To say the least, this was not at all how Teselin had hoped--or planned--to commence the reunion with her brother. At least, not the part where she crumbled and began to dissolve in a sea of her own tears.
With her blind hope having been tried and worn thin again and again, since the day she had arrived in Stella D’Mare, the young summoner had seen fit to prepare for the worst upon setting her gaze on her older brother for the first time in over a decade. Just because he had asked after her, or acknowledged her existence when Alster had made an inquiry, was not an indication that he was ready to welcome her into his life. Not when he hadn’t seen fit to make her a part of his life all those years ago, when he had saved her from a nightmare that had become all too real. She needed to see him, if only to ascertain he was alright, but she would be deluding herself by thinking that was the only reason this reunion was necessary. Part of her wanted to be accepted, to be validated. Part of her still thought--still hoped, however foolishly--that he might be able to help, and set her on a brighter, more promising path. And part of her knew that if he turned her away… she would not recover from that rejection.
Uncertainty, nervousness, fear, and premature acceptance of the worst possible outcome all battled for dominance in Teselins’ gut throughout that day, following her encounter with the Eyraillian princess. Hadwin was not blind to it, either; on the contrary, he was perhaps the most attuned to the wild, anxious energy that emanated from her skin, with his ability to see what plagued her heart and mind. It couldn’t have been easy for him, either, spending the day alongside a mobile cluster of fear, like herself, but the faoladh nonetheless made an effort to distract her troubled mind from what they had planned that evening. He made light of the Night Garden’s alien flora, giving the flowers and plants they encountered the most nefarious of nicknames, which most certainly did not earn him any favor with the Gardeners. She wanted to laugh at his antics; time and again, she even flashed a smile for his efforts, but the weight of her task that evening was too heavy to set aside. This was it: no more avoiding the reason she had ever come to Stella D’Mare in the first place. This was what she’d wanted; this was what she had been waiting for, and the initial reason why she had complied in lending a hand to Stella D’Mare. And whether or not it yielded the outcome she hoped for… she had to go through with it.
Perhaps the most troubling was that Teselin Kristeva no longer knew what she hoped to gain from reuniting with a man that the rest of the world reviled. Once upon a time, she’d thought he could help her. But this was before Mollengard had tipped the scales for her in a far more hazardous way. Vitali couldn’t help her; even the Night Garden couldn’t help her, she had come to realize, when her vague hope of this pure and magically-charged place making a difference had been quelled. Rumour had it that it had set Queen Lilica’s own magic on a better path; but Lilica was not a summoner. Magic and the energy of the universe did not reach for her in all directions, all at once, and no amount of time spent in the garden of healing could temper the energies that she attracted and, as a result, put forth. No, she would not fool herself into thinking that anyone could help her, anymore. Not even her brother.
So perhaps what she needed was to hear it from Vitali, himself. To put an end to all of this errant, detached and formless hope that Chara Rigas had once chided her for harbouring without fail. What she sought was no longer a new beginning; it was closure.
All the same… seeing his face, his form again, stirred something unexpected in the young summoner that upset the roiling cyclone of emotions that made her heart race. It had been a disaster waiting to happen, really; had she truly thought that she could face her older brother, again, without shedding a tear? Teselin began to wonder if outright rejection might have been easier, or more tolerable. Instead, when the necromancer touched her shoulder, and then her face, she could no longer deny that she welcomed this contact, just for the mere chance to be near him, again. To reconnect with the very first person who--however unintentionally--had encouraged her never to lose hope.
The last time she’d shed tears before Vitali Kristeva, she’d been about half his height, and many, many years younger. It was acceptable for a three-year-old to cry after awakening from a nightmare; but this, as it unfolded, was embarrassing, and she couldn’t blame him if he reprimanded her for coming all this way, just to look at him and weep. But Vitali didn’t reprimand her; nor, too, did he try and offer comfort. The necromancer reached out and took her gently by the arm, to cross the threshold, and waited for her strange companion to follow before Tivia shut the door.
“I wish I could say this was the first time my presence has made someone cry,” her brother seemingly tried to joke, as he Hadwin led her to a chair, where her small frame all but collapsed. “Take a breath; there’s no rush. It isn’t as though I’m going anywhere. Even if I wanted to, well… Galeyn does not permit me to travel far within its boundaries. Tivia,” he turned and touched the Rigas seer’s shoulder, “could you fetch some water?”
Tivia did not argue or hesitate, quick to pour the shaken summoner a glass of water, which she gratefully accepted with trembling hands. “I’m sorry,” she croaked, staring down at her lap, too embarrassed to meet the eyes of anyone else in the room. “I’m… it’s been a long time. And a long several months… I knew I wanted to find you. I didn’t know what to expect…”
“You are not under any obligation to explain,” Vitali said cooly and shrugged his shoulders, folding his arms casually across his chest. “I imagine a lot has happened since we last saw each other, after all. You weren’t much higher than my knee, once upon my time.”
“You have no idea…” The young summoner sighed, taking a careful sip from the cup, narrowly avoiding spilling some over the side with the violent onset of tremors in her hands. The worst part was, the most noteworthy of what had transpired had occurred within the past half a year. What had happened, the consequences, the people she had met…
And speaking of the people she’d met...
There was no need to introduce her companion to either the Rigas woman or her brother. Hadwin was more than capable of making his own grand entrance and introduction… and introduce himself, he did, holding nothing back. The gregarious faoladh took a step toward her brother, and wasted no time gauging the severity of his condition by offering his hand. It came as no surprise that the necromancer needn’t so much as glance at the shape-shifter to find his hand without difficulty and gave it a single shake. “My name tends to find its way around,” he said, without a hint of agitation or surprise. “And I am really not in any position to deny what you might have heard. In fact, I am willing to bet the truth is far worse than the rumours. As for my current state…” He dropped Hadwin’s hand, and returned to his casual, cross-armed position. “I can understand peoples’ rush to blame the Night Garden for what happened to me, given how it all came about. Tivia, here, is of the same opinion.” He nodded to the Rigas woman, who had gone rigid, likely in remembering the necromancer’s sorry state following the re-awakening of Galeyn and its Night Garden, or particularly, his near brush with death. “The truth is, it isn’t so much the Garden’s fault as it was my father’s will for me not to lay eyes upon his precious kingdom--literally, it would seem.”
“Your father?” Teselin looked up from her lap, setting the glass of water on the table beside her. “As in… your father and Queen Lilica’s?”
“Indeed. The same man who sought to condemn me also forced his own beloved daughter into a position she never wanted to have; ruling a kingdom to which she has so little connection, save for a bloodline.” The half-grin on his face was an ironic one. “And people call me the scum of the earth. At least when I choose to do damage, it is intentional.”
How a man who hadn’t existed on this plane for a century was able to do such extensive harm was baffling to Teselin, and yet it really did not come as any surprise. Not when the man standing before her was, himself, uncannily timeless. As if you were not cursed enough to our mother’s neglect, she thought darkly, but chose not to voice her sympathy. She had never known him to be someone who ever sought or appreciated the sentiment, and if he was divulging this information, it was not with the intention to to pull at heart strings. “So, you… your eyes…”
“Am I blind? Not exactly. Simply… rendered unable to see. Light has become a curiously painful thing.”
“Still, you…” Teselin struggled to keep the concern from her voice. It was a futile endeavor. “You cannot see, anymore, at all? Is it permanent…?”
“I still see. Just… differently, than before. Something about losing one sense makes the others work a little harder, evidently. As for a prognosis… to be honest, your guess is as good as mine.” Vitali shrugged his shoulders. Regardless, his handicap did not appear to bother or even hinder him in an imposing way. Or, he was very good at feigning indifference. Both, Teselin knew, were entirely possible. “Time will tell, I suppose. And what of your companion?” He turned toward the faoladh again, a lazy smile on his lips. “From one bane of existence to another. I’ve come to learn it takes one to know one.”
Hadwin Kavanagh did not need to get far into his introduction before an unexpected familiarity struck Tivia. If it was possible, the star seer went all the more rigid, some faraway anger reflecting in her single good eye. The necromancer had a sneaking suspicion that things were about to get violent; it wouldn’t have been the first time the headstrong Rigas woman had lost her head, and usually for good reason, but why she harboured such resentment toward someone she’d just met came as a bit of a surprise. But of course: it had something to do with her uncanny foresight. This man was somehow no stranger to her… and that was not a good thing, for their unexpected visitor.
“Wait”, the young summoner gasped, upon witnessing Hadwin inch toward the door, while Tivia’s presence grow more and more hostile, like a darkening thunder cloud. White-hot light appeared in her palm, and she angled her body toward the shape-shifter before she could jump up and physically intervene, put herself between the two before injury could occur.
While her body did not react quickly enough, her magic, on the other hand, went off without any forethought. No sooner did Teselin spring to her feet that something akin to what felt like an earthquake shook the quaint cottage, very nearly knocking everyone off their feet. Decorative plates sitting upon mounted shelves fell and smashed, as did the cup of water that Tivia had brought. It only lasted a handful of seconds, but it was enough to cause a mess of broken glass on the hardwood floor. And to startle everyone back to their senses.
Vitali, who hadn’t looked inclined to intervene either way, snapped his head in Teselin’s direction. He hadn’t been wrong; her aura, the power that emanated from it… I always knew you’d become greater than you can handle, little sister. “Teselin.” His tone was soft, low. Afraid he might startle her. “Did you…"
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry.” Tears sprung to the young summoner’s eyes again. Her knees felt weak. This had been a mistake; a terrible mistake. She never should have set foot inside, feeling so emotionally-charged. It rendered her no different from an explosive, ready to go off at any moment. “I shouldn’t have come here. I’m sorry…”
Vitali knew she was making for the door before he heard her footfalls. Of course she would run away; it didn’t take a fool to anticipate her flight, upon realizing what she had caused. Teselin Kristeva might have changed in a number of ways, but she was still so very, detrimentally soft. That, he was confident, would never change.
“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Vitali’s voice stopped her in her tracks, just as her fingers reached for the door handle. “Your magic. Well, I hate to disappoint you, but…” The necromancer calmly stepped over a pile of broken glass, just as easily as a sighted person who might have taken note of it. “It will take a little more to upset me than some broken china. I’m only guessing, as I haven’t actually laid eyes upon it, but I’ll bet it was ugly, anyway. Stay a while; you went to all this trouble to find me, after all.”
Still visibly shaken, her face streaked with tears, the young summoner turned away from the door. He wasn’t afraid of her. Wasn’t afraid of what she could do. But… “...I asked Hadwin to come with me.” When she spoke again, her voice sounded broken and weak. “I know he has done wrong, but I won’t stay where he isn’t also welcome… he’s done too much for me to turn my back on him.” Her words were obviously directed at Tivia, who appeared to still be in shock over the quaking of the cottage.
The necromancer appeared to understand. He turned his attention to Tivia, laying a hand upon her shoulder. “These two have faced Mollengard, which is more than I can say for either of us. I think we’ve all born witness to enough violence. And besides…” There was that smug, half-grin again. “If this worst thing this fool has done is interfere with the lives of your parents… you cannot deny that my misdeeds, in comparison, make him look like a saint. “In a quieter tone, he added, for her ears only, “So my sister has sympathized with scum of the earth… I suppose that is one thing that the two of you have in common.”
Whether it was Teselins’ unprecedented surge of magic, or the impact of Vitali’s words, Tivia appeared to back down, or at least temporarily delay her anger toward the man called Hadwin Kavanagh. Yet the necromancer’s sister remained hesitant to stay. “It is… very late. I should not have called on you at this time.” She rubbed her forehead with her hand and looked down. “I’m tired; I’ll take the Night steed back before dawn breaks. Maybe… let’s forget this happened, and I’ll try again later…”
“Teselin. I know you are not so rude as to walk back into my life, and then leave as quickly as you arrived. If you need rest, take my bed.” He gestured toward the single bedroom to his left, which housed one large bed, and a smaller one. Since he slept considerably less than Tivia, given that he did most of his roaming and whatever it was he considered ‘work’ at night, he’d insisted she take the bigger one. Perhaps the star seer would appreciate some company in the same room at night, for once. “We can talk tomorrow.”
The battle was raging in Teselin’s eyes, and he didn’t need to see her eyes to know it was there. Wanting so badly to agree, wanting nothing more than to have the reassurance she sought, but feeling discouraged for the mishap that had broken a few plates and cups (and had unarguably saved her companion’s hide). So for good measure, he added, with a lift of his brows, “Please?”
The power of his plea was enough to make the girl reconsider. She stepped away from the door, and took his outstretched hand, her fingers still trembling in the aftermath of her most recent disaster. After reassuring her that the mess was no trouble, and asking Hadwin to make himself useful and fetch some more water, he led her to the small bedroom, with its windows covered by heavy blankets. Not a single flicker of daylight could make it into the cottage from any angle, he and Tivia had made sure of that. “By all means, get all the rest you need. My intolerance of daylight has managed to shift my circadian rhythm, anyway; I prefer to be awake at night.”
“Vitali…” Before the necromancer could leave, Teselin looked up from the brand new cup he had placed in her hands. They still trembled, but not as violently. “I need to be honest with you. I thought… once, I thought you could help me. But Mollengard got their hands on me, and my magic… before, it was unpredictable, but now…”
“Take a breath, Teselin. Drink some water, and get some rest. We’ll have plenty of time to talk tomorrow. All that concerns me is that the Rigas mage--Alster--made good on his word. That you would be safe. And you are; though it is not he who I have to thank for that.”
He nodded his goodnight to the young summoner, who was not long alone in the bedroom, before Tivia appeared to come to retire, after some brief words with the necromancer. While she’d have preferred to be left alone with her thoughts, she also realized that stewing in her own mind might not have been best for her; and her brother seemed to think the same. At least, she assumed as much, considering she was still a stranger to Tivia Rigas, and the seer would have no other reason to keep her company unless she was asked. If that was the case, there was no need for it to be awkward.
“I’m glad I finally have a chance to thank you…” Teselin said, as the Rigas woman reclined on her own bed a few feet away. Curiosity ate away at her: the disfiguring burns, the essence of fire that still clung to this woman… but that was Tivia’s story to tell. And it was no one’s right to ask after it, if it was not offered. “I’ve been searching for my brother for quite some time. I learned through Alster that he was… that he had been badly hurt. I also learned that he was in good hands… thanks to you. I know it goes without saying that I can’t thank you enough, for what you’ve done for him…” She bit her lower lip, paranoid of rambling to the point where gratitude no longer meant anything. Did Tivia even want to hear it? Did she even care? “And I’m sorry for the… mess. I’m happy to clean it tomorrow, and I’ll be sure to replace anything that has been broken…”
Wiping at her cheeks, which were still damp with tears, she added, in what she realized too late should not have been a mere afterthought, “And I hope… you can forgive me for imposing. I’ve been putting this off, for quite a while, because I didn’t know what I would say, or how I’d be received… but I needed to see him again. If for no other reason, than to see for myself that he is alright.” A slow smile graced her otherwise pale and haunted face. “I see now that I never should have doubted him.”
Meanwhile, in the sitting room just beyond, Vitali and Hadwin were enduring their own awkward silence. It was only broken when the necromancer suspected the faoladh might take off into the night, at which point he voiced his unsolicited opinion. “For better or worse, wolf, my sister has taken quite a liking to you. Enough that she saw fit to try and walk away when you were in danger,” he pointed out, clasping his hands behind his back. “If you leave now, she’ll be devastated to awaken and not find you, here. For that reason alone, I’d ask you to reconsider taking off without a word.”
Circling the broken glass and china, which had been nudged into a neat pile, Vitali places his hand on the wall where the plates had once been mounted. Then he knelt, and picked up a shard of glass, the sharp edges of which he felt between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s bad, isn’t it? At least, in her mind. And this…” He held the piece of glass out, as if he could see how the dim candlelight made its edges glimmer like a wicked blade. “This is nothing. I suspect this stems from long before Mollengard got their hands on that girl. But I haven’t seen her since she was a small child, and I can’t help her. Not with all of these missing pieces…”
The necromancer curled his fingers around the broken shard, heedless of the danger of puncturing skin. He turned his head in Hadwin’s direction. “The worst part is, I know she won’t tell me everything. Not because she doesn’t want to, or because she doesn’t trust me, but because confiding in another person means she must face herself. And she’s too afraid. Which means you are possibly the best source of the truth. So tell me,” Vitali took a seat in the armchair that Teselin had occupied previously. It felt uncomfortably warm, and not from the heat of her body; magic was practically leaking out of her pores. “What has happened to my sister? Before and after Mollengard. You’ve obviously been traveling with her for quite some time. She’s bonded to you, and trusted you with more than I imagine she’s trusted anyone else with. So if you cannot answer my question…” He spread his hands, and let the shard fall harmlessly to the floor again, “then I have nothing to work with.”
For once, the ever meddlesome Hadwin did not aim to intrude on the long-awaited reunion between brother and sister. He was content to let it play out, providing whatever support Teselin needed, and keeping a wary eye on their necromancer brother in case he decided to pull a Rowen and ram a blade through the summoner’s gut. It was a halfhearted vigilance on his part. Even if Vitali Kristeva had felt so inclined to silence his sister’s heartbeat, he did not strike Hadwin as the person who did his own dirty work. He knew the type; greet, cheat, retreat--a handy little mnemonic when gauging the caliber of shit-heel in the business. The necromancer seemed to embody all three methods of clientele exploitation. Greet: narrow in on a desirable target, preferably the vulnerable. Double points for vulnerable and influential. Cheat: offer an irresistible service. Reel their interests. Lean on the desperation. Retreat: snag the codfish, bludgeon it to death, and feast. Sometimes, hell, oftentimes, the last step required a removal from the premises; out of sight, out of town, out of the country. A typical life in the business, and Hadwin was no exception. Only...he liked to get his hands bloody. Enjoyed the fight, the wavering odds, the front and center attention that offered his life as a prize. No--unlike his organized brethren before him, he preferred self-destruction over self-preservation. His version of retreat translated to beat. As in beat-up. Fists over fleeing.
Vitali was not like that. Far from it. The man seeded the ground, and waited for the birds to come, whereas the faoladh waltzed into a field already populated with birds, and pounced. Based on their differing tactics of impulsiveness versus delayed gratification, Hadwin determined that Teselin was safe among her brother’s company. For now. So long as the chessboard pieces did not start to clack inside the blindfolded man’s checkered mind.
But if he were honest with himself, he could not foresee the necromancer trying to take advantage of his impressionable, susceptible sister, or her fluctuations of power. Body language and vocal inflection often conveyed more than facial tics, or eye movements. The way the man moved, circling closer to Teselin but remaining at a respectful distance, and the attention given to all three syllables of her name, ruled out hostility and ill-will. At best, he showed reserved interest, and curiosity. At worst, polite indifference.
“Ah, fathers,” Hadwin said, in harmless contribution to the conversation. “Selfish bastards, the lot of them. My da exiled me from my clan and left me for dead, so I am with you there, pal. The bullshit never ends when your papa wears the crown. They’re especially gifted at disciplining scoundrel sons, right? Though I can’t say any punishment--well, death sentence, but the two terms are interchangeable in this case--beats getting impaled on cursed thorns ad nauseum.”
When attention in the room shifted in his direction, he hadn’t the time to concoct a thrilling account of the last few months, when the faoladh caught the release of perfumed hostility wafting about the cottage--and it came from a predictable source.
Tivia Rigas had sneered out her rage as she slid forward, corralling the faoladh closer and closer to the door. Her diatribes were not unfounded, and he saw no reason to apologize. Cyprian Rigas was yet another disappointment of a father, a man who abused his wife and his daughter, who hailed his actions as the right of a man in power. He felt no pity for the deranged Rigas, or his selected downfall. Airlea, his poor, beleaguered wife, had craved attention. She hadn’t experienced any satisfactory results in the bedroom, not with a narcissistic bastard running the schedule. She was lonely...desperate for a good fuck. And why flinch from the opportunity? After all, she had come on to him. Older women, especially mothers...generally did.
The shadow with the jagged glass teeth laughed gaily at his observation.
The disk of irradiated etherea distorted the interior of the small, quaint cottage. Shivers of yellow light rippled the air around them, as though they were living in a lake’s reflection. Heat rose to uncomfortable levels, the disk spinning in a hum of murderous intent.
“Warning noted.” Hadwin clapped his hand to the door-latch. “I’m going, I’m going.”
But he did not leave. Something else entered, instead.
Hackles rising, his wolf instincts alerted him to the danger the second before it hit. Clutching the sides of the door-frame, he braced himself as the hut trembled and quaked with enough force to knock all the porcelain and loose objects from the shelves. A window broke. Logs rolled out of the hearth. The bucket of water in the corner overturned, and splashed across the wooden floorboards. Once the quake subsided, everyone shifted to the likely culprit’s direction. Tivia’s disk of etherea fizzled into useless sparks and smoke, her one eye wide with awe. “That...was you?” She could not help but stare at the insecure summoner, who in that moment was ready to bolt.
“Aw, no harm done, kid.” Hadwin removed himself from the doorway, brushing off the wood dust that fell from the ceiling and coated his shoulders and hair. He pressed a gentle hand against her chest, before she fled for the door, which he was still blocking. “It’s all right, Tes. I’m a wanted criminal in four counties; there’s a lot of places where I’m not welcome. Don’t let me get in the way of your big reunion. I was gonna sit outside, anyway. Well within your reach. She wasn’t going to lob that spell and sear my head off…” He tilted his head at Tivia, who had remained rooted to the spot, too startled to move. “...Right?”
She looked to Vitali, dumbfounded by his defense, but quietly accepting that her opinions on the faoladh were in the minority. “No,” she admitted, with a sigh. “My spell was a threat. Nothing more. I know, wolf,” her eye averted and she grumbled, “that you have aided in Alster’s recovery, and saved Chara’s life. That was my compromise to you; your life, in exchange for your removal. But,” she shook out the residual sparks clinging to her hand, “I no longer have a say, in this matter. I,” she plucked a broom off the ground, “will clean. Do not let me see you, wolf.”
After the necromancer had succeeded in convincing Teselin to stay the night, Hadwin snagged the overturned bucket that had emptied of its water and jerked his chin to the door. “Then I’ll get out of your way while you’re cleaning, Miss Rigas. I’m assuming you’ve got a well somewhere on or near your property?” At the necromancer’s confirmation, he hefted the bucket over his shoulder and headed outside, but not before assuring Teselin of his quick return. By the time he reentered the cottage, bucket replenished of the water, the star-seer had swept the debris, shards and all, into a neat pile in the corner, and soaked up the small puddles forming in the small kitchen. She didn’t acknowledge Hadwin as she wrenched the bucket from his hands, returned it to its rightful corner, scooped another cup (made of shatter-proof pewter) full of water, and forced it into Teselin’s hands. Shortly after the summoner had retired to bed, she entered the bedchambers without as much as a word of goodnight--not even to Vitali. She would have continued on with her evening routine, wordlessly undressing, redressing, and preparing to snuggle beneath the sheets of the smaller bed, if not for the newcomer’s voice penetrating her concentration. Not that performing rote tasks required concentration, but they also served as a welcome distraction from the literal earthquake that landed in her quiet cottage, and the hell beast that followed.
Perhaps she would have ignored the summoner, too. Closed her eyes, blew out the candle, and pretended not to hear. But at Vitali’s behest, keeping this frazzled young girl company also meant attempting to act civil and accommodating. “I don’t require gratitude,” she said, cool and detached...and far from accommodating. She sank into her bed, and tried again. “I know what he’s done.” She slipped the covers over her chest and lay against her pillow. “He has caused harm to my family, and to people I professed to care about. I had condemned him for his faults in the beginning, for the damage he brought upon Alster, upon Haraldur and Vega. But,” her eye traced the low-hanging beam on the ceiling, checking for cracks or imperfections as a result of the summoner-created earthquake, “he was kind to me. Helpful, and courteous, and polite. He never asked anything of me, did not care to exploit my power for his own gains. He’s defended my honor...and we have saved each other’s lives. In his company, I did not feel in danger. Quite the opposite, rather. I felt safe, and welcome...and accepted.” Nothing more, though, she thought, darkly. Never more...than a sister figure. And now his actual sister has returned and I can’t foresee how this dynamic will change.
The stars did not map out or locate Teselin on the chart of the heavens. But as a Kristeva, linked by blood to Vitali, prolonged exposure to this young summoner could unlock her destiny--as well as her place alongside the necromancer’s life. Not that she particularly wanted to know, but the stars were never so conscientious about her desires. It was about time, anyway--to end their game of house. Tromping along in an idyll paradise did not suit their tastes. A star-seer and a necromancer simply did not belong at a rustic cottage tending a field and orchard.
“I suppose that mongrel out there showed you the same courtesy,” she added, at an attempt to extend a dose of understanding to a ostensibly similar situation. “He was kind to you, as was Vitali to me. The mess...it is a great deal my fault, Teselin. If somebody threatened Vitali--and people have, believe me--I wouldn’t have hesitated in searing out their heart with my magic. So...don’t worry about replacing what you broke. We never liked those dishes, anyway.”
Turning over on her side, she dispelled the light of etherea that flickered atop the bedside table in its self-contained ball. “Focus on sleeping, for now. We will address the matter of your magic tomorrow. Plenty of time to catch up on your years separate from your brother. Good night, Teselin.” And if I am lucky, the wistful side of herself wished, she will be gone by morning.
On the other end of the cottage, Hadwin and Vitali stewed around in the wake of the rumbled that had occurred (in more ways than one). The faoladh stood lounging against the wall opposite the door, contemplating a change in scenery. Not that he couldn’t thrive in an awkward situation, but it was his first time facing such a specific scenario; face to face with the brother of a girl who he’d essentially adopted as his sister. Common courtesy told him to step down and leave, while common decency demanded he stay. It was a backwards day, indeed, the moment he chose to rely on decency and courtesy to navigate a rocky boat to shore. Usually, he’d continue to rock the boat, heedless of the passengers who fell overboard.
“I’m a likeable bloke, when I choose to be. Great with kids, too,” Hadwin said, rapping his knuckles softly against the wall. “And Teselin chooses to like everyone if she can. So really, it’s no wonder the two of us get on so well. I wasn’t gonna leave, either.” He pushed from the wall, away from the door. “I can sleep anywhere, so I would’ve found some grassy patch outside and curled up as a wolf. You know, broaden the space between me and your Rigas companion. Tes can’t deal with all this conflict right now, and I’m a strife-bringer, but rest assured, big-bro, I wouldn’t squeeze her anxious little heart to pieces like that by ducking out without a word.”
Pulling out his pipe and tinderbox from his belt pouch, he stuffed the bowl with hashish and flicked a spark of flame into conception. “Hope you don’t mind if I smoke,” he said, already blowing thin streams of gray haze around the small cottage. “I’m stuffed full of all the truth you need, corpse-breath. And I’ll tell you all of it--because I’m trusting that you’ll help her. Because,” he sighed, “I don’t know how else I can penetrate her doubts when she’s so close to surrendering, convinced that nothing can be done for her. I’ve tried. Alster’s tried. But the kid’s her own worst enemy. She’s terrified of herself; what she’ll become. What she’ll do. I’ve seen it, myself. Both the nightmare and the reality.” He ran the pipe-stem along his teeth, a subtle click-clack, click-clack.
“In the beginning, she only confided in me because I wrenched it out of her, and the results shook her so badly, I’m pretty sure I made things worse. See, I’ve got this little...quirk.” He blew out another stream of smoke. “I can see fears. Eye contact is preferable, but even with your blindfold, Vitali, I know what eats at you. The calmest person in the room can’t fool me. I’m also able to implant those fears into the person’s head. Did it with Teselin. Thought it’d be helpful if she addressed them, head-on, but she saw the worst of herself. An unstoppable, remorseless weapon of destruction, the world dead at her feet. She wanted to suppress that part of herself. Fuckin’ locked herself in the Rigas dungeon and stewed there till she got sick from keepng the magic at bay.” The floorboards creaked as Hadwin relocated to a wooden chair, and sat down. “For a while, Al got through to her. Trained her enough that she started to have some confidence in her abilities. Should’ve seen her tidal wave.” He let out a low whistle. “Undisrupted, it would’ve taken out the whole fleet at Stella D’Mare. But...all that changed after Mollengard got their hands on her.”
Silence passed. Hadwin took a long, liberal puff from his pipe followed by a long, smokey exhale. “They imprisoned her, with Lady Chara, out at some little-known fortress in Andalari’s wilderness. It took a lot of digging, but I found out where they were, and got them out by using a lot of persuasion. And mind-altering drugs. Good thing, too; they were almost off to the chopping block. Well,” he swirled an eddy of smoke in the air, “we ran into some resistance at a Mollengardian checkpoint. Had to make a run for it, but a bunch of sentries gave chase and,” though Vitali could not see, Hadwin laid a clawed hand on his heart and made a ripping gesture along with the appropriate noise, “Tes used her magic and she squeezed their lungs into a pulp. I keep trying to tell her it was self-defense, that she saved our lives, but it doesn’t matter; she’s horrified something fierce. She won’t talk about it, but I know she can’t get them off her mind. Constant nightmares of them; of her magic slipping and slaughtering everyone in her wake. It’s gruesome and...probably not as exaggerated as I first came to believe.” A hush enveloped his voice, dropping his mid-range volume into a near whisper.
“Her magic...changed, after that day. She’s confirmed it to me, too. Mollengard messed with their magic-siphoning stones, and instead of trapping it away for safe-keeping, the stones bloated up her energy-attraction capacity--or however it works--and it hasn’t dipped back down to normal since. So now she’s even warier, and if possible, more fearful of her summoning powers.” The faoladh crunched an errant shard of glass underfoot, watching it split in two from the pressure. “Fear’s her greatest enemy. That goes without saying, but...she’s ruled by it, now. Pretty much her only emotion, nowadays. Gives me a constant headache.” That I can’t lift, he thought. Doesn’t matter what I do, I can’t calm her down, or lift her spirits. The fear dashes all my attempts.
You can’t help her, the shadow in his periphery balked. The more you help, the more she’ll turn out like Rowen. She’ll become darkness, too. Because you’re poison, Hadwin. No one turns out safe, exposed to your company. They’re all poisoned. Poisoned...
At once, Hadwin scrambled to his feet. He played off the suddenness of his rise by stalking towards Vitali with a deliberate swagger. “She’s not my sister by blood; I know that. I have my own little sister. But I want the best for that kid, all right? Make it happen. If you can’t, if your fucking heart’s not in it, don’t even bother. Her hope’s taken too many blows. She’s one sledgehammer swing away from losing it all.”
Because of you, the shadow teased.
“She’s wanted to meet you for so damn long,” he gritted his teeth, clamping down his anger. “Placed you on high as her surefire savior, the sole answer to all her problems. Can’t say I’m too bothered by her recent and more realistic change in tune--hell, it took me months to drag her out here to see you--but now she seems to think she can’t be saved at all. So if you’re the one who can resuscitate her hope, then by all means, be her savior. But...I don’t need to mention what’ll happen if you end up breaking her soul.” He brushed past the necromancer en route to the door. “I’m sleeping outside, tonight; but I’m sure as shit gonna be here in the morning. No hard feelings, though,” he said, as he opened the door. “Like I said before, I can be likeable. And for her sake, I wanna like you, too. After all, us scumbags gotta stick together.”
With a uttered ‘good night,’ the faoladh closed the door, leaving nothing of his essence save for the residual smoke of his pipe.
“You’re right; I suppose that hasn’t changed, for better or worse.” The necromancer nodded at the wolf-man’s appraisal of his younger sister’s bright and friendly personality. A pure soul that also wanted to find the purity in people, no matter how corrupt they were. He was no exception. “But… I believe you. You traveled here with her. I’m willing to bet she wasn’t all too eager to come here alone, today; you had no obligation, except to ensure her comfort and her safety. Even now that she has reunited with family, you won’t turn your back on her. It’s no wonder she sees the good in you, if it’s the side you choose to show her most frequently."
Whether or not he cared that he smoked was a rhetorical question, but it wasn’t an issue that Vitali saw fit to push. Not of this Hadwin Kavanagh was willing to cooperate; and while he was not particularly well-versed in the art of detecting lies, half-truths or exaggerations, there was no reason for this man not to be honest, when his sentiments toward Teselin were as pure as the girl’s soul. And nothing he had to say came as a surprise. “Last I saw her… fear also happened to dominate her. She was small and young, and had a nightmare come to life--literally. I managed to coach her to send it away, but somehow, I think she attributed its disappearance to me and my abilities… nevermind that my magic doesn’t reach into that realm. I guess I imprinted on her, that day, and she hasn’t forgotten. But the truth remains that I couldn’t vanquish it; only she could. And I believe that stands, to this day. I am also willing to be that that is what you believe,” he added, arching an eyebrow, “all-seer of fears.”
