[r.] I know you will follow me until kingdom come [18+]

As far as grudges went, Tivia was extraordinarily far down on Elespeth’s list of people whose presences she could not stand, and whose behaviour was beyond forgiveness. In fact, since the chain of traumatic events that directly affected her life and well-being had come to pass, the former Atvanian warrior had come to realize that that very list had shrunk entirely. People were not measured by the amount of others they loathed or over whom they insisted they were morally superior, and in the end, it proved far more fruitful to have friends. Even the insufferable faoladh, Hadwin, was no longer an entity she found she could fully despise, if she was being honest with herself. And if the worst Tivia boasted was ignoring her or failing to acknowledge her existence, well, the young Rigas woman would have to do far worse than that to earn the scorn of Alster’s wife.

“Even if you did not tell me what you knew, Tivia, it isn’t of any consequence. Because I believed that I would awaken. Well, at first, I was very nearly running out of hope, but when Alster brought to light a new possibility--well, what was really our last chance… I had no choice but to invest in the idea that I would not only awaken, but regain my mobility and independence. The stars merely whispered to you what I believed all along.” Elespeth smiled reassuringly, and gave Tivia’s shoulder a small squeeze. “So you do not owe me any apology. Just because the stars might give you answers does not make it everyone’s right to wrest those answers from you. And I certainly do not expect you to be their messenger, no matter how dark or even hopeful the situation. Although… I will say this.”

After Alster voiced his ‘condition’ for allowing the Star Seer to keep them company (which did not appear to sit well with Tivia, for whatever reason), Elespeth was so bold as to propose her own commentary on the young woman’s current living situation--and why it needed to change. “I am in agreement with Alster. With regard to your current living situation, Tivia. Listen, I… I understand your connection to Vitali. He has helped you; the two of you have found a favourable symbiotic balance, living in the very outskirts of this kingdom. I do not doubt that he cares about you, in whatever fashion he is capable. And I do not begrudge that you perhaps feel you owe him your company because he has helped you, and you have helped each other. But he has made it very clear to everyone, time and again, that he lives for himself. His intentions and motivations are largely self-serving, and clearly, his presence has not been enough for you to lead a happy life. So yes, of course you are welcome to stay here with us, but I would also like you to consider keeping closer to the palace. Closer to people who not only care about you, but who are also willing to care for you. If I am being honest,” she offered a comforting and genuine smile when the Star Seer looked up, “I would like to see you more. Technically, we are family now, and I would like my association with other Rigases to extend beyond my husband and Chara. So you are welcome to stay here as long as you like, but… I do hope you will consider eventually relocating somewhere closer. I may be temporarily indisposed, because the healers refuse to let me back into my room at the palace until my heart has returned to a normal rhythm, but I’d like to be here for you, when you need it. And… well, clearly, Alster and I are not the only ones.”

Elespeth nodded to the door, were the shy alchemist had disappeared just moments before, after proposing what sounded like an entirely selfless offer to help the distraught young Rigas woman. “The stars were talking before you were able to hear them. And they will continue to cry out, even if you decide you do not want to hear them anymore. While I cannot say for certain, I do not foresee any terrible shift in the universe should you choose not to hear each and every message the celestial bodies desire to convey. As Alster said, Isidor is capable and… well, although I am not well acquainted with the man, he comes across as very kind. He had no real reason to leave Ilandria and venture to an unfamiliar place with a couple of strangers, at Alster’s request. And he has thus far not only refused any compensation we have offered for his services, but insisted he come through on his promise to help Alster with his arm. And now, in addition, he is willing to help you, too… despite whatever indifference you might have shown him. So,” the former knight straightened her spine when her position next to Tivia grew uncomfortable for her back, “if you were willing to give the more suspicious and notorious Kristeva sibling a chance, it only stands to reason that you do the same for the one who has reached out to you, and who expects nothing in return.”

Perhaps Elespeth and Alster were biased to have a soft spot for Isidor Kristeva. After all, he was the reason she was on the mend, and that their future as husband and wife was once again secure. That, and the man really was nothing like his brother, whom she was still very reluctant to trust, even in light of his ‘good deeds’ to date. But the alchemist, nervous and awkward as he was, did not strike her as someone who was offer his assistance unless he had a great degree of certainty in his skills. And if he said that it was well within his area of expertise to help Tivia, then she had a good deal of faith that he would come through.

And she wasn’t wrong. What Isidor knew, he knew well, and like he had once told Alster, he refused to make promises that did not immediately yield a high degree of success, all for his fear of failure. So he had not been bluffing just to bolster his image when he had offered his help to Tivia; and, in the event that she did choose to accept, he had already begun delving into a plan of action, the moment he’d returned to his room.

