Love Is Always Write Volume 4

though he had done it mostly to be an infuriating bastard. Nyle had always thrived on making his life difficult. He was vibrant, loud, and ruthless. Sarrica had loved him for it.
    Allen was proving to be just as much of a challenge, but in a wholly different way. For one, Sarrica was fairly certain that Allen did not know he was challenging. He was so self-contained, so in control of his thoughts and feelings, that Sarrica was very close to requesting he give instruction on controlling one's self to the entire Great Council.
    He hovered in the doorway, admiring the way the sunlight spilling in the open window fell across Allen, who'd pulled back the tapestry to look outside at the snow.
    The healing lash marks were lurid, but the faded scars from previous lashings were somehow worse. Some of the ointment rubbed into his skin to help with the pain still gleamed. Sarrica dropped the papers he'd been reading on the table and poured them both coffee. "How are you this morning?"
    "Fine, thank you," Allen replied, dropping the tapestry and turning toward him. "Well enough to return your bed to you."
    Sarrica sat down and took a swallow of coffee, then retrieved the papers he'd been reading over. "Keep it. I hardly sleep anyway, and I am ever hopeful it will eventually be our bed."
    When only silence greeted his bold words, he looked up braced for disappointment—but Allen only looked pleased and amused, and it wasn't until the relief swept through him that Sarrica realized just how hopeful he'd been. "I don't think that will be a problem," Allen finally said, and moved stiffly to the table, sat down slowly and took a sip of coffee with a happy sigh. "Thank you."
    "For coffee? You are the easiest person in nine kingdoms to spoil," Sarrica said with amusement. "My hunting dogs are not that easy to please."
    Allen shrugged. "Coffee is harder to obtain so far south, where we are nowhere near the harbors. By the time it reaches us, there is very little left and of poor quality. My parents and most of the court prefer tea, so not much is done to obtain coffee."
    Sarrica nodded, and refilled Allen's cup. He handed over the papers he'd been perusing. "Tell me what you think of this," he said. "It's a trade agreement between Rilen, Delfaste, and Mesta. They are two steps from war over the matter, because they keep claiming different things were agreed to. I am comfortable with Mesta, and can traverse Delfaste without getting lost, but I am not fit to sort through these contracts. I have no suitable translators on the premises, and am not confident the version sent to me in Harken matches what the other three say."
    "I am happy to help," Allen said, and Sarrica believed him. He took the contracts and spread them out, frowning in concentration as he began to read them. "Here is the problem," he said after several minutes. "Your contract has it the way it should have been written across all of them, but it was not written that way in the Delfaste and Mesta copies. It's a common enough error; numerical values are always the hardest to translate. The Rilen and Harken drafts use the High Court system, but the other two contracts attempted to convert that to local forms of measurement. Unfortunately, the figures are not accurate, so proper amounts are not being traded. The Mesta and Delfaste contracts would need to be amended to switch to the High Court system."
    He held out the papers, and Sarrica took them back. "Thank you," he said, setting the papers aside. "It would have taken me at least two translators and a great deal more time to do that. My greatest wish is that a common language would emerge. I could try to make it law, but relations are tenuous enough."
    "One will catch on eventually, I think. Along the borders it's nearly impossible to keep track of who speaks what." Allen smiled over the rim of his coffee cup. "In the meantime, at least we silver tongues will never lack for work."
    Sarrica smiled briefly and began to eat breakfast. When his porridge was gone, he pushed the empty bowl aside and said, "Benta has sent their apologies and withdrawn from the mountains. I'm certain they're just plotting how to slit my throat, but at least they've stood down for now. Unless you say otherwise, I think we can return home the end of next week."
    "That sounds fine. I'm sure I could travel now; you're fretting over much."
    "Better safe than sorry, and quite honestly it does not upset me too much to be up here. Once we are back in