The necromancer turned over the shard of broken glass in his hand and pressed his lips together thoughtfully. “I won’t lie to her, and so I won’t lie to you: hard though it might be to accept… I am not sure that I can help her. Frankly, I am perplexed as to why she sought me out, thinking that I can. Her skills and mine are vastly different. I am a necromancer; the energy that I draw on, and that draws on me, exclusively emanates from death and the dead. But her…” He blew air from between his lips, and finally let the shard of glass drop to the floor. “A summoner. I suspected as much, when she was younger, but at that age, it could have manifested into anything. I am certainly no expert in determining how magic manifests, but at that point, there was really no way of knowing for sure. Nonetheless… it all makes sense, now. Dreaming something out of nothing, giving it form… It certainly wasn’t anything I’d witnessed, before. And I’ve been around for quite a while.”
That was a constant. Teselin was a summoner before and after Mollengard; her magic would have continued to torture and terrify her, regardless. However, if she was scared before, the young woman was positively petrified now. Tampering with magic was dangerous at the best of times, but to try and siphon or manipulate that unyielding and infinite power of a summoner… And she killed, on top of that. Vitali had always wondered if the girl would ever find herself in such a situation that required her to take a life--or lives, as it was. He was no saint; in truth, he could hardly be considered a ‘caring’ big brother, in that admittedly, the young summoner had seldom crossed his mind in the years that passed since he had last seen her. But one thing he had always suspected was just how different the two of them were: killing, taking lives for his own gain, had liberated him. But Teselin… it would destroy her. It was destroying her, right now.
“She’s desperate for a shred of hope. That is why she has put me on a pedestal, as you say; because she is coming dangerously close to losing her grip on hope, and if she cannot believe in herself, then she has to believe in someone.” Vitali pressed a hand to his temple and shook his head slowly. “So… she has led herself to believe in me. And I cannot live up to what she has made me in her mind. I don’t know that I can help her; I don’t know that anyone can help her but herself, which I suspect you also realize. But if she has been pining for a source of hope for all these months, and if I am the reason she is here at all… I cannot well turn a cold shoulder to the girl. So don’t worry your little canine heart; while I may not have the solution to her trouble, I have no intention to crush her. That said, for her sake, I am willing to get along with you.” A slow smile curled the corner of his mouth. “After all, it is difficult to dislike the person who has been looking out for my little sister all this time. Consider yourself to have not earned a place in my book of names that I will remember over the next century. It’s a good thing, believe me.”
After a rather tumultuous beginning to the evening, upon the arrival of these surprise guests, the rest of the night passed relatively quietly in comparison. Neither Tivia nor Teselin seemed to stir in the bedroom, and Vitali did not hear from the faoladh until the sun rose the next morning. Since he slept the least, the necromancer was the first to rise, after a short doze in the arm chair, he was the first to greet the morning, and lit a fire to boil water for tea. This had become one of the many mundane, albeit satisfying habits that he had developed during his stay with Tivia in Galeyn’s outskirts. Since he could not put in the dirty of tending crops in the field beyond, a task that Tivia had taken to and perfected very quickly, it left the necromancer with two options: go stir-crazy in his need to steer clear of daylight, or put in work in the house during the brighter hours, with the windows covered. This had steered him toward tidying the cottage, as well as culinary pursuits; two tasks that he found laughable in relation to his character. Just a handful of months ago, his nomadic (and sighted) lifestyle had required neither cooking nor cleaning, and now, deprived of sight and confined to the rural outskirts of his own father’s kingdom, he had been all but forced into the role of a common housewife. One of the only reasons it had not driven him mad was, admittedly, the company of the Rigas woman, who commented on and complimented his efforts to no end. And oddly enough… it was satisfying to know that such small gestures could please her. Yet another sentiment which he found wholly strange to experience; what people happened to like or dislike had never concerned him, before.
Following his own early rise was Tivia herself, who had exited the bedroom so quietly that he almost didn’t hear her. Had he still possessed his sense of sight, he likely wouldn’t have at all, but over the course of the past few months, his ears had begun to pick up nuances they wouldn’t have noticed, before. “Just in time; freshly brewed. I think I have this down to a science.” The necromancer declared, placing a cup full of hot tea in her waiting hands. “Don’t act so surprised; just because the evening didn’t go as usual doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how to start a morning.”
She wasn’t excessively talkative on an ordinary day, but the Rigas woman was curiously silent that morning. While not an emotionally-intuitive man, it didn’t take an empath to realize the reason for her reserved behaviour. He couldn’t exactly see it in her eyes, but he could feel her posture and movement change the moment she met Teselin. There were only two reasons why he could think anyone would become on edge after encountering his sister; and it certainly wasn’t that Tivia was afraid of her.
“I appreciate your flexibility, you know. I wasn’t anticipating my younger sister to show up without any notice.” He commented as he leaned against a counter, a hot cup of tea in his hands. “Admittedly… I probably should have confided in you. I knew she would come to find me, sooner or later, and I am willing to be it would have been helpful for you to know our history. But the truth is… we don’t have much history. And I can’t imagine what must have happened to her to put that kind of faith in me.” He snorted and took a sip of the earthy, scalding liquid. “But allow me to assure you that I am not about to up and run off with her on a whim. She already seems to have a travel companion; and while I am not looking to keep myself shacked up here forever, the inner-sanctum of this kingdom hasn’t yet decided to let me in without hurting me.” Not yet, anyway, he thought, neglecting to tell her that during his nightly escapades, he had been testing the boundaries. Seeing just how far he could travel on the Night steed that Lilica had allotted Tivia for travel between the palace and the outskirts. And as it turned out, whatever diabolical barrier Theomyr Tenebris had planted to keep out his unwanted son was weakening. Every night, inch by inch, he could feel it receding ever so slightly. While the Night Garden may never be something to which he would be granted entry, and it was up in the air as to whether he would ever regain his sense of sight, it was only a matter of time before he would be able to set foot in the palace that his sister didn’t even want.
But those were thoughts for another day, whether or not he planned to divulge them to Tivia. Right now, a more pressing matter was at hand.
“I do not know how long she and her canine companion intend to stay; and I’ll be honest, I do not feel right asking either of them to leave. But do not think that this has or will cause me to lose sight of the fact you have remained planted here, for months, and learned to garden, of all things, because you did not want me to be alone.” Not that he couldn’t have made it, alone; it was a lifestyle he was used to, and he would find a way to live independently as a blind man. But, admittedly… it would be far more boring without the star seer’s company. “Just because I am sometimes wicked and largely amoral does not mean I cannot see a good thing when it is in front of me… well, figuratively speaking, at least.” He flashed an easy grin, just as the front door opened without a knock.
“Oh, good. The dog can let itself in.” He couldn’t help but gripe; whether he was being playful or vindictive as the aforementioned faoladh strutted inside like it was his own home, was entirely open to interpretation. “Make yourself useful and show me what tricks you can do.” To indicate exactly what he meant, the necromancer picked up a cutting knife that had been sitting off to the side--and heard Tivia gasp as he tossed it in Hadwin’s direction.
But of course the faoladh caught it, handle-first. He’d known he would… well, he’d highly suspected. And that was good enough for Vitali.
“I’m not sure how much time you’ve spent at my other sister’s palace, but here, we do our own cooking. If you’d like some breakfast, you’ll have to do your part.” He said with a shrug, as he rounded the counter. “The kindly farming family who lives some acres away gifted us with from fresh eggs from their chickens. It’s all vegetables, fish, legumes, and eggs in this place, so let’s see just how creative you can get. I am starting to run out of ideas.”
“What can I do to help?”
A fourth voice joined them not long after Hadwin set foot inside, with Teselin emerging from the bedroom. She sounded groggy, to the necromancer, but he hadn’t heard her stir all night long. Better to be groggy from too much sleep than not enough. “I’ve cooked for people, before; perhaps not… spectacularly, but I’m capable.”
The first he’d seen of this girl in over a decade, and she was still putting off the reason she had come to see him at all, Vitali thought. Oh well; a quiet morning with a communal meal was probably what she needed. At least she was no longer emanating frantic, erratic energy from her skin, like she had just the night before. “I’ll believe it. You know, you could grab us some fresh vegetables from the garden, out back; Tivia will show you. Just do me a favor and knock before you come in. I’d appreciate not being blasted by daylight.”
The young summoner agreed and eagerly followed Tivia outside into the morning light, after her brother’s back was turned to keep his eyes safe from any light that might seep in. “So what, exactly, got you to care so much for my sister when you profess to have one of your own? Not on good terms, I take it?” Vitali figured he’d broach the topic as he reached for a bowl on a nearby shelf; it hadn’t taken long to become acquainted with this kitchen, and he seemed to be functioning just as adeptly as a sighted chef. “You say you see fears. It just so happens that one so closely acquainted with death-energies, as myself, can sometimes see just how close or how far you are from the reaper’s blade. It changes depending on circumstances and decisions, of course, but from what little time I’ve spent with you, I’m beginning to detect that Lady Death has two arrows pointed at you. And one of them appears to be pointed very close to your heart…” He arched an inquisitive eyebrow as he busied himself with the task of cracking eggs into the bowl. “Care to talk about it? Seems only fair, since you got a good glimpse of my trouble with deadly, supernatural vines. And, if it involves you… it inevitably involves Teselin. I want to know.”
Having arrived in the dead of night, Teselin hadn’t taken note of the expansive crop fields and orchard near the cottage her brother was inhabiting. But to see it in the light of day, and to learn that Tivia alone had been tending it, due to her brother’s inability to lend a hand… The young summoner was impressed, to say the least. “You grew all of this by yourself?” She asked Tivia, who led her toward a patch of soil growing vibrantly colorful peppers. “This is incredible… I’ve come to find I can encourage crop growth with my magic, at times, but I don’t think I could tend something this expansive all on my own. You have a talent for it… my brother is lucky to have you.”
That last comment caught the Rigas woman’s attention, just as the two of them knelt to gather some peppers and onions. “Listen… I know I appeared out of the blue. You and Vitali are getting on just fine without me. And I want you to know I’m not here to try and change that; after all… he might be my brother, but we’re more strangers than we are family.” The summoner flashed a disheartened smile and shrugged her shoulders. “It is what it is; and frankly, I am just happy that he is alive and well, thanks to you. To be honest, there was a point when I thought that he was the only person who could help me. But… things changed, and took a terrible turn. And now…”
Teselin trailed off, as if she was reluctant to finish the thought, her dark eyes gazing into the distance without looking at anything in particular. Whatever thoughts burdened her mind, she shook them off quickly enough. “Thank you. I know you said thanks isn’t necessary. But part of me worried that Vitali wouldn’t be the person I hoped he would be when we met again. I do think I have you to thank for bringing out the better in him. And… for seeing the better in him, when everyone else insists on seeing a monster.” Her wistful smile turned genuine, then, as she gathered the basket now full of fresh vegetables. “I’ll stop, now; I know you don’t seek or desire gratitude, but I just wanted you to be aware that part of the reason I came here at all was because I wanted to thank you--personally.”
Tivia did not sleep that night. It was an unusual experience for her nowadays; since moving to the empty cottage, sleep, which had always been an elusive thing, had returned to coat her eyes with a welcome heaviness, into an unconsciousness free of screaming star frequencies and their blindness-inducing lights that, in her waking hours, often assailed her vision until she was rendered just as sightless as the necromancer. Those instances still happened, yes, but they were less likely to occur at night, which she thought strange. For her, night had become synonymous with quiet, of chirruping crickets muttering outside her window, of peace, and the contented soreness in her muscles resulting from satisfying labor in the fields and orchards. When the stars disrupted her day, she was typically in the middle of a mundane task, and alone, but this new schedule did not bother her. In fact, she preferred the smaller, interspersed interruptions as opposed to a dumping of information all at once, during her most vulnerable, tiring hours.
She had wondered what had changed the stars and their patterns. Was she developing her abilities? Learning to control the uncontrollable? Was it her improved mood, perhaps? Or proximity to the Night Garden that provided her certain healing benefits? For, though they lived on the outskirts of Galeyn, the friendly neighbors attributed the glow of their crop to the hub of revitalizing energy in the center of the kingdom. Apparently, no Galeynian was spared from the effects of their beloved Garden. Tivia was not yet ready to forgive it, even if she was fast considering Galeyn a home--and acceptance of the land meant acceptance of the Garden. Once Vitali could walk about free and unhindered...only then would she reevaluate her stance. And she had a feeling--a hunch--that the necromancer was finding exploration around the late Theomyr’s country much easier, as of late.
But no such thoughts were on her sleepless mind, tonight. Behind fluttering lids, she saw and heard the stars calling. A nighttime visit; the first in months. They screeched and saturated, their high keens piercing through her ears until blood dribbled on her pillow. The flashing lights spun and twisted, cultivating the beginnings of an acute headache. They clustered in the trillions, in numbers far too high to quantify, and from near infinite universes. Sometimes, it was impossible to parse which information pertained to her reality, her universe. So many stars overlapped each other, speaking in unison, identical in their frequencies save for a few deviating dips. To read the stars correctly, she had to hone in on each overlap and find the correct thread that linked back to her world. It was a practice that became innate the more she learned to accept their visits. Her current visit, however, was an uproarious cluster of galactic chaos, spinning eddies of nebulous energy with the power to destroy planets. The storm of energy was immense; the stars, in their excitement, bounced and bounded and streaked and wailed and shook Tivia with such ferocity, she would have sworn they were interacting with her corporeal body, and flinging her across the bed.
With a strangled cry, she’d finally managed to disengage from the storm and rattle herself awake. Sitting up and gasping, she turned to the window beside her bed and peeked through a slat beneath the black-out fabric. Dawn was breaking. With a sigh of relief, she rose to her feet, washed out the dried blood in her ears, and dressed in her mud-stained work outfit in preparation for the morning chores. All the while she dressed, her one eye drifted towards the huddled form in the big bed. Though she did not understand the nature of the cosmic-storm, she knew she was in the presence of outrageous energy attraction. The summoner. She was responsible for the celestial assault. And the stars...wanted to warn Tivia about her.
When she pattered into the main room, clutching her head with one hand, she was relieved to see Vitali in the kitchen, boiling tea. As she approached, he handed her a mug. She smiled, and let the pleasant aroma waft into her nostrils. “Mmm. Spearmint leaves. The perfect remedy to cure a star-hangover.“ He tilted his head in silent inquiry over her comment, but she blew out her lips and shook her head. “Nothing pertinent. I saw a mass of chaos. The stars were confused. It happens, sometimes.” She gazed around the small cottage, her feet shifting on the floorboards in a hopeful shuffle. “Did that mother-fucker leave? I suppose it would be too much to ask.” Vitali confirmed that, indeed, it was too much to ask. She groaned, and daintily sipped her tea.
“Living the life we do, flexibility is a requirement,” she said, though with a begrudging finality. “I knew of her existence, already. I remember your conversation with Alster about her search for you. She was bound to arrive in Galeyn at some point, and we very well couldn’t boot her from this house. So...you don’t have to explain yourself, or apologize. This,” she waved around the room, but through his blindfold, her companion could sense gesticulations without her having to alter too many of her non-verbal mannerisms, “all this...is a fleeting dream. I know it must end. One could say that your sister heralds the beginning of this end. She is the harbinger, the messenger, come to relay news of our dissolution, here. It’s no wonder people spurn envoys; they rarely have good tidings to share. I’m one of these messengers.” She laughed without humor. “Prognosticator of doom. Perhaps this is my punishment for playing the role. But,” she drained her tea and rubbed the inside of the mug clean with a wash-rag, “whatever. It’s done, Vitali. Let’s enjoy what’s left of my stint at gardening. Though,” she chanced a smile, which could be heard in her voice, “I’ll miss the homey touches you’ve brought to this place. You’ve got a gift, too. Whoever thought that peasant-work and humdrum domesticity would bring out our latent talents?”
It hurt to reference the ‘end,’ and to make light of it as though nothing had mattered. But she was no fool to believe that they would continue a blissful existence as farmers. It was only supposed to be a reprieve. A place for Vitali to convalesce until he regained his strength. The arrival of the summoner and her lap-dog also signaled to her the next stage of events as depicted by the stars. The dog-star was rising. And a wolf had showed at their door--as well as in the lives of many friends and allies.
A battle was nigh.
Speaking of the wolf…
The door swung open unannounced, and in walked the mother-fucker, himself. He did not miss a beat when Vitali “greeted” him. “I know, right? I woke up this morning and noticed; ‘Wait--I have opposable thumbs? When the hell did this happen!?’ So I thought I’d use ‘em,” Hadwin quipped. The detestable beast had the decency to at least close the door swiftly upon entering, trapping the light outside where it belonged. “So what’s--”
But he did not finish his statement before Vitali, rather abruptly, flung a kitchen knife at him. It whizzed past Tivia and ended its trajectory in its target’s hand. She was disappointed to find that he caught it, without even the slightest speck of blood to show for the effort. “Nice throw,” he said, balancing the blade across his knuckles. “Wanna do a circus act with the Missing Links? You’ll get some mad accolades as a blind knife-thrower--though I’m starting to question what’s really going on under there. Are you using echolocation or something, fruit-bat?”
“Please. Like he would demean himself to a common freak like you.” She snorted at Hadwin, who, as if to prove her point, balanced the tip of the blade on his nose and winked at her.
“Your mom loooves freaks,” he said, teasing out the word ‘love.’ “Did you know that she’s pretty damn flexible? You look able to bend in a few places, too.”
She was about to knock the knife off his impetuous, smug, fat head and stab him in the face with it, when Teselin emerged from the bedroom and distracted her out of her murderous rage. “Good morning,” she said, with detached politeness. “And good timing. Please, curb your dog. Before I castrate him.”
“Now, Tivia,” he removed the blade from his nose, “castrate me and I’ll be in too much pain to demonstrate my fine cooking.”
“I wouldn’t eat anything you touched!” She snarled.
“Yeah, that’s what Elespeth and Alster pretty much said, too. But they ate it all.” He leaned against the kitchen countertop where Vitali was preparing some of the ingredients. In a bid to get a closer look, he peered over the necromancer’s shoulder and rammed the blade into a cutting board, narrowly missing one of his fingers. “Hm. Eggs. And I see your garden out there’s got some peppers, onions, and tomatoes--and there’s potatoes in the pantry. Well, you can’t go wrong with an omelette,” he said, with a flippancy that betrayed his earlier attempts to hack at Vitali’s finger like a carrot. “If you get me those ingredients, I can whip up something easy. Four of each will do it.”
“It still doesn’t mean I’ll eat it!” Tivia exclaimed, in protest.
“Then Tes here can cook you a meal. You up for it, sprout? ‘Course you are. Hey,” his lips parted into a wide grin, “how about we compete with each other? We both prepare a dish and your brother can judge for quality, and declare a winner. Naturally, stakes are involved, so...loser gets--”
“-castrated,” Tivia muttered.
“Please, Tivia,” Hadwin said in a faux affronted tone. “A gender-neutral punishment will suffice. If I lose...aw, what the hell? Wanna snap my dick in half?”
The star-seer blanched. “W-what?”
“I’m serious.” The faoladh shrugged. “I’m a fast healer. It wouldn’t be permanent or nothing.”
“I-I don’t want anywhere near it!”
“So if you don’t want near it, castration’s out of the picture, wouldn’t you say?”
“You really are a freak. A sick freak!” With Teselin at her heels, the star-seer stalked out of the cottage (though still mindful of any light spilling inside).
“So I like to give her some hell; I can’t help it,” he said of the necromancer’s companion as he reached for a rag to wipe the cutting knife clean. “Easier to accept, even play on, someone’s hatred than to try and change their mind over a time-consuming process of trust and penance and other supplicating bullshit on the off chance they’ll actually grow to like you. But you’re definitely no stranger to that game.” He removed the potatoes from the pantry and rinsed them of their dirt in the provided basin. With the skins on, he began to chop and dice one of the tubers into small pieces on the cutting board. “Which brings me to answering your question. Why the fuck would I care about her approval of me? Well, it started out as a similarities thing. She reminded me of my sister, and I reminded her of you. Me and my actual sis--yeah, you hit it. We’re estranged. So we filled in the holes of our lost kin. It only grew from there.” Piling the diced cubes of potato into one corner, he reached for the second and ran his knife down its middle.
“Not surprised by that at all,” he let out an amused laugh. “Actually, I’m a bit disappointed. I thought there’d be more than two arrows. Well, as I alluded to yesterday, the venerable Prince Sorde is after my skin. Thing is, I didn’t piss him off--that much. But I did piss off a Forbanne Captain by killing her lover in a mind-controlled mass suicide stunt because she’d been holding my sister hostage. Long story. But now she has him under some Forbanne-grade compulsion and I guess she ordered him to kill me in revenge. He doesn’t want to. But,” he paused, mid-slice, “maybe that’s changed, too. I hear he’s still seeing red over you, though. I heard snippets of the tale, but what the hell did you do to him?”
But when Vitali kept poking about that second arrow, the one close to his heart, the faoladh let out a breathy laugh and resumed chopping the potatoes with increased gusto. “Not much to tell, or talk about. The second arrow--that’s my sister. She’s already almost succeeded in gutting me alive--and Teselin was there to bear witness to me holding in my guts so they wouldn’t spill out in a sloppy mess in front of her.” His free hand traced the faint scar stretched across his abdomen. “She’s determined to keep me alive, now. Which is why she triggered that earthquake when your Rigas companion threatened me. Sweet kid, caring so much. And don’t worry,” he scooped the potato chunks into a bowl he’d swiped from the shelf, “I know you can’t really do shit for her. Hell, neither can I. Best I can do is appeal to her courage and self-confidence. Fact remains though that she still needs a teacher. After all, she won’t ever stop being afraid if she doesn’t work through her fears on the daily. And a lot of her fears are magic-related. You’ve got that much to share with her, at least; a bit of instruction. Now,” he lobbed the last potato on the cutting board, “I’ve got a question for you. I know the two of you barely know each other, but you grew up with the same mam, and I’ve always been curious about the kid’s upbringing. She doesn’t talk about it, but she knows way too much about my home-life, and I wanna even the score. If you’ve got some insight, it’d better explain why she’s been left wandering this world picking up odd-jobs like some plucky orphan roughing it on the streets.”
After leaving the cottage in a huff, Tivia headed to the gardening shed next door, removing two pairs of gloves, a spade, and a basket. Due to Teselin’s man-made earthquake from the night before, the shed was in disarray, with all the gardening tools having fallen into a scattered pile on the floor. Having to kick some objects aside to reveal what she wanted, she returned later to the entrance of the garden and crop fields, where Teselin had been waiting. The one half of her face not covered by hair revealed the mien of a young woman who had exhausted all her patience.
“Here.” She handed Teselin the basket and an extra pair of gloves. “I don’t need any help. Just hold this..” Leading the way through the garden, she crouched before a ripe patch of peppers, collecting the juiciest specimens, which she had placed in Teselin’s basket. With the spade, she swerved on her heels to the onion patch in the next field over and dug out a few of the teardrop-shaped crop. “Yes, I did,” she said, but did not turn her head to address the summoner. “But don’t shower me with all the praise. During Galeyn’s one-hundred-year sleep, a stasis was placed on the land, preserving everything from decay, overgrowth, and deterioration. Right now, we’re interacting with the kingdom as it was, one-hundred years ago. Not to mention, we feel the Night Garden’s influences, even here on the outskirts, and I’ve no doubt it’s helping these crops to grow to their fullest potential. I’m not doing much to maintain this farm at all. It’s largely self-sustaining.” Rising to her feet, she signaled Teselin to follow her to the tomato field. As she hunkered before the vines and pulled off the ripest of the bunch, she shook her head at the summoner’s continuous praise, which perpetuated a blatant lack of understanding the situation.
“It doesn’t matter, Teselin. Yes, I’m certain you didn’t mean to impose, or cause any massive upheaval,” she said, as a not-so-subtle reference to the earthquake, “but the damage has already been done. I’m a star-seer, as you may have heard; I’m sensitive to the wisdom of the guiding stars that call on me to listen--and they’ve already informed me about a change. Once the dog-star of Summer is at its peak, the wolf will come and bring the storm. I’m assuming,” she placed the tomatoes in the basket and stood, slipping the gloves off her hands, “the storm is you.”
Not caring to elaborate, she swiped the basket and the borrowed pair of gloves from Teselin, returning them and the spade to the shed. “I’ll accept your thank you, but--I don’t understand why you care so much about your brother.” She closed the door to the shed and finally looked the girl in the eye. “He assisted you once when you were a small child and then, he moved on with his life. Your years’ long fascination with reconnecting to a mere memory, and not the man, is frankly, a little sad and pathetic. You were not here for him when it mattered. Nor was he, for you. So yes, you are exactly right; the two of you are strangers, your lives built on nothing more than a moment. But like I said,” she wended her way back to the cottage, “it doesn’t matter, anymore. Change is inevitable. By all means, pursue your relationship by the claim of your bloodright, or don’t, but above all, do us a favor and get your magic under control. This is advice coming from a star-seer; don’t ignore it.”
Despite his desires for a culinary contest, Hadwin had changed his tune when the two girls knocked and drifted inside the fire-lit cottage, and his eyes caught the summoner’s wilting form. “Hey, kid,” he called to her, “c’mere. Bring the basket.” Tivia shrugged and pushed the basket into her arms, retreating far from the kitchen. “So, I’ll get all these vegetables chopped, and I’m going to hand it over to you. Yeah, I know what I said before,” he took some onions out of the basket, “but I’m more of a baker than a cook--and Miss Rigas over there wants nothing I’ve prepared, so it’s safe to say that you’re going to be head-chef and wow us with your talents.” With an encouraging pat on the back, he stepped aside to allow Teselin room. “Show me how it’s done.”
Not an hour later, four plates appeared on the table, all heaped with fluffy omelette mixed with the vegetables collected from the garden. On the side, roasted potatoes topped with onions and a sprinkle of salt steamed their savory cloud into the air.
Sitting beside Teselin at the table, Hadwin eagerly stabbed into the omelette with his knife. “I’m fuckin’ salivating, looking at this presentation. Let's dig in!” Dig in, he did, devouring his plate as only a canine with an appetite could accomplish. Tivia looked away in obvious disgust.
“That was delightful, kid!” With a grin, he hip-bumped Teselin in her chair. “Never knew you were so whipsmart in the kitchen!”
“Yes,” Tivia settled her utensils over her empty plate, her tone in practiced Rigas refinement; reserved yet complimentary. “This was quite good. Now,” she abruptly changed the subject, “for the matter of sleeping arrangements, if you choose to extend your stay here...I suppose the son of a bitch can stay in the barn.”
“What a charitable offer, Tivia,” Hadwin purred. “But I should be heading back to the center of Galeyn by tonight. Lord Rigas is celebrating his big day tomorrow, and this circus freak wants to prepare.”
“Alster’s one-hundredth birthday...of course.” Tivia sighed into her water tin. “How could I have forgotten? It’s my obligation to be there. Even if I don’t consider myself a Rigas anymore, he does deserve my attendance.”
“What about you, Tes?” Hadwin glanced over at her. “You wanna stay here and catch up with your big bro? I’ll be fine on my own a few days; after all, I made it this far staying alive--and Alster did say I’m under his protection.”
“Oh, am well aware of the arrows pointed at my own life,” the necromancer casually declared, as he opened a drawer and removed some cooking utensils after the eggs awaited their fate, cracked in the bowl. “And believe me--there are many. Perhaps that is one of the commonalities that drew my little sister to your side. And, yes, we do share a common threat in the man called Haraldur. So the rumours are true; that he has ascended to royalty.” A slow, half-smile crept up the corner of his mouth. “It’s a small kingdom, here. I’d heard tell that he finally married the Eyraillian princess--who arrived in Galeyn, with child. What crossed her mind to take such a risk is beyond me, but death is a far reach from her or her children, regardless. Seems the Rigas mage was successful in ridding her of its cold threat.”
Vitali shrugged his shoulders, and moved toward the fireplace to stoke the dwindling flames. While the faoladh’s question did not appear to bother him, he hesitated before answering. “I wish I could say there is a simple answer as to what nourished his deep-seated hatred for me. But to begin with--it starts with the fact I saved his wife’s life. Or, rather, I restored it.” He didn’t need to see the wolf-man’s face to register the surprise that he tried to hide in his demeanor. “Yes, it is exactly as it sounds: Vega Sorde, princess of Eyraille, died in battle during the war with Andalari. Impaled by several arrows, bones broken after she fell from her roc. I am willing to bet she died shortly after hitting the ground. Her now-husband found her and couldn’t accept her death. So he came to me. At that time, like it or not, I was quite literally her only hope.”
Once the flames had begun to climb again, the necromancer stepped away from the hearth and leaned against the wall, arms folded. “She hadn’t been dead for too long, so I was able to resurrect her with few complications. It was a textbook case of a rather flawless procedure, to be very honest. Not to boast my necromantic prowess, but it was some of my best work, really. She lost her memory for a short period of time when she drew breath again, but that was transient. Vega was alive and well, and Haraldur owed me a debt. However, that did not sit well with his wife, who determined to pay his debt, herself. This suited me just fine, because it just so happened that I needed someone who had touched fingers with death to fulfill a rather important task, so I took her up on her offer…” He scratched the back of his neck, as if trying to remember the details. “It just so happens that fulfilling her husband’s end of the bargain brought her very close to touching noses with death, again. Oh, and it led to the death of her beloved roc. Somehow, our Forbanne friend could not find it in his heart to forgive me, even after I helped Alster Rigas provide the princess with the information she needed to ensure the safety of her unborn children, which were not thriving due to her most recent brush with death. Nevermind that I resurrected her so well the first time, she was able to conceive at all; good think I don’t expect ‘thank yous’ from those to whom I lend my invaluable services.”
A low chuckle shook his shoulders as the necromancer tilted his lead back, leaning his full weight against the wall. “So to make a long story very short, I restored his wife’s life, and then ended up threatening it again. I assume it must have shaken up their relationship, a bit, so he’s had it out for me ever sense. I daresay I am likely far more deserving of his wrath than you.” Likely, he was more deserving of everyone’s wrath than was the fool who stood before him. If only fucking the wrong person was the worst crime he’d ever committed.
Upon the shape-shifter’s inquiry into his former home life (and Teselin’s, at that), Vitali’s demeanor shifted. It was almost imperceptible, the micro-expressions that crossed his partially-concealed face, but they were there. “Mmm. We do happen to share a mother. Though I cannot speak to Teselin’s experience with the notorious Solenice Kristeva, it seems she did just as we all did: she left an impossible situation because there was no substance in it. Our mother wasn’t exactly a committed lover, it seems; the lot of us have different fathers. Not sure that our childhoods would’ve been any better in paternal care, but to say that Solenice is not cut out to be a mother is putting it lightly. She certainly was of no help to me when I was navigating my… gifts. I left at age twelve because she was useless.” Vitali shrugged his shoulders, but evidently, he didn’t care to elaborate further on his own circumstances. “I can only assume, with the few words the two of us have exchanged since last night, that Teselin did the same. Unless our wretch of a mother chose to pull what she did with our common brother; she had the gall to sell him, of all things. Put him into the hands of an alchemist who was in want of an apprentice. Oddly enough, it seems he pulled through quite well, despite the circumstances. Might have been a blessing in disguise, in his case.”
But the story of Isidor Kristeva and the circumstances surrounding his life was a story in and of itself, and it was not he who interested Hadwin Kavanagh. “Obviously, Teselin was still in Solenice’s care, the last I saw her. It was as I’d expected; the girl was fine, healthy, but otherwise relatively neglected. Before you try to guilt me for not removing her when I had the chance, I think you know well enough that the path I chose was likewise no place for her.” A question that no doubt plagued Teselin’s mind; which only further perplexed him. He had not helped her; truth be told, he had never helped her, not really. And yet, she’d pursued him, like some elusive saviour. As if in hopes that their reunion would provide all of the answers she sought. “
Whatever occupied Solenice’s life--which to this day eludes even me--was always more important than her children.” He went on, after pausing in thought for half a beat. “When I was a child, she was absent more than she was present; for all I know, she was sleeping around, stealing, committing murder, or all of the above. The woman is hard to read. Now, there are significant years between my upbringing and my sister’s; more than you may think. Is it possible that our mother smartened up and acted like a mother to her? Certainly; buy I highly doubt it.” He pursed his lips, as if tasting something sour. “My gut instinct is that our Teselin is a smart girl, and eventually came to the conclusion that she was better off on her own; that if she ever had a hope in understanding her magic, or herself, leaving was inevitable. But I’m afraid that beyond that… our summoner’s past is as vague to you as it is to me.”
Of course… the Night Garden. Everything it touched, everything its energies reached, it nourished. Teselin could not deny that Tivia was right: even if the Rigas woman had a knack for gardening, this could not all be attributed to her green thumb. Everything about the crops, from their size, the brilliance of their colour, their earthy smell was beyond what she’d experienced before. Contrary to what Vitali thought, she and Hadwin hadn’t been eating with Queen Lilica, either; he (and, frankly, she) had preferred the company of the Missing Links, who cooked for themselves. And, occasionally, when he was feeling inclined, the faoladh would bake something delicious. With Galeyn’s enriched wheat, any dough he kneaded was delectable. “Nonetheless… I assume Vitali isn’t helping you, out here. You deserve some credit. Even if you did get lucky, happening upon an already-established garden with age old fruits and vegetables.”
