big enough to have three different temples dedicated to The Six. He was warmly welcomed by the Shadim who live here, but as most of those residing in Ronewell are bards, musicians, and courtesans, most are out working around dinner and into the evening. He is left with the company of the few who are not working on this Sixday eve, and with other travelers and displaced clergy who are just passing through.

One such group is sitting just a little bit down the table from him - he is fairly sure they are Meretim, though he hasn't ruled out Mosenim. It's so hard to tell. They are conversing in what he can tell they think are hushed voices, but their voices carry down the table to him with no issue.

"I think that he should have just agreed," one of them says, shaking his head. "That outsider is going to cause more trouble than he can possibly be worth."

"And who is going to carry out the sentence?" another asks. She leans forward, and there is a sharp tone to her words. "Are you going to kill him? I didn't know Meret was claiming assassins into his service now, Owen."

"Of course not," the first man snaps back, defensive. "But if he just puts out the word that there is a bounty available, someone else will pick it up, and problem solved."

"Are you such an imperialist that you would condone murder, Owen?" A third voice. "They hired him to teach about Mare'n, you can't then hold him at fault for explaining how Mare'n views the Empire!"

Kevian's ears perk up, his interest piqued. He recognizes the disdain in their voices, the tone they use making it clear they are speaking of those they deem inferior. It can't be a coincidence - how many other strange men get dropped off on the Empire's doorstep with little more than their wits and get left to navigate the harsh realities of being a stranger in the Empire? And how many of those men were also teaching about Mare'n somewhere?

"Who are we talking about?" another woman asks, coming in late and having a seat with the group.

"A teacher at Mythlight," the first woman replies, and despite the skepticism she is treating this Owen to, she sounds scornful. "The Marquise of Rone claims that he's been spreading dissent among the students, teaching them to question authority and challenge the Empire's rule."

Kevian's heart skips a beat as he listens, his mind racing with the implications. What in the world has Taskin said or done to warrant such attention as the Marquise of Rone? The woman is notorious for two things: being one of the most loyal imperialists outside of the Emphir's family and staff, and being horrendously cruel. He edges closer, wanting to hear more but trying not to draw attention to himself.

"...the Marquise of Rone petitioned Revered Jair to have him removed," one of them says, his voice low and serious. "She claims he's a threat to the Empire's stability, and that his teachings are corrupting the youth."

"On what grounds did she possibly think that was an issue for the Revered? Surely she has more influence over Mycom than Brother Jair," the newcomer asks, sounding baffled.

"She listed every donation she's made to the Senary here in Ronewell, and the Meretim in particular, apparently." They all seem to be looking at one of their number - someone with insider knowledge, or just the person who happened to be in the right place at the right time? "The threat was implied that she would make no more donations if he remains at Mycom."

Kevian's grip on his bowl tightens, his knuckles white with tension. If Eliana of Rone has set her sights on Taskin, he's in danger. He starts to do some mental calculations - he's supposed to be going the opposite direction in the morning, to Stormitval, but if he rides hard back up the mountain, he can probably make it there in one day, have some time with Taskin, and then make it back the day after that, and only be two days behind schedule. Such a short delay would not be easy, but possible to explain away when he gets to Stormitval.

He might well get in trouble for it if his excuses fall flat, but he can handle that, as long as he gets a chance to check in with his lover.

-------------------------

In the morning, he rises before the first rays of dawn touch the sky and fetches Barley from the stables. Not for the first time, he wishes he had something younger and more spirited that could race across the countryside to carry him to Taskin in a matter of hours. Sighing, he rubs the good-natured gelding's face and around the base of his ears before mounting. Barley is sound and safe, which of course makes him a perfect addition to the Temple's livery because almost anyone can ride him, even those who've never ridden before. But to Kevian's eternal frustration, the gelding is placid. Nothing phases him, which can be convenient when you are dead tired and riding through the night. But nothing phases him, and that includes a rider doing their best to rouse up a higher energy movement.

Today, though, the big chestnut horse seems to feel his sense of urgency, because he deigns to transform his usual rocking canter to a lively gallop, and he and Kevian are off across the countryside like an arrow from a bow. They can't gallop all day, of course, but they make good time in the morning before Kevian pulls him up, not willing to kill the sweet old boy for this purpose - or any purpose.

