“I see you’re still struggling with sleep,” Galen began tentatively, hoping he was not presuming too much.
Azriel playfully nudged him with his shoulder. “I didn’t have anyone to draw for me.”
Galen couldn’t help but grin as he motioned to his pad. “Would you like me to…”
“Please,” Azriel replied, rubbing at his tired eyes.
He started with a simple drawing of the mill, and just beyond, the covered bridge. “Would you be comfortable sharing what is bothering you?” They’d imparted many confidences by now, and Galen considered him a friend. He hoped the sentiment was returned.
Azriel lowered his voice. “The apothecary had a visit from the constable this afternoon.”
Galen stiffened beside him. “More love potion?” he asked, and when Azriel’s eyes flashed in surprise, Galen said, “Oscar, of course.”
Azriel sighed, then nodded. “He suggested Madam Langley use black magic to fix him. But she continues to assure him she’s not a witch, nor approves of the dark arts.”
“Why doesn’t he seek it out for himself?”
He laughed humorlessly. “Madam Fairborn says he already has, and it’s what left him permanently bad-tempered.”
“Doubtful. More like his darkness swallows any sort of light,” Galen said, and to emphasize his point, he began sketching gloomy clouds and rain pelting the field.
“The man in the alleyway,” Azriel said hesitantly, “was his energy similar to the constable’s?”
“Yes. They both have swirls of grays, like a storm about to erupt. The first time I saw that man leaving the tavern, I was reckless to follow him into the alley. But I was desperate with hunger. I’d hoped it would be over quickly, and then perhaps I could find something to eat.”
There was a long pause, and Galen held his breath, wondering what Azriel would think of his confession, but he’d felt a sudden urgency to rid himself of that thought, which had been plaguing him of late.
When he felt the pressure of Azriel’s thigh against his own, he allowed himself to relax. “I did much the same with the constable.”
Galen’s gut churned. “What do you mean?”
“He only comes upstairs when he cannot resist his natural tendencies any longer,” he said in a morose tone. “Unfortunately, by then he’s become agitated.”
Galen’s pencil stilled on the page. “Did he hurt you?”
“He’s not a kind or generous lover. I don’t like how he makes me feel or how his hands move me this way and that, sometimes leaving bruises. The last time he requested my services, I reacted badly, curling up in a ball in the corner of the bed. And when I would not calm down, he called for Madam Langley to see me out. I felt trapped and frightened, much like I did as a child when my father was in a foul mood. Afraid something might go horribly wrong.”
“I am truly sorry.” Galen couldn’t help touching him, pressing against him so Azriel knew he was there. “Is that the reason for Madam Langley’s rules?”
He nodded. “And the viewing slots, which have become useful for other purposes.”
Galen’s skin prickled, and he averted his eyes. When his pulse steadied, he asked, “Can Madam Langley threaten to expose the constable?”
“You know very well that’s not the way it works.” He was right. No one would trust a whore over a gentleman, just as few would believe a shopkeeper over a constable. “Rumor has it that at a young age he turned in his best friend for being a molly.”
A shiver ran through him at the thought of such a betrayal.
“Good thing he enjoys his tea,” Azriel muttered.
“What do you mean?”
“There’s a reason why more than one cup of moon-flower tea is discouraged,” he whispered. “But he’s arrogant and always requests more for the room.”
“But…if the tea relaxes him, wouldn’t that cause his inhibitions to slip?”
“Too much can cause drowsiness—or worse.”
Galen swallowed. Miss Celestine had said something similar. “Worse?”
“The moon flower is poisonous in large amounts.”
Dark thoughts flitted through Galen’s mind, and the pictures they conjured frightened him. When he felt Azriel tremble beside him, he decided to flip his drawing pad to a fresh page and begin working on something lighter, like the sun shining across the riverbed. That must’ve done the trick because he felt Azriel begin to relax beside him, and his yawn was catching. The hour was turning late, but he did not mind it at all.
Azriel murmured, “I cannot wait to see what you create with the colored wax.”
“I’ve been saving them,” Galen replied, realizing he still felt on borrowed time. “I didn’t want to spoil myself, just yet.”
“Perhaps now is the perfect time to be indulgent. None of us knows what tomorrow brings.”
When Galen’s eyes met Azriel’s, he noted that his aura had changed to a deep lime, which might’ve meant he was still mulling over their previous conversation.
“You said the men’s auras were gray,” Azriel said hesitantly. “Do I have any darkness surrounding me?”