It was almost uncanny, how Tivia Rigas so resembled Chara. Not only in her colouring, the blonde hair and tanned skin, but in her demeanor--which, she was coming to learn, was very conventionally Rigas. Teselin Kristeva had navigated the world for most of her life through kindness and smiles, openly offering help where it was needed, and the very first place that hadn’t seen it as ‘enough’ was Stella D’Mare--and the very first people, the Rigases. No matter what she had done for Chara, in the end, it hadn’t been enough, and it hadn’t amounted to anything. She had hoped that this Tivia Rigas would be different, even insofar as they shared a liking to an otherwise globally unlikable person. And yet, just as was the case with Chara, the harder she tried, the more it appeared to displease this Rigas woman.
Teselin fell momentarily silent as she obediently followed Tivia from field to field, with the basket filling with vegetables. Instead of talking, she listened; and… she could understand her point of view. Most of all, she couldn’t even blame her for feeling the way she did: defeated, since the moment the young summoner had arrived. “I know what it is like, you know. Well… to an extent. I’m not a star seer; I don’t see as clearly or as frequently as you do. But Mollengard… did something to my magic.” Her voice began to grow quieter. Weaker. “Things have been different, ever since. Certain energies reach for me. I’ve borne witness to futures and insights that I should never know… and I know how that feels. To be burdened with what you have no right to no, unable to provide any solution to the affected parties…” She was, of course, referring to Sigrid; a situation that continued to eat away at her. “But if a storm is all I am… then I daresay that is an improvement, from what I suspected.”
It wasn’t until Tivia challenged her with a question she hadn’t been expecting that the summoner felt her body go rigid. Not because she didn’t anticipate she would hear it; frankly, she knew the star seer had been thinking it. But it hadn’t occurred to her that she would have the gall to say it, aloud. To challenge her to the right to reunite with her own brother…
“I needed to find Vitali because he survived himself.” She said at last. “Because, despite how sparsely we know what another, I know that he survived. Our magic stems from similar sources; and I hoped he could help me survive myself.”
Her sudden change in tone, from light to decidedly heavy and bordering on unstable, drew Tivia’s attention away from the vegetables she was picking and uprooting. The young summoner’s face was a mirror of a myriad of emotions; anger, hope, exhaustion, sadness. But what stood out the most was sadness. “I know the person he has become; I know what he has done. He has made a name for himself, in the time he has walked this plane. But I also know what he went through. I know the part of him that he destroyed, and never acknowledged again. I am not supposed to know, and I don’t know how I do. But I know. And if you care for him--if you want to continue caring for him, then you should know, too. There is no point in seeing his future if you don’t know the context of his past.”
She didn’t wait for assent or approval. Just like she had done with Alster before, to try and provide him with insight into the more vulnerable part of her brother that no one knew about, she placed a hand on the unmarred side of Tivia’s face--and the memory transferred, the same way it had done to Alster. Images of a young boy, sleep-deprived, unable to eat, marred with bruises and lacerations from sources that only he could see. A boy who begged his mother for help, to understand his magic, to save himself, all met with silence and coldness.
Different, but not unlike the silence she’d navigated her entire life. No answers, no guidance, and just when things seemed to improve… the shadows would creep back in.
She pulled away when the memory--or at least, her own recollection of it--dimmed, and returned to Tivia her personal space. Her arm dropped back to her side. “He survived. Despite all that, he found a way, on his own. He found a way to make it work.” Her words were barely above a whisper, anymore. “Hadwin can’t help me. Alster couldn’t help me; the damned Night Garden can’t even help me. I have no intention on reclaiming my “bloodright” to my brother; he doesn’t even know me. Why would he want me to be a part of his life now, this late in the game? Especially if he already has you? I just… I want to hear what he has to say; if he can tell me anything at all. That is why I sought him out, Tivia. That is why I’m here. This, like everything else… is just transient. But I hope…” Teselin sighed and picked up the basket she’d put down without realizing she’d done so. “I hope you can continue to care about him, the way you do… whatever may come.”
The two made their way back to the cottage in silence, but it wasn’t fated to endure. Since Tivia had already declared she wouldn’t eat anything that Hadwin cooked, it left her and Vitali to cook something up for the four of them. “I… am certainly not a culinary virtuoso,” she said nervously, sparing a desperate glance at the faoladh. “I’m not sure…”
“You won’t know until you try.” It was Vitali who offered a voice of reassurance, much to her surprise. “Believe me--I’ve learned it takes skill to make the food here taste bad, regardless of how it’s cooked.”
While by no means reassured by her culinary skills, cooking up a few omelettes gave her something to do to take her mind off of her rather dismal conversation with Tivia. An hour later, thanks to the thriving crops of Galeyn that evidently couldn’t taste bad, the four of them sat around the table, eating her earnest egg-and-vegetable creations. Considering no one hesitated to take a bite, she must have passed. Idle banter was considerably one-sided, in that Hadwin did most of the talking. However, he brought up a point that, in all of her anxiety surrounding her reunion with her brother, she had entirely forgotten.
“Alster… I completely forgot about his birthday.” Her shoulders sagged; how could she have forgotten, when she’d been right there as Hadwin had offered to help Chara organize? “But, Vitali…”
The necromancer grinned and leaned back in his seat, arms folded behind his head. “Believe me, even if I could tolerate light, I have a feeling Lord Rigas would not appreciate my company. The lot of you should all go; especially you, Tivia.” He turned toward the star seer’s seat. “You’ve been stuck on this farmland for months; I can count the number of times you’ve left for the palace on one hand.”
Teselin clenched her hands on her lap, suddenly appearing as though she wanted to withdraw into herself. Hadwin’s inquiry was not only innocent, but necessary; she needed to make a decision. Surely, Alster would understand, and her presence certainly wouldn’t be missed. But Hadwin…
“...we don’t know that Rowen hasn’t found a way into the city.” The summoner let go of a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, and turned her soulful eyes to the faoladh. “I… don’t want you to go by yourself. I’ll leave with you, tonight. But before that…”
“Come now, Teselin. If you think I’d accept that you went out of your way to find me, only to clam up when we finally have the chance to talk, then you are under far more mistaken impressions of me than I feared.” Vitali said easily, as he stood and gathered the dishes from the table. “We have the whole day. Sadly, I am confined to this house… so if you’d be so kind, Tivia,” he flashed a beatific smile, “Can I depend on you to show our doggish guest the fields? Take him for a little walk--without castration or any bodily harm? I’ll owe you one. Coming from me, you know I don’t say that lightly.”
“I don’t want to inconvenience anyone…” Though it is too late for that, Teselin realized as soon as the words were out of her mouth. To her surprise, neither Hadwin nor Tivia objected (not that she’d expected Hadwin to object), and after the plates had been cleared, the star seer and the shape-shifter respectfully took their leave to allow the estranged siblings some space.
Whatever had transpired between the necromancer and the summoner while they were granted space, that day, remained a mystery. As it turned out, Tivia could only tolerate Hadwin for a couple of hours, before she’d stormed off and returned to the cottage--at which point, neither Teselin nor Vitali were talking. Whatever needed to be said between them had been said; evidently, years apart only required a couple of hours to bridge. Vitali was dozing in the armchair, and Teselin had found a place, curled up in the bedroom on Vitali’s bed--not asleep, by her drawn look, she was exhausted. That was where Hadwin found her, when at last he dared to return, feeling he’d given Tivia enough time to cool her heels.
The summoner didn’t immediately sit up, even in Hadwin’s infectious atmosphere. But they were leaving as soon as night fell, and needed to prepare; she couldn’t sleep the day away. “I’m fine… I know how this looks, but I’m fine.” Teselin assured him, when she spotted the concern in his eyes; concern that happened to also be hand-in-hand with anger. Because he could only attribute her deflated countenance to one person. “We talked… and I was right. I was right; he can’t help me. I knew this, all along, and I knew what would happen when we finally talked. I just… wanted to be wrong. Does that make me an idiot?”
Teselin shook her head, an ironic smile on her face as she turned her gaze to her bare feet. “I didn’t hear what I wanted to hear. But… I guess, it was what I needed to hear. And then I remembered this.” Reaching into the pocket of her gown, the summoner withdrew what looked like a card that had seen better days; the six of spades. She hadn’t let go of it, since the day the faoladh had given it to her to try and inspire hope when she had been spiralizing toward hopelessness. “You told me it was a card of movement. Choosing a direction, and moving forward. So… that’s what I am going to do: keep moving. I know where Vitali is, now. I know he is safe, and there is a lifetime of details to sort out between the two of us. But tonight… for now, I’d rather travel back to the palace, with you and Tivia.”
Teselin’s ironic smile had turned genuine when at last she looked up. “If anything, talking to the person I’ve been chasing for years has made me realize not to lose sight of the people I already have in my life. People like you. And I just want you to know… how much it has helped to have you here, Hadwin. In my life.”
“I’m in no position to judge you on moral grounds, corpse-breath,” Hadwin said, wiping off the clinging bits of potato from his knife. “On the contrary, I was looking forward to meeting you because everyone who mentioned ‘Vitali’ would clam up and cringe and spit your name out like it was some kind of curse. So my curiosity piqued; I had to know who earned the scorn of so many, and why. And damn, with a story like that, you don’t disappoint. No one can blame you for being inconsistent, though. It’s not like you backstabbed anyone--which I’ve done, multiple times, both the figurative and literal kind. Seems more the fault of our preserved and pickled princess for making the deal with you on the sly and telling no one. No. Wait...” he tutted out loud, in consideration. “It’s something else. I’d blame it on love, itself. So much bullshit has been done in its name, it’s ridiculous.” Bitterness rose into his throat like bile and coated his words, but it didn’t last. He coughed, and the acidic flavor dispersed into the air, settling the internal rancor that seized at his chest.
There was no denying that he was his father’s son--pre Sight loss. Even Fiona remarked on his similarities with the Chief of Clan Kavanagh. “Before he traded away his Sight, he loved the world,” she’d recall, every damn time she’d sloshed herself with whiskey--which was daily. It was her favorite story. Her only story. One that had dominated her narrative for over twenty years, and even then, long after her unsilenced death. “He loved it so much. And everyone. At his peak, there was nothing he wouldn’t do for someone he cherished. You’re like him, Hadwin. You’d do anything. Your love is strong and unbreakable.”
Much as he’d placed a barrier between himself and romantic attachments, in protest against his heartless father, that didn’t stop him from expressing other forms of love. And it was true. For Rowen, for Teselin, for Briery and the Missing Links...like Vega Sorde, he’d take a deal with the devil in their stead, too.
It’s not just for love, he argued with the forever voice in his head. I’d do it because I need the thrill. I can’t walk away from a disaster knowing that I’ll be missing out. It’s selfish and destructive, but it’s true.
So then what if this path of disaster you take kills Rowen? The shadow voice effused, amusement uplifting every word. Like it killed me?
Everyone’s already poisoned from knowing me. You said that yourself, dear Fiona. Still, I’m not walking away. If she can’t be saved, if it’s pointless either way, then I’m not changing my course. I’ll take this struggle and futility...and work with it.
“Yeah, I figured you and Tes had a shit mam, too,” he said, after listening both to the necromancer’s disclosure and to the continuous drivel of the shadow with Fiona’s mouth, eyes, and teeth. “On a completely unrelated note,” his cadence changed into a light, half-joking meter, “you have any experience exorcizing annoying ghosts from someone’s head?”
For a magic-user, a Rigas magic-user whose star-seer abilities relied, for the most part, on her connections by blood, she did not put much stock in jus sanguinis. What did it matter, to share relations, when every other bond that held two people, a family, or a culture in place, was threaded with tenuous strings, bound to snap? A father that demanded respect but did not practice respect for others, let alone his family, deserved loyalty? And why? Because tradition deemed it so? Honor parents, honor the family, honor the tribe. Nothing, however, came of one-sided ‘honor.’ She withdrew from the Rigases for that very reason. Blood alone did not determine love, fellowship, and fulfilment. She learned that lesson during her travels and tenure with Vitali. Mutual respect had solidified their understanding, and had fostered a healthy relationship the likes which she’d never experienced before, in a formal family setting. Even the stars had recognized their closeness; that was why she could draw beyond the limiting restrictions of blood and see his destiny, past, present, and future--for the heavens never interpreted time as a linear construct. Granted, she could also scry into Haraldur’s destiny...but she attributed that phenomenon to their brief carnal union. At any rate, the fact remained clear to Tivia; Teselin did not have an undisputed claim to her brother’s affections. Fortunately, the summoner was quick to admit it. She was but a near-stranger seeking help. Nonetheless, it did not change around the truth; that her idyllic fantasy would be coming to an end.
Before Tivia could stop the girl, she was touching her face with a hand that buzzed with sickening energy. Closing her eye shut, her vision was assailed with a specific scene from Vitali’s past. An overwhelmed son; an unresponsive mother. Desperation met with disinterest, and blatant rejection.
When the vision ended, Tivia stepped even farther from the summoner, looking both livid and unmoored, despite what she’d seen. “Do not touch my face without my permission,” she whispered, sounding curiously breathless. “Any part of my face. Do not do that again, Teselin. That includes projecting visions into my head. I already receive enough unsolicited images and auditory jumble through the stars; I don’t require another source. Especially when what you’ve showed me is not exclusive to you and him.” Her knuckles rubbed aggressively at the cheek that Teselin had touched. “I’m connected to his star, Teselin. For months, I’ve been privy to moments in his past as a child with his mother. It’s one of the reasons I continue to care about him. Because I realize he is human; that he has struggled to dominate his destructive magic and that he was forced to do so alone. If this memory of yours was supposed to prove that you have some specialized understanding of him over me, then you are gravely mistaken, Teselin. So,” she coldly retreated from the summoner en route to the front door, “do not patronize me on matters involving your brother, thinking your obsession has made you the sole authority. I know you struggle with your magic, too, so heed my warning and figure out how to control it; for yours is the storm that destroys planets.”
Later that afternoon, long after breakfast and his “stroll” around the gardens with Tivia restraining to lob a spell at his head, Hadwin returned to the cottage to find the two half-siblings otherwise indisposed. Tivia, who was busy restocking the pantry for Vitali in preparation for her short absence, ignored him. He greeted her anyway, before slipping into the bedroom to check on the summoner.
“Hey, kid,” he said as she rose upright on the bed. “Nah, we still got time if you wanna rest some more. Not even dark yet--and the star-seer’s out in the kitchen, trying her hand at some kind of fish stew concoction. I think she’s gonna need help.” But the summoner insisted she was fine and he took her at her word (despite the mess of her fears alerting him to the contrary).
“You mean to tell me he can’t even give you any instruction? What a useless old bat!” he punctuated, with an annoyed growl for added effect. “Even if I liken summoning magic to a faoladh’s Sight, unique in how it manifests and too wild to train under formal teaching, there’s gotta be something to be learned! Hell, you weren’t doing too bad with Al. Yeah, he’s mad busy but he owes me like a ton of favors anyway, so we’ll crash his party and ask. We didn’t thoroughly explore the Blight Garden, either, or drop in on those healers from Eyraille. We’re not out of options or nothing. But,” he took a seat beside her on the bed, sighing away his frenetic attack plans for the future, “no. You’re not an idiot. Well,” he smirked, “yeah, you are, but I am, too, because I knew the outcome for this little venture, and also wanted to be wrong. But that’s how a gamble works, sometimes. In fact, gamblers are the biggest chumps in existence, because, you know, of the ones not cheating their way to a win, they’re hoping and believing in a victory, despite piss-poor odds. Loss after loss, they’ll keep playing, because they’re deluded. And, well, also addicted. But the truth is, they’re not playing the game right, because even luck, consistent luck, anyway, is a skill, borne from opportunity and a little bit of bullshitting. So,” he winked at the summoner, “let’s work on the skill of luck acquisition, because that’s transferrable through any discipline.”
That was when she pulled out an old card he’d handed to her months ago. The six of spades was creased on all sides, the black paint chipping, and fading from the numbers and symbols. Despite its battered shape, he beamed at the card, sporting the toothiest of grins. “Fuck, you’re still carrying that around with you? That’s touching, kid. But you’ve got it exactly right. Luck doesn’t touch down on the losers, because they’re convinced they’re shit, and they stop where they’re at. Opportunities don’t come in a stagnant pool, so we move on, and find what we’re looking for. A river, for starters.”
The last of Teselin’s words hit him harder than he was expecting. Her heartfelt sentiments took him aback, rendering him to rare speechlessness. I can’t do anything for Rowen, he thought. She’s already chosen. But Teselin...she’s not out of my reach. She’s right here…
“Aw, chickadee!” He erupted into cheerful laughter. “You’re gonna make me blush! Glad to be of service. Put it here!” He flung his arm over her shoulders and knocked her into a side embrace. Fiona’s words echoed in his head: Your love is strong and unbreakable. You’d do anything…
Damn straight it is, and damn straight I will!
Shortly before departure, they all supped on the aforementioned fish stew of Tivia’s creation, which, though dubious in appearance, tasted fine. Not surprising, considering Vitali’s comment on the food grown in Galeyn. Even among inexperienced hands, one could prepare dishes of enviable quality (although the fish was too tough. But Hadwin was a wolf; he’d eat anything). After dinner, the group sans the necromancer prepared to head out to the palace. Since the two Night steed riders from before hadn’t returned, they would have to rely on the one steed that was placed under Tivia’s care, for quick travel between the Galeyn outskirts and the Night Garden.
“I’ll have to make two trips,” Tivia said, as they’d all gathered at the stables under the dark of night. I’ll take Teselin first, and--”
“--saving the best for last, hmm?” Hadwin smiled alluringly, elbowing her in the ribs.
“--you did not let me finish,” Tivia cleared her throat, acting unfazed by the faoladh’s comment. “And...the mother-fucker can keep pace running alongside my steed with a leash attached, because I will not permit him to sit on the saddle with me.”
“Aw, stargazer, much as I’m up to the challenge, I think that’ll kill me.”
“You’ll live. Don’t your kind have nine of them?”
“Those are cats.”
“Same difference,” she shrugged as she mounted the steed and directed Teselin to do the same. “Just to get you out of my home, I’ll be back for you, so don’t get too comfortable.” After giving a moment for the two half-siblings to say their farewells, the star-seer nudged the horse forward and, once ensuring the summoner was secure around her waist, snapped the reins. In a whoosh of wind and force, the steed and its riders blurred into the night.
When the two women reached the palace stables and the summoner dismounted, presumably to head inside the palace proper or stand by to make sure her wolfish companion arrived safe and in one piece, Tivia froze in her saddle, making no indication of traveling for the second trip. “Wait,” she said, calling for Teselin’s attention. “Don’t worry,” she prefaced, “I still intend to go out and retrieve your dog. But before I do, I wanted to…” she stared down at her hands gripping the reins, “apologize for my behavior. That mother-fucker...he spoke to me on your behalf, before. I wasn’t going to listen, but his one saving grace is that he seems to care about you, so...I let him talk. The truth is,” she sucked in a courageous breath, “I wasn’t being fair to you. But I’ve been in a similar position, before. Feeling so alone and helpless, because I had no one who could guide me through this strange power that so recently awakened inside of me. Star-seers are rare. Rigases have documented two more, before me, and both lost their hearing...and then their minds. I had no mentor, nothing but my discipline as a celestial caster to see me through the terror of those first few months. It’s ongoing, even now. My progress is far from mastery. I don’t believe it’s an ability that can be mastered.”
With a trembling hand, she touched the curtain of blonde hair that concealed the left side of her face. “You must be wondering why I wear my hair like this.” She swept her hair aside, revealing the uneven burn-scar tissue distorting the natural contours of her cheekbones and mouth. Her eye, or what remained of her eye, was nothing more than a shiny hollow, melted into a burnished smoothness. “In the war to reclaim our homeland from Andalari, our camp was attacked, and razed to the ground by magical flame. I was burning alive in it, but I was pulled from the conflagration...by Haraldur. He saved my life.” She dropped her hand, and the fringe of hair swished back to its rightful place as a cover-up. “In fact, for the longest time, I hated your brother because my rescuer owed him a debt, and I was afraid for him. Afraid what Vitali would do. I am ultimately the reason why Prince Sorde harbors murderous intentions for your brother--because I convinced Vega to pay the debt in his place.”
“But,” she slumped atop the steed, “I digress. Shortly after my rescue, I began to exhibit...signs of a new ability. The stars aggressively shouted and screamed their demands at me. I didn’t know what to do. It hurt, and it overwhelmed, and it wouldn’t stop even when I begged for them to stop. Every interference felt like death touching me anew, and I saw things I had no business seeing. I wanted nothing to do with this cursed power, not when I was still recovering from near-death, trapped in the middle of a war-camp during a violent campaign. But then,” her hand gently stroked her steed’s mane, “my foreknowledge saved lives. Perhaps not many, but lives were spared--including Elespeth and Alster. It reunited two long-lost cousins. Though,” she sighed, I suppose they are estranged, now. And while my ability foretells grim, dire news more than good tidings, if it can continue to save lives, then I will do as needed.” Her one eye looked down, meeting with Teselin’s dark onyx gaze. “That includes you, too, Teselin. Be mindful of the storm inside you, for you can’t ignore it forever. Now,” she gripped the reins in her hands and redirected her attention to the stable doors, “I better go fetch that fool before he starts peeing all over my property and claiming it as his own. I will return.”
It was foolish of Teselin to harbour hope that her conversation with her brother might have gone differently. Several months ago, in the dead of winter (and before Mollengard had gotten their hands on her), she might not have thought it so daft to think that the necromancer might be able to help her understand and harness the wild energy that was her magic. But she had learned since then, and come to grips with harsh reality, and it was ridiculous to feel so smothered with disappointment when her brother had told her precisely what she’d expected.
Nonetheless, the weight of his words still sat upon her heart, and weighed the already heavy organ. No matter how she replayed their conversation in her mind, in hopes of discovering something that she might have misread, Vitali was far too direct to have risked any sort of misunderstanding.
“I understand why you sought me out, to an extent,” the necromancer had said to her, from his comfortable place in the armchair. Teselin had taken a seat on the floor, knees pulled to her chest, “but whatever your memory of me, Teselin, you are mistaken. I did not save you from your nightmare. You did that all by yourself.”
“But only with your help. I’m not asking you to solve my problems, Vitali; I just want… I hoped you had some advice.” The young summoner sighed, and rested her chin on her knees. “Because you survived. You survived our mother; you survived yourself… it’s more than I can say for myself. I don’t know that I won’t destroy myself--or worse. The people I care about…”
The necromancer nodded his understanding, but understanding was about all he could offer. “You’re right: I did survive myself, and not with anyone’s help. But if you understand where I was once at, and you can see where I am now…” He wove his fingers together, and turned his head toward her voice. “I think you know that the path I took to escape my own imminent destruction is not what one would consider particularly favourable. I did not overcome my magic, Teselin; I owned it, and I exploited its darkness before the darkness could exploit me. But while we are related by blood, your magic is qualitatively different than my own. Our solutions may not be the same. And that,” he nodded solemnly, “is frankly a very, very good thing.”
“...that is why you didn’t come back for me, isn’t it?” Teselin had looked up at her brother, understanding mirrored in her dark eyes, which had begun to glaze over with tears.
The necromancer didn’t reply right away. He leaned forward on his folded hands and sighed. “Is that what you want to think, Teselin?”
“You can’t fool me, Vitali. You can’t fool Tivia, either. For everything you’ve done wrong, you are not inherently evil.” The summoner insisted, shaking her head. “It is as you said: you exploited your darkness before it could exploit. It’s neither right, nor wrong. It simply is what it is. And I believe… no, I know you did not leave me behind because you didn’t care. You felt that where you were going… I shouldn’t follow.”
Vitali had spread his fingers, then, and leaned back in the armchair, “Why, then, would you seek me out? You know what I have become, Teselin. I am not a good person; I don’t even try to be, because it does not serve me. How did you think I could help you?”
Teselin sighed. She seemed to shrink into herself. “Because you’re not evil. You harnessed impossible power… I thought--I hoped there might be something you could tell me. Anything. Even if all you can say is that I shouldn’t hope for anything better.”
“I walk a path that you couldn’t survive, Teselin. Not unless you were willing to fundamentally change who you are--which I doubt you will. I am a medium by nature, and a necromancer by practice; you are a summoner. Our magic differentiates by several degrees and factors, and from what I know of summoners, they themselves vary to such an extent that it is impossible for them to find a mentor. But I will tell you this much--and do not dare quote me. The last thing I need is for the world to thing I’ve changed my ways and perspective. It has taken far too long to gain the notoriety I have.” The necromancer leaned forward in his chair again, toward the crumpled form of his little sister on the floor. “Hope is your strength. It has gotten you this far; it has led you to find the right people. Whatever path you are following, stick to it, whether it means to remain in that shape-shifter’s company, or finding a place among the self-righteous Rigases. I think you know what you’re doing, more than you realize.”
“No. I’m sure he might be able to help me; but not by means that he deems… appropriate not for me. It’s why he walked away from me when I was a child.” Teselin sighed, turning the bent and creased card over in her hands. “Keeping away is the best way he knows to protect me. So that I do not follow his path… and I knew that. I guess I just wish it had been different for him. That his own circumstances wouldn’t have put him in such a situation where he isn’t able to help me. But that is just plain selfish, isn’t it?”
Forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, she turned to Hadwin and shrugged. “But it doesn’t matter. I know that he is alive and well; he has a good person looking out for him, so I don’t need to worry. I’m sad that I could not get to know him, and I don’t know that circumstances will allow that, now… but now I feel assured that I was never on the wrong path. It wasn’t a mistake, coming to Stella D’Mare. It led me to you. If I keep on in this direction… then you’re right. Maybe I’ll find my luck and the answers I need.”
For all she’d spent a mere few hours in Vitali’s company (as far as actively speaking with him went), it didn’t make her departure any easier that evening, knowing that she was leaving her brother behind. He had not been the saviour she’d needed, but no matter the circumstances, that memory of him helping her to chase away her living nightmare would remain the all-encompassing archetype of the necromancer: a person not evil by nature, but corrupted by circumstances beyond his control. Someone who she knew would have helped her, had he been dealt an entirely different hand.
Hadwin and Tivia allowed them a moment for their farewells, for which the young summoner was incredibly grateful. Vitali didn’t need to see any of them off (well, so to speak), but he chose to, standing at the porch of the cottage, his lean frame resting against a tall wooden pillar. “Believe me, you’d be bored stiff if you chose to stay here, anyway.” He said to the young summoner, and nodded in Tivia and Hadwin’s direction. Teselin had no doubt that his loss of sight was far from a real hindrance to his sense of surroundings or orientation. He seemed to have adapted quite well. “I’m surprised Tivia has chosen to stay for as long as she has. I think it was that she really took to tending crops; perhaps the change from her upbringing intrigued her. Something tells me gardening isn’t typically a Rigas calling.”
“I just… I don’t want this to be the last.” Teselin confessed quietly. “The last that I see of you, or the last of our conversations. Vitali, even if you can’t help me…"
“Rest assured, little sister, I’m not going anywhere, anytime soon.” Vitali chuckled. “The Night Garden might have it in for me right now, but its grudge only endures through the will of someone who doesn’t exist, anymore. It threat fades, day by day, and I have every intention in exploring the heart of this kingdom before I am through with it.”
Vitali Kristeva was a lot of things, but among those things was not a liar. Teselin believed him, and felt reassured by his words. “Then… I’ll see you again.” She promised, and had to fight the urge not to reach out and embrace him. Tivia was right: sharing blood meant nothing, and they were no so close for her to assume that such a gesture would be acceptable.
It was decided that Tivia would take her first to the heart of Galeyn, where the palace was located, and then she would return for Hadwin--which did worry Teselin, considering the star seer’s grudge pertaining to the faoladh’s actions toward her parents. But while Tivia might have been angry and bitter, she was not out of control. Hadwin would be safe; the real question was, whether or not he’d be comfortable. But, feeling she was not in any position to pressure the star seer into promising she would ensure Hadwin’s safety, the young summoner simply obliged her instructions, and the two of them took off into the night.
“About your question from earlier.” The necromancer spoke up as soon as he was alone with the shape-shifter, and the rapid hoofbeats of the Night steed had receded into the distance. “If you’re soliciting my help to rid you of whatever is haunting you, I am certain that anyone who has ever besought my assistance would tell you to consider otherwise. My prices can be… steep, to say the least. But if you’re simply looking for an answer to your question: then yes. I am capable of ridding people and places of the spirits that haunt them. My means are far less holy than an exorcism, but it works all the same. My abilities are inclined to that of a medium; necromancy and its like are simply my chosen practice. As for your own demons…”
He pushed away from the porch’s support pillar and folded his arms. “I’m not sure that your demons are ones I can banish. But for once, it’s difficult for me to tell. Not everyone who was put to sleep with this kingdom survived the spell; Galeyn is crawling with spirits of the dead, and this farmland is no exception. There are a lot of voices, all vying for my attention, all the time. It’s downright maddening. I’m just hoping the lot of them find a way to move on.” Vitali pressed two fingers to one of his temples. “If you have a spirit nipping at your heels, which you very well may, then that would be something I’d only be able to address in a… ‘quieter’ space, to say the least. But if there is a chance that your demons are not supernatural in nature,” he raised an eyebrow, “take your own advice and consult the healers of the Night Garden. Not a damned thing I can do if you’re losing your mind, wolf.”
Teselin rode in silence with Tivia the entire way to the stables of Queen Lilica’s palace, where she dismounted rather stiffly. While the summoner was no stranger to riding horses, the swiftness of Galeyn’s Night steeds encouraged less than comfortable positioning to ensure you didn’t fall. She was out of words for the star seer, having dispelled them earlier when the Rigas woman had shut her down and shut her out; so in an attempt to save on doing any more unintentional damage, she murmured a quiet ‘thank you’ before turning to walk away. Tivia’s unsolicited plea ultimately stayed her.
The summoner hadn’t expected an apology for a proud Rigas. Her feet wouldn’t move out of the sheer surprise that this woman, who seemingly so despised her presence, was… relating to her. Not directly, of course; their troubles were not the same in nature, but their situations were similar. Vitali was not the only person who had navigated his powers, complete without guidance. The only difference was that Tivia, throughout, had had a slew of support: from the Rigases and their allies, from Lilica and Galeyn, from Vitali himself. That, and the tables had turned for her recently. Not something that had cursed her at birth.
All the same… it was the empathy that mattered. An understanding that only those who were burdened with something they could hardly understand could offer. Just as she had been ready to give up on the girl to whom she owed her brother’s wellbeing, Teselin suddenly found herself moved.
“What you said… it wasn’t wrong, Tivia. I have no right to my brother; I knew that, all along, but I had just escaped a very trying situation when Chara granted me sanctuary in Stella D’Mare. I was very near breaking, and I needed to hold on to something, or I’d have been crushed. Vitali was the first hope that came to mind, because he is my first memory of anyone who has ever tried to help me.” She did not go into detail of what had brought her to Stella D’Mare. It didn’t matter to a star seer, who might well glimpse at the terror the reach of her magic was capable of. “Honestly… I lost sight of the people who were helping me along the way. People like Alster, and… Hadwin. Hadwin hasn’t left my side since Stella D’Mare. Like Vitali, he’s done awful things, but… not to me. I can’t hate him. I imagine the same goes for you and Vitali. He has somehow made a difference in your life… and it is not my place to do anything to change that. So I won’t try to. What I showed you, earlier…”
She trailed off for a moment, as if only now realizing how inappropriate it had been. To assume that Tivia knew so little of her brother and his beginnings. “I had a feeling you already understood. But just in case you didn’t… I just felt you had the right to know. To see. Because anyone who cares for him should know. And I… know you care for him, the way he deserves to be cared for. You don’t see him for what he does or what he has done. For that… I can only thank you. And hope that you’ll continue to be for him in ways that I cannot.”
Teselin toyed with the sleeve of her gown, dark eyes focused on her boots. “Whatever my brother did for you that earned your favor, I am glad that you’ve benefited from his company. Your skills, however unpredictable… they’re invaluable. The difference between you and I is that your premonitions cannot harm people the way my magic can. You said yourself, it is in my power to destroy planets. You call it a storm. I don’t know what incites it; why I have control sometimes, and other times, I don’t. And I don’t know that I am going to find the answers I seek anytime soon. Vitali doesn’t have them; Hadwin never had them. Galeyn may not, either. But… now I know that I am headed in the right direction. I have been, all along, but now I’m sure of it.”
Looking up at last, she smiled all the same at Tivia’s attempt to make amends. “Thank you for trying to understand. And if you can help it… don’t kill Hadwin on the way back here.”