They must slow, too, as they climb into the mountains that shelter Mythlight from the rest of the world. Barley's energy-conserving lack of enthusiasm pays off now, as at this time of day, the road is deserted and they can move easily up and up and up. They reach the last big, iron gate in the wall that contains the city just as the sun touches down on the horizon, colors exploding across the sky and shadows lengthening on the ground.

After a trek across town to the lodgings Taskin keeps, Kevian leads Barley into the stable, where they are greeted by a friendly and familiar face. The stablehand here is familiar with Kev's gelding and is a good horseman; he is not concerned about Barley's care and his mind is already on the warm fire and warm company he is anticipating awaits him upstairs. He takes the stairs two at a time, a spring in his step that belies the fatigue of his long ride.

As he reaches the door, he pauses, to collect his thoughts. He is worried about his lover and concerned about the rumor he heard last night, but he loves surprising Taskin when the older man is not expecting him. He loves the way his eyes light up with delight, and the genuine joy the other man has for his presence. He treasures the fact that this little apartment is keyed to him, and he is free to come and go as he likes. He turnes the handle and slips inside, calling out in a low voice, "Taskin, I'm home."

But there is no answer.

Kevian's grin falters as he moves further into the room. The fire is banked and shows every sign of having been so since the morning, and the chair beside it with the little table where Taskin sits when he reads or brings work home is empty. He feels a brief pang of disappointment. Taskin is usually home by this time, especially on a cold, dark evening like this when it is more comfortable to grade and plan at home by the fire than in his drafty closet of an office at the college.

But then he recalls that it is Sevenday. Taskin would not have even taught today, though he often works anyway, planning and grading and researching. Sevenday evening, though, is when the social life of Mythlight's mainly college-aged populus is busiest. Taskin is likely out with friends, or colleagues, or even a tryst. He didn't have any idea Taskin was coming - it was luck that he'd been nearby enough to come when he heard the rumors - so he has no reason to be sitting alone instead of out and about. Unlike Kevian, Taskin likes parties and balls and other loud, lively social events.

Kevian stretches, feeling every minute of his uninterrupted ride, and scrounges up a bland but filling dinner from the kitchen when his stomach reminds him he hadn't bothered to stop for lunch, and breakfast had been a biscuit and cheese on his way out the door, because he wasn't willing to wait for the kitchens to start their breakfast fare. Then he stokes up the fire and settles on the second-hand lounge Taskin had found with a book of his own, content to wait.

He even dozes for a little while, waking because the fire is sputtering on the verse of dying and it's gotten cold in the room. He thinks fondly that to be out this late, Taskin must be having a great time - or he found someone to go home with, and he's having a great time of a different sort. Kevian isn't jealous. His whirlwind has a much more voracious appetite than he does for the carnal side of physical intimacy, needs Kev doesn't want to fill. So far, their arrangement is holding fast: Taskin is seeking out others to fill those needs, but he continues to turn to Kevian to fill his emotional needs.

As the silence stretches out, he begins to have creeping doubts. What if the rumors weren't fresh, but old? What if someone else had accepted the job from the Marquise to make Taskin disappear? It is late enough for all but the most dedicated party-goers to be headed home, and in his experience, Taskin is never out this late. He also almost never stays the night with one of his other lovers - so rarely that Kev doesn't remember him ever doing so. He should be home.

As the minutes tick by, Kevian's anxiety grows. He gets up and paces back and forth across the room, his mind racing with all sorts of scenarios. Had Taskin been hurt? Was he stuck somewhere? Was he still at his office, working until he made himself ill? Had he gone out with someone, and then been held against his will?

Kevian's pacing grows more agitated, his eyes fixed on the door as if willing Taskin to appear. But the door remains stubbornly shut, and the silence continues to stretch out, oppressive and unbroken.

Another hour passes, and another, each one stretching out longer than the last. Kevian's anxiety has long since given way to outright worry. He'd tried to distract himself with his book, but the words blurred together on the page, and he couldn't focus.

And then, just before the first hints of dawn creep into the sky, he hears the sound of footsteps outside. The door creaks open, and Taskin stumbles in, his eyes tired and his face pale and drawn. He looks like he's been up for days.

