Verin clings to him for comfort, for support, and as he always has, Essek allows it. He stifles the shiver that would have worked its way down his spine at the brush of lips against the inside of his knee, and instead strokes his fingers through his brother's hair one more time.
"Of course. In your room," he says. "Dry off and I will fetch it for you."
Essek extracts himself from both his brother and the tub. His slip drips onto the floor as he stands. Carefully, he pulls it up over his head, dropping it with a slap of wet fabric on stone and sweeping his ruffled hair back into place. The smalls he wears beneath sit low on his hips, fine and partly sheer, black with a pattern of embroidery almost resembling feathers. By the door to the bathroom he retrieves one of his own robes and slips it over his shoulders, belting the wide sash tight around his narrow waist. This garment is even more diaphanous, dark but airy, with long trailing lace sleeves. Most notably, however, it is also quite short, brushing the tops of Essek's thighs as he pads barefoot and bare-legged back out into his bedroom.
It can't hurt, he thinks, to remind Verin of what he has been missing.
Verin's room--the only guest bedroom with a dedicated occupant--is one floor down in this tower, but it is closer to Essek's than any other. He finds the robe he was thinking of hanging where he left it the last time Verin stayed with him. It's a long, soft imported linen dyed in a geometric pattern of black and midnight blue, made for comfort with roomy sleeves and a generous allowance for broad shoulders. Essek had it made for him years ago. As he brings it back upstairs now, he considers that he may have worn it more often than Verin has. It has been one of the few comforts he's allowed himself when he misses his brother.
"Verin?" he calls when he returns. "I have it here." He holds the robe open, as if he intends to help Verin into it himself.
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"Of course. In your room," he says. "Dry off and I will fetch it for you."
Essek extracts himself from both his brother and the tub. His slip drips onto the floor as he stands. Carefully, he pulls it up over his head, dropping it with a slap of wet fabric on stone and sweeping his ruffled hair back into place. The smalls he wears beneath sit low on his hips, fine and partly sheer, black with a pattern of embroidery almost resembling feathers. By the door to the bathroom he retrieves one of his own robes and slips it over his shoulders, belting the wide sash tight around his narrow waist. This garment is even more diaphanous, dark but airy, with long trailing lace sleeves. Most notably, however, it is also quite short, brushing the tops of Essek's thighs as he pads barefoot and bare-legged back out into his bedroom.
It can't hurt, he thinks, to remind Verin of what he has been missing.
Verin's room--the only guest bedroom with a dedicated occupant--is one floor down in this tower, but it is closer to Essek's than any other. He finds the robe he was thinking of hanging where he left it the last time Verin stayed with him. It's a long, soft imported linen dyed in a geometric pattern of black and midnight blue, made for comfort with roomy sleeves and a generous allowance for broad shoulders. Essek had it made for him years ago. As he brings it back upstairs now, he considers that he may have worn it more often than Verin has. It has been one of the few comforts he's allowed himself when he misses his brother.
"Verin?" he calls when he returns. "I have it here." He holds the robe open, as if he intends to help Verin into it himself.