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sorted tomorrow?" Tamsen asked, leveraging himself up off the floor with effort.
    Myron contemplated that, but the idea of clean clothing was too appealing to pass up, even if he was annoyed with Tamsen at the moment. "I'll borrow, if you don't mind."
    "Wouldn't have offered if I did," Tamsen muttered, but it lacked any real vitriol. He moved to the chest at the foot of the bed, digging through it and throwing bits of clothing on the bed next to the soap and drying cloths. "Have at. I have weeding to finish."
    "Thank you," Myron said, and he supposed that settled the question of whether to bathe that night. He'd feel better clean and dressed, anyway. Tamsen waved dismissively, fetching his hat and disappearing back outside.
    Myron climbed to his feet, popping outside to fetch his pack, sword, and cloak. He brought them inside, hoping Tamsen hadn't changed his mind about letting Myron stay inside. Heating the water took only a little magic—Myron swore that was the most useful spell in his limited arsenal. He stripped quickly, dropping his dirty clothing into a pile, and climbed into the tub.
    The hot water felt amazing. He sank into it, yawning widely into the rising steam. The fire was purple, but as Myron watched, relaxing into the bath, it shifted toward green. Perhaps a reaction to the steam from the bath?
    Myron nearly dozed off, lulled by the warmth and the quiet. It was only when he nearly slipped under the water that Myron forced himself to clean up. He soaped himself up, rinsing off and repeating the process until he felt clean.
    He climbed out of the bath reluctantly and dried off, fetching the clothing Tamsen had laid out to lend him. They were much the same as the other clothes Tamsen had worn: good quality, but patched and repaired more than once. Myron dressed slowly, finding that Tamsen was a bit narrower in the hips, but otherwise the breeches were a good fit.
    Myron was in the middle of binding his chest again when Tamsen returned. He was cleaner and damp again, so he'd detoured by the well. He froze in the doorway when he saw Myron.
    "Sorry," Tamsen said, his voice higher than usual. He turned a bright red and disappeared almost immediately back outside.
    Myron shook his head, amused despite himself. He finished binding and pulled on Tamsen's shirt, surprised to find it smelled of lavender and mint. Myron didn't bother lacing it, letting the fabric binding his chest peek out at the top. He lingered but eventually decided to put Tamsen out of his misery. Now that he was clean, he was hungry, and he wasn't rude enough to raid Tamsen's pantry without permission.
    Tamsen was leaning against the back of the cottage, just outside the back door. He looked up when Myron reached the doorway, and Myron was amused to find that Tamsen's face was still pink. "I apologize. I should have—"
    "I'm a soldier, your highness. If you think that's the first time anyone has accidentally seen me half-naked, you have no idea what soldiers are like," Myron said, giving Tamsen a grin. "And before you go asking, it all ties into why I'm a soldier and not a wizard."
    Tamsen ran a hand over his face, but he looked decidedly less miserable. He frowned at Myron, and Myron wondered if Tamsen would ever look at him as anything other than a puzzle. Probably not, but there were plenty of other barriers there, too; it wasn't worth dwelling on. "I'm sorry I don't have anything to fit you better."
    Myron blinked, startled. He hadn't expected an apology for that, let alone for Tamsen to be concerned over the fit of his clothes. "They fit well enough. Better than my smelly lot. Shall I wait out here while you bathe?"
    "If you want," Tamsen said. He shrugged, as though he didn't care, but the movement was stilted, awkward, like he didn't quite mean it. He slipped past Myron into the cottage, smelling of fresh dirt, sweat, and mint.
    Myron debated trying to fluster Tamsen more, but in the end decided discretion was the better option. Stepping