"Taskin," he says, standing slowly. He doesn't want to frighten him with his sudden appearance.

Taskin still jumps, hand back on the door handle before he realizes who is speaking to him. "Kevian," he says, his voice barely above a whisper, a mixture of surprise and exhaustion on his face. "I...I didn't expect you to be here."

"I didn't expect to be here either," Kevian's eyes narrow as he watches Taskin nearly swaying in place with fatigue. "But you didn't answer my question. Are you okay?"

Taskin hesitates, and for a moment, Kevian thinks he sees a glimmer of tears in his eyes. But then he nods, a forced smile on his face. "I'm fine. Just...just a long night, that's all."

Kevian knows a lie from his boy when he hears one. Plus, Taskin has a tell; he's squeezing his left hand with his right as he speaks. He hasn't administered anything but playful, feel-good spankings since the archives incident, but they had set some rules and boundaries together and lying is definitely off limits. He took a step closer, his eyes locked on Taskin's, and gives him a second chance to make the right decision. "Are you sure, dearheart?" he asks, his voice low and gentle. "What's going on? You look like you've been through torture."

Taskin's face crumples, and he lets out a sob and seems to collapse in on himself. Kevian's heart goes out to him, and he closes the distance between them, opening his arms and pulling Taskin into a tight hug. Taskin buries his face in Kevian's chest, his body shaking with the force of his sobs.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Kevian whispers, holding him close. "I'm here. I've got you, my heart."

He manuevers both of them to the lounge, where he has plenty of space to sit and then draw Taskin down after him, into his lap. It's nice to be big enough and strong enough to manhandle him when he needs to. His partner is still crying too hard to explain anything, so he settles for trying to soothe him with cuddles, murmured reassurances, and a firm hand smoothing up and down his back. It works, and eventually the tears taper off and Taskin is quiet. Kevian gives him an extra couple of deep breaths before he sits him back a little so they can look at each other.

Taskin's eyes are red and his face is wet. Kevian takes the inside of his sleeve and wipes the remnants of tears away. "What's going on, Taskin? Talk to me."

"What isn't going on?" Taskin says bitterly, and Kevian can't help but arch an eyebrow questioningly. "Most of my students are entitled little snots who think my class will be easy and they're mad when it's not, I'm already exhausted keeping up with what I am teaching and they want me to add a language class, I miss home, I miss you when you're not here, so much, I feel like I have acquaintances not friends here, and I think I'm going to get fired."

"That's quite a list, darling," Kev puts a hand on the back of his neck and massages firmly. The last item had caught his attention as possibly tied into the rumors he's here to investigate, but he can't ignore the rest of the list either. "But, Taskin, most of them don't sound new." He does his best not to sound reproachful, but he'd just been here to visit not two weeks prior - why hadn't Taskin shared any of these feelings and concerns with him then?

"They aren't," Taskin doesn't look up at him. "I'm just…overwhelmed right now."

"Hmmm," Kevian taps the bottom of his chin, trying to get his lover to look up at him. "I get that. But if you'd talked to me before, maybe we could have prevented some of them from becoming overwhelming."

"I didn't want it to taint the time we had together," he mutters. He's lifted his chin in response to Kevian's insistence, but his eyes are still downcast so he doesn't have to meet Kev's gaze. "We just don't get that long, I didn't want it to be wasted on my problems."

"Your problems and worries are my problems and worries," Kevian says firmly. "I love you. That's how it is. And hiding your worries and problems from me because you think I don't have time for them is lying, dearheart."

"What?" That finally gets him Taskin's full attention, eyes wide as he looks up. "No! I didn't lie about it, I just didn't tell you. There's a difference."

"A lie of ommission," Kevian counters. "It's not that it didn't come up, or didn't cross your mind, it's that you purposefully decided to not tell me things. Things that could very well have been affecting your health, that I needed to know."

"I didn't…I didn't think of it that way," he whispers, and Kevian doesn't miss when tears spring to his eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lie,"

His breath hitches, the tears right there, and the last thing Kevian wants is for him to burst into tears again, and he's clearly still stressed enough that it's a possibility. Leaning forward, he places a soft but lingering kiss against his partner's right eye, and then his left. "I believe you." he tries for warm and reassuring. "It's an adjustment. Now you know. I want to know all the things in your life, not just the easy things. It won't ruin our time together, it will bring us closer in the end."

