Bastion

quite a little list.
    Hazard—or benefit—of having to stand through all those Council meetings disguised as a page.
    Jakyr looked over at him and smiled a little more. “You did very well there, Mags. Kept your head. Gave me exactly what I needed when I needed it. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d done this before.” He paused. “That last was a joke.”
    Mags grinned a little and ducked his head. “Just doing what Nikolas taught me to do; I figured that was mostly what you needed from me. Stay in the background an’ just . . . listen. Amily says she has some stuff to tell us, but it ain’t bad. An’ Lena and Bard Lita did a hell of a job distractin’ people.”
    Jakyr frowned a little but nodded. “Much as I am loath to admit it, the ladies are doing us very good service on this assignment. We could do it without them, but it would be harder.”
    “Well . . . what can they do to help more?” Mags asked. There was a long silence punctuated by the calls of crows, rooks, and starlings. “Because they’ll do it, ’specially if I ask Lena and Lena asks Bard Lita.”
    “I’ll think about it,” Jakyr said, then changed the subject to what sorts of supplies they would need to pack out from now on and how much the Companions could carry.
    •   •   •
    The Bastion seemed very quiet without the other four there, but Mags was sure that between them he and Jakyr could probably make enough noise that it wouldn’t seem completely empty. Just getting the steam bath going would make plenty of noise, for instance, and he was looking forward to getting a good long one. While Jakyr stoked up the fire, got luncheon ready, and put things to rights, Mags took care of unsaddling the Companions and turning them loose.
    He headed into the cave with every intention of first starting rocks to heat in the fire for the steam bath, then getting a book and settling down to read until the others returned. But he never got that chance.
    “Mags, go sit down a moment,” Jakyr ordered, as soon as he had cleared the entrance and gotten down into the living area. The Herald’s voice made it an order, and Mags heart dropped. What had he done wrong? Or was—was it something that he hadn’t done? Omission was as bad, or worse, as commission . . .
    He sank down on one of the rugs, and pulled his knees up to his chest, quaking inside with dread. Because surely something terrible had happened, or he himself had done something terrible. Or—not done something critical. Or overlooked something important.
    Jakyr had already started a fire in the firepit, and it was slowly warming the area. Now he dropped carelessly down on the cushion next to the one Mags was using and wrapped his cloak around himself. “Well, now. This should have been your father’s little lecture to give. Or Nikolas, but that would make things altogether impossibly awkward, wouldn’t it?” Jakyr’s square face twisted in an ironic smile. “It hasn’t escaped anyone that you and Amily have put your sleeping gear together and you’re using the same cave. So, how far has it gotten? I’m not accusing you, not even close, I just want to know what stage you two are at.”
    This was not how he had expected that question to come up. Or the direction he had expected it to go in.
    “It hasn’t!” Mags blurted, all the things he had been planning to say flying right out of his head now that the moment was here. “It hasn’t gotten anywhere! I mean, we been kissin’ and gettin’ ourselves all up and bothered, but—we ain’t done anything yet!”
    Jakyr looked taken entirely aback by the confession. “Uh . . . why? I mean, why not? You love each other, you’re both certainly old enough to know what you’re getting into. I would have expected you to be—well—” For the first time, ever, Mags saw Jakyr flush with something other than anger.
    “’Cause I dunno what t’ do, an’ I don’ want to hurt her,” Mags choked out. There was the crux of it, really. He loved Amily, he knew that the first time always hurt, and—how could he love someone and still want to do something that hurt her? Besides, the only sort of sex he’d seen with the mine kids had been . . . mindless. Like a couple of dogs just pounding away because they could, with no thought in it. “I mean, the mine kids was always up in each other when they got old enough an’ they wasn’t completely dead tired or starvin’, but I don’ want it t’be