Isidor did not intend to put his assistance to Alster on hold; as soon as the Rigas lord was sufficiently recovered to organize a meeting between himself and the man called Glaucus, he would delve into that task right away. But in the interim, there was now another task that he could focus on to keep him from pacing his room for hours, trying to find something to do in the still uncomfortably unfamiliar surroundings. Even if Tivia refused his help, for whatever pride prevented her from accepting the aid of someone she’d decided for whatever reason to despise, he could put the pieces into place on the off chance that she someday wanted to accept. For surely, the pain that the stars and their loud voices were causing her outweighed her determination to adamantly turn a blind eye to any potential help…

He had spent the rest of the day and taken the next morning to consult jars and boxes sitting upon his desk, all weighed down with what appeared to be dark metals, and even darker stones. The properties of metals, ores, and stones, and the way they interacted and influenced the world around them had been the focus of his studies for quite some time. And although much of his practice had been conducted in theory, for his lack of company and human interaction, working with this sort of medium post far less of a risk and yielded a greater deal of certainty that did medical alchemy. It was never a matter of if  a stone or an ore could affect a living being; it was how, and how to make it the most effective. And fortunately for Tivia, the very source of her discomfort also happened to yield this very medium, in the form of meteorites--which were far more common to find than one might initially think.

A simple talisman was all it would take--well, that is, with the addition of her cooperation, and some room for trial and error. Since he could not himself hear the voices of the stars, Isidor would have to rely on Tivia’s accounts of how effective it was, and make adjustments from there--which would only be possible if she saw fit to take him up on his offer. But the possibility was there, as was an achievable goal, and if she saw fit to have him help her find a solution, everything would be in place and ready for her. Well, if he was still a guest in Galeyn, which was not something that he foresaw himself as being for too long. Queen Lilica had been gracious enough to offer not just one, but two rooms within the palace to conduct his work, for the sole purpose of helping Alster. And once there was nothing more he could do for the Rigas mage, well… it was not sound to expect that he would continue to be welcome in a place where the majority of people chose not to accept him or his area of expertise.

While his mind ran amok with a nauseating mixture of anxieties and solutions, the Master Alchemist almost failed to take note of the consistent knocking on his door. Of course, it occurred to him not to answer--especially if he was not expecting anyone, and unexpected visitors send his social paranoia into a frenzy. But he also realized that this was not his home, and that it was not really within his rights to hide away and deny just anyone an audience… so, taking a steadying breath, Isidor opened the door--and almost forgot to breathe again.

“...Tivia.” It was her; here she was, at his door, without a scowl on her face. And he could only really divine one reason as to why in the world she would be here, right now. “It is… I mean, I am glad to see you. Have you given any thought to my offer?”

She had--but had not yet reached a decision. Is your faith in me so diminished that you don’t even know if if you want my help? A voice at the back of his mind almost made him ask, but he knew better than to put his anxieties and insecurities at the forefront, when he already largely wore them on his sleeve. And, to his surprise… she was not here to deny his request. Merely to confess she needed more time to dwell on it, and to… and to apologize?

A warm feeling blossomed in the Master Alchemist’s chest. And words, so many words came to mind, but he knew he wouldn’t have time to utter all of them, so he chose the easiest ones his lips could form. “It has never been unpleasant to see you or speak with you, Tivia. I am always happy to be in your company.” A small, nervous smile painted a little bit of colour on his pale face. “I understand the implications of your burden, and I realize it must not be easy for you to bear. If and when you are ready… just know that I am here to help. And I’d be honoured to be of assistance.”

It appeared that the young Rigas woman had only come to say her part, and not to sink into what would likely lead to an abysmal conversation with the socially-challenged alchemist. Tivia was quick to take her leave, to the point where he wasn’t even certain whether or not she heard his own parting words, but nonetheless, the small exchange left Isidor feeling impossibly… light. She had spoken to him of her own volition; she recognized that, perhaps, she hadn’t been fair to him up until now, and she was willing to consider his help. Why that made him feel so happy, so validated, the Master Alchemist could not articulate… but it was enough to convince him to find the energy to leave his room, that day. Perhaps return to the Night Garden, seek out some of the grounding elements that he would need to fashion Tivia with a solution to buffer the screaming of the stars, should she come to the conclusion that was what she wanted.

Grabbing a cloak hanging from a bedpost, Isidor wrapped it around his shoulders and stepped into the corridor, with that strange, renewed zeal he felt for life in the moment. He did not venture too far, however, when he encountered a familiar face, accompanied by an entirely unfamiliar one. Teselin--his younger sister by half-blood--was making her way down the corridor, with heavy bags under her eyes that suggested lack of sleep. The man accompanying her, who sported reddish hair and an athletic gait, had his arm around her shoulder--out of comfort? Affection? Isidor wasn’t able to tell. Despite that Teselin took notice of him only when she’d almost collided with him, she was still the first to speak. “Isidor… good morning.”