Taskin nods, sniffling but not crying again; Kevian takes that as a win, and brushes his thumbs against the other man's cheeks softly. "Some of those I'd like to ask you about later, but right now, can you tell me about the last one? Why do you think you're going to get fired?"

“Well,” Taskin starts, rubbing a hand over his face. “It's more of a…feeling…than anything else.”

Kevian hums again, encouraging him to continue. “That often seems to be the way with these things, doesn’t it? Take your time. I’m listening.”

Taskin sighs, fingers playing absently with the buttons on Kevian's overrobe. “There's this noblewoman. I have two of her children in my classes. Well, a son and a niece, but close enough. She’s been…unhappy with my teaching, to put it mildly. Apparently, telling my students that the noble classes' elevated status in royal and imperial countries comes from a skewed sense of self-worth and misplaced need for control and not some sort of divine birthright is ‘inflammatory’ and ‘disrespectful’.”

Kevian has to work hard not to groan out loud. He'd really, honestly hoped that the Marquise was overreacting and taking Taskin's teachings out of context, but unfortunately, it sounds like maybe what she is upset about is exactly what his partner is actually teaching. Wanting to make sure Taskin gets a chance to tell him everything, he doesn't respond past a curious "Hm."

He'd made his last cup of tea about an hour ago, but he holds it up for Taskin anyway when he clears his throat a couple of times, obviously needing something to re-wet it. It may be unappealing, but it's sweet and wet and he doesn't have water to hand to offer. And, he's seen Taskin drink tea that he's left to get far colder. After he takes several long swallows, his partner continues.

“She complained to the Dean. He’s been ‘checking’ in with me on a regular basis lately." Taskin says the last part with a heavy shake of his head, fingers clenching and unclenching around the mug. "More like interrogating, actually. Asking about my lessons, my interactions with the students, making sure I understand the ‘proper decorum’ expected of myself as a..." he paused, shaking his head again.

"As a what?" Kevian prompts, eyes concerned.

"As a 'teacher' if you take his words at face value," Taskin said dryly. "But the implication is there that it's also as a foreigner, and maybe even as a non-magic user."

"They are imperialists," Kevian says softly, "But that's not new. You knew when you came into the Empire that openness with others is not one of the Empire's strengths." He knows what he says next will be stinging and unwelcome, so he stokes Taskin's face again and tries to keep his voice gentle and calm. "Have you considered keeping your head down a little better? Surely you can teach about your people and their cultures and traditions without antagonizing them like that."

Taskin draws back as if appalled by the very suggestion, his eyes wide. "Not telling my students about what I believe, and my people believe, about your systems is dishonest! It's…it's lying, in the same way you just said I was lying to you! They're trusting me to tell them the truth, I can't do that to them."

Kevian is not impressed by by having this line of logic turned back on him, and it makes him briefly reconsider whether Taskin actually did know eactly why he'd been upset about the lies of ommission earlier, and maybe he does deserve to get his butt spanked. Or, maybe he's just trying out applications of this new-to-him idea on other aspects of his life to see how it's applied. It wouldn't be the first time.

"You're missing the point, Taskin," Kevian says firmly, keeping his voice low. "I'm not asking you to change who you are or what you believe. I'm asking you to be more careful about how and when you express those beliefs. You're a guest in this country, and you have seen firsthand that many have their own way of doing things."

Taskin sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. "I understand what you're saying, Kev," he says reluctantly. "But it's feels wrong for me to compromise my principles like that."

"I get that it feels weird to you," Kevian says quietly before he reaches out and takes Taskin's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "You don't owe your students or the other faculty your complete honesty," he continues firmly. "You promised me your complete honesty, because of the nature of our relationship and because we pledged to each other, as partners. You have no such covenant with the college, so you can do what you need to do to be safe."

Taskin looks at Kevian with a mix of affection and frustration. He knows that his partner is right, but he hates the idea of having to hide who he is in order to survive in this hostile environment. Still, he can't deny that Kevian has a point - he might feel guilty about not giving his students all of the troubled information about the history of their world, but if he couldn't teach anymore, they wouldn't get any of the information anymore.