“While I’m the last person for dispensing wisdom,” Tivia added, before her steed clopped out of the stables and out of earshot, “I will say this. You’re far from a lost cause. Don’t discount ‘help’ just because your magic differs from the others. While no one can address your specific problem, there is plenty you can learn from their perspectives and teachings. Eventually, you’ll find out what works for you--but only if you keep your mind open. I’m,” she hesitated, “grateful for the people who stood by me. Even if I don’t always show it. I know I’m not the easiest person to get along with, and I’m prone to...episodes, but on my travels here, to Galeyn, no one ever considered me useless, or a liability. So...let those special people be your teacher. Let the world be your teacher. Honing and perfecting your magic is not alone an insular practice--especially yours, which yearns to interact with everything. That said,” though her back was turned, a wicked smile spread across the exposed side of her face, “I can’t guarantee your shifter friend will enjoy his ride back to the palace.”
“Fuck, that was enjoyable,” Hadwin said, once Tivia had returned to the stables not ten minutes later with her second passenger. He dismounted with so flamboyant a flourish, the star-seer anticipated him to bend the waist in a performer’s bow. She withheld the urge to push him against the buttocks with her boot and into a pile of manure.
Hopping off her steed, she handed the reins to a stable-boy and joined up with Teselin, who had been waiting patiently for their arrival. “I should have known this freak would take sick pleasure in pain.”
“She shocked me in the balls, mid-ride,” came his triumphant response, as though she had presented him with a fantastic reward and not a demerit. How she did it without harming that horse...nothing short of impressive.”
“Is there any side of you that’s not a farce?” She spat, retreating from the stables to the gardened pathway leading to the palace.
“Oh honey,” he winked, “I’m nothing but farcical. It’s why I joined the circus.”
It makes sense, she thought, as she trailed the prancing puppy and the summoner to the palace. That the embodiment of a joke would visit my miserable parents, and abscond with the last laugh. Perhaps they deserved it, for how they treated me…
Shaking her head from her morose ruminations, her one eye redirected its focus on the summoner, who Tivia, despite her earlier message of hope and support, still doubted. True, Teselin elicited both empathy and pity, the mirror of a pathetic waif wailing about in a war-camp, disfigured and disregarded. It was a comparison that had rankled her, at first, and shook her own identity to its core. Was that why Vitali tolerated her? Some long-ago reminders of his terrified sister? Did Tivia appear that way, to him?
“It’s got nothing to do with you,” Hadwin’s words from their earlier conversation crept inside her head. “You’ve got an established relationship with your precious necromancer; you’re golden, you’re good. So get out of your damn head; you’re not being replaced. But the kid needs some direction, and if you wanna prevent whatever disaster that you suspect she’ll cause--you know, the one that’s got you so spooked--give her a hand up, will you? Don’t kick her while she’s down. Isn’t that what you lot did to Snake Charmer when he was a pup? And he fucked some things up with his magic cuz you filled him up with hate? If she’s a storm waiting to happen, and she’s gonna blow no matter what--well, best not get on her bad side.”
Though his words had boiled her to the point of raging (for anything he said could set her off), his fear-attuned acumen could not be ignored. It was what she learned during her fledgling experience as a star-seer: never disregard the wisdom of others, no matter who should utter the words. Of course, she was a poor example of practicing this indisputable fact of life, especially as they related to masochistic, mangy sodomizers, but she had agreed to his terms, nonetheless. For, if the stars were sensing an imbalance in this young woman, and had already mapped out her planet-destroying might, then the question still remained; when? When would she lose her way, and what--who--would she consume in her wake?
“Do you think we can prevent this outcome?” She had stupidly asked the faoladh. While she was willing to consider the insight lent by his fear-scrying, soliciting his opinions was an entirely different matter.
“Who knows? She’s definitely got it in her to lose control and sink into darkness. I wanna believe in the kid, so I will...but sometimes I wonder if we’re just delaying the inevitable. After all...can’t protect that cherub forever. She’s already lived through enough fucked up shit...and people have a limit.”
She could have sworn she detected sadness settling behind those gold eyes, and a wilt to his cocksure speech. So the man had experienced loss, after all!
“Unfortunately for her,” Hadwin had continued, “she commits a mistake, or emotions get the better of her, and the whole situation’s amplified. But the thing is, if she’s not willing to abandon her morals, like your friend the necromancer, or yours truly, the weight of everything she’s done is gonna tear her apart. It’s a damned if you do, damned if you don’t situation. And it begs the question; which path will do the least amount of collateral damage in the long-run?”
The path in which she’s dead, she had wanted to answer. Why play this game of roulette at all? They were already dealing with enough threats of a magical nature and this girl was the most unstable of them all. Any poorly-timed outburst and she could eliminate the whole of Galeyn. To let her live was to risk countless lives. And yet, everyone with the knowledge of her destructive gifts accepted her at the palace without question or fuss?
So you would look to eliminate people like Lilica and Alster? A dissenting voice wriggled its way through her argument. You would take the stance of the late Adalfieri? He too thought Alster was too powerful and unstable to live. It was why he and the council sent him off to war; they hoped he would die. The popular opinion was for him to die. Would you say the same for him now? A man so devoted to helping, and healing? How about Lilica, Queen of Galeyn? Figurehead of hope for the confused and desperate kingdom? You would motion to end their lives based on their destructive past?
...No, she conceded, with defeat.
No.
Instead, she had put on a friendly face for the summoner, oozed apology, understanding, a tentative friendship in the making, and hoped it would be enough to one day lessen, or at least redirect, the summoner’s inevitable breaking point. Just like Lilica and Alster before her, powerful magic-users seldom escaped their destinies without first accruing a significant death toll.
Alster was up and out of bed long before dawn broke through the large bay windows of his and Elespeth’s shared quarters. In the days since arriving at Galeyn, he’d readjusted his schedule to account for the influx of D’Marians transitioning to their new housing assignments, an ambitious task insofar as the kingdom of Galeyn, while relatively small compared to other nations, dwarved the city-states of Stella D’Mare and Braighdath by a significant margin. The refugees were by now used to compact living conditions as only a city could provide, and the wide span of rural emptiness put many ill at ease. The people were tired, desperate to settle, and spiraling towards their limit. And once that limit was reached, would they revolt, like the people of Braighdath?
A recurring nightmare, one of many, relived the riots that took place outside his window. Braighdathians screamed their death threats, hurled chairs through the windows--which he had fortunately reinforced with a magical barrier beforehand--and, when failing to breach the magic-created fortress of the inn, called him a coward, a niggardly failure of a Lord, too holier-than-though to dignify them with the “truth” about the councilman’s death. Even when the crowd dispersed, pacified by threats of violence and attempted reason, they still carried the belief that he was a murderer. In his nightmares, the tongues of the people detached from their mouths and floated in the air, flapping their condemnations. Die, Rigas, die. Burn, suffer. Suffocate on our hate. Worthless scum. Waste of a life…
They were words he’d heard for most of his life, starting from the day he awakened the Serpent from Its three-thousand-year slumber. But just because he’d heard every creative concoction of his worthlessness didn’t mean it hurt any less. He thought he’d left the jeers of his peers behind. Thought that he’d gained respect and recognition from the city and his family as a savior. Alas, he was misled, for some D’Marians had accepted the vitriol spewed by their Braigdathian hosts, and had expressed their disapproval of him, of the council and of the situation as a whole. “We are not nomads. We are done traveling! We will no longer follow the whims of a clueless ruler!” And, to make their statements stick, the majority of the loudest dissenters had defected to Braighdath.
Every day proved more difficult to stir from bed and face the growing problem outside the palace walls. Especially now...when all he wanted to do was stay with Elespeth, terrified to miss any precious hour together. Not when so much of her time was offered to the realm of sleep, and so little of his unconscious energy available to take advantage of shared dreams within their special sanctum.
“Elespeth,” he whispered, gently rocking her shoulder with his good hand. They had formed a new ritual, one where he’d wake her in the mornings until he needed to leave for his Rigas duties. They would share breakfast in the room and talk pleasantries, nothing negative or bleak. This simple exchange was often enough to bolster his mood, and he’d bid his wife farewell with a hopeful smile and a promise to return in the evening, before dinner. However, on this particular day, Elespeth was in so deep a slumber, she did not answer his summons, no matter how many times he jostled her on the bed. Not wanting to disturb her in case she needed the extra hours for her heart, he withdrew his touch, kissed her on the forehead, and dined in the far table alone. Before he headed out of the room, he looked over at her huddled form on the bed and forced out a smile, as per habit. “I’ll see you tonight, Elespeth. Take care.”
His day as Rigas Head began as the majority of them did; with a meeting. Together with the Rigas council, Queen Lilica, and her committee of Galeyn representatives, they discussed, at length, the plans for constructing designated refugee villages for those D’Marians who wanted a sense of community and familiarity while being so far from home. The idea was to build white-washed houses roofed with clay-tiles along a hillside, to replicate the style and aesthetic of Old Town Stella D’Mare. In the middle, a town-square with a tiered fountain, and gardens boasting palm fronds and colorful flowers. It was an ambitious idea, a costly one at that, and it was difficult for Alster to sanction go-ahead for the project. “Our coffers are running low,” he explained, with a dejected sigh. “No doubt would it boost morale, but…” trailing off, he glanced alongside at his treasurer, and paused, as if in reconsideration. “We’ll put it to a vote. If enough D’Marians show interest in this village, we can cut down costs by asking for volunteer assistance. Haraldur and his Forbanne soldiers have shown their ableness with housing projects, before; I’ll request their aid.”
The meeting slogged on for another two hours, by far one of the longest he needed to withstand. It quickly became evident, the lack of Galeynian organization and the lack of D’Marian resources. By late morning, the meeting finally adjourned, and Alster was all too happy to flee the stuffy room where they held their proceedings. He was not able to relax long before Chara, accompanied by Lilica, approached him in the hallway.
“Slacking on the job?” She crossed her arms over her chest and gave a disapproving shake of her head.
“No,” he said, a little more defensively than he wanted. “I...needed, I need, a moment.” He rested a hand over his chest in wordless explanation.
“Then a moment is what you shall get.” Without warning, she linked an arm through his arm and pulled him through the corridors.
“W-wait,” he sputtered in protest, “where are you taking me?” He glanced at Lilica, who was following close behind. “Care to fill me in, here? If this is what I think it is--”
“--Shut up.” They stopped before a set of grand double-doors. He’d seen this room, in passing, but had never ventured inside.
“Chara, I--”
“--Open the doors, Alster. Do not make a fuss.” A hesitant hand reached out and pulled down the latch. The door clicked, and swung open. Inside was an expansive ballroom...in an open courtyard. The high trellised walls were covered with Night Garden ivy, awash in different colors as they spiraled towards the patch of blue sky overhead. On the smooth marble ground, guests of all sorts started congregating towards a curtained stage that had been erected on the back wall.
Alster retreated a step, crashing into Chara. “We don’t have the funds for this,” he whispered, mostly to himself.
“Please,” Chara scoffed. “Don’t insult my work. You yourself said I could make a ballroom out of a cow-pen. Consider this my acceptance to your challenge. No offense, Lilica,” she added, hurriedly. “These conditions are far more favorable than a cow-pen, you needn’t worry. And I hardly spent a coin at all.” She rested a supportive arm on his shoulder. “Most are here for you, Alster. Friends. People who you’ve helped. Inside are Galeynians eager to meet you, to thank you in person for assisting Lilica with their kingdom’s awakening. There are D’Marians--Rigases who support you. You will not find a sour face lobbed in your direction, Alster. If there is trouble,” the sourness that she mentioned puckered at her face, “I will deal with it.”
“But I,” he swallowed a lump of emotion down his throat, “I...have work to do. So much work. And I’m not properly addressed for such an affair.
“Your council is more than capable of dealing with your absence for a day. Furthermore, you will find that this is in no means a formal gathering. Now, no more excuses.” She grabbed his shirt collar and hefted him through the door. “Go forth and celebrate your centennial.”
Taking his (assisted) step into the courtyard ballroom, Alster’s nerves relaxed when he spotted Elespeth coming towards him in her wheeled contraption. “El,” he said, an uncertain smile on his face. “Don’t tell me you had something to do with this gathering, too?”
“Ah, lookie who we have here!” A chipper voice chimed in from behind. Alster turned around and was met with an assault of glittering red fire in the shape of a person. He squinted at the newcomer.
“Hadwin? ...What are you wearing?”
“It’s my circus best. Gotta look stunning for my Galeyn debut.”
“Debut?” Alster glanced at the stage. “You’re--”
“--Well, now that you’re here,” the faoladh interjected, “let’s make it official.” Sticking two fingers into his mouth, he released a loud, attention-grabbing whistle. The crowd quieted into a hush of whispers and silence. “Our long-awaited guest has arrived, folks. Give it up for Lord Alster Rigas!”
The guest of honor in question sidled further from the boisterous wolf-shifter and closer to his wife. All the while, he plastered on a smile and drew into a thankful bow. He could not, however, conceal the deep blush that overtook his entire face. “Please...don’t leave my side,” he whispered to Elespeth through the side of his grinning mouth. “I’m not used to...such overwhelmingly positive attention. I think I might catch fire.”
Keeping the upcoming celebration a secret from Alster proved to be more of a conscious effort than Elespeth had thought. It was not because the former knight was bad at keeping secrets, either. When Lilica and Chara had approached her with the idea of recognizing the Rigas head’s one-hundredth birthday with a celebration at the heart of Galeyn, she’d immediately voiced her favour and agreement. Knowing well what he had been through, since his departure from Stella D’Mare a half-year ago, no one deserved recognition quite like he did. And while shouldering the burden of organizing and leading and hearing the needs of the people who had put their faith in him had taken its toll on his health, both mental and physical, she saw the necessity in stepping away from it all for one day. He would resist; of course he would not agree to such a frivolous use of time, when there was so much to be done.
And this was precisely why he was not consulted when these plans were arranged. But in knowing how long it had been since Alster had something to look forward to… she wished she could tell him, if only to have him look forward to a reprieve. This would be the celebration that should have taken place in Braighdath. In a sense, it would be a do-over, except the Braighdathians unfortunately wouldn’t be around to experience it (and likely wouldn’t appreciate it, if they were). In their stead would be Galeynians, who were more understanding and decidedly less intent on cursing Alster and the D’Marians for all of the misfortune that had followed them into their hallowed city.
She saw the fatigue in his face every day, when they woke up together; the dark circles beneath his eyes, the sluggishness when he finally got out of bed, and the defeated exhaustion that overtook him when he returned to their room every night to sleep. Sometimes it was so late, she wasn’t even awake for his return. And on top of the pressure to perform and succeed, he was also dealing with the symptoms of her own faulty heart that he had foolishly absorbed. No, Alster would not agree to or even welcome this reprieve… but he needed it. And in knowing that, the Atvanian warrior kept silent, biding her time until the day finally arrived.
Elespeth felt despondent upon awakening that morning, noting that the sun had already risen in the sky, and the spot next to her on the bed was empty, as were the plates of food that Alster had eaten while she slept. Normally, he would wake her up so that they could eat together. Their time alone with one another felt so little, as there were matters requiring Alster’s attention all day long, and sleep dominated the majority of her time. That she hadn’t awoken to wish him a good day, that morning, left an emptiness in her chest that fought for space with her defective heart. It doesn’t matter. I’ll make it up to him later, she vowed silently to prevent that dismal feeling of disappointment from lingering too long. Tonight. He’ll see why it is all necessary…
Eating her fill of breakfast to ensure her strength, Elespeth then returned to doze for some time, until Chara came to visit her later that morning to inform her off the preparations that had been made toward Alster’s birthday celebration. It came as no surprise for her to find out that everything was in place, and the organization of the event had gone smoothly. After all, it never occurred to her to doubt Chara’s prowess when it came to throwing a spectacular event. “Excellent. He still has no idea that anything will take place; tell everyone to try to keep him in that meeting until the last detail has fallen into place. And, if you have the time an inclination… you’ve already worked your magic on Galeyn, making it worthy of a celebration of Rigas calibre. Would you mind making a lowly would-be warrior just as worthy to show her face?”
Of course, the Rigas woman agreed, as she was wont to do when faced with anything she considered to be a “project”; and Elespeth, who would be the first to admit she did not know the first thing about looking presentable at any event, beyond donning regal attire. The years she would’ve spent learning to be a proper lady had been used up learning to be a knight, instead. It was not difficult to convince Chara she was a lost cause without her help, and the Rigas woman never failed to disappoint. She brightened her complexion with powders and always new how to style her hair at its varying lengths. With her help, Elespeth no longer looked ill or weak; were it not for the sad fact that she remained confined to that wheeled contraption for the lack of strength in her legs, no one would’ve had any reason to think there was anything wrong with her.
When she was ready, she took her place among the revelers outside, in the courtyard-turned-ballroom. Chara had outdone herself, again; and it hadn’t cost Galeyn much of anything. Lilica had insisted on providing the funds and provisions to make this possible, as a thank-you to Alster for believing in her when so few had; for making the trek with her to uncover this sleeping kingdom. While it might have lacked the gaudiness that a high Rigas would expect, Galeyn possessed its own elegance that was no less regal, and everything--from the location, to the decor, to the food--was perfect.
Among other familiar faces, namely Vega, Sigrid and her lover, Teselin, Hadwin, and the Missing Links, Elespeth eagerly waited for those doors to open. Right about now, Chara and Lilica should be leading Alster this way--either willingly, or by some means of force (for Chara was not about to let all of her hard work go unacknowledged). She didn’t realize she had been holding her breath in anticipation until the three finally emerged: Chara, dragging Alster by the arm, and Lilica trailing close behind.
Alster looked antsy, hesitant to be part of this celebration, and that was to be expected. For one, he was not particularly enamored of being the center of attention for any reason, and this also took him off guard. Before he could formulate some excuse to not participate, Elespeth moved into his line of vision, all smiles. “I’ve known of this for quite some time. It was difficult to keep this secret from you, but… you deserve it, Alster. Anyway,” there was a twinkle in her eye when she took his hand. “Chara told me you’ve reached a Rigas milestone. Did you really think that I would let that go unnoticed, after everything you’ve done for the people here? Galeynian and D’Marian alike?”
They were not far into their conversation before the likes of Hadwin Kavanagh approached them, bedecked in skintight, glittering gold and vermillion, with Teselin at his side. “Happy birthday, Alster.” The young summoner, dressed in a light gown of pale blue, stood on her toes and draped a thin wreath of yellow and blue wildflowers around his neck. “The Missing Links have prepared a performance in honour of your birthday; and Hadwin is part of it. He performed frequently with Briery during our journey to Braighdath--believe me, you won’t be disappointed. Here.” With a bright smile, she took a second wildflower wreath from the crook of her arm, and draped it around Elespeth’s elegant neck. “Now you match. Today is for having fun; whatever work you need to get done can wait until tomorrow.”
Following Hadwin’s grand announcement of Alster’s arrival, clapping and cheering ensued, hundreds of pleased faces welcoming the Rigas head out of genuine goodwill. Chara had been right; this was a bold contrast to the bitter faces that had cursed his name every day in Galeyn. No one was here who didn’t want to genuinely be there to celebrate Alster and his hundredth birthday, close friends, family, and strangers alike.
“People want you to feel appreciated,” Elespeth said to him, watching Teselin retreat with her faoladh companion. She was pleased to see the light back in the young summoner’s eyes; a light that suggested she was still in pursuit of hope. “There is nothing to be embarrassed about. It is not nearly as extraneous as my naming ceremony was, and everyone here has the same agenda: put trouble aside, and be happy. I know you’re a leader, but you’d do well to follow their example, for once.”
“Alster.” A voice from behind snagged both of their attention. There stood Sigrid, dressed in attire that was neither too casual, nor too formal, but was a nice change from her Dawn Guard tunic. Her blonde hair had alternatively been styled in an attractive fishtail braid, compliments of the lovely Kariji woman on her arm. “I daresay you look well, for an official centenarian. I’m happy to be present to wish a happy hundredth birthday. Elespeth…” The Dawn Warrior’s voice trailed off. Her azure eyes weren’t able to meet those of Alster’s wife.
“Alster has explained everything to me, Sigrid. You needn’t explain anything.” The woman from Atvany shook her head in a dismissive gesture. “Thank you for being here for my husband, today--both of you.”
A small band of Galeynian musicians began to flood the air with soothing, ethereal harp and woodwind, before the makeshift stage. Eager couples took one another in their arms and began to sway, making use of the ballroom that Chara had had her heart set on. While the Rigas woman had been willing to compromise on some aspects of the unfolding festivities, in terms of space and decor, this was not one of those areas: there would be a ballroom, big enough to accommodate Galeynians and D’Marians alike, and there would be dancing. Not even Sigrid was safe from the musical cue, as Naimah was quick to encourage her to have a dance--something to which the Dawn warrior was now more open, but still not entirely enthused about.
No sooner did she and Naimah take their leave, that Lilica herself interrupted the Rigas couple with an apologetic bow. She cradled a small, ceramic mug of earthy smelling tea in her hand. “I hope I’m not interrupting. Elespeth: as per our agreement earlier.” The Galeynian queen handed Elespeth the mug, but not without leaning in with a brief warning, “If either Elias or Daphni asks, it is simply herbal tea. It’s not a lie.” With a conspiratorial wink, Lilica was gone almost as quickly as she’d appeared, to search for Chara before she lost the Rigas woman in the growing crowd.
“Thank you,” Elespeth mouthed to Lilica, before taking a lengthy sip of the admittedly bitter beverage. At Alster’s inquiring look, she ventured to explain. “It helps to know a knowledgeable herbalist sometimes. Lilica makes me this tea from time to time to give me the opportunity to be on my feet… and a break from this damned contraption. She made it for me the night of your arrival. So that I might stand to greet you.” The ex-knight did not miss the stricken microexpression that flashed across her husband’s face, however unintentional it might have been. How it must have sounded to him, admitting she was relying on yet another substance to be on her feet… She lowered the mug, a pained and guilty look lingering in her green eyes. “No… no, Alster, it isn’t anything like that. I promise. All of these herbs are gathered from the Night Garden. It makes it easier to breathe and takes the strain off of my heart, for a short period of time. Not a long-term solution, and no side-effects or consequences, just a bandage for those times when it is necessary to be on my feet. And I refuse to pass this celebration by without at least one dance.”
With her free hand, she reached to give his fingers a reassuring squeeze. “Give me a moment to feel as awake as I look. You should go and mingle--I know you can do it without my help. Look, over there.” Elespeth nodded toward one of the small, glass tables adorned in climbing vines that blossomed with tiny white flowers. A familiar woman with striking copper hair and a visibly pregnant belly stood, gazing upon the horizon beyond, like she was looking for someone--or waiting for someone. Whenever a denizen stepped up to greet the foreign princess, who had very quickly become a beloved ally among Galeynians, Vega Sorde was quick to greet them with a smile and kind words. But as soon as she was alone again, that wistful, wishing look befell her otherwise glowing face. It was not a look she had ever shown Elespeth, during their brief and limited encounters in this newly revived kingdom, but the ex-knight had suspected there was something sad behind the Skyknight’s smile.
“Have you spoken with Vega at all, since your arrival? Now is your chance to touch base with your faraway friends. And you helped her; I think she’d be happy to see you. Go on,” Elespeth gave her husband a small nudge. “I’ll be right here. When you get back, I want a dance--just one. So I can say I danced with my husband on his hundredth birthday.”
It was a curious thing, being surrounded by such a welcoming atmosphere and genuine people, all the while feeling eaten alive by a heavy darkness that just wouldn’t seem to lift. Vega maintained her smile for the sake of those to whom it brought hope, but ever since Haraldur had returned, to declare he wanted no place near her, the people’s unyielding kindness no longer reached her. No longer got her through the increasingly longer nights of her increasingly more uncomfortable pregnancy, and selfish as it sounded, did nothing to fill the void created by her husband’s absence. It wasn’t supposed to be like this; they were in this together. They were supposed to be together, but other circumstances now prevented that… and it left her unsure as to what to expect, or what to even hope for. They’ll be born. That was what Tivia had said about the twins: they would be born. But in what condition, and under what circumstances? Fatherless? Or, potentially… motherless? Anything could happen, and when all she wanted was the company of the man with whom she’d planned to spend the rest of her life, she was left only with this emptiness…
“...Alster! I’m sorry, I was distracted.” Before she knew it, Vega was no longer standing alone at that table. The man himself for whom this celebration had been thrown stood before her, looking admittedly a little overwhelmed. But no matter Alster’s state of mind, his presence was always welcome and disarming. She was happy to see him. “I am so glad to be here, today. Makes me feel a little less regret for not being present at your and Elespeth’s wedding--congratulations, by the way.” The Eyraillian princess beamed that smile that she reserved for all of her well wishers. Of anyone, Alster Rigas deserved it the most.
Her hand went to her pregnant belly as he inquired about her children; and not in a way that was judgmental or patronizing, as she so often heard from Daphni and Elias. It wasn’t in Alster to be either of those things. “They--we are just fine. All thanks to your help, might I add. And even moreso since we took a little change of scenery.” For just a second, she seemed to struggle with her smile. But she was too well-practiced to let that falter linger. “Galeyn is certainly more than I imagined it would be--with or without the Night Garden. I have served as a diplomat and found myself in many different kingdoms under varying degrees of rule, but none have ever been quite so welcoming as this place. Although I must say, this garden is a real boon… makes being pregnant with twins a little less uncomfortable. I think I’m going to find it hard to leave, when the time comes.” In more ways that one, a cynical voice chimed in at the back of her mind. Considering there is no longer any guarantee that Eyraille is going to want you back.
“But--that may not be such a bad thing. I owe you more than I can realistically repay, for what you did to help secure the lives of my children.” Her countenance softened to heartfelt gratitude. Vega reached out to take Alster’s flesh and blood hand. “Unfortunately, with my pregnancy and helping to organize the influx of refugees, I feel as though I haven’t really been there for Elespeth. But when the dust has settled, and these two are born… I’d love to stay and be of help, for as long as your wife remains here. Which may not even be that long--who knows?” Vega glanced over her shoulder, in the direction of the illustrious Night Garden with a hopeful smile. “The Gardeners are saying that the Night Garden is growing stronger by the day. Elespeth may be on her feet again sooner than we think.”
And yet, even if that were the case, there was still the impending threat of the sorceress, Locque. But Vega could not deign to wrap her head around that right now. There was only so much room for despair in one heart, and right now, it wasn’t Locque’s imminent arrival that concerned her the most. It was whatever fate had in store for her husband… and if he would ever really be her husband, again.
“Is that why I couldn’t wake you this morning? It’s far easier to keep a secret when you’re unconscious.” However, Elespeth didn’t respond with a smile; it had faded, somewhat, and Alster’s attempt at lightheartedness choked in the back of his throat. “No; you were tired. I’m sorry. If at any time during this party you need to retire early, please don’t hesitate for my sake. I’ll find a way to soldier on without you. Though,” a nervous laugh wheezed out of his lungs, “it’ll be difficult.”
When Hadwin strutted towards them like a peacock with his feathers on display, Alster had feared the worst--which, of course, always put an amused grin on the faoladh’s face. To offset his presence, Teselin accompanied him, her wide eyes beset with their old shine. Her smile of greeting was too genial not for him to replicate in kind. “Teselin. Thank you.” The fingers of his good hand stroked the blue and yellow petals of the wreath now wound around his neck. “And thank you for thinking ahead and making me look halfway presentable. Between the three of you,” he motioned especially to Elespeth, lovely as ever in her gown and curls, I look drab as ever in this dusty tunic of mine.” To emphasize, he patted off invisible dirt from his mud-colored attire.”
“Eh,” Hadwin rolled his shoulders into an exaggerated shrug, “I’m colorblind anyway. Everyone looks pretty fucking dull to me, so you fit right in.”
“That explains why you’re wearing the flashiest color in the room,” Alster said, raising an eyebrow at the bright red ensemble and its ability to send out licks of movement even while its wearer remained stationary.
“Wait’ll till you see the rest of the Links,” he winked. “Anyway, it’s your day, Chief Rigas. Pretty sure you could waltz in here naked and people would just turn the other cheek.”
“Not a risk I’m willing to take.” He shuddered at the thought. “Tell me if that works for you, whenever you celebrate your birthday.”
Hadwin scoffed aloud. “I don’t need a birthday to take off my clothes in front of a crowd. Ask Elespeth.” His grin lit up like a row of lanterns as he leaned an elbow on the handlebars of the woman’s wheelchair. “That was, what...our second meeting? And wasn’t it something? Alone, in the woods, at night--”
“--Alright,” Alster pushed back the faoladh’s advance with a hand on his shoulder. “Save the jokes and off-color comments for when you perform. On second thought,” he paused, “I want a clean show. Special birthday request.”
“Psh,” Hadwin crossed his arms over his chest and pretended to pout. “You’re no fun. I suppose I can make concessions this one time.”
After the wolf-shifter had announced Alster’s arrival to the response of unanimous applause, he had the grace, at least, to leave, along with the summoner, who seemed to follow him around like his own personal guard.
“It’s interesting, how the two of them get on so well,” he said to Elespeth, shaking his head with wonder. “I heard from Lilica that they took a trip to visit Vitali, yet here she is, returned and at his side. Practically inseparable. I wonder if we’ve ever looked that way to people.” He leaned forward to rest a hand upon her knee. “Or if we will, once the chaos settles around here...or in general.” If it ever will, he thought, grimly. If you’ll ever recover. If we’ll ever...become intimate again.
Fortunately, his dark musings were interrupted by another pair of well-wishers--a pair he didn’t think to see so soon. “Sigrid. Naimah. I didn’t think you’d be traveling down to Galeyn, yet--but this is not an unpleasant surprise, at all. I’m happy to see you, both.”
“We decided to take our leave earlier, Alster,” Naimah said, with a curtsy. “For reasons we shall regale you with at a later date. There is no need to spoil the gaiety of your grand party. We will have ample time to discuss our research.”
“Of course.” His smile bordered on teasing when he snapped his attention back to Sigrid. “Are you expecting someone to look and play the part of a grizzled, decrepit curmudgeon? It won’t be difficult for me to channel; most days, I feel like the very type of centenarian you’re picturing. But I’m far from the oldest person in this room--so I can’t even enjoy the inhibition-free lifestyle that most elderly adopt.”
“That is a blessing, Alster. Most people prefer to see you smile than to frown and grumble about every angle that appears askew.” She tucked in a curl that had come loose from her updo. “I had the misfortune of meeting someone like that, today. A healer, in red. Sigrid tells me she’s met him before, and that he is often cantankerous and disagreeable.”
“Oh, you mean Elias?” he punctuated with a breathy laugh. “Yes, that’s not an inaccurate assessment. I’m surprised he’s made an appearance here, at all. He abhors parties. Daphni’s influence, no doubt.”
When a band of musicians took to the stage and filled the air with an upbeat aria, Naimah clutched tight to Sigrid’s arm and not-so-subtly yanked her towards the center of the ballroom. “You promised a dance with me, my gallant knight. I will keep you to your promise.” She craned her slender neck towards Alster and Elespeth. “You do not mind if we partake?”
“By all means,” he gestured to the dance floor with his prosthetic hand. “That’s what it’s there for. Chara would let her wrath be known to this entire congregation if no one took advantage of her hard work by refusing to dance.”
“Very well. Then,” she kicked up the emerald-green skirts of her gown and fell into another curtsy, “I wish you the best on your special day, Alster Rigas. Congratulations.” With her blessing, the couple retreated from the conversation, their close-knit gait and merry footfalls in complement with the other--like two people in love.
As was a common occurrence for the honored guest and unwitting center of attention, Alster was acknowledged by yet another well-wisher. Well...not quite. “Lilica,” he greeted the Galeyn Queen with the bow of his head. “No, you’re not. I’m still avoiding the greater crowd,” he said, with the squiggle of a self-deprecating smile. “Not that I’m in any way ungrateful for this honor. Taken aback, yes. That so many people would respond to such a short-notice invite for the likes of me...it’s humbling. Oh, excuse me,” he blanched and stepped out of her way, not realizing that she was attempting to reach Elespeth. He cocked his head with curiosity at the mug of tea she presented to his wife, but had failed to ask about its contents before the monarch had excused herself and dipped out of sight. “I…” he trailed off, his eyes fogging over with recent memories he’d rather forget. Elespeth, indistinguishable from a decomposing pile of forest leaves, face-down and unresponsive, her frail, shriveled body reeking of the stimulant herb she’d stolen from the Forbanne because he had confiscated her stash and worsened an already dire situation…
He swallowed, hard, and shook his head. “No, Elespeth. It’s fine. I believe you. I trust you, and I trust Lilica. You...take all the time that you need. There’s no rush to stand and engage me in a dance. But,” he reignited his smile, “if that’s what you want, I’m more than happy to oblige. And,” he exaggerated a sigh; low, forlorn, and long-suffering, “I suppose I’ll go out and do this on my own. But if I should step into the fray, and I’m assaulted by a mad, frothing wolf, I expect you to come and avenge me.” With an affectionate pat on her shoulder, Alster set out, accepting friendly handshakes and congratulations as he weaved his way to the table where Vega Sorde stood. She exhibited a stillness and a far-off look only reserved for those in deep, dazed thought--and he could predict the reasons behind her calm, subdued state.
