He clenched his jaw, worked the sleeve up his numb arm to his shoulder, then whipped his right hand around behind his head—collar sliding between finger and thumb—and into the other armhole with a snapping of cloth, smooth as a step in a dance.

He had a trick for it. But these days Leo needed a trick for anything more complicated than turning a doorknob.

Jurand ducked through the tent-flap. “They’re here. The royalists.”

Leo raised his brows as he shoved the tails of his shirt down behind his belt. “Inspector Teufel has made us all royalists.”

“They’re deploying on the other side of the valley.” Jurand pulled the general’s jacket from the back of a folding chair and stepped over. He didn’t embarrass Leo by asking if he wanted help. He knew what was needed before he was told, just as he always had. “If you can call it deploying.”

Leo let himself be handled like a mannequin by a tailor. Or a dead body by an undertaker. Perhaps the most important trick he had learned was swallowing his pride and taking whatever help he could get.

Jurand frowned down as he did up the buttons of Leo’s jacket, quick and practised as any valet. “Their men look almost as much of a mess as ours. Almost. There were more desertions in the night.”

“Not such a bad thing,” murmured Leo. “Weed out anyone with doubts… about the new leadership…”

Jurand was so close Leo could smell him, leather and polish and horsehair and soap. He could hear his slow breath. Could see each hair of his long eyelashes, a tiny blemish on his cheek, his lips pressed together with concentration, but that little curl at the corner that he always used to have when they were together, before… everything that had happened.

It would’ve taken no effort at all to lean forwards and kiss him. It was almost more effort not to do it. Leo wondered what the roughness of his fresh-shaved jaw would feel like against Leo’s cheek. What his hair would feel like between Leo’s fingers. What his mouth would taste like—

Jurand looked up and their eyes met, and Leo froze, his breath held, his face tingling. “I… should have been there,” murmured Jurand. “At Stoffenbeck. If I’d been there—”

“I’m glad you weren’t. Glad you… weren’t hurt.” Leo thought of Antaup then, and Jin, and Bremer dan Gorst’s boots crunching across the ruined square. “I can’t afford… to lose you.” And he tore his prickling eyes away, lifting his chin so Jurand could fasten his top button. “You’ll be there this time,” he managed to say, his voice rough.

“I’ll always be there.” Did Jurand reach gently for Leo’s useless hand, as if to help him with that, too? Leo took it first and awkwardly stuffed it into the gap in his jacket, turning to the mirror with a forced smile. “How do I look?”

Jurand picked a speck of fluff from the braid on Leo’s chest and flicked it away. “As handsome as ever,” he said, softly.