"It might be too late," he says glumly, collapsing against Kevian. "The Dean seems pretty intimidated by this woman."

"If it's too late, we'll find you somewhere else to teach," Kevian is calm, threading his fingers through Taskin's long, silky hair. "This isn't the only college, and there are plenty of lower schools besdies." He takes a deep breath, and then says, "Can you sit up a minute for me?"

Slowly, Taskin does, giving him a an uncertain look. Kevian gives him a little half-smile, trying to put him at ease but finding it a little difficult at the moment. "I'm more worried about the Marquise than your employment." He can see when it occurs to Taskin that he'd specified the woman's rank when Taskin never had - his lover frowns at him, brows drawing together. "I'm not supposed to be here. I came because I heard a rumor that she tried to bribe the head of the Meretim in Ronewell to get rid of you."

"What?" Taskin's jaw drops. "Get rid of me…do you mean murder me?"

"Unclear," he admits. "I didn't know the folks I overheard, so I didn't approach them. And this morning I came straight to you."

"That's so unreasonably drastic!" Taskin snarls. "Trying to get me fired was one thing, but trying to have me killed? What is the barbaric country you live in?"

"Well, the Marquise of Rone is not known for being particularly reasonable," Kevian soothes. "The rumor is that Jair declined, with prejudice. I only even came because I was concerned that her next stop would be someone less scrupulous." Kevian's eyes soften as he looks at Taskin, trying to make his concern for his lover evident in the way he holds him close. "I know it's a lot to take in," he says gently. "But I need you to promise me that you'll be more careful, keep your head down, and not take any risks that could make the Marquise more vengeful."

Taskin nods, his eyes filled with worry and confusion. A part of Kevian mourns what Taskin is possibly losing right now - that believe that most people are inherently good and won't intentionally harm others that he seems to have brought from his Tribes. In the Empire, that simply isn't true - at least not among the bloodthirsty nobility. "I promise I'll try," he agrees quietly, curling one hand into Kevian's shirt. "But what am I supposed to do? Just sit back and let her do whatever she wants?"

"For now," Kevian replies, "yes. I need to gather more information about her motives and find out if there's anything we can do to protect you without drawing too much attention to you in the process. I need time to determine if she's just blustering, or if there is a real threat."

Taskin sighs heavily, laying himself back out across Kevian's chest. Kev leans back into the lounge, wasting a little magic to stoke the fire higher and warmer rather than force his lover to move. As they sit there in silence, Kevian can feel Taskin's tension beginning to ease. He is gratified that just being with him is helping his lover relax and forget about his troubles for a little while. It is one of the things he loves most about their relationship - the way they can always find solace in each other's arms; it feels as if they've been together decades already, not just under a year.

After a few minutes of quiet contemplation, Taskin speaks up again. "Do you think I should tell the Dean about this?" he asks hesitantly. "Before this, she always seemed to like me. She might be able to help figure out what's going on or protect me."

Kevian hesitates before answering. On one hand, involving the Dean could gain Taskin some much-needed support and protection from outside influences on the college administration. On the other hand, it could also make the Dean decide he is more trouble than he is worth, or draw unwanted attention to Taskin and potentially put him in even more danger if word got back to the Marquise that someone was aware of her threats.

"I don't know," he says finally. "I don't know her, and you do. There are pros and cons. If you trust her, it might be worth considering, but you need to weigh the risks carefully before making a decision." He pauses for a moment before adding, "In any case, I need you to stay vigilant and keep your eyes open for any signs of trouble. Beyond just keeping your head down teaching, you need to be careful just around town too."

Taskin nods solemnly. Kevian doesn't know if he's just overwhelmed and tired, or truly understands the gravity of the situation. "Can you stay?" he asks, voice muffled as he's pressed it into Kevian's shoulder.

"I can only stay the night," he murmurs. "I have to go in the morning. I carved out two days where I think I won't be missed, but I have to be on this next assignment after that." He doesn't point out that the night is almost over. It would be too easy to agree to stay a whole extra day, and consequences be damned. But he can't afford to be in trouble at the Temple now, not when it might come down to leveraging all of his connections and then some to protect Taskin.

This time, the night will have to be enough.