“No--don’t apologize. I should be the one apologizing for barging in like this; I understand if you’d like to be left alone,” he said, only moving closer to her proximity at her insistence that he was more than welcome. “You don’t need to make any exceptions for me, just because it’s my birthday. That said--I’m glad to see you again, Vega. Last we saw each other, it was during a celebration, too. I might have gone a little overboard with drink,” he smiled, in sheepish remembrance. “I won’t make the same mistake--I hope. Anyway...thank you for attending. An event like this becomes more palatable when surrounded by friends.” At mention of his and Elespeth’s wedding, he raised his left hand to eye level, observing the band of diamonds on his ring finger. “Oh, no, you didn’t miss much. But,” he hesitated, realizing he was broaching a delicate subject, “I’m thankful to your husband for presiding. He didn’t have to prepare a speech, but he made it into a proper ceremony for us, and we were touched by his thoughtfulness. Elespeth still talks about it. ...How are the children?”
It was an abrupt shift in the conversation, a tactless blurt that hummed with awkward timing, but if Vega noticed, she showed no indication as she happily answered his question.
“Good. I’m glad they’re doing so well, here. May I?” With her permission, he pressed his flesh and blood hand on her stomach and closed his eyes, concentrating. A soft hum of warm, white light enveloped his point of contact and remained there until moments later, when he withdrew his touch. A smile twitched on his face as he opened his eyes, the white glow dissipating. “I don’t yet know if Daphni or Elias have determined their genders, but if you’d like to know,” he paused, waiting for her consent to go on, “one of them is a boy, and one of them is a girl. Also, I sense...a hint of magic in them. It’s vague, but...earthy. Like...a seed, planted in the soil, waiting to grow into a stately tree. I daresay they inherited it from their father, and that the Night Garden is helping to cultivate the magic, due in part to its compatibility. But,” he lowered his hand to his side, “I’d ask for a second opinion. I read energy signatures with relative accuracy, but the readings can get a little skewed in places of magical affluence, like the Night Garden.”
His hand was right back up at eye level again, however, when the Eyraillian princess scooped it up and oozed her bottomless gratitude for saving the lives of her children when they needed it most. His cheeks heated and his skin grew clammy; side effects that he’d just have to grow accustomed to experiencing over the course of the day. “I think Elespeth would love the company of a familiar presence. In turn, if you’re looking for someone in whom to confide...well,” he laughed, “I’d be silly not to keep in touch. After all, we’ll be living in the same palace for an indeterminate amount of time. We may be saddled with our own responsibilities, but we’re never far. And once your children are born, I understand you’re going to need a great deal of help. So don’t be shy. In fact--” he cocked his head, scanning for his wife in the crowd, “you don’t have to wait to reconnect. Why don’t you join us, today? There’s no reason for you to wander around by yourself--and I selfishly desire your company; the more friends I put before strangers, the more cushioning I’ll have when I inevitably fall and flail before these guests. In no time, they’ll realize they’re honoring the wrong person!”
Although he did not explicitly say it, the implications were clear; I want you to join me because Haraldur isn’t coming. Even if his wolfish quarry was not out mingling in the crowd with a painted red target glittering about his person, Alster traveled long enough with the man to understand his tells and his mindset. No doubt, he still carried guilt over the celebration in Braighdath, its dissolution caused by his initial instigation. He was terrified of slipping into Mollengardian compulsion, and as a protective measure, imposed self-exile on himself and on the Forbanne he commanded. Alster saw, first-hand, the desperation in the eyes of Vega’s husband when he thought no one was watching. But they had traveled together from Braighdath to Galeyn, and exhaustion often loosened the threads on his carefully worn mask. On those days, his hand seldom strayed from the ring on his necklace chain. But during the last leg of their journey, hope began to slip. The necklace sat on his chest, ignored. A dead-weight of a faraway promise, blinking away from his reach.
Alster couldn’t imagine his state of mind upon discovering Vega’s presence at Galeyn’s presence. Yes, there was anger, and betrayal, fear and concern, but above all, he suspected the newly-crowned prince felt trapped--yearning to act on his desires but forced to deny himself the love and acceptance he’d worked so hard to attain. And precious hope, dangling before his eyes like a carrot strung in front of a cart mule, tormented him afresh. Did the mule ever receive the carrot after a long day of hauling carts? Or was he doomed to repeat the process day in and day out, until his spirit broke?
The close-by rustle of a dress along with slow, but deliberate steps had reintroduced Alster to the scene before him. Elespeth, emerging from the place where they had last been, was walking in his and Vega’s direction. Her gait was wobbly and a little unbalanced, but she managed to make it to his side without stumbling. He took her into his arms, both to hold her and keep her steady. “That tea really works wonders,” he planted a quick kiss on her lips. “Perhaps I should request Lilica’s herbalism services for myself. Though, since I’ve been here, my stomach’s settled a bit. I daresay it’s the food.” Looping one arm around Elespeth’s shoulders, he turned to include Vega in the conversation. “Have you been having any interesting cravings, lately? It can’t be easy if you desire something like a steak. Makes me wonder how the resident wolf is getting by.”
The band on stage transitioned into the familiar notes of a popular waltz, and Alster spun on his wife. “Well, you said you wanted a dance.” He retreated a step and extended his metal hand for her to take. “Nothing would please me more than to share the floor with you,” he bowed. Hand in hand, they made their slow procession to the center of the courtyard, but not before calling over his shoulder to the Eyraillian princess. “We’ll return. I plan to ask you, next.”
Alster certainly wasn’t the first to ask to feel the little lives growing inside her belly. Something about being visibly pregnant seemed to invite everyone to reassure themselves of her situation by tactile means, almost to the point where all of the hands on her protruding stomach were becoming an annoyance. But she was far from denying anyone the request, not when the curiosity and inquiries were all so well-meaning--especially not the man who had ascertain that her children would make it this far. “By all means,” she permitted him, before the Rigas caster placed his flesh-and-blood hand on her stomach. By the smile that spread across his face, whatever prognosis his magic had provided as feedback must have been favourable, she thought. Sure enough, it was.
No, Daphni and Elias had not made mention of the genders of the children, either as an oversight, or as punishment for her taking her leave of Eyraille, or maybe because they felt it wasn’t their place. Frankly, Vega hadn’t had the courage or inclination to ask; she hadn’t been sure predicting the gender was even possible. Certainly, established mothers and older woman--Eyraillian, Galeynian, and even D’Marian alike--had their opinions. Excessive morning sickness or cravings for rich meat indicated a boy; aversion to green vegetables or a constant hankering for sweets suggested a girl. She was willing to bet she had come across every possible superstition, and then some. That said,the princess of Eyraille couldn’t believe her luck when Alster revealed his far more credible insights.
“A boy… and a girl.” She breathed, and touched her own stomach with her fingertips. Klara and Kynnet… just like she and Haraldur had planned. Real; they were real, now. Fraternal twins, bearing the names that she and Haraldur had chosen just about a month after their conception. Unbidden, tears sprang to her eyes, which she promptly blinked away before they could draw too much attention. Not that it was strange for a pregnant woman to be crying at all (it was rather a blessing that she was able to blame her errant emotions on her pregnancy), but this was a happy occasion for Alster; there was no room for the intrusion of intense feelings that tears suggested. “No… I didn’t know. If Elias and Daphni are aware, then they have not seen fit to tell me. So, thank you. I daresay, it makes it far easier to plan for the children when I know their genders.” She thanked her friend, a beaming smile illuminating her face. “And… magic? It most certainly must be inherited from their father, if that is indeed the case. The Sorde bloodline has never been known to be magically adept... “ Hence Eyraille’s past intolerance for magic and anything related to it. Since it was something the ruling monarchy did not themselves possess, the Sordes had always seen it as a threat to their reign, and had thusly expelled it from the kingdom, entirely. Her father had been no different. True, that at another point in time, this would have been quite a conundrum: to bear children adept in magic. Would they have been exiled or condemned? Or would introducing magic to the Sorde bloodline have changed the rules?
Times had changed, regardless. There was no way of knowing what would have happened, had her father been alive for the birth of his own grandchildren (although, something told her that given Haraldur would have been considered little more than a commoner, the father of her children would not have been well received). But if there was any trouble to be had for the twins in their near future that faced them, then she had a feeling it would not be at all related to magic.
To her great relief, Alster did not question her desire to remain to be of help to him and his wife in the coming days, and did not ask her to explain herself. Something told her it had nothing to do with remaining completely unaware of what had transpired between her and Haraldur; the Rigas head was no fool, and he happened to know the two of them very well, which suggested he was not exempt from being aware of the dynamic of her relationship with her husband. One whom she knew she would not be seeing, on this occasion… and yet, she still foolishly held out hope. That the Eyraillian prince would somehow round a corner, bedecked in regal attire, a smile, and arms wide open. Just as he had been at the last celebration they’d shared: one that had turned into their own impromptu wedding night. The Wind and he Green Spirit, together at last… Perhaps it is for the better that he keep his distance, the princess reasoned, when a familiar figure clad in sparkling vermillion caught her eye: the wolf. The one person who needed to stay far from Haraldur, lest he lose a grip on his life; and lest Vega lose her husband, forever...
Just as her thoughts once again threatened to take something of a dark turn, Elespeth--on her feet, although a little unsteady--was making her way toward them, her face alight with joy. It warmed Vega’s heart to see her friend remaining so positive in light of the hardship that faced her: bedridden, and with yet no prospects of a full recovery. To say her heart ached for her and her husband was an understatement, but there was no place for pity tonight, “Elespeth; you look positively radiant,” she commented, and it was not an exaggeration. The former knight’s current handicap was not going to be a bother to her, on this occasion, and one Chara Rigas had once again done a marvelous job of using powders, pigments, and rouge to bring out the most beautiful aspects of her face.
“Believe me, the compliments should go to Chara for making me look even remotely presentable,” Elespeth chuckled, ever humble about the natural beauty in the shape of her face, the cut of her cheekbones, and the early slate-green of her eyes. “But thank you, Vega. You also look amazing. I’m sorry I have not found the opportunity to tell you as much, until now.”
“Nevermind that. It is my own fault that my timing has been too poor to sit down and catch up with you.” The Eyraillian princess dismissed her apology with a flippant gesture. “And there will still be plenty of time for that later. Go, and have a dance with your husband on his birthday. I will not be the reason that the two of you do not get to share in such a moment. And, while I appreciate the offer, Alster…” Vega looked down at her round stomach and smiled sheepishly. “Believe me when I say it is best that I sit the dancing out. Something about this ever-growing stomach is making me far from graceful in my day to day activities, nevermind in dancing.”
While the Rigas mage and his wife shared in the rare opportunity of both being on their feet, the other guests continued to mingle--including Daphni and Elias, the former who had insisted on making an appearance for Alster’s sake, and the latter who could only be convinced to attend on the promise that he would not have to dance. “You have to admit, this is not nearly as chaotic as Eyraille’s Festival if Equinox,” the Sybaian healer said to her Clematis counterpart, one hand on his arm as the circled the premises of the makeshift ballroom. “I daresay the Galeynians are as a whole far less fiery than Eyraillians, and the D’Marians are too exhausted from their venture to make a scene. I don’t imagine we will find ourselves amidst any impromptu weddings, this time, so you can stop holding your breath.”
Nonetheless, Daphni knew better than to force Elias to mingle, and agreed to keep to observing rather than directly partaking in festivities and catching up with old friends. However, none of that meant anything to those ‘old friends’ who sought to catch up with them.
“Daphni and Elias. I certainly did not expect to see the two of you leave your post in Eyraille.” It was none other than the once afflicted acrobat, Briery Frealy, who demanded their attention and caused their heads to turn. The ringleader was unsurprisingly clad in her solid gold attire, with glitter on her eyelids and in her hair. “Then again, I also did not expect to see the princess herself in these parts. But none of that is really any of my business.” A bold grin graced her feline features. “It is good to see you both.”
“Likewise, Briery.” The Sybaian healer was not without smiles for the acrobat, who had obviously recovered, since the last time they had met. Briery Frealy stood tall, hands on her hips and away from her lower abdomen, no longer looking concerned about coming apart at the seems during a performance. “I also did not expect our paths to cross again so soon. Of course, I suppose that is bound to happen with mutual allies and friends. Call it a guess, but your aura is looking far less muddied by fear and pain. Is the tonic serving you well?”
“Haven’t had a problem--or a cycle, for that matter--since Eyraille. To be honest, it’s rather… surreal. Not planning my every decision around whether or not I will be incapacitated. Not having to plan our performances around whatever time of the month it may be. And I have you lot and Alster Rigas to thank for that. So,” the ringleader swooped into a deep bow. “Consider this my formal thanks. And how are the two of you? The last time I pulled cards for you,” she smiled specifically at Daphni, “it seemed as though you were trying for a third presence in your lives.”
Daphni was helpless to prevent the flush that blossomed on her cheeks. Had their endeavour to have a child really been so obvious in the spread of the ringleader’s ambiguous cards? “Luck and happenstance haven’t been so kind to us, thus far.”
“Well… considering the both of you are here, of all places, that may be for the better. Lately, my cards have not had many hopeful things to say.” The ringleader’s smile faded along the edges. “Some imminent danger about an ancient, resentful sorceress, and whatnot. If you want my completely unsolicited advice, stay cautious; I’m not really sure of what is to come, but it won’t be good. Though, in the meantime, I’d love for the two of you to attend our show, in a short while. I guarantee, it won’t be quite the same as what you witnessed in Eyraille.” Her hazel eyes briefly found the faoladh in the crowd; it was hard to miss him, in his glimmering vermillion attire. “We happened across a certain… flashy element, on our way to Braighdath, who happens to add a whole new flavour to our performance. A temporary new member who is in and of himself a crowd-pleaser. If you do choose to show up, you won’t be disappointed.”
With everything unfolding as it should be, it came as a relief to Lilica that her presence was merely necessary to observe the atmosphere of this celebration as it all came to pass. Admittedly, she had been nervous with regard to how Alster might have reacted to being the focus of such an enormous surprise. But he seemed to be taking it all in stride, and was even enjoying a dance with his fiancee, who had found the strength to rise from her wheeled chair with the help of the potent herbs of Lilica’s tea. “I don’t know how you managed to pull it all off,” she admitted to Chara, who was soaking in the praise and accomplishment of the payoff of yet another successful endeavour. “And with such little time. I daresay, this wouldn’t have been possible without your help. Look at how happy they are.” She motioned to both Alster and Elespeth, who were swaying slowly to the soothing Galeynian music that permeated the air. “Not to mention, D’Marians and Galeynians alike seem to be enjoying the temporary weight off their shoulders. This is something that everyone deserved.” The disaster of the festivities that had taken place in Braighdath as an attempt to raise morale had not gone unheard of within the walls of the palace. Fortunately, as an extra measure of safety, Galeynian sentries and some Dawn warriors alike were keeping close watch not only on the premises of the celebration, but on all entrances to the kingdom, as well, as a means of making sure misfortune did not repeat itself today. Given Alster’s increasingly exhausted demeanor, she wasn’t sure he could handle any more tragedy.
“I only see one issue with all of this,” the Galeyninan queen went on, and turned her gaze on the Rigas woman, who had been looking less defeated and more like herself with every passing day. “You should be celebrating, as well. Isn’t your own birthday in just a few days? You said you used to celebrate it in conjunction with Alster. You have a chance to continue that tradition, you know; I doubt that anyone here would oppose it.”
It was the first time she had brought up the Rigas woman’s birthday, since Chara had confided in her that it was quickly approaching, along with Alster’s. After all, it wasn’t going to be any ordinary passing of yet another year, for her. This would the first birthday that Chara Rigas would experience without possessing any of her magic. The first birthday where she would age in accordance with any other human being that walked this plane of existence. It would be the first real acknowledgement of a new beginning, for better or worse, no matter how it was framed. It was for that reason alone, the significance of such change, that Lilica had hesitated to broach the topic. But now, seeing the way that everyone else was making merry, and how Chara chose to simply observe alongside Lilica… it didn’t feel right, for the blonde woman to exempt herself from the temporary bliss in which everyone else partook.
“I know--I’m one to talk. I’ve never been all that adept at ‘celebrating’, or being among any sort of celebration,” the Queen of Galeyn admitted with an embarrassed smile. “Frankly, considering my no-so-forgivable attack on this kingdom and the Night Garden some months ago, I’m not exactly convinced that I deserve any part in this. But idling is going to make the two of us stand out like sore thumbs. Even if we can’t genuinely enjoy it… let’s pretend. Would you care to dance?”
Lilica couldn’t believe the words that departed her lips, or the hand she offered Chara in tandem. This was a surefire way to demonstrate to her entire kingdom that their own queen had never danced a day in her life, and didn’t know the first thing about looking as elegant as did Alster and Elespeth--and the latter didn’t even have the full function of ler legs! “I can’t guarantee I won’t embarrass you; I’ve never actually danced before,” she confessed, feeling she owed Chara that much, if she was asking her to step out to the dance with the potential of making an ass of the both of them. “Maybe it is high time I learned; I’ve already given Galeyn enough reason to be disappointed in their reigning queen. I am certain my father must have known how to dance.” Her lips curled into a self-deprecating grin. “If I humiliate you too much, you are more than welcome to walk away.”
Although she hesitated, the Rigas woman ultimately did oblige her, with a little bit of encouragement. Fortunately, everyone was preoccupied with their own happiness and pleasure to pay them much heed. They took it slow, and Lilica was relieved to find that she wasn’t so hopeless that she could not step in sync with Chara. Once the rhythm was established, she found herself doing quite well. “I realize today is not your birthday, but since you’ve made no mention of wanting a celebration… I feel now is as good a time as any to give you this.”
The Queen of Galeyn stopped briefly to retrieve a small pouch that had been tied to her waist. She placed it in Chara’s hand before the Rigas woman could question her. “I’ve had this for a while, actually. A few months--before you returned with me to Galeyn. I knew I wanted to give it to you, but I did not know for what occasion, so… why not now?” She watched as Chara dumped the contents of the pouch into her hand. Attached to a fine, serpentine chain of solid silver was a tiny crystal teardrop. Against the palm of her hand, it gave off a blue hue, but when held against the the backdrop of the sky, it was crystal clear. “It isn’t anything special; just something I found among my father’s belongings. I don’t even know if it is crystal or glass,” Lilica admitted with a sheepish smile. “But when I saw it, it made me think of the fountain in Stella D’Mare. That was such a place of refuge, for me… just remembering it makes me feel safe, when I thought I was leading myself astray. I’m not asking that this have any real meaning to you: you can take it however you want… but I thought it could maybe symbolize refuge for you, as well. Whether that means here, in Galeyn, or in a place that doesn’t exist. Something to remind you that you needn’t feel despair, because anything and anyplace can be your refuge. I know you might think otherwise, but I for one do not believe you have completely lost your way. So…” The Queen smiled shyly and curtsied. “Happy early birthday, Chara.”
Ever since the out-of-control bacchanal of Eyraille’s Equinox Festival, Elias did not fancy participating in another celebration of its ilk. Luckily, the opportunities which called for mandatory attendance fell in short supply in the nation of mountains and rocs. Not because there was precious little to celebrate, but because the following holidays were too small in scope to justify the amount of party planning a behemoth like the Equinox Festival took to coordinate and fund. Elias did not mind the lack of merry-making in the least; he welcomed the quiet that pervaded the palace. On some days, he closed his eyes and pretended he was abroad at some scholarly institute, for the pronounced reverberation and echo down the near-abandoned corridors reminded him of an isolated monastery atop a mountain, far from civilization and the headaches that civilization brought in abundance.
Upon his forced egress from a place he tentatively named a reasonable approximation of a home, the Clematis healer at first resisted Galeyn. It had the research gold-mind of the Night Garden, true, but the sleepy kingdom, in midst of the white palace, was anything but calm. While native Galeynians were not as uptight or loud-mouthed as D’Marians, they were still flouncing in midst of their kingdom’s restoration. And so, hallways were seldom clear of people, of Gardeners, advisors, delegations of D’Marians, guests in need of the Night Garden’s healing prowess, brash, Eyraillian princess upstarts...It was hardly a place that encouraged concentration and the kind of peace that he valued. At least, he thought to himself, the kingdom did not appear likely to host a celebration of any sort.
And oh, how he continued to eat his words.
“It is a quaint party, yes,” he conceded as the two settled near the outer fringe of people, close to the trellised walls with the curious hanging vines of different colors. In part, he stood there to secure a wide berth around undesirable revelers, in part because he was enamored by the vines, and wanted to study them. Perhaps steal a leaf, or clip off part of the stalk, steal away to his quarters, and dissect it under a magnifying glass. That was a much better use of his time than standing immobile at a party and keeping watch in case a clumsy guest slipped and broke their ankle. Alas, he once considered Alster a colleague, and a colleague deserved recognition from his peers. Which was why he was even there at all.
...And Daphni. She had contributed to his decision-making process.
“But will it stay quaint?” he questioned aloud, his eyes resting on the impromptu stage where the musicians played popular tunes from over a century ago. “Circus performances are not known for their discretion or subtlety. They will rile up this crowd, and there will end whatever dignity is to be seen from this well-behaved group. Speaking of,” he sighed, as none other than Briery Frealy sought them out in the far corner, like brilliant sunlight reflected many times over in a mirror. It hurt his eyes to look upon her, so he looked to the side, instead. What use was there boxing oneself in the back of the room if people were going to nose their way into his company?
“I certainly did not expect myself to leave my post in Eyraille, either,” the healer agreed, harboring no need for disclosure in regards to his latest client. “But its princess is reckless, and a runaway to boot, so here we are, looking after her whims and fancies. On second thought,” he made a face, “just her unborn children.”
He allowed Daphni to inquire about inane topics like their geographic commonalities and mutual eagerness to reconnect, but he only paid full attention to their exchange at mention of her current condition under the effects of the tonic. “So your body is showing no signs of acclimatizing to the current dosage? In any case, it is fortuitous that our paths should meet, again--since it’s obvious that you believe in kismet and such nonsense. I imagine your tonic is running low, so I will have to brew you a new batch. Furthermore, a check-up is in order. I would suggest as soon as possible, since you nomadic sorts don’t tend to stay around for long--so today is a most preferable time.” However, his professional air had soured, when the ringleader sought to discuss a very private matter charged with enough failures to make any hopeful sod utterly bitter.
“That is none of your concern,” he said, noting Daphni’s embarrassed flush, which had emboldened his words to carry more bite and anger. “Do keep your prognostications to vague concepts such as love and success and warnings to stay cautious. Yes, we will do as you say,” but his dry tone did not indicate that he either heeded her warning or denied it. “Considering I did not gawk with wonder at your show the last time, this ‘flashy’ addition of yours will not sway my opinion in the slightest.”
“Oh, I beg to differ,” the ‘flashy’ element, as though possessing exceptional hearing, had joined the three from clear across the room. He popped up behind Briery; together, the two looked like the marriage between a sunbeam and a sunburn. “I’m a very divisive person; you’ll either love me or hate me. And you, doc, brim with hate, and hate is an opinion, so--consider yourself swayed.”
“I stand corrected. Thank you for pre-swaying me.” Elias glanced at Briery. “My forecast of your performance, then: I hate it.”
“This man is a treasure,” the flashy man remarked, expelling a pleased laugh. “No-nonsense, cut-and-dry. And I take it that the two of you,” he gestured to Daphni, “are responsible for giving this hard-working squirrel a reprieve from her moon-madness?”
“If you mean that we stopped her menses, then yes.”
“Well, it’s doing wonders. Can’t thank you enough.” Before Elias could protest, the flashy-man grabbed his hand, then Daphni’s, and shook them with bone-breaking enthusiasm. “We got to do the deed, y’know. Had a great, pain-free fuck. I fully endorse you folks. Couldn’t’ve happened without your happy juice.”
Elias said nothing, but made a mental note, to add later to his journal. Patient's lover claims patient has not experienced pain during the act of coitus, under usage of the tonic.
“You know,” the flashy-man was undeterred by Elias’s reticence, “I knew a healer once; we were the best of buddies--until he died. He was a lot nicer than you, but I see the similarities, too. Must be a healer thing.”
Elias wrenched his hand away from the overenthusiastic flashy-man. “Well if you are expecting to befriend me, take your solicitations elsewhere. I prefer the company of animals.”
“Animals, huh?” He grinned diabolically, showing off his prominent canines. “Gotcha. So Brie,” he nudged the acrobat, “just thought of a great way to end the show. Let’s leave these healers to it so we can talk business here a moment. Carry on, you two.” With a wink, he took the acrobat by the arm and withdrew from the couple in the corner.
Contrary to her usual preferences of standing clear in the center of praise and attention, Chara was content to watch her handiwork from the back of the courtyard. Two days to organize a modest-sized party did not intimidate her in the slightest, not when she had pulled together a much larger event in Stella D’Mare within the evening. Of course, she held the position of Rigas Head back then, and was able to delegate tasks with ease--along with steely threats that were sure to motivate people under risk of their lofty positions within the Rigas heirarchy. In Galeyn, however, she did not rule or lead, and had barely accepted the position as Lilica’s shadow advisor. She hadn’t the freedom to deliver harsh orders to the citizenry, and didn’t know how they would receive such demands. Instead, she focused on what and who she could command; Lilica, and her father.
The Queen, through Chara’s instruction, dealt with the Galenyian side of the celebration--food, guests, venue, musicians, lodging, and Lysander, through his connections, appealed to the Rigas council, sneaking underneath Alster’s nose, to pass along news of the upcoming centennial and to find the perfect candidates to join the festivities. Herding them inside the palace proper without detection from the birthday man himself was another matter, and took the cooperation of concealment casters (led by Lysander) and the Forbanne, who still maintained their perimeter around the major entrances of the palace. For the guests that arrived the night before, they were subject to an inspection that bordered on thorough; the Eyrallian Prince, forever mindful of the disaster that occurred during the festival at Braighdath, scoured each guest for clearance, himself, as though he could detect any interference from the sorceress, Locque. Whatever the case, the safety of the people, and the palace, was utmost assured (and for those guests still flustered over undergoing the arduous security checkpoints, Chara hired a welcoming committee for that purpose, whose only job was to comfort and provide).
The organization was exhausting, but fulfilling, and Chara found she needed no reward other than the party’s success. However, it did not stop Lilica from trying to milk as much satisfaction as possible. “Watching events unfold as I have intended them to unfold is celebration enough, for me,” she said, stroking a self-conscious hand near the tops of her severed ears to ensure the styled curls of her blonde hair covered them thoroughly enough. “I can also rest easy, knowing Elespeth does not look like a drowning victim, as is her wont--even during those long-ago days of peak physical performance. But,” she clicked her tongue, “perhaps I should have informed Alster to wear a more flattering outfit. He does not stand out as the guest of honor in the least.” Her out-loud musings, however, were interrupted by Lilica’s outstretched hand and her request to dance. Chara gaped at her, not because she opposed dancing, but because she never would have foreseen that Lilica, of all people, desired to partake.
“This is extremely unorthodox, coming from you.” Unbidden, an amused laugh tickled her tongue, and a clear bell-tone rang from her throat. She covered her mouth from the rather uncouth outburst as nervous eyes darted around the Rigases present in the room. She hadn’t exactly revealed to them that she was alive, still preferring to operate under the shadows, using Lysander as her proxy. But they would find out eventually, wouldn’t they? And perhaps...they were too busy to notice the woman who was to be dancing with the Galeynian Monarch. ...Yes, it sounded ridiculous in her head, too. Of course they would notice.
But it was impossible to hide for the rest of her shortened years.
“Very well,” she agreed, and took the woman’s hand in her own, directing her first on how to stand and how to follow the lead without stumbling or drifting off-rhythm. “Just go limp in my arms,” she directed. “I’ll guide you as thorough you were a doll.”
Her instruction seemed to work, as Chara swept the other woman through the dance floor for the first half of the song until Lilica, emboldened to try, began to sway to the beat on her own.
“As I’ve said,” she sighed, “I do not need to celebrate my birthday, nor am I particularly looking forward to it at all, this year. So can we please drop the subjec--” She froze when Lilica pulled a curious pouch from her belt and dumped its contents into Chara’s open hand. A necklace slinked its cool, silver chain against her palm, revealing a teardrop-shaped stone that seemed to radiate a glacial blue. “It’s a crystal,” she confirmed, holding it up to the light of the blue sky, where its color had transformed into water transparency. “I,” she swallowed, not certain of how to react. With slightly trembling fingers, she took the chain by the clasp and attached it around her neck. “If you are presenting me with jewelry, Lilica, do know that I prefer gold, diamonds, and sapphires. I am too expensive for you,” she chastised, but it was all a poorly-constructed front. “But this is lovely. And I suppose it is more fitting, and it...bears a connection, a cherished memory for you. For,” she hesitated, “for us. I,” she reached for Lilica’s hand again and squeezed it, “I thank you, Lilica. It is thoughtful of you, and I am certain I do not deserve…” trailing off, she cleared a hitch in her throat. Her eyes moistened; she averted them to the ground. “Not when I have not been able to reciprocate your feelings, as of late. When I am still confused, unable to answer the question of what home means to me, or what a proper future, or...anything involving me, and you, looks like. I…” She backed away a step, severing their connection. “I don’t believe I have any love left in me, and...you needn’t waste your time, Lilica. I do not want your heartfelt gift to go to waste.”
Meanwhile, on the other side of the ballroom, Sigrid and Naimah had danced for three waltzes in a row, and the former had requested they take a break. Naimah obliged, for she found that ‘taking a break’ meant that the Dawn warrior needed to relieve herself; luckily, there was a private facility around the corner from the courtyard-turned-ballroom and it wouldn’t take her long to return. “Take your time,” the Kariji woman insisted. “It is not as though I am lacking in entertainment without your charming company always at my beck and call.” Indeed, she made do in Sigrid’s absence, patrolling the ballroom in her green dress--and searching for prospects.
It was a crass habit, she realized, scanning the premises for clients-in-the-making when she was involved in a rewarding relationship with Sigrid. She did not lack supportive friends and allies who would fain open their homes, or a room at the palace, and provide for her living expenses. Already, she lived close to Sigrid and the small contingent of Dawn Guard that had accompanied the D’Marian diaspora from Braighdath, in an abandoned village close to the palace. Alas, she had always valued independence, and prostitution was a lucrative business, always in demand. Since Galeyn was a more widespread territory, lacking in major cities like Braighdath or Stella D’Mare, business stagnated, her clientele mostly consisting of a few Forbanne that she’d impressed during Braighdath’s ill-fated festival. Unfortunately, their stipend was nonexistent, and payment usually consisted of random trinkets and weapons they’d collected during earlier conquests and raids.
But now, in midst of a sizable celebration, a few Galeynians had caught her eye. Without hesitation, she introduced herself to them, planting seeds in receptive minds before moving on, knowing she had limited time to work.
As she excused herself from conversing with a rather interested young Gardener, she caught something silver in her periphery, and turned around to face a young woman clad in a glittering costume, who had been watching her, intently.
“I’m sorry, can I help you?” She tilted her head in curiosity, noting the woman’s white pursed lips and the livid color on her cheeks. “Oh, you are with the circus troupe that is to be performing, are you not? I look forward to it. I regret not seeing it when I had the chance, back in Braighdath. Are you to be swinging on the trapeze, then?”
Whether or not Briery was embarrassed at Hadwin’s open proclamation that they’d successfully been intimate, the acrobat remained poker-faced, and simply let poor Daphni go red in the face in her stead. Though it was probably safe to assume she didn’t care, and also, probably didn’t expect someone as open as Hadwin to keep it a secret from anyone. “What? Am I supposed to be ashamed?” The ringleader joked, breaking the awkward pause with her winning smile. “I’m an adult, you know. And settling down to a marriage doesn’t exactly make sense in my line of work. If you ask me, it’s rather an accomplishment.”
“No--of course not. There is no reason to be ashamed.” Daphni was quick to clear the air, realizing that Elias--whether or not he meant to be--was the type who could often come across as a tad… judgmental. “Honestly, I am so happy to find you are able to lead a normal life, now. Well… normal for your standards, at least.”
Something devious flickered in the faoladh’s golden eyes, following the Clematis healer’s declaration of preferring the company of animals to people, and it did not go unnoticed by the acrobat. But before she could call him on it, Hadwin took her by the arm and led her away from the pair of healers. Only once there was a good deal of distance between them and the pair in the corner did he divulge what was on his mind; and Briery was in no way surprised.
“No. No, no, no… absolutely not. Hadwin. Darling.” Briery inhaled and exhaled slowly, releasing the tension that had suddenly built in her shoulders. “You know that I am very open to changes in the routine. I’ve danced with you; I’ve let you be an escape artist, and even play with fire on my stage. But I cannot see this suggestion going well at all, if we were to go through with it. Namely… I don’t think our Clematis friend would be all too happy to learn the “tame wolf” that accosted him actually turned out to be you.” The corner of her mouth quirked into a smile, but it did not quite reach her eyes. It was not often that the acrobat wore stress on her face; this alone suggested Hadwin’s suggestion had her a little shaken. “I need to stay in that man’s good graces, you know. It’s because of him that I’m finally leading some semblance of a normal life. And he’s right; I do need more of that tonic. How about this.”
Briery spun on her heel to face him and rested her hands on his shoulders. “We never did get a chance to pick up where we left off, before leaving Braighdath. If you… behave, and be a nice, tame wolf that doesn’t manhandle the audience, I’ll try to see that we get a nice, private space to ourselves, later. And we’ll do whatever you want. So?” The ringleader’s hands slid to his waist, jerking him forward so that their lips almost touched. “Do we have a deal?”
Lilica knew Chara well enough to have anticipated this reaction to an unsolicited gift; but that hadn’t stopped her from trying. Early on after Galeyn had awoken, in the days that followed her attack on the night Garden, the new Queen had spent some of her feverish hours looking through the belongings of a king who would never return. It was about all the Gardeners and healers would allow her to do, in her compromised state, and it had merely served as a means of passing the time. To try and understand the person her father had been, the leader he had been… anything she could glean about a history that was entirely lost on her. Of course, it had occurred to her to simply ask the people about their former king, but that seemed to her as a rather embarrassing and futile endeavor. After all, it was not as though she cold hold a flame to a formerly beloved ruler--and she did not want to give them the impression that she was trying to be. If it had been Theomyr Tenebris’ desire for her to rule in his stead, then she couldn’t well refuse, and let all of these people down; but she could not be him. And she did not want to give anyone the indication that she might want to try.
That said, not much turned up that offered hints into the life and accomplishments of Galeyn’s former ruler and leader. The man evidently was not at all materialistic, and his possessions were few and far between. She came across his clothes, of course, and the occasional trinket artifact that looked to have been passed down throughout generations, as well as a very modest box of what appeared to be accessories to his more formal attire. Just a few pairs of earrings, cufflinks, and some brooches--one which had caught her eye immediately, a small, ornate band of silver that bore a dangling teardrop crystal. While it did pale in comparison to other precious and semi-precious gems hat adorned other pieces of jewelry, in terms of its brilliance, it had immediately stirred up a feeling that Lilica had not experienced in quite some time. Not since she’d sat upon the rim of the ornate fountain in Stella D’Mare, prior to succumbing to the carnage of the Serpent’s destruction. Wistful vestiges of hope, of comfort, of longing for a time when things had been ever so slightly less complicated.The new Queen had held the tiny teardrop in her palm for what must have been a half an hour, that day. Her first instinct was to keep it; a symbol of her father, of a man she’d never known. A symbol of hope that she so desperately needed, in this strange new place where she still felt alone, despite being surrounded by people at almost all hours. A reminder that that peace she had once felt was not entirely lost: that she would someday, somehow, feel it again.
And she did keep it, very close to her person, for quite some time. For the months that she spent yearning for the company of the woman she had walked away from. And during those months, while she patiently waited for any word from Chara, she’d eventually resolved to one day gift this to the Rigas woman. For what occasion, at the time, she did not know. But a gut feeling told her that there would be a point in time when Chara would be the one in need of a little bit of hope found in the sanctuary of fond memories. Since coming to that decision, she had fashioned the small crystal teardrop into a necklace, a piece that was decided more feminine, and she had kept it on her person for just the occasion when she would pass it on.
It wasn’t until she finally found herself reunited with the Rigas woman that Lilica realized there might not be a ‘proper’ occasion to bestow this gift, because things were decidedly not the same between them. Of course, she wouldn’t have expected things to stay the same, not with time and distance as culprits. This was something for which she had prepared, the moment she’d made the decision to leave Stella D’Mare in a blind pursuit to find Galeyn. And yet… facing the reality did not make it any easier. Not when it came to combatting the loneliness that had taken root in her core.
All the same, this small gesture was something she’d determined to show toward the woman who had once been so close to her. Even if it didn’t mean anything to Chara... and she couldn’t convince her that it was meaningful. So now--the occasion of an upcoming birthday, when gifts were at least conventional--seemed to be the safest opportunity. And yet, all the same, the small gesture did appear to overwhelm the recipient. There seemed to be no avoiding that: there would never be a ‘good’ time. “It is like I said, Chara. This… doesn’t need to have any meaning, at all. You don’t even need to wear it. Like you said, it isn’t quite befitting your taste; neither gold nor sapphires.” The Galeynian Queen offered an easy smile and shook her head. “I am not giving this to you with any expectations attached to it. We… we have been apart for a long time. We have both endured experiences that have changed us, and I understand that we… well, I suppose I’m not much more than a stranger to you, now. But, when I felt alone, here, I held onto that necklace for a little while as a token of hope. I don’t need it anymore. But I figured… perhaps, you could use some hope and comfort. A symbol and a remind that not all is lost. That is the only purpose attached to that necklace, I promise you.”
Lilica did not advance when the Rigas woman put distance between the two of them. If distance was what she needed, then the last thing she wanted to do was cause her to feel smothered. “I meant what I said, back in Braighdath. All I want is for you to be alright. Whether or not I play any part in that, or in your future, is irrelevant. If my behaviour and gestures have made you feel pressured in any way…” She held out her hands, palms up. “Then forgive me for misleading you. I choose to do this because I remember your kindness towards me, when I was at my lowest. That alone is a deed that deserves to be repaid.”
The music continued, but Lilica did not rejoin hands with Chara. The dark mage looked around, suddenly feeling curiously alien among the people to whom she supposedly belonged. This was supposed to be home. I was supposed to feel at home, here… But she’d been an idiot. Because home had never been a place: it had been a person. And she had walked away from that person. It mattered not, whether she would have been able to protect Chara or to make any difference in Stella D’Mare’s gradual fall. She had left. And she had no reason to ever expect Chara to want to return to what they’d once had… not with a deserter. I told you I’d follow you anywhere… but I walked away. I walked away…
“This is silly, you know. Thinking that I can learn to dance in an evening.” The Queen shook her head and nervously scratched the back of her neck. “I should stop while I’m ahead, before I embarrass you along with myself. It is best that I check in with the Galeynian guard, anyway, to see that all is still well. I won’t have this be a repeat of what occurred in Braighdath--for everyone’s sake. Of course, let me know if you need anything.”
With a nod, Lilica took her leave of the outdoor ballroom to pursue those very responsibilities as a ruling monarch… because it was the only thing that made sense. This was the life she had chosen, regardless that she did not know the promise she’d inadvertently made in waking Galeyn from it’s spell. She and she alone was responsible for the rift that had grown between her and the woman she’d longed for. And although everything she had said to Chara had been true--that her well-being was the pinnacle of her priority, whatever that required--the Galeynian Queen could not fool herself. She did still hold out hope, that their stolen time at the fountain was not something banished to the past. That there was still some home that Chara would recover, and would find room in her heart for her, again…
You’re deluding yourself. And if you aren’t careful… you’ll only damage her more. It was high time she walked her talk, and gave Chara the space--and that open field of future possibilities, with no strings attached--that she deserved.
She had seen her before--more than she cared to, quite frankly. That woman--the whole--who always accompanied the tall, blonde Dawn warrior. Cwenha didn’t have to ask for clarification into Naimah’s profession. Not only did she make no means to hide it, not even to her own lover (who, as far as the acrobat understood, was monogamous and fiercely protective), but something about having used her own body for profit once upon a time made her all the more attuned to those to tread the same path. Like called to like, and all, and while Naimah was not the first prostitute she had come across in her days since leaving that nightmare behind, she was the first to earn the silver acrobat’s ire.
Because she was confident. Because she chose this, and she kept her head held high, despite that she allowed one person after another take advantage of her body over and over again. Was she sane? Had she grown entirely numb from the years of being used up like something to be discarded? Or could it be, somehow, that she enjoyed what she did?
Whatever the reason, anyone who knew Cwenha would understand how and why that did not sit well with her. For the most part, the singer managed her discomfort by keeping her distance: but Galeyn was a small kingdom, it seemed. And the ballroom that Chara Rigas and Queen Lilica had put together was even smaller. She should have anticipated that directly crossing paths with the Kariji woman would be inevitable at an event that was both small and crowded.
She first caught sight of her dancing with her Dawn warrior lover, the two of them looking as though they believed no one else existed in the world. Perhaps the warrior is as delusional as the whore, Cwenha thought bitterly. No one can love someone who cannot love themselves. And there is no way that woman loves herself. Eventually, the Dawn warrior took a temporary leave, and… the Kariji woman went on advertising herself. Cwenha knew exactly what she was doing, because she’d seen it before, and had had to do the very same thing at one point in time. And for some reason… seeing Naimah continue on in so cavalier a way, when just moments ago, she’d been in the arms of someone who would likely die for her…
It made her blood boil. And it was too late to look away before the Kariji woman noticed her eyes on her. “I’m not going to ask you how you do it. Let yourself be used over and over again like a disposable washrag. Frankly, I don’t care.” There was no point in bothering with niceties. If anything could be said about Cwenha, it was that there was never any pretense. She was an open book, and wasn’t afraid to show the writing on her pages, however harsh. “But what I want to know is… why? I’ve seen you with her, time and again. The Dawn warrior. The one who looks at you like nobody else exists, while you go around and continue to shamelessly show yourself off to potential clients. I know her standing in Braighdath; and I know what you could have with her. You could have anything you fucking want. You could turn your back on this ‘profession’ and never look back, and you’d suffer nothing for it. So why? Do you hate yourself so much that you just can’t stop, you can’t picture yourself in any other way?” Her cheeks burned red, and her heart raced. But those tears that threatened, the hot ones pressing against the back of her eyes… she refused to let them fall. “...or is there just something I missed when I was caught up in the same game?”
At the uncouth announcement of the flashy man’s physical relations with the acrobat, the Clematis healer did not bat an eye. “Frankly, I do not care what you end up doing with your body, Briery Frealy, so long as you are causing no dire harm to yourself in the process, or posing a health risk. Contrary to what I’ve been called in the past,” ‘Pious Elias,’ his burdensome brothers would frequently chant, “I take no personal umbrage in the act of fornication, premarital or otherwise.” To bear such an opinion would be hypocritical of me, he thought, with a side-eye to Daphni. “In fact, this news pleases me. It means that our management of your condition thus far has been successful. So,” he smiled wryly, “yes, you are an adult. ...Congratulations are in order.”
“See? No harm done.” The flashy-man shrugged, waved his farewells to the healer couple, and walked out of earshot, draping his arm over Briery and whispering his showstopping idea. He showed no outward protest when she flat-out refused his proposal.
“Brie--you’re not even in that man’s good graces. No one is, ‘cept for that healer woman by his side. And maybe a stray cat or two.” He wrinkled his nose, smelling the remnants of feline dander still attached to the healer’s jerkin. “There’s little you can do to make him dismiss you more. He tolerates you because he wants to heal you; that’s his job, and he ain’t gonna abandon your case because he condemns a show that he’s already pre-condemned.” He gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “This’ll be good for him. A little animal companion to ease the tension in his brow. He’s not doing well in this crowd. And please,” a snort escaped his mouth, “I wasn’t gonna tackle him to the ground and rip his throat out. Tame wolf act, like you said. No reason for me to piss off a healer; I could use his help, too.”
The acrobat suddenly changed her tune (and her tone), as she rounded on him, pressing her lithe body against his in a bid for his full attention. “Is this bribery I smell? Oh, bushy-tail, no need to stoop so low,” he purred his answer, their lips so close that his vibrations traveled through her open mouth. “I’ve got this. He won’t need to know it’s me; if he does, then whatever. I’ve got leverage over him; information he might like to hear. It’ll only be for the finale anyway. Or after the finale. Nothing to it.” He stuck out his tongue and playfully licked the tip of her nose. “I’ll earn my keep--and your company.”
The silver-clad acrobat whose undying hatred Naimah had incurred did not hesitate in opening her mouth and explaining exactly how she thought about the situation. And yes, to any person firmly aware of her position as a whore, they would frown upon using this venue as a platform for selling her body. She’d cast aside shame long ago, so the judgemental stares or implicating gestures no longer affected her mood.
“Why, you ask?” Despite the silver acrobat’s spiteful tongue and hostile glare, Naimah did not take offense by her defensive stance. Fending off irate clients was yet another trait she needed to learn to handle with grace--or if all else failed, with force. “Because circumstances change. I cannot guarantee myself a stable income if I am not the one in charge. Yes, I admit, it is a crude independence that I maintain in this business, but it is independence, nonetheless. It does not rely on the benevolence or pity of others.” Her gold earrings dangled as she twisted her head to the entrance of the courtroom-turned-ballroom; no sign of Sigrid, yet.
“I’ve long-ago managed to separate my body from my mind. What happens to this vessel does not matter, because it is not me. I am beyond what they see and lust after, and this is a belief I need to carry with me always, to ensure I do not lose myself to this profession and its cruel demands. It helps,” she added, “that if I disagree with the client’s ‘vision,’ or if I deem them unstable or violent in their needs, I have means of protecting myself. Because I control the flow of my clientele, and choose my customers, I can operate as a whore with a better semblance of respect and self-respect. Because I am respecting myself, and who I want to serve. I realize that is not the case for all whores, past and present, in my profession. And,” she dipped her head at the lithesome woman, “for that, I am glad you found a different path in your life. Something that perhaps, you have chosen for yourself. Like you, I did not choose to become a whore. But,” she rolled her bare shoulders into a shrug, “I made it an identity I could manage. It is but a business, with hazards and threats after my life, yes, but with pay that cannot be equaled to a more ‘respectful’ job, like a farmhand, or a merchant. It is what I know...and I accept it.”
Multiple mentions of the Dawn warrior impelled her to answer, but when she opened her mouth to address the acrobat’s concerns, her confidence and straight-backed bearing had faltered. She had delayed the inevitable, mainly because she was uncertain of her future with Sigrid. Despite her research opportunities alongside Alster, if they could not conceive of a solution regarding the cursed sword and its twisted means of showing favor to its wielder, and if the noble, bullheaded Sigrid, driven into a corner with her unwavering attributes of self-sacrifice should use Gaolithe to save everyone...then Naimah would continue on with her life as if nothing happened, as per the curse. Her profession, and its comfortable routine, was the only future that seemed a certainty, amidst all the uncertainty. In a way, pursuing clients and finalizing appointments lessened the blow that someday, she could lose Sigrid to the darker machinations of destiny. Form an unbreakable line between the past where she exists, and a future where she may not exist, she told herself, on days when she felt most hopeless. Continue whoring, so that nothing in your memory will seem tampered with. ...No Sigrid-shaped hole that you could never fill. Maybe then, the loneliness, the emptiness, will not kill you with grief.
“I love her,” she said, at last, when all other options to explain herself fell short. “At the end of my workday, it is she who I turn to. It is she who shares my bed. She sees beyond my body--and I will fight for her, no matter what I must do. So,” her manicured eyes narrowed, smoldering the black coals in her eyes, “do not presume to lecture me on my glaring misgivings as perceived by you. I do not need your approval on how I choose to conduct my business and my relationship. I cannot help you answer those questions that you seek for yourself, nor can I soothe your all-consuming self-hatred, but neither will I stand here and allow you to defame my character so that you can feel better about your own misery.” After expelling a sigh, the wrinkles in her brow smoothed. “I look forward to your performance, nonetheless. I am certain it will be a spectacle to behold.” Lowering into a curtsy, she turned on her heels and swished to the other side of the ballroom on her flame-green skirts, her steps deliberate and ever-seeking. But not for prospective clients, no. She yearned to reunite with the person she had so boldly declared to love.
Chara was too slow to stop Lilica from rushing out of the courtyard, but she didn’t give it much thought before her feet moved on their own accord to follow her. In the past, perhaps, she would not dare to give chase. She was too prideful to appear desperate enough to pursue when she could easily direct a guard or an envoy to do the pursuing for her. But she no longer exercised such power. She did not outrank Lilica; quite the opposite, now. Perhaps that was why she hadn’t minded trailing after her, from the courtyard to the hallway; her image struck her as no longer important, when compared to...to…
“Lilica, wait!” She called from the corridor, bounding toward the other woman with wide strides. Owing to her height, which towered over the dark mage in comparison, her long legs caught up to the retreating billow of cream-and white fabric, and the person who inhabited it, with ease.
“Lilica.” Chara’s hand clamped down on her shoulder, slowing her to a stop. “You do not tell me that this,” she pointed to the necklace, ”does not mean anything, or that nothing else matters to you but my wellbeing and recovery, and then suddenly rush off as though you are running to handle an emergency of the utmost precedence. But,” she shook her head, “I am not fooled. Your actions speak for you. That, and, you’ve always been poor at hiding your emotions from me. If you are bothered by my...lack of reciprocation, or what is to become of us down the line, I’d rather you speak to me about it, instead of pretending that everything will be all right. I was honest with you, Lilica, even if the honesty hurt to share, and hurt for you to hear. I expect you to be honest with me, too. If all was right with the world...what would you want? Tell me your true desires. I,” her hand slid down the monarch’s shoulder, fingers slowly curling over her forearm, “I will respond better than my uncouth behavior in the ballroom, I promise you. But...it may help me to know, if I hear you say your desire out loud. Even if I cannot reciprocate those desires yet...it does not mean I will abandon you, here. I will not walk away. To be frank,” a pitiful smile crossed her face, “I have no concept of home, but I have a feeling that,” she hesitated, “that the answer very well lies within you.”
She released her hand, redirecting it to the teardrop pendant on her neck. “Well,” her throat cleared, “that is all I wanted to say. If you must check on security outside the palace, though, it is best I accompany you. As your advisor, of course, and chief organizer of this party. It is my duty, much as it is yours. Let us go together, Queen Lilica.”
Shortly after Naimah had walked away from her encounter with the resentful acrobat, the Missing Links were about ready to start their show. The musicians cleared the stage and an announcement called for the audience’s attention, beseeching they find comfortable standing room near the front in anticipation for the next event. Alster, accompanied with both Elespeth and Vega ushered themselves near the first row, while Elias and Daphni remained at a cold, disinterested distance--though the gesture spoke more for the former than the latter. Once the crowd had settled, the curtains opened, and the Missing Links stepped on stage to introduce themselves. From there, the show followed a general routine; trapeze, aerial silks, illusionist acts and the strong-man, with a few more surprises thrown in--compliments of their “newest” addition. Hadwin, as before, endeared to the audience with his fire escape act and later, his acrobatic dance with Briery. With cooperation from the musicians, harps and strings carried a melody that emphasized the fluid movements of fire and gold as they leaped and spun on the stage.
As the show reached its end and all performers took a final bow, Hadwin crept away from the center of attention whilst Briery busiest the audience asking for donations. When the faoladh returned, it was as a wolf, and in his mouth, he carried a broad-brimmed hat. The audience looked on in confusion and amusement (of those who did not know the wolf’s true identity) as the creature weaved through the crowd, wagging his tail and staring up at the party guests with wide, imploring eyes. Naturally, his literal puppy-dog act played in his favor, with people flipping coins into the bowl of the hat. The wolf, his footfalls clinking with cheerful noise, made its rounds towards the back of the room, where Daphni and Elias were staring. The Clematis healer stared at the canine, seemingly at a loss for how to react.
“I suppose you are looking to take my hard-earned coin,” he told the wolf, who set the hat on the ground and tilted his head at the healer. Elias’ mouth twitched. The wolf leaned its body against him, thrashing his tail and lolling his tongue out of his mouth. With a tentative hand, Elias reached out and rubbed behind the wolf’s ears. The creature, content, let out a half-yawn and a half-howl.
“When did the Missing Links acquire a...tame wolf?” Elias said, furrowing his brow at Daphni. “Or...perhaps it is a wolf-dog of some sort. Such creatures of the wild would not act this docile unless raised all its life by people. Even so…” Shaking his head, he cleared out his outspoken thoughts, fished a coin out from his pouch, and placed it in the wolf’s hat. “There you are. I’ll say this troupe has finally procured the means to exploit me for money. What an underhanded, cheap trick,” he muttered, but he did not sound too displeased. The wolf, satisfied for the money he came to fetch, lifted the hat and padded through the crowd, en route to the stage. Unbidden, Elias followed, his eyes never leaving the sight of his long, fluffy tail, or of his paws scratching against the marble floor. Only, the wolf did not return the hat to the Missing Links stage; he swung over to Alster and all but shoved it in the Rigas Head’s arms.
“I might have a silver sovereign or two here. Let me see.” But as he explored his pouches with his good hand, the wolf grunted and shoved it harder at him. “I’m looking as fast as I--” He paused, then, as Briery, who had joined them from the stage, explained that they were giving him the money, a modest but charitable sum to aid in the funding for a D’Marian settlement. “What? No, I couldn’t possibly…”
The wolf slobbered on his arm, in protest.
“If that is the case, then,” Elias, who had bravely journeyed to the center of the crowd, threw a few more silver coins into the hat, “may as well take a little extra.”
“Elias, I--”
“No need to make a big deal of it,” the healer grumbled, stopping Alster’s outpouring of gratitude and emotion. “It is a birthday present, or some such.”
“...Thank you.” The overwhelmed Rigas Head bowed his head to the healer, to the Missing Links, and to the entire crowd. “Thank you all, so much. I will accept this hat,” he slipped it out of the wolf’s jaw, “and your generosity. I have never felt so welcome in a kingdom as I do here in Galeyn. On behalf of myself and the D’Marians, I am ever grateful for your hospitality, Galeyn.” He wiped a rogue tear from his face as his throat closed in, unable to continue his speech. Fortunately, his message was received loud and clear, in the form of uproarious applause from everyone in the room.
“You said this would not be a repeat of Eyraille,” Elias whispered to Daphni in midst of the deafening roar. Despite his comment, however, he didn’t seem to mind the crowd as much. For when he lowered his head, the wolf was there, nudging the healer’s trouser with his cold, wet snout.
“Where did this wolf come from?” he inquired to Briery, once the crowd’s voices died down. His hand scratched behind the wolf’s ears, as before. “And where has that other man gone--the one dressed like a fire?”
Lilica didn’t look back as soon as she determined to walk away, for fear that something would come loose inside of her and unleash the slew of emotions that she’d been keeping carefully under wraps for months. Emotions related not only to Chara, but to her father, to Galeyn, and the situation in which she found herself: hopelessly and inevitably tied to a kingdom that she had never dreamed of ruling--had never wanted to rule. Over and over, she had told herself that it would all work out. That if this was to be her fate, it could not leave her stewing in this dark corner of confusion and disorientation forever. There had to be more to it than this discomfort of fitting herself into a slot that did not accommodate her shape. A slot that had been carved for her father, a figure to which she knew she would never live up, not for his love and devotion to Galeyn.
No, not uncomfortable; stifling. Suffocating, because she did not have the skills, and had not had the inclination to rule. She had told herself that that would change. Either through reuniting with Chara, or with the calming presence of the Night Garden, she would surely come into her own; after all, was it not her birthright? Surely these growing pains would subside, if this really was her very own predestined path?
That was what she had thought. It was what she had been telling herself, but as the months first progressed for her alone, and then finally in the company of Chara once again… it did not go away. Because now that all was said and done, now that Galeyn was coming into itself again and resuming familiar rhythms, not that the D’Marians were settling in their new home, she was forced to face reality. And that reality was that what she experienced now, her relationship with her kingdom, with Chara… this could very well be it. A future of trying, of uncertainty, of never really filling her father’s shoes. A future of being all alone in a crowd, which was somehow decidedly worse than a life of solitude. She couldn’t dwell on these things, for fear that she would fall into despair, that the darkness that had once plagued her would return, and all of the progress she had made would unravel like the thread of the rags she used to wear.
And the worst of it was that she could not confide in anyone--especially not Chara. The Rigas woman had returned to her so broken and empty, burdened with the weight of her experiences and everything she had endured. There was no room in her heart for someone else’s troubles, and so the Queen of Galeyn had pushed her troubles aside to see to Chara’s needs. To make sure she was comfortable, not overwhelmed, not smothered or bothered. That had been her focus, and it had not occurred to her that by putting her feelings aside, she might have been doing just the opposite for the woman who she still loved.
Hearing her name in the voice of the person from whom she had run in such a cowardly fashion startled her. No sooner did she turn around that Chara’s hands were on her shoulders, stalling her flight, and demanding her truth. And she had every right to do so; after all, the dark mage had not been at all truthful to her, despite that she had thought it had all been in her best interests. But that wasn’t the case; Lilica hadn’t even been honest with herself. The Queen of Galeyn hadn’t kept her feelings and troubles from Chara just to protect her; she’d denied them to protect herself. Because acknowledging them made them real, and if they were real, they were all the more threatening.
“Chara…” There was nowhere to run, and no way to deflect from the Rigas woman’s demands when she put her on the spot in such a way. But… strangely, now that she was confronted with the issues and dark thoughts that had been plaguing her, and saw no way of avoiding them, she was also met with an unanticipated sense of relief. Because this was the first time she was glimpsing at the Chara Rigas she knew so well; the determined and steadfast woman that she had grown to love.
And she couldn’t deny her anything. Not even this.
“You have been through so much. I cannot even begin to imagine what you have endured. Why… why do you want to know? Why share in my burdens, when you have your own?” She asked, in a voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not…. bothered by you, Chara. Not directly. A lot has happened for me since Galeyn awoke from its spell. And a lot of it I… was not expecting. When my father led me here, I was always under the impression that I would be able to return to you. Because I was also under the impression that he was… that he was going to return.”
She could feel it. The hot tears she’d choked down every night when she retired to bed, putting them aside in favor of more optimistic thoughts; the lies she’d been feeding herself, to avoid plummeting into despair. Even now, she was determined to deny them. “I have no connection to this man. He was never part of my life; he disappeared before I was born. When we finally connected, he coerced me into a task that I couldn’t well refuse. I have no reason to want to know the man that he… he was. I have no reason to want to know him now. I wish he was the despicable person that I’d assumed him to be, but the truth is… I didn’t want him to return only to take his place on this kingdom’s throne. I wanted him to return for me. As if I have the right to expect a daughter he doesn’t really know should mean something to him, especially considering what he did to Vitali, his own son…”
The Queen’s gaze dropped to the floor. She couldn’t face herself with this confession, let alone Chara. “I did not come in search of Galeyn just to reawaken it. I’m not that selfless. I came here because I thought I would find a connection--with him, with this place… something to fill all the holes in my past. But I was wrong. I was… stupid. All of my life, I’ve been searching for somewhere where I might belong, where my magic wouldn’t be toxic. And only now that I’ve found that place do I realize I was wrong the whole time. Because this is not my home, Chara. This is my responsibility, but not my home. They call me ‘Your Majesty’, but so few even know my name, and I don’t know theirs. You… you were my home, the whole time. I felt whole, I felt like I belonged, but only with you.” Lilica finally looked up, and when she did, her eyes had filled with the wretched tears she’d been warding off for months. “You were my answer the whole time… and I left. I left you, in pursuit of… of what? Something better? Like I could have with my father what you have with Lysander. As if I could find what I was looking for in any other place…”
Those tears trickled from the corners of her eyes. Lilica raised her hands from their limp place at her sides, and lay them gently upon Chara’s forearms. “I left you, and look what happened. Look at what you and Teselin suffered. Even if I couldn’t have prevented it, I could have been there. So that you weren’t alone… I wasn’t lying, Chara. When I said I only want you to be well, again. That is my desire, because I will not be so foolish to entertain the idea that I can have anything more. That I deserve anything more. I walked away from you; you owe me nothing. Not love, not understanding, not compromise. There is no point in entertaining my ‘perfect world’, because in that world, Theomyr Tenebris is the one on this throne, and I have my freedom to be as close to or as distant from this place as I so choose. And you are not hurt beyond anything I can do to repair it… and it is not my fault that you have lost your magic, and with it, part of your identity. And we, we are...” Together. But she couldn’t say it; because putting it to words would make it all the more real, and everything she had confided was already too real.
“Galeyn is not a perfect world. It is still broken and confused and doesn’t know where it is, or where it is going… much like its current reigning monarch.” Lilica snorted and shook her head, wiping her stray tears on the back of her bare wrist. “But I am stuck with it. Maybe over time, I will inevitably grow to love it, because I will have no other choice. As it stands, I cannot well walk away when there is some notorious sorceress that threatens it all over again--the same one that drove my cowardly father into ‘hiding’, after he put this kingdom to sleep. But you… I want you to realize you have options, Chara. You can stay, or you can go. You can take Alster up on his offer and see if it is possible to restore your magic. Whatever you decide, I support you in your decision… and I will have no hand in influencing you, either way. Consider that,” she pointed to the teardrop necklace, “payment for the winter coat you gave to me, before my departure. I’m sad to say it didn’t hold up to months and months of terrible weather, but it did the trick. In all honesty, though...”
She flashed a half-smile and offered her hand. “I do need to check in on Galeyn’s security. What happened in Braighdath makes me anxious; if that city crumbled in on itself as fast as it did, I do not think that Galeyn would survive a similar tragedy. If you’re really interested in tagging along for the more boring parts of this duty… then you are by all means welcome to come.”
This was not only the first time Galeyn had borne witness to the majesty of the Missing Links and their breath-taking performances, but the troupe had quickly come to learn that it was the first many of these people had seen of any such performance. Evidently, a hundred years ago, the small kingdom of Galeyn had kept to itself as much then as it did now, with few visitors passing through its gates, and even fewer denizens leaving. That said, it did not take much to mystify and astound and excite them. Lautim’s strength alone got the crowd roaring, and even Rycen’s simple sleight of hand brought smiles to the faces of people who were no stranger to real magic.
In hindsight, all of the preparation probably hadn’t been necessary. Briery alone could’ve astounded them with a one-man show of her aerial silks and feats on the trapeze, but it brought the ringleader joy to know that the peoples’ first audience to their performance was going to be a good one--even if it meant conceding to Hadwin’s idea of allowing the faoladh to take wolf form (though it wasn’t so much that she’d allowed it, rather than he really wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer, if she was being completely honest with herself). And as usual, their performance was flawless… well, almost.
It was during her trapeze routine with Cwenha that something completely unexpected occurred, which had never happened before, in the history of the silver acrobat’s time with the missing links. As they swayed on bars and silks toward one another, grasping hands and tumbling with the assurance that the other would catch them seamlessly, there was a point when Cwenha swung too soon. It was only by about a second, but in an aerial routine where you were relying on another person, timing was absolutely everything--and Briery hadn’t been prepared to grab her hands in time, before the singer fell.
Fortunately, lithe Cwenha knew how to fall, and how to make a good save when a routine did not go as planned. Fall she did, but in such a way that she flipped and curled her body and landed in a suave crouch that spread into the splits. Their Galeynian audience, fortunately, did not know a fumble from their planned routine, and to them, it all looked intentional. They cheered as the silver acrobat stood and curtsied, and Briery followed with her own (intentional) tumble to seal it in more as part of the show. She was not without a good deal of concern for her silver counterpart, and also did not miss the way she favoured her right foot upon her exeunt, but there was no time to go and check on her. The ringleader’s dance with Hadwin was next, and they needed to keep the pace and keep the energy going.
Fortunately, no one else lost their footing, and Hadwin’s timing was impeccable in their dance. When the show wrapped up, however, and the performers all stood to take a final bow, Hadwin was not the only one missing. Cwenha had not returned since her fall from the trapeze, and this stirred unease in the ringleader’s gut. She must be in the tent, Surely, Hadwin saw her there… She reasoned, and stepped back to let the wolf do his this, according to their plan. And, well, he delivered, just as he’d promised: no worse than a tame dog, and she had to admit, it was quite a nice touch, to fill that hat with coin.
“I don’t think you really care how or why they acquired a tame beast,” Daphni teased. Elias was already reaching for coins, before accusing the beast of soliciting his money. “You have to admit, it is rather a clever touch.”
“...they cannot be serious.” Elespeth, of course, knew very well who the wolf was. As did Vega, and Sigrid, who along with Naimah, had found the small group of friends in the crowd.
“Whether or not they are serious,” the Dawn warrior arched an eyebrow and shook her head. “He is serious. I have no doubt it was his idea, as well.”
“Is this… common behaviour of the beast?” Vega ventured to ask, her brows furrowed in a judgement she was clearly keeping to herself--that is, until she saw just who the hat filled with money was for.
“Forgive us for stealing the spotlight from the man who really deserves it, today,” the ringleader’s voice rang above the crowd, as she took to the collapsible stage again. “Tonight’s show is on behalf of Lord Alster Rigas, and to the benefit of Stella D’Mare. Where is that applause, now?”
Galeynians and D’Marians alike cheered for the Rigas caster, and not a jealous or reproachful eye was turned on him. They were as happy for their coin to go to a man with a good cause, as they were for it to go to the performers. “See? Chara was right. You have no enemies, here. Only supporters.” Elespeth smiled and reached up from her wheeled chair to wipe Alster’s rogue tears from his cheeks. “It doesn’t even matter if we’ve made an enemy of Braighdath. We are not short on allies, here.”
Daphni, meanwhile, was having a hard time not pointing out the fact that Elias’s demeanor had almost completed changed, with the attention of the tame wolf. One whose golden eyes seemed uncannily familiar… But for fear of breaking the Clematis healer’s temporary enchantment, she kept her suspicions to herself. “Well, to my knowledge, no one has spontaneously married, nor has anyone pressured you to dance. And Eyraille is not known for their tame wolves,” she said pointedly. “So I maintain that what I said still holds.”
“I had a feeling you would be a little more taken with our show tonight, Clematis healer.” The Missing Links ringleader was making her rounds through the crowd, along with Rycen, to meet and greet their new fans--Elias, among them, it seemed. “Let’s just say you aren’t the only one who is good with animals. And Hadwin? Well, he’s not a permanent member of our troupe, I’m sad to say. It is not on me to keep an eye on his whereabouts. Though, speaking of whereabouts…” Briery’s smile faltered. “None of you have seen a certain silver-clad singer in this crowd, have you?”
“You mean your associate acrobat? I have to say, she really had the crowd’s heart, for a minute there.” Vega commented, placing a hand over her own heart in emphasis. “For a second, it really seemed as though that tumble she took wasn’t deliberate.”
“...it wasn’t. Cwenha never falls.” Briery lowered her voice, so that this news would not reach any other bystanders and ruin the mysticism of what they had witnessed. “Something threw her off. I think she might be injured, but I can’t find her… she only takes off like this when something has her riled up. I didn’t see any potential suitors vying for her attention, tonight.”
Daphni frowned at this news, her blue eyes immediately scanning the crowd at the word ‘injured’. If that was true, they couldn’t idly stand by. “Well, if she did hurt herself, surely she could not have gone far. I’d be happy to see if I can find her.”
“Don’t bother, Miss Sybaia. When she doesn’t want to be found, it’s best to leave her lost.” Rycen butted into the conversation, idly shuffling a deck of well worn cards between his hands. “Let her burn off some steam. She knows better than to not get help if she’s injured.”
That did not seem to sit well with Briery, however. The ringleader’s spine was so rigid, it might have been sustained with a rod. “It still might be best that she isn’t alone for long. We don’t know that it is entirely safe, here…”
“Give it up, Briery. Look, we all know you love her, but you’ve got to face the facts. Sure, she’s got that baby face, but she’s not a child. And no amount of your coddling has done anything to turn her behaviour around. She’s like a feral cat: if she sees fit to come to you, she will. Otherwise?” The illusionist shrugged and puffed a sigh. “We can’t force her. She’s gotta take responsibility for her actions. And you’ve gotta respect that even though she makes some shitty decisions, those are her decisions to make. Anyway, for all we know, she left to get help, if she’s injured. Maybe give her the benefit of the doubt for once, hm?”
An uneasy silence settled between the ringleader and her longtime partner in crime. It wasn’t that Rycen was being crass or cruel: he was merely stating facts that Briery had been skirting around for years. And… he was not wrong. Whether she cared to admit it or not, Cwenha wasn’t Briery’s responsibility. She was her colleague, her friend… and she couldn’t coax her out of a bad mood every time one occurred. It wasn’t making her better. It most certainly wasn’t doing anything for Briery’s emotional well-being, either.
“Well,” Briery unfolded her arms, which had been tight against her gold-clad chest, and she exhaled a breath she’d previously been holding. “If anyone happens to see her… let me know. In any case,” the ringleader brushed her concerns aside, in favour of her winning smile all over again. “I’ll get this wolf out of your faces, now. Unless you’d like to spend a little more time with him, Elias? He’s quite cuddly, actually; loves it when you rub his belly.”
Her foot ached and throbbed, even under the numbing effects of the alcohol now coursing through her veins, and the cool water of the fountain surrounding the limb. Cwenha was nothing but knots and tension and anger, so much anger, sitting as she was on the rim of the fountain toward the east of the palace. Look at where you got yourself, now. Because you’re a mess. And now, it’s affecting the entire troupe. At best, her foot, already swollen compared to the other, was sprained from the landing she hadn’t prepared for; at worst, something was broken, a fracture or a small bone out of place, but every miniscule movement was miserable. You could’ve thrown the whole damn show. Because you can’t fucking leave well enough alone. You can’t let other people just be happy because you are not happy…
Truth be told, this was the first time the silver acrobat had tasted alcohol, and she hadn’t been prepared for how it would make her head swim, or intensify that awful voice that never left her head. Too embarrassed to seek treatment after her fumble, it was the only thing she could think of to dull the pain, while she figured out how to recover from this--from her fall, from her mood, from her humiliation. The audience might not have suspected a thing, but Briery sure as hell would have noticed. In fact, she half-expected to see her golden counterpart show up at any moment, now. By the sounds in the distance, the show had come to a close moments ago.
You hate Hadwin because he finds happiness in dark places. You hate Naimah because she took a terrible thing and turned it into a tool to her benefit. But not as much as you hate yourself; without your body, there is nothing. You are nothing. The most important parts of you died before you could become anything significant…
“...go away.” With an unsteady motion of her hand, she pushed the now empty (stolen) wine bottle from the rim of the fountain, and it landed on the ground with a sound that suggested it had broken. She was drunk, and unsteady, and not entirely sure as to what (or who) she was hearing. But Cwenha was not oblivious to the sound of footfalls approaching her. She didn’t have the care or inclination to glance over her shoulder to see who it was. “Unless you have something from that fantastical garden that may or may not be able to perform miracles that can undo whatever I did to fuck up my foot. If that’s the case… give it to me, and then go away.”
“You are asking me why, Lilica?” The blonde-haired woman tossed her head in dramatic fashion, as if the question was far too ridiculous to utter. “Why not? Should I remain ignorant of your troubles? How does that help me? I am tired of people trying to tip-toe around me as though any noise above a dull-roar will shatter my glass heart. I assure you, Lilica, you are not protecting me by withholding your woes. As a matter of fact, this front you’ve erected before me and before others is quite a bothersome construct. It is a barrier you will not allow me to cross. Here I am, open and transparent, and yet you will not allow me the same courtesy--to know you. Is it any wonder that we’re strangers in each others’ lives? So please...spare me the secrecy and the pretense. Tell me your ails.” She positioned her arms over her chest and planted her feet. “I will not move, otherwise.”
To the dark mage’s credit, she did. Like a breath she’d been holding for months, she’d finally expelled it all in a long, depressurizing sigh. Several months’ worth of pent-up frustrations, of undesired expectations to lead a long-lost kingdom, of chasing the shadow of an absentee father, of struggling to find purpose, belonging, a home, answers to a life that mistreated her, answers to a magic that poisoned her--it all came flooding out of the overwhelmed monarch’s mouth. Chara listened intently, nodding along to the words as, little by little, the facade that Lilica had constructed for herself had fizzled away, leaving behind the vestiges of the woman she recognized. She hadn’t changed, after all. No fancy titles or miraculous poison extraction could dampen the uncertainty still trapped in those onyx eyes. She was lost, alone, afraid...trapped. Nothing had panned out as desired. For either of them. And for some reason, this news was...refreshing, to her.
“And why can you have nothing more?” Mindful that the two were conversing in the middle of a hallway where any passerby could notice them, she gently took Lilica by the arm and rounded the corner, into a sheltered alcove that branched off the main corridor. “Because you believe you made a mistake by leaving me? I will admit,” she brushed a few pesky strands of hair from her eyes, “at first, I did blame you. I was so angry and did not know how to channel it in a nondestructive way. I let it fester for months, and it turned me into something ugly and resentful. I trusted no one. I saw people as tools and not as individuals with their own merits. I realize now, in hindsight, that I overreacted. I overreacted, and the land sought to punish me for my insolence. The land--or circumstances, oversight, a bad hand--however you’d like to frame it. But not you. I fell into Mollengard’s hands because my wrath consumed my reason, and it left me too exhausted to care. I used you as a scapegoat for far too long, and for that, I apologize.” She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall as her own confessions left her swooning.
“Your reawakening of Galeyn is a blessing in disguise, Lilica. Without you, D’Marians would not have so welcoming a refuge. You would still be afflicted by your toxic magic. Elespeth, I suspect, would have died already, or at the very least, fallen comatose. People have been given back their lives, after remaining in a stasis for one hundred years. These are not things to ignore, Lilica.” Her hand slid from the wall, to find Lilica’s wrist. “Reigning this kingdom as queen does not need to be a burden you are doomed to carry alone, lest you want to repeat my mistakes of trusting no one and treating others no better than insects to spatter on a wall. Believe me,” she quirked a smile, “you are going to need a ridiculous amount of help, and I am here to offer you my experience. After all, what else am I to do? Inactivity does not suit me; I’ve been idle far too long.”
Rummaging through her pouch, she pulled out a white handkerchief and handed it to Lilica. “In all honesty...I am relieved you are falling apart in front of me. Call it selfish, but,” she hesitated, “I did not want you to find happiness and purpose without me. It was a terrible fear of mine; that you would wander off in search of your kingdom, find the golden future you longed for and desired, and you would forsake your past...and me. I was afraid that my influence was stifling you, and once you broke free of me, I would lose you forever.” The tears that sprung in Lilica’s eyes passed their contagion to Chara; she, in turn, felt the moisture well in her eyes. “The person I saw in the alleyway, back in Braighdath...she was a culmination of those fears. ‘Look how perfect she is’, I thought. ‘Healthy, confident, like a once wilted flower enriched by her new patch of soil. And here I stood with a pair of scissors, wanting to clip off her stem and keep her to die slowly in a vase.’ ...I was so jealous of Galeyn, when I arrived. Convinced that it provided for you what I could not. What I never could. But,” those tearful eyes half-mooned into a smile, then a laugh, “I’m glad you’re miserable, Lilica. Yes, I will say it. Because it means...that you still need me.” Another burst of a laugh. This time, it persisted. “This was exactly what I needed to hear, don’t you understand? I am only angry that you kept this from me for so long! Oh, you broken thing.” In the tussle between her emotions, she hadn’t realized that her lips had landed against Lilica’s in a quick brush of a kiss. “Let us be broken together.”
Alster, who had seen up to a dozen Missing Links performances since the Equinox Festival, knew that something unprecedented had occurred in the trapeze act. Tension hummed in the air; it rippled in waves of black energy, like miasma erupting from an active volcano. Anger and envy and malice, leaking from the pores of the silver acrobat. Then, it happened. Like the snapping of elastic, Cwenha flew from the bars, but on clipped wings, her flight did not keep her airborne...and she fell. To the audience, it translated not as a fall, but an elegant swan dive. Alster, however, was well-attuned to the acrobat’s grief, and could read the truth in her aura. She was distracted, her mind darkened by despair.
Despite his concerns, which mounted when he followed the skewed balance in her limping gait, he applauded with the crowd (best as his mechanical arm would allow). As expected, the Missing Links did not miss a beat as they transitioned seamlessly from one act to the other, an upward climb of inertia that did not cease until the finale and the final bow. But Cwenha was missing from the cast of performers--as was Hadwin. But he did not ponder his whereabouts for long.
A wolf emerged from the stage, hat clamped in his jaws. Alster’s brow wrinkled in bemusement at the sight.
“I’ve seen this man-beast take on so many roles and personas, I was convinced nothing he did could surprise me anymore,” he said in a whisper between Elespeth, Sigrid, and Vega. “But a wolf peddler...I did not see this one coming.”
But the shifter’s antics was not the only thing he didn’t see coming. When Hadwin squished the hat full of coin into his unresponsive hands, and Briery complemented the gesture with an explanation, Alster’s emotions got the better of him. Fortunately, the grounding touch of his wife had stabilized his mood, enough to address the audience and accept their unanimous applause without devolving into a puddle of pitiful tears.
“I...this must be a dream,” he admitted to Elespeth, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’m Serpent Bane. It’s not normal. It doesn’t make any sense. But...I’m willing to accept this as reality, only because I’m desperate for all of this to be true.” Maybe if this is true, he reasoned to himself, then there’s hope for Elespeth, too. That...she’ll recover. It doesn’t have to be a dream, either.
Meanwhile, Elias, in a rare instance of cooperation, had prepared no retort or complaint for anyone, preferring instead to comply with Briery’s suggestion to rub the wolf on the belly. The canine obediently flopped to the ground and rolled over, twitching his legs in the air as the healer lowered into a crouch and used both hands to massage the overly-friendly creature. Alster, in watching this new spectacle, was doubly baffled. How in all of hell and creation did Hadwin manage to win over the choleric, critical Elias in mere minutes of interaction? Like Daphni beside him, he almost didn’t want to reveal the wolf’s true identity, worried for the ensuing backlash.
Conversation around them had sobered up, however, at mention of Cwenha and her sudden disappearance. Alster glanced at the stage behind him, the trapeze from which the acrobat fell swaying gently in its suspension. “You’re right, Briery. I felt it. Did you feel it, too, Daphni?” He tilted his head at the Sybaian healer. “She was like an open wound out there. Septic, and festering, and oozing puss. Will she be alright?”
“We...spoke, earlier,” Naimah, who’d maintained silence throughout the show and its aftermath, stepped into the circle, nodding both to Briery and Rycen. “My existence upsets her. She did not hesitate to inform me about my choices and my ongoing practice. She caused me some upset and I lashed out at her. She reminds me of other girls I’ve met, and,” she sighed, “knowing that, I should have been more delicate. She was crying for help, and I silenced her.”
“Even if she was crying for help, there’s little anyone can do if she won’t accept help,” Alster said, idly wiping his arm of its wolf drool and readjusting his hat full of coin. “She is like Chara. Or...how she used to be. Anger dominated her. Oftentimes, she preferred it over seeking practical solutions because she didn’t want others to perceive weakness in her. She was hurting and anger drowned out the pain. It gave her control, and a purpose of direction. But over time, it builds into hate, and eventually blockades avenues to healing. After all,” he rested his metal hand upon Elespeth’s shoulder, “healing is pain, and many people can’t bear to undergo that pain a second or third time.”
“This is true.” Elias, who hadn’t spoken a word since engaging with the wolf, climbed to his feet. The canine, now deprived of his belly rubs, whined in protest. “I speak, of course, of physical pain, but the cross-reference yields the same results. Some people would rather accept the disease than seek out solutions for recovery, because the recovery is often more punishing than the disease itself. That said,” he crossed his arms over his chest, “I am not keen on letting her free on an injured foot.”
“And I’m not keen on leaving her alone at all,” Alster agreed. It only takes a moment. One moment of solitude, of isolation. Lowering his eyes to the ground, he slid his hand away from Elespeth, hiding the twists of sorrow that contorted his face. If no one had intervened, Elespeth...would you have done it? Would you have taken your life?
“Good. Perhaps you can wrangle her back to this room for proper healing,” Elias said. “Or, failing that, you are more than capable of handling a sprain.”
“If I can do nothing else for her, I’ll at least mend her injury.” The guest of honor shrugged, expecting protests from Elespeth about up and leaving his party. “I wouldn’t feel right if someone is miserable or hurt on a day that has brought me so much joy. She’s in part responsible for that joy.” Transferring his hat to Elespeth to hold, he turned to the wolf and clicked his tongue at the creature, who was still lolling around on his back. “I’ll have to borrow your wolf, Briery. He can help me find her,” he said, with a sly half smirk. “I hope that’s okay, Elias.”
The Clematis healer stepped away from the animal, his cheeks lightly tinted red. He coughed, cleared his throat, and made busy scratching the back of his ear. “I have no qualms. By all means,” he waved at the beast, who had climbed to his feet to shake out his fur.
“We won’t be long.” Upon his exit, the wolf licked the back of the healer’s hand, then trotted off to keep pace with the Rigas Head, who had already begun his retreat.
“That is one strange animal,” Elias remarked, both to Briery and Daphni. “He responds to people with an intelligence rivaling that of...a human’s. No amount of training could tame him enough to follow Alster like that on command.” His frown deepened. “The lot of you know something about that wolf that you are not willing to share. ....Where did you say your flashy companion went off to, Briery?”
Footfalls were approaching the distraught and inebriated woman on the fountain, but they marched to a steady beat, purposeful in their own goals that ran counter to her cries and pleas for solitude. A Forbanne man in armor rounded the fountain, halberd raised crosswise over his body. His dark eyes did not acknowledge Cwenha as he assumed a guard-like stance beside the fountain, but her voiced frustrations were numerous, and something had to be done to quiet her--short of slitting her throat.
“My commander told me to stand here,” he said, resting the bottom point of his halberd into the ground. Though Forbanne, he was not particularly huge, or menacing. He was lanky, clean-faced and...somewhat boyish. “To guard the East entrance. Going away would be a violation of my post.” He caught the glint of the smashed wine bottle at the foot of the fountain and used his halberd to sweep the pieces towards him. “I’ll have to confiscate your improvised weapon. No violence on the premises, unless warranted.” The glass shards now formed a little pile behind where he stood, giving the impression of a magpie guarding its nest of shiny artifacts. Reassuming his position, the Forbanne soldier said nothing more, regardless of the acrobat’s reactions to his presence. He maintained a steadfast, statuesque pose, despite the beads of sweat that formed on his tawny skin. Then, out of the blue, he spoke.
“My commander also said we should talk to people, though he hasn’t been talking, and I can’t practice.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek in contemplation. “Do you know any jokes?”
“Cwenha.” Alster emerged from around the corner, by himself. Hadwin, who caught the scent of a Forbanne in the area, did not proceed to the fountain. The Rigas Head took one look at the soldier in question, but he’d since reverted to stone. “I won’t stay long.” He noted the alcohol on her breath, the smell of wine leaking from her pores. “Let me see your foot. I owe it to you after the fantastic show you put on, earlier.”
“Why… why are you trying to be so understanding?” It wasn’t meant as an insult, but Chara’s reaction to Lilica’s unleashing of her burdens left the Galeynian Queen feeling confused and unprepared. This was not the Chara she was used to in this situation: the unrelenting Chara that would see things no other way but her own, quick to berate others for bemoaning their weaknesses, instead of facing them head on and dealing with them in a constructive manner. Although… she was not unhappy with this change. However difficult it might have been for the two of them--the distance and degrees of separation--it could not be denied that Chara Rigas had not completed shattered and shriveled into something lesser than herself. On the contrary… she had grown.
On the other hand, she could understand why it didn’t displease her to see that Galeyn’s rightful Queen was little more than a facade covering up a lost, confused, and broken individual. There was a saying that misery loves company; and Lilica was just as guilty for harbouring similar sentiments toward the woman she loved. It brought her no joy to have found Chara a mere shadow of the woman she had been, back in that alley in Braighdath. She had been afraid and angry for her, angry at herself for leaving her, angry at Mollengard for hurting her so brutally, but… she hadn’t stopped to think about how she would feel, had Chara blossomed in her absence. Likely, she’d have felt the same way as did the blonde woman in assuming that Galeyn had been the answer to all of her problems. It would only have confirmed that her presence in Chara’s life had been holding her back. Like in days’ past, when she had decided to leave Stella D’Mare for good, fearing that the longer she stayed, the more she was only putting others in danger (which, ultimately, had all been part of Adalfieri’s plan). Strange, how the both of them could feel so reassured by one another’s misery, while at the same time wishing they were not so broken…
Lilica accepted the Rigas woman’s handkerchief and dabbed her tear-filled eyes. “Well… if my misery can be of use to someone, then I am glad for that.” She grinned a wry and humorless smile. “Especially if it is you that it helps. I’m… I am sorry that I was neither honest nor forthcoming with you, Chara. I was concerned for your well-being. When I found you in Braighdath, you were like… something precious that had already shattered. You didn’t have room for other people’s burdens, and so I did not see fit to inform you of my woes when you were hardly able to deal with your own. But, I…” Her dark eyes trailed up from where they had settled upon the floor. “I see that I was wrong to ever question your strength, or what you can or cannot tolerate. I wasn’t being honest with you, or… even with myself. I hope you can forgive me for...”
Before she could finish, Chara had closed the distance between them, and brushed her full lips against the Galeynian Queen’s. It was quick, but it was the first time Chara had kissed her in… well, she couldn’t remember the last time they had shared a mutual kiss that the both of them had wanted. It had been long ago; before she’d left. Before her ridiculous attempt to weaken the Serpent by sacrificing her life. Before the Serpent had reared its head… before Adalfieri had had her incarcerated. So long ago… it feels like it was all just a dream, now. But that dream was standing right in front of her, and was determined not to leave her side. What more could she ask?
“And here, I was trying so hard to make myself whole for you… if I’d know you wanted me broken, as I am, that detail would have saved me a lot of pretending.” Lilica quipped, but not without a smile. “You know me well enough to know I can’t do this alone… and I don’t want to. Lend me your expertise and advice, and let’s see if we can’t make this kingdom strong, again.”
What perplexed Briery most of all wasn’t just that Cwenha had fallen: it was why she had fallen. Her silver-clad companion had been so fortunate that most Galeynians were too intimidated to so much as try and court her, even if she sparked their interest. To her knowledge, the singer hadn’t had reason for an outburst since that night in Braighdath a month ago, just before Elespeth had left for Galeyn out of concern for her health. Since thing, things (and Cwenha) had been relatively quiet. What could possibly have set her off was entirely lost on the ringleader… Until the lovely Kariji woman spoke up. Immediately, then, Briery understood.
Before she could comment, Rycen unleashed a single, amused guffaw. “Sorry… I’m sorry. Not laughing at tragedy or anything. But this lady’s basically summed up our Cwenha: don’t take it personally, by the way. Existence upsets her: period. She’s a hurting girl who can’t stand that no one else hurts the way she does.” A look from Briery that was far from pleased sobered the illusionist, however, as did the presence of Lautim, who was suddenly looming over him. The ringleader might have been Cwenha’s biggest advocate, but he’d been working with the giant long enough to know the big guy didn’t tolerate anyone talking down about their own “Silver Fairy”. Those two had a strange, silent connection that he would never understand. “Alright, alright, I’ll shut my trap. But I maintain what I said; she doesn’t want to be found. Doesn’t want us chasing her all the time; even I can see that.”
And that was a reality that Briery had neglected to face for a long time: that Cwenha might prefer to stay damaged and hate-filled and angry than to endure what it might take to purge those feelings from her body. If that really was the case… then Alster was right. She couldn’t be helped because she didn’t want help. “I know it is not my place to apologize in her stead, but if she said anything to upset you…” The ringleader said to Naimah, wearing a sad smile. “Please accept her apology on my behalf. Hurt people will hurt people. I guarantee there is nothing you could have said to her that would have caused her to react differently.”
“Well, if any of us should go find her and treat her injury… I daresay you are likely the best suited, Alster. Not to coax you away from your own party, however.” Daphni nodded her affirmation and agreement; the silver acrobat shouldn’t be left alone. “She carries an infected aura. Even if I knew I could help her without posing a danger to myself, I have no doubt she would shy away from any healing a Sybaia might do for her. And Elias… well, there’s something to be desired with a certain bedside manner.”
“I know there is nothing that I can say to stop you,” Elespeth sighed, taking the hat heavy with coin from her husband. “But… please come back. Once you ensure that girl is okay.”
Upon Alster and Hadwin’s departure, Briery didn’t miss the skepticism that had crept into the Clematis healer’s good mood--and like hell would she be the one to come clean about the belly he’d just been rubbing. “Elias, as an animal lover, you of all people should know better than to doubt their intelligence. And besides,” the ringleader crossed her arms and smirked. “What sort of entertainers would we be if we revealed the juiciest details of our performances? I know better than to douse a sense of wonder; and I happen to also know that you enjoyed yourself more than you’re letting on. So,” she shrugged. “You won’t get your answers from me.”
“And, besides,” Vega added, jumping on the opportunity to taunt the Clematis healer who to this day continued to openly berate her about her flight from Eyraille, “there are some things that you just do not want to know. Take the acrobat’s advice and let it be.”
Upon learning that those footsteps did not belong to anyone familiar, the Silver Fairy of the Missing Links oddly took a modicum of relief from that otherwise insignificant fact. They always chased her, when she ran; usually Briery, but now also Alster, and sometimes (unfortunately) Hadwin. As if they were afraid that a second alone is all it would take for her to finally muster the courage to do what she’d been edging toward for years and release herself from this world that she so hated with a fiery passion; release herself from the body that kept her tethered here, and reminded her every day of just how shattered and irreparable she was. Mere pieces of a human existence, pretending to get by because she could help put on a good show. Truth be told, if suddenly they all stopped caring--the Missing Links, and her new Rigas associates--perhaps it was only then that she would find herself free of any obligation to maintain a grounded stance on this plane of existence. And for that, she couldn’t blame any of them for feeling so afraid to leave her alone.
But despite their best intentions, all of this constant checking in and checking on her did nothing to quell her anger and misery. On the contrary, it sometimes fed into it. And now you are wasting peoples’ time, because you cannot go a day without feeling overwhelmed. You don’t deserve the kind of care they pay to you. For once, such was not the case, as the presence behind her felt (and sounded) entirely unfamiliar. The blonde acrobat eventually craned her neck over her shoulder to take in the appearance of her unintended visitor--one whose presence she could not successfully dismiss, if he was only here on entirely separate orders. By the way he was dressed, there was no doubt he was one of the Forbanne, although his presence seemed decidedly less threatening than the others. While tall, his physique boasted less bulk and more lean nimbleness, and he appeared… young. Or, younger, compared to his larger, more frightening counterparts. “A fountain. Your commanding officer ordered you here to guard a fucking fountain.” True, though, that the East gate was not far off. She should’ve known better than to choose a place to be alone that would obviously be patrolled; alcohol did dull your sense of reason after all, it seemed.
“It’s not a weapon, you imbecile. It fell and shattered. I don’t keep my weapons so damn visible. You want to clean it up,” she motioned with a dismissive hand gesture, “be my guest.” Truth be told, it hadn’t even occurred to her to attempt to use those shards as a weapon--against herself, or otherwise. Perhaps this state of inebriation was doing better for her than she’d thought.
But then the decidedly awkward man was declaring his instructions to ‘talk’ to people, and… he wanted jokes? The most mystifying part was, he was being serious. Here was a woman he didn’t know, clearly inebriated and with her injured foot stuck in a fountain, and he saw fit to ask her for a joke. The request was so preposterous, Cwenha couldn’t even be mad at him for the ridiculous inquiry, because he was just so genuinely clueless. “Here is a tip; if you want to practice conversation, it is probably best to seek out a conversation partner who has their wits about them, and who isn’t drunk off their ass with an injured foot stuck in a fountain.” She snorted, but curiously, there was no anger saturating her words. “And I don’t know any jokes on a good day. I’m afraid you’ve picked the wrong person to practice your human skills on, soldier. Sorry to disappoint.”
It was impossible to disappoint someone who didn’t have any expectations, however. This nameless man didn’t seem bothered. In a strange way… it was oddly reassuring. That someone didn’t expect anything of her.
“...you can’t be on guard and expect to socialize like a normal person, you know.” The silver acrobat sighed, and swished her injured foot around in the cool water. It had long since grown a little numb, but not enough to evacuate the pain. “Why don’t you try again when you’re not on duty. Do you even have a name?”
With the expectation that the Forbanne soldier would merely stand silent while she withdrew into her own stubborn silence, Cwenha decided that he was neither a threat nor a bother, and was prepared to coexist peacefully within the same vicinity of this stranger. After all, it wasn’t much different from actually being alone, when the person sharing your space was little more than an object--a fact that did incite a twinge of sympathy for the poor bastard, but the alcohol had dulled her senses too much to dwell upon it. That, and the silence was interrupted once again by, this time, a familiar voice.
“...Alster Rigas. The hell are you doing here?” Cwenha’s shoulders drooped. Of course. They’d send the one I won’t bitch at. “You’re aware that this grand spectacle taking place this evening is all for you, right? Your wife has been coordinating with Briery and the mutt for days to put all this together. A little rude to leave it in search of a waste of time like me, wouldn’t you say?” The Silver Fairy returned her fuzzy gaze to her injured foot. The cool water had done little to prevent swelling around the ankles and toes, and she took note of some light bruising along some of the tendons. So much for her ability to boast her stealth and nimbleness. “The damned Night Garden is just behind me, you know. This is Galeyn. I’ll find plenty of means to deal with this later.” She brushed off his offer, not so much because she didn’t want relief from the pain, but because she simply couldn’t much be bothered to comply--or move, for that matter. The warmth of the alcohol in her veins had gradually lulled her into a sluggish, lazy state, such that she thought it to be a good idea to recline upon the fountain’s ledge, the tips of her white-blonde hair touching the water.
“Don’t try to flatter me. It wasn’t a fantastic show. I nearly fucked it up for everyone, because I can’t stand the fact that that gorgeous Kariji woman, among so many other prostitutes I’ve encountered, cannot hate the world and their circumstances to the same extent that I do. I can’t be happy because I won’t let myself be happy; I can’t be loved because I won’t let myself be loved. Is it really too much to ask to find someone who knows what it is to be this damaged? Someone who isn’t deluded into only looking on the bright side, when we are clearly all surrounded by shadows?” Cwenha swished her fingertips around in the water, curious that she couldn’t really feel the cold anymore while making idle figure-8 patterns. “The world isn’t some shining example of hope. It is cold and merciless, and no one wants to acknowledge that. Instead, they make excuses for it and then look at me with pity because I refuse to make the same excuses. Just for once… I don’t want to be the only one who is angry.”
Something about alcohol, she was quickly coming to learn, was that it made everything seem comfortable--even the polished, stone surface of the fountain’s ledge. Cwenha leaned her head upon her hand. Falling asleep here wouldn’t be so difficult; nor so unpleasant. “You want to help? Here’s what you can do. Go back and revel in your celebration. Spend time with your wife. Give Briery and Rycen and Lautim the credit for not fucking up their routines because they had their heads firmly on their shoulders. I’ll be fine. Besides,” with her free hand, she gestured limply to the nameless Forbanne guard as she closed her eyes. “I somehow ended up with my own, personal guard. Nothing bad will happen to me.”
I'm patrolling this area,” the Forbanne said, in an informative drone characteristic of his ilk. “Gate, entrance, fountain, gate, entrance, fountain. Two stationary guards are at the gate, but I'm the roaming guard, so I go to the gate, the entrance, and the fountain.” For a soldier unaccustomed to conversation with a civilian, or conversation in general, his explanations left something to be desired. He faltered as he spoke, mouthing the words before speaking them aloud. “It's my turn at the fountain. Fountains make gurgling noises so they can hide the sounds of magic-concealed spies sneaking into the palace. This is why I’m here.”
Straight-faced as ever, he nodded at Cwenha’s “tips” as though she were dispensing valuable information, but a tick appeared of doubt appeared in the furrow between his brows. From what he’d learned thus far, something did not seem right. “But Commander Sorde told me that humor is when people find themselves in absurd situations, and you are in an absurd situation.” His furrow deepened in obvious confusion. “So it's funny, right? A joke?” His shoulders straightened. “I only know one joke, and my training officer told it to us a lot. He said that Forbanne of the 102nd Regiment of East Mollengard should go join the circus and we can juggle our own balls while sucking on our own dicks, and everyone would laugh at us because we're not men anymore. I told this joke to Commander Sorde but he wasn't laughing...so maybe it isn't funny? But,” he gestured at the silver-clad woman, “you should know because you're in the circus. Circus people are funny. A drunken clown with an injured foot in the water--absurd.” He made the motion to laugh, but no sound emerged. And she, like Commander Sorde, was not laughing, either. “But no. You say it's not funny. Okay.”
Confusion still twinged at his mostly impassive face, but he was about to leave his inquiries alone and return to patrolling the area surrounding the fountain, when the woman replied to him once more. He wondered if they were having a conversation. Two people talking to each other and not fighting with the intent to kill them--it sounded possible. This meant that he was following orders, and achieving better success than the other Forbanne who ignored speaking altogether. Granted, it was a tertiary command by Commander Sorde, and not a well-enforced one, especially as the days spanned and their orders became more orthodox in scope. But the commander also stressed to always practice the skills that polite society sought and valued as normal behavior.
“I can't talk to people when I'm asleep,” he said, matter-of-fact. “Asleep is when I have no duty. Does that mean I’m a normal person but only when I’m asleep? How do I practice, then?” The conundrum seemed to bother him. The halberd wavered side to side in his otherwise steady and stable grip. “And no,” he shrugged, “I don't remember my name. Commander Sorde says names are very important and we need to make the choice. No one else can. But I can't think of names. Do you have suggestions for names?”
Their conversation (as he had confirmed that were did, indeed, conversing with each other and no one had died) came to an end when another person called for the woman by what he presumed was her name. The nameless man did not scoot from his spot, but he did not opt to join the conversation because he did not think society accepted more than two people speaking at a time. Maybe that wasn’t true. But there were so many rules to remember, and he didn’t know which of them pleased Commander Sorde the most. Fortunately, the other man, who the nameless soldier recognized as Lord Alster Rigas, was someone who society deemed as inappropriate to engage, if one didn’t fit the criteria. Because he was a Lord, a nobleman, a veritable commander of his own army, the Forbanne did not qualify to speak to him. Instead, he stood at attention, and said nothing.
At Cwenha’s exclamation over his arrival, Alster elected for a soft smile. “I needed some air. Even positive attention can become overwhelming. And since it is my birthday, it’s not rude if I decide I want to pursue something, or someone, worthy of my attention. Call it selfish, that I would leave my own party, but like I said, I’m not staying here for long.” He eyed the condition of her foot, which had swelled to almost twice its size, purpled in places with bruising. “It looks broken. You’ll find I’m quite gifted at healing breaks and fractures occurring in the foot. I learned by continuously breaking my toes for hours until I perfected the magic. That,” he hesitated, “is not the suggested way to go about anything, but I digress. If you want to wait...well, I can’t force treatment on you. That’s another lesson I’ve learned the hard way.”
He slid his good hand along the edge of the fountain and sat on its lip, but far enough from Cwenha (and the Forbanne guard) so that he didn’t impinge on her personal space. “Cwenha...it was a fantastic show because you performed it for my sake. I can’t thank you enough for the surprise. That you were here to celebrate a day I didn’t think anyone would remember. It doesn’t matter if you ‘nearly fucked it up.’ The show did not fall apart at the seams. Everyone loved it. I’ll forever consider it my favorite from The Missing Links. And that, my friend, is not mere flattery.” He lent an ear to her drunken confessions as he leaned back on the lip and slipped a finger into the refreshing lap of water. “What if you find this person? This person who has suffered like you, thinks like you, and hates the world as you do? Will you feel better? Will the anger and your self-hatred suddenly vanish? I can direct you to those people, Cwenha. People who feel nothing but hopelessness. People who believe the world is a malevolent pool of malice and love isn’t guaranteed...or strong enough to save them from their fate. I see them every day. You’ve been among them, Cwenha. D’Marians, Braighdathians…” He pooled some water into his hand and splashed it on his face, running the leftover droplets through his hair.
“I’ve seen it in Chara and in Lilica. I’ve seen it in my wife. I see it now in Haraldur, and he’s an expecting father. It lives in me, still. It isn’t that people don’t want to acknowledge the filth of the world. It’s that they choose to carry on in spite of that knowledge. No one here’s blindly looking on the bright side. We’re all struggling to live our lives best as we can, in whatever way makes the most sense. Including you. And,” his hand lowered to his chest, feeling its painful surge whenever his mind wandered to Locque, or to Elespeth’s probable fate, “you’re not the only one who’s angry; this much, I promise you.”
Rising to his feet, he pushed off from the fountain and pointed his heels in the direction whence he’d come. “Well, I said I wasn’t going to stay long. You know where we are, and where to go to seek relief for your foot.” He eyed the aforementioned ‘personal guard,’ who hadn’t moved a hair out of place for the duration of their time together. “Well, if he is a Forbanne under Haraldur’s command, then I trust that you’re safe. Take care, Cwenha.” And answering to the young acrobat’s wishes, he returned to his party--independent of the wolf, who had disappeared from the hallway.
“I get angry, too,” the guard said, after Alster’s footsteps receded. “But I’m not angry now, because Commander Sorde hasn’t ordered me to kill people unless it’s a bad situation. But if you start killing people, that will be a bad situation and I’ll have to kill you. So we can’t get angry right now because I don’t want to kill a clown. ...Wait, the conversation ended before, didn’t it?” Promptly, the Forbanne’s mouth clamped shut, and he said no more.
Elias, who somehow decided to stay amongst the circle of acquaintances and patients, even after the wolf padded off with the guest of honor (hence breaking any obligation to remain), did not, in fact, move. He was too occupied with discovering the truth that everyone refused to acknowledge, to the point of flippant ignorance. They were all playing him for a fool--and Daphni was not immune to the tomfoolery of the group. “I may be an animal lover, but that does not mean I ignore all previous studies attributing human and humanoid brains as the pinnacle of intelligence. Besides,” he waved at the gathering before him, “your animal companion does not count as a secret if everyone else knows the origins of this secret.” As if to confirm, Vega weighed-in with the revealing information that hinted at the revelation, which she, of course, would refuse to unveil. “By your logic, princess,” he never referred to her by her name anymore, “I should not invest in your health because I simply do not want to know how you are faring. But there is no reason to punish unborn children for the mother’s mistakes.” He shrugged. “As well as the father’s mistakes. Alas, I am scientifically-inclined; I never leave a situation unexamined, so no, I refuse to ‘let it be.’ That is horrid advice, but I expect nothing less from a half-developed lifeform who calls herself royalty.”
Before the full brunt of his words were allowed to stick, Alster reentered the room, lacking both the wolf and the silver acrobat. When he filled in the space left empty for his return, he met Briery’s eyes and shook his head at her silent inquiry. “We found her. She’s reclining on the fountain near the east entrance. She’s drunk, and her foot looks to be broken in several places, but...Rycen’s right. It’s best to leave her alone. As I predicted, she refused my help. But I don’t think there’s cause for alarm. Strangely enough,” he looked to Vega, “a Forbanne guard is keeping her company. They were talking to each other before I arrived. I wasn’t sure Haraldur would be bold enough to send Forbanne to the palace, but this one didn’t raise my hackles in concern. I suppose his attempts at rehabilitation are reaching a few of the soldiers. Or at the very least, he has them under control.”
“And whereabouts is the wolf?” Elias asked, mouth still chewing with suspicion.
“Oh,” Alster frowned. “He ran off after we found Cwenha. I couldn’t tell you where he went.”
“And this does not concern you?” The healer raised an eyebrow at Briery, who seemed unruffled by the news. “Your precious wolf is running rampant around the palace. A wild animal without supervision. This can end badly for him, if he is caught by an uninformed guard. Under control or not, one of the blasted Forbanne will no doubt wish to investigate the presence of a predatory beast within the premises. The creature could end up dead!”
“I’m floored by your concern, fellow animal ally of justice,” a voice chimed in behind Elias. When he turned, he saw the flashy man, except now, he donned a dusty-brown jerkin and nondescript trousers. The glittery paint around his eyes had been scrubbed clean, and his hair had been swept back, adhering together from the rinse of water that still clung in places to his skin. “Sounds like you’re quite taken by my pet. Been keeping him good company while I ran out to take a bath then, hmm? By the way, he’s safe and sound in my room. No need to start a party-wide search for the little cretin--though I do appreciate it.” The man grinned, displaying an impressive set of canines. Elias frowned, observing the eyeteeth, then the eyes. Yellow-gold, piercing, familiar…
“You’re the wolf,” he said, in whispered awe.
“Come again?”
“Your teeth, your eyes--”
“--Oh please,” the flashy man interrupted with an uproarious laugh, “you’re starting to sound like a goddamned fairytale. How fitting, too. You’re wearing red. You ever hear about how pets and their owners start looking alike after a while?”
“All right,” Elias cleared his throat and straightened his posture, shaking away his frazzled state of mind to address the ‘wolf’ with dignity. “I am a man of science and I will give you the benefit of the doubt. But I first ask that I see your wolf, and that I see you--interacting with your wolf.”
“Fair enough,” the man shrugged. “Let’s take a stroll, my friend.” He pressed his hand against the healer’s back and implored him forward. “We’ll return in a flash,” he winked at Briery and the others, as the two headed out the courtyard doors and toward the hallway.
“I…” Alster spoke amid the awkward silence, “don’t think this will end well.”
About fifteen minutes later, the Clematis healer and the faoladh reentered the courtyard, the latter beaming with a triumphant smile and the former, pale and shaken, looking profoundly changed by the experience. The two kept a wide berth from each other, but both regrouped with the same circle of people.
“I...am a man of science,” the healer reiterated from before, his overwhelmed eyes staring at some great distance beyond. “It is in my best interest to learn about...changes in physiognomy, so that I can adapt my practice on a patient-to-patient basis. In learning, I regret nothing.”
“You heard the man. He regrets nothing.” Hadwin sidled up to Briery, draping an arm over her shoulders. “I have a feeling, Elias, that this is gonna be the start of a beautiful friendship.”
It looks broken. Broken… Alster’s words should have given her more cause to become far more worried than the silver acrobat really was. An injury that had a direct impact on her chosen career was not something that she should let be, and deep down, Cwenha knew better. Knew that the right decision would be to leave with Alster right now, seek treatment that she knew she needed, and return safely to a warm bed with several glasses of water. But between the hot-numbness that spread through her body as a result of her unquenchable anger, paired with the tingling laziness that accompanied overconsumption of alcohol (especially considering it was her first time partaking in the beverage), she found herself unwilling (and for more than one reason, unable) to move from her current position. Somehow, in her foggy state of consciousness, the hard ledge of this fountain felt strangely… comfortable.
“Well, I am glad you found some means of enjoying that disaster of a show.” She couldn’t let go of her mistake, and for someone who was so used to relying on her skills of flexibility and perfect timing while performing stunts in the air, it would likely be some time before the Silver Fairy found it in her to forgive herself her aeriel mishap. “I’ve gotten pretty damn good at covering up my mistakes. Doesn’t mean it won’t bother me, even if no one else notices it was a mistake… no, I deserve a broken foot. I let my head get the best of me; I wasn’t paying close enough attention. I relied too much on the fact that I’ve swung in the air with Briery hundreds of times. I messed up, and it could’ve gone bad for everyone. So this…” She twitched her bruised foot in the water and winced; that had been a bad idea… “This is what I deserve. Thanks for the offer, though. Don’t worry about me…”
To the Rigas Lord’s credit, he did listen, however inane her griping might be. That she was so furious that no one else was as furious as her… Saying it aloud, even to her drunken ears, made it sound ludicrous and petty. Like a small child throwing a tantrum. But even in knowing that all too well, it did not make her feel any differently. “If I found that person… at least I’d know that I’m not alone. That there is someone else hopelessly broken beyond repair.” Someone else who cannot navigate their own existence because they were never given the tools to cope. That the years they were supposed to be developing coping mechanisms, their time was consumed with being traumatized, again and again. Alster had a good point, though: what would she do, were she to find that person? Would it really make her feel better? Or would it simply affirm what she had thought all along: that the world was a hell in disguise, and that it really wasn’t worth pursuing dreams and happiness, because they were all lies?
“You’re right. I don’t know that it would make me feel better. And I know I’m not the only one who is angry. Finding my own deliberate reflection probably won’t solve any of my problems. But the difference is… the difference is all of you, the lot of you, your friends and family and acquaintances have all found a way around it. You’re angry, but you also know how to be happy. You know how to love. You know how to be loved. But not me; I don’t know any of that. Maybe it’s for lack of trying. Maybe I’m too scared I’ll be hurt again, and it isn’t worth the risk. I’ve lived with my anger for a long time, but…” Her blue eyes fixed on the rippling surface of the water. It was almost hypnotic to watch. “I guess… I just don’t know how to live without it, and somehow, that just feeds it. Makes me even angrier; some weird, vicious, poisonout cycle. I guess I just want to not be the only one, stuck in a mire of their own suffering… sorry. I’ve heard that wine can make tongues loose; this is my first go at it. My tongue doesn’t really know when to stop.”
A wry smile curled on her painted lips, and she pressed a long sigh from her lungs. “Thanks for your concern, all the same. Now go back and enjoy your damned birthday party. Believe me, there are people far more deserving of your company and attention than the drunk likes of me.”
To Cwenha’s relief, the Rigas mage obliged her request and, reassured that she would be safe, took his leave of the fountain. A familiar sense of disappointment settled in her gut when he had vacated the premises; not because he did not force her to go with him, did not stay put unyieldingly until she agreed. It was because once again, his words--along with every other word directed at her as an attempt to provide a modicum of comfort--did not reach her, did not sway her. Part of her still awaited the day that one person would say just the right thing that would lift the shroud from her eyes, and allow her to see the world, and its hope, for what it really was. But alas, even Alster Rigas’s kind words of reason did not reach her the way that she’d hoped they would. No one and nothing could contend with the anger. Although, this bloke of a guard was proving to be as amusing distraction.
“I am not a fucking clown, by the way,” she snapped, a crease forming between her brows as she pursed her heart-shaped lips. “I’m an acrobat. Have you ever actually seen a clown? Let me know if you are interested in a career change, because our ‘circus’ does not in fact have a clown. Rest assured, you might not have any jokes, but you’re oblivious enough that you wouldn’t have a hard time getting people to laugh at you.”
She was being cruel; she knew that, and yet, the words still left her lips. Perhaps toward anyone else, ‘cruel’ might not be the correct term, but this man was Forbanne, and that in and of itself indicated that she was not the only person at that fountain to know what suffering really was. She knew, but she still said the words… although, she was not so far gone as to be oblivious to the implications of some of his rambling.
“What do you mean, when they said you aren’t a man anymore?” Cwenha craned her neck over her shoulder to glance at the sorry excuse for a human, and examined his stock-straight profile. Her mind was slow to process information, but as she turned his words over in her head, she suddenly realized that she did not need to ask the question at all; the answer, given his Forbanne status, was obvious. She’d heard what they did to some of their soldiers; and there was only one thing that would, in their eyes, negate their status as a ‘man’. “...nevermind. You don’t need to answer that.” Heat crept into her cheeks. How could he be so cavalier about such an awful tragedy? Perhaps that is what it came to, when you suffered trauma to that extent. If you couldn’t be droll about it, then you’d be forever paralyzed by the pain. Was that why she suffered, the way she did? Because she couldn’t brush off the past like dust on an antique, to reveal something more beautiful and worthy beneath the grime?
“So you don’t have a name…” She returned to what she perceived a safer topic, though one that was no less depressing. “Didn’t you have a name before Mollengard got its hands on you?” Cwenha leaned her head on her hand, propping herself up on an elbow. “Even I managed to hold onto my name, despite that I had no control over the majority of my life. Well, my first name, at least. I can’t remember my surname, if ever I had one.”
Fixing her eyes on her evidently broken foot, Cwenha sat in thoughtful silence for a moment. “Pick a name that resonates with you. Something that you think sounds nice, if you cannot think of any other reason. You shouldn’t give someone else the right to name you; I can’t give you a name. I don’t even know you. Though you’ll probably have an easier time practicing how to be a normal human if you give yourself a name. Because if you want to have a hope to try and connect with people, you’ll need to start thinking of yourself as a person, not some object… though I’m one to talk.” The acrobat snorted and closed her eyes again. “Hey, how long do you plan on sticking around here? Not sure I should crash on the edge of a fountain when a potential sorceress threatening this place… but if you have orders to stick it out here for a while, I assume I can count on you not to let me get killed, or anything.”
It was all Vega could do not to roll her eyes at the Clematis healer’s biting comment. Frankly, none of his quips or reprimands really took root in her anymore, not since he had followed her to Galeyn and decided she had lost whatever favor he might have had toward her, without any hope of getting it back. But, if she were being honest with herself… it was getting old. And she hadn’t fled Eyraille to have contempt follow her. “You’ve no one to blame but yourself for your misery, Clematis. Need I remind you that you followed me here of your own volition? I have of course appreciated the help you’ve provided for me since the early days of my pregnancy, but we are in Galeyn, now. I have the Night Garden and other healers upon which to draw. And my health, along with that of the babies, couldn’t be better. So if it is only the health and well-being of my children that keeps you tethered to your ‘duty’ to me,” she waved her hand in a dismissive gesture, “allow me to formally relieve you of that burden. I’ve no shortage of people who have offered their assistance and expertise; there are still midwives among the Galeynians, and healers among the D’Marians. Whether or not you care, I’ll be fine, and so will the children. Oh,” she added, raising a hand to make a final point, “and if we’re gettig technical, the only one here acknowledging my royal lineage is you. You are the only one who refers to me as Princess; everyone else in this entire kingdom sees me only as Vega, even if they are aware of my lineage. Even Queen Lilica is finally breaking the habit of using ‘Your Highness’. So let met spell it out for you: I do not call myself royalty. You do; and you are the only one. So do find better ways to insult me, Clematis.”
“Let us not be so hasty to make sudden changes in your prenatal care, Vega,” Daphni said, sensing a storm on the horizon--and she was not wrong to fear it. “Your Highness--where are you going?”
“To continue enjoy this celebration. And to keep an eye out for that poor girl with the injured foot; no one should be alone when they are obviously in need of help.” Vega explained, turning her back on the healers. “I mean it, though. Consider yourselves relieved of me. Neither myself nor the children are in any direct danger; and I can find sources of help who are far less bitter toward me.”
In the princess’s wake, the Sybaian healer could only stand there, stunned at the carnage left behind by the storm stirring in the Skyknight’s aura. Vega was right about a lot of things, and that was perhaps what made this so difficult. That Elias was bitter toward her, and that his concern was not for her, but for the children, almost exclusively. And hadn’t she fled Eyraille to escape that bitterness? To find a place with quiet and calm and understanding? She had found that place, in Galeyn. She had found herself among people who did not know her enough to judge her, and once again, Daphni had stupidly lacked the foresight to see this coming: that Vega Sorde would cut the last vestiges of misery from her life during this pregnancy. And once again… she had failed to do anything to stop it.
“...why would you say that to her?” It was Sigrid, of all people, who suddenly sprung to Vega’s defense. Her face was contorted into an expression of frustration as she leveled her eyes on the Clematis. “Vega Sorde is a lot of things, and not all of them positive. Why she decided to take a risk and fly to Galeyn no longer matters; she is here now, and she came here to find something her own kingdom obviously didn’t have to offer. Namely, her husband--but unfortunately, my cousin is an imbecile and too busy feeling sorry for himself to reach out to her. So she’s got no one here, either, save for a handful of people she might be able to call friends. Hell, she’s been civil--no, friendly, to me, and I annoy the crap out of her. If that isn’t desperation, I don’t know what is. And you’re still determined to make her feel even more like shit?”
The Dawn warrior expelled a sigh and glanced apologetically at Naimah, just as she caught sight of Alster’s approach. Of course, he had returned alone; Cwenha had wanted her solitude after all, it seemed. “I’m going to go let her know not to bother to look for the acrobat.” She explained, and gave the Kariji woman’s hand a squeeze. “She’s right; no one in need of help should be alone… and I think that goes for her, too. You’re welcome to come, but if you’d rather not, I’m sure it won’t take long for my existence to get on her nerves, and I’ll be back.”
“This cannot be happening…” The Sybaian healer groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose a Sigrid took off after the Eyraillian princess, but the focus of the conversation changed when Alster and Hadwin returned, expectedly empty-handed.
Relief crossed Briery’s face when the Rigas mage divulged the news that he’d located the troupe’s own ‘missing link’, at the very least. Certainly, it would have been far more reassuring, had the silver acrobat agreed to return with him (or at least agreed for him to help), but she could only count their blessings that Cwenha at least appeared to be safe. “She’s… drunk? Cwenha hasn’t had a drop of alcohol in her life.” The ringleader’s shoulders drooped. How miserable was her silver counterpart that she’d finally resorted to alcohol? “Well… you did what you could, Alster. She cannot be helped if she doesn’t want to be. And if there is a guard stationed near her, as you say, then it doesn’t appear that she is in any danger…”
While everyone else’s concern was for the condition of the Missing Links’ own Silver Fairy, Elias was still stubbornly fixated on the mysterious tame wolf, which had ‘disappeared’ just now. And there was Hadwin, doing a decidedly poor job of deflecting the truth, which the Celmatis healer had independently uncovered. Under any other circumstances, Briery would have donned her best liar’s persona and embellished Hadwin’s tale to throw Elias off of his scent, but the faoladh appeared to be enjoying this charade far too much… and she didn’t have the energy, nor the inclination, to keep up the ruse any longer. “Well… whatever.” The ringleader sighed, watching Elias and Hadwin leave together. “This was inevitable from the beginning, and I couldn’t talk him out of it. But he has only his insatiable curiosity to blame. Could’ve just basked in the moment of petting a tame beast, but instead, he wants answers. So what he finds, whether he likes it or not, is ultimately his own fault.”
“Now this is one reaction I will need to see.” Rycen chuckled, wearing a devilish grin. “Though sorry in advance, Brie, if your healer friend will want nothing to do with you through association with our friendly wolf and the trick he played, tonight.”
“Oh,” Briery sighed again, “That has definitely crossed my mind. Nothing to be done about it, now.”
“Elias might have his opinions--and strong ones, at that--but he is not unreasonable,” Daphni argued in his place, although given his words with the Eyraillian princess just now, she wasn’t certain that anyone could be convinced.
An awkward quarter of an hour passed, where few within the group (now sans Vega and the Dawn warrior) could think of much to say, beyond idle chatter. And Daphni did harbour the suspicion that there was a chance Elias might not re-emerge, at all, depending on how shaken he was about discovering the identity of his friendly wolf companion. It was to her great relief (and surprise, no doubt) that the Clematis healer did return--and in Hadwin’s company, at that. While he did look a little on the pale side, he at least wasn’t completely traumatized.
“Sorry it wasn’t as genuine as you’d hoped,” Briery sighed, and shrugged her shoulders. “But you yourself knew it was too good to be true, Elias. And this is precisely why you don’t enjoy our shows: because you cannot for the life of you suspend belief, even for a second.” Turning her chin toward her shoulder, the golden acrobat murmured in Hadwin’s ear, “Whatever you did… thank you for not traumatizing him. Barring Cwenha’s injury, the show was a success; I think you’ve well earned your keep and my company, tonight.” Her lips quirked into a grin. “If you are still interested, that is.”
The Clematis Healer was not at all driven into a tizzy by the princess and her returning argument. In fact, her ire emboldened him. The slightest twitch of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth; he’d been waiting for her to finally rise to his bait, and snap her furious retort. “Only you would find my calling you ‘princess’ an insult. No, it is not an insult. It is a reminder. Yes, I am the sole person here who still cares about your bloody title--because I, unlike you, value tradition, and a home.” He straightened the powder-blue Clematis pin on his lapel; an enduring symbol of the honorable St. Thorne. “That is something you will never understand; you did not lose your kingdom in fire and siege, effectively driven to homelessness twice when your second residency was consumed whole by a rampaging Serpent. For the third time, I left an established ‘home’ because its princess, yes, Vega, princess, up and left in the middle of the night. You may cry and befoul your native Eyraille for disrespecting you, but need I remind you that respect is earned, and you have done nothing but spit in the faces of your own people with your unreliable behavior.”
“And now,” his amused smirk had since curled into a sneer, “you deny your legacy. You broaden distance from your title, both physically and emotionally. Instead of taking some damn responsibility and acting as a proud representative of your respective nation, you are cavorting with Galeynians as if begging for them to adopt you!” An errant hand flew outward, gesturing at the party attendees, the majority of which were Galeynian. “But I am not fooled; you could not care less if you ever returned to your country. That said, how can you marry a man, offer him the title of prince, make him take an oath of loyalty to Eyraille, and then turn around and abandon your duties? What sort of precedent are you setting? Should he pick up your slack?” Not one for charging into personal bubbles, the Clematis healer found himself near face to face with the errant princess. “You have bound a commoner to the responsibilities and service of Eyraille as its steward, yet you refuse to act in accordance with your oaths by birthright. All you do is run away from your problems. And yes,” his eyes lowered to her abdomen, “were it not for the children who will have to live with their mother’s shame and her horrible decisions, I would not have bothered chasing you across this godforsaken continent. But I did, and the reason is simple; I honor my oaths, princess; as a healer, as a cleric of the Order of the Clematis, and as a man who offered my services and allegiance to Eyraille. If only we all could be so frivolous when young lives are at stake.”
When Vega had stormed out of the courtyard, Elias crossed his arms over his chest and directed his hazel eyes to the next detractor; Sigrid. “I have spoken the truth, Dawn Warrior, a truth others would not be so bold to dispense. I consider it a miracle that I’ve withheld the brunt of my statements for well over a month. But, this is where you are wrong. Yes, her little stunt to fly off into the sunset and away from all her problems still matters. Were she just a nobody, I would be inclined to agree with you. She, however, is a public figure, and her decisions will always matter, and will have consequences for her kingdom. She should not learn to forget them.” He stood aside to allow Sigrid (and Naimah, who offered her company) to follow in pursuit of the princess. “By all means, reach out and show her kindness, but I will not coddle her fancies. I never coddle. That is why I do not waste any energy on bedside manner.”
Daphni was upset. Yes, he was the main contributor, the instigator of her upset, but he would not apologize for finally releasing the words he had yearned to say yet never did, out of respect for the Sybaian healer, who abhorred unnecessary, emotionally-charged conflict. However, he did offer her a soft look and a quick dip of his head, acknowledgment that he may have overstepped in terms of her health, further agitating her deteriorating (yet stable) condition that neither had yet to resolve.
By then, Alster had returned to the dwindling group, posing a silent question to Elespeth via head turn along the lines of: Where did everyone go?
He did not find an answer to this question, as Hadwin, back in human form, emerged and enticed the Clematis healer to solve the mystery of the tame wolf by luring him out of the courtyard-ballroom. At their re-entrance a quarter of an hour later, Alster was surprised by how...well Elias seemed to accept the news, however much it may have shocked him to witness.
“There is always a trick,” Elias said, in response to Briery’s complaint about his refusal to suspend disbelief. “A play on the minds and on the eyes. I cannot allow a puzzle to go unsolved. If I accepted the world at face value, Briery, how would I conceive of your menses-prevention tonic? Believe me, you do not want me falling into your traps of legerdemain and illusion; I would make for a poor healer, were I that gullible.”
“Yeah, he took it really well,” Hadwin said, reserving a look of ‘pride’ for his new ‘friend.’ “Asked me a lot of questions. About how transformation works and if my intelligence devolves as a wolf, and hell, he wants to study me ‘cuz I heal right quick and he thinks he could unlock some secret code in my blood or something. You were just too curious to resist my charms, eh?” He elbowed the Clematis healer in the ribs. He shuffled away from the touch-heavy wolf-shifter, rolling up his sleeves in an attempt to cool off from the residual embarrassment creeping into his face.
“Yes,” he coughed. “And do not forget, Briery. Before you leave the palace, I intend to give you a proper check-up to see if I need to make adjustments to your tonic.”
“Oh yeah,” Hadwin returned Briery’s whisper with one full of hot, sultry steam, “I was a very good boy. Told you I’d earn my keep. And of course I’d come collecting my bribe reward. No need to ask for my interest.” He tickled her ear with his breath. “It’s always a yes for you.”
“Not a fucking clown,” the guard repeated, imitating the lounging woman’s tone. “But you have a job that makes other people happy. What are you if you’re not a clown? And am I supposed to be happy right now? Or angry because you’re angry? Are not-clowns in charge of telling people what to do with emotions? Oh!” he exclaimed aloud, a sliver of excitement dawning on his stoic face. “You are not on duty because you’re going to sleep. That’s why.”
And he was about to leave her to it, save for one last thing she mentioned before closing her eyes and drifting into an alcohol-induced slumber. “I was too young,” he said, straining to recall any detail about his earliest days before Mollengardian subjugation. “I don’t remember a time before the Forbanne. Nothing at all.” A hint of something approaching regret tasted on his tongue, but it evaporated as quickly as spittle in the air. “Is there a...shop where I can buy a name? I’d still have the choice, but I’d have options, too. Commander Sorde won’t let me use Shit-crust or Cunt-hole--anything ‘demeaning’ that officers have called us before. But I can’t steal names, either. I don’t understand--I don’t understand how I get a name.” When he glanced down at the fountain, the woman who shared her name--Cwenha--had rendered herself unconscious. Though she was now ‘off-duty,’ he responded to her last conscious request with a nod. That was his overarching assignment, anyway; to keep people safe. So he did, standing beside the fountain, halberd positioned in a protective angle to shield his young charge. As a small group soon approached him from one of the adjoining hallways, the Forbanne soldier stiffened his stance and positioned himself between them and Cwenha.
“Halt,” he said, in his most threatening voice. “I have been tasked with seeing to this woman’s safety. State your business if you wish to come closer.” His dark eyes shifted from the first intruder--a lady in a green gown--to a warrior he recognized, and next, to a red-headed pregnant woman. His hand loosened upon the halberd, but he did not yet move to allow them close access to the unconscious acrobat. Not until he registered the significance of the pregnant woman. “Sir Vega Sorde,” he said, lowering into a reverent bow. “Wife of Commander Sorde, you have my respect and loyalty. Order me as you see fit.”
Naimah, watching the exchange from a vantage point behind Sigrid, frowned at the unexpected shift in the Forbanne soldier’s demeanor. “This is a strange turn of events,” she said, whispering in the Dawn warrior’s ear. “Is he acting on orders or is he independent of them?”
Abiding by Vega’s request that Cwenha be brought to a healer for her broken foot, the Forbanne nodded his compliance. “Tell me where to go, and I’ll carry her there.” Lashing his halberd to a strap across his back, the nameless soldier lifted the ‘not-clown’ from her resting place while the others reached out to secure her foot so that it wouldn’t jostle as they moved down the hallway. By their combined efforts, the small team delivered her to the infirmary, where several Gardeners cleared out a bed for her and immediately tended to her injuries.
“I will have to return to my post,” the guard said, bowing once more to Vega. “But my service to you has not ended. I follow Commander Sorde above all, but I follow you, next, Sir Sorde.” As he retreated from the infirmary and turned the corner en route to the East Gate, Naimah raised a baffled brow at the subject of such sudden claims to loyal servitude.
“What have you done to endear yourself to the Forbanne, Vega?” she said, looking to the princess with genuine curiosity. “While it’s not uncommon to see soldiers pledge to a hierarchy of officers at a time, his actions seemed almost...willful. Like he was doing it of his own accord. I have bedded enough of them to understand the difference between independent thought and a command--and he seems to carry both on his shoulders at the same time. Perhaps even he, himself, is unaware of his burgeoning autonomy.”
The rest of the day’s festivities rushed by in a flash of colors, music, and food. Although many of his companions either retired early or set off to engage in their own activities (namely, Briery and Hadwin), Alster made the most of the event expressly organized for him. And it was easy, with Elespeth constantly at his side. While the current state of his friends had been brought to question--Cwenha, Elias, and Vega chief among them--Alster resolved to focus on the rare moment of bliss between him and Elespeth. Tomorrow, he would resume his worries. But only when tomorrow peaked over the horizon line. For the duration of his birthday, he owed it to his long-suffering wife to forget about the innumerable uncertainties that awaited them in the future. There was no need to rush the days and weeks along--not if their time together was compromised, fragile...and possibly finite.
At last, the party drew to a close, and the guests, after bidding their farewells and congratulations, filed out of the courtyard, their destination to the stables, where Night steeds were all saddled and homeward bound, or to the private quarters the palace reserved for those who wished an extended stay--provided they were given the proper clearance. For the most part, the overnight guests consisted of the entirety of the Missing Links, Sigrid Sorenson, Naimah, Teselin, and Tivia. The Forbanne on palace duty did not sleep inside; in the middle of the night, they swapped places with a different set of soldiers arriving from the surrounding encampment. To ensure a smooth transition between the changing of the guards, Haraldur set foot on the grounds--his first time since the day of the welcoming feast. It was a risk to share the same space with the wolf-shifter, but he was beginning to care less and less about running the bastard through with his sword. He was tired of resisting orders; it hurt less to oblige. And if Captain Solveig, in far-off Stella D’Mare, wanted only this singular task accomplished from him, then giving in to compulsion, surely, wouldn’t spell his end, wouldn’t seal his fate, his freedom, his progress...his right to a family.
In the dead of night, the white-washed walls of the palace resembled a mausoleum. His steps echoed as he tread down the hallways, ensuring all Forbanne had made the effortless switch with each other. His steps faltered, however, as he passed a familiar door. That door. Her door. His feet shuddered to a stop. It stared at him, beckoning him to knock, to open the latch, to join her on the bed, to hug her close and keep her warm, just like those long ago days in Eyraille where the promise of a future was as inviting as the blanket they shared. Hypnotized by the prospect, he slid closer, and raised his hand. His knuckles made contact with the grain of the door. They grazed against the wood, desperate to make sound. He tapped, ever-so-gently. No response. Sighing, he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the door.
“Vega,” he whispered, his voice too soft to penetrate the walls, into her chambers. “...I miss you. Every day, I drift farther from you. I don’t want to. But the pull is getting stronger, and it’s...painful. When I think of you, my mind goes fuzzy. I start thinking of her. I see her eyes everywhere. She’ll kill me. I don’t obey, and I’m dead. They watch me, always. I’m not safe, and I’m terrified. Something is after me. I sense it.” He swallowed the stream of irrational thought vomited aloud. Words he’d been keeping silent for months spilled into existence, but alas, they found no audience, trapped between his breath and a locked door. “At night, I hear another voice. A little girl’s. She asks me why. Why can’t I escape? Why can’t I break free? Why can’t I surrender? And how she cries, and cries, as she asks me how I ever expect to be forgiven. I want to tell you this, Vega. I want to tell you everything. But,” he squeezed his closed eyelids tight, “I can’t fall apart. I can’t put you at risk. I have to stay away. I’m unstable and compromised. I don’t know what I’ll do. Please...forgive me. You don’t need this right now. No one needs this. ...you’ll abandon me.”
Opening his eyes, he stepped away from the door. From what he wanted most in the world. His hand slid from the wood, severing the last of his connection. Then, he walked away, alone in the emptiness of the sleeping palace.