“And to you too, Teselin. How are you faring today?” And who is this person? His eyes seemed to ask, without yet addressing her strangely intimate company. He was certain he hadn’t seen this man before.

Teselin offered a weak smile and rubbed the back of her neck. “Well… we haven’t slept yet. We only just returned this morning. I’m sure I’ll be in better spirits after a little bit of rest.”

“Returned? You mean, you have been away?”

The young summoner paused, opening her mouth as though she meant to say something, but words failed her. “I… yes. I’ve been gone for over two weeks, Isidor. You… you didn’t know?”

The answer was obvious in the red flush that crept across Isidor’s face. Ashamed, he turned his onyx gaze to the floor. “I’ve… I’ll admit, I spend a lot of time by myself. It should have occurred to me as odd that I haven’t seen you in weeks…”

“It’s fine. I suppose, in hindsight, I neglected to tell you I was leaving… this is Hadwin.” Teselin opted to change the rather uncomfortable topic to something more palatable, and gestured to the man at her side. “Hadwin, this is my brother… well, my other brother. You’ve met Vitali; this is Isidor. He is a Master Alchemist. Isidor, Hadwin has been a good and loyal friend to me for the past year. In fact, I owe him my life; he is the reason Lady Chara and I were able to escape from Mollengard.”

Isidor looked up and flashed an awkward smile. “It is an honour to meet the person who has kept my sister safe… The two of us have only been recently acquainted. It is good to know I have you to thank for the opportunity to meet her at all.”

The ‘short rest’ before their return to Galeyn had inevitably expanded into a three-day reprieve, at Hadwin’s request. Their chosen town, a well-trafficked city on par with Hospiria but on a smaller scale, provided enough creature comforts to extend their stay a few extra nights. While Teselin demurred and Bronwyn protested, loudly, they ended up cowing to his desires, in large part, to appease him. It was no secret how they tiptoed around him, afraid he’d drink from the vat of madness anew and orchestrate another reckless escape, plummet off a cliff, or into a fire, and accomplish his death wish no matter what, damning Teselin’s emotionally-volatile response to his self-annihilation. If acquiescing to his rather reasonable wishes would stave off or prevent the resurgence of his worst, most intractable behavior to date, they were willing to set aside some leisure time, if it would aid in his mental recuperation. He remained a little rough around the edges, like twisted, rusted steel, and even his most perfected performance showcased the cracks beneath his mask. His laughter and wit still shone as sharp as a dagger reflecting the sun at zenith, but more commonly did his fallow periods grow. Periods of quiet, where the smiles faded and the crisp facets of his yellow-citrine eyes blurred into a lantern-soft glow, distant, and floating into the horizon. Often, he’d shake himself out of his brief catatonic episodes, but on occasion, Teselin would spot him staring at nothing in particular, and would call his name, or touch his shoulder, to ground him to reality. 

Sometimes, he regressed, and began to question the validity of his surroundings as factual or a poor representation of the world at large. To dispel his uncertainty, he touched any nearby objects to ensure their permanence, or made bodily contact with the people in his vicinity, feeling their corporeal bodies, their heartbeat pulsing beneath the skin, and smelling the sweat and salt of their natural odor. He’d see flickers of their fears, ghost-like wisps pirouetting like smoke across his eye-path, but their contortions of horror took on a form different from his own tailored hellscape, which was rife with vengeful spirits that even he couldn’t rightly discredit as imaginary--and it brought him comfort, because he still demonstrated enough cognitive ability to discern an outsider’s fears as separate from his own. Though he’d suffered frequent nightmares and frequent sightings of Fiona’s persistent shadow, he’d noticed the disbanding of her merry fellowship. The chorus of wailing, accusatory shades dwindled back into the voice of one. Fiona was in his mind to stay, but her recruits had joined her no longer. Better yet, when curled beside Teselin at night, in his wolf-skin, he experienced the closest to whole as the deranged faoladh could possibly fathom. 

The summoner, too, was in a particularly bad way. There was no erasing the irrevocable damage she’d caused, no restoring the lives lost or undoing the ruination of the cliff-top city. In the wake of the freak accident that his actions had spurred, her--their--only option was to advance forward. And if it would help her to become sane, and cease courting death, then he would stick to her side as the epitome of a loyal guard dog. 

Of course, core aspects of his personality wouldn’t change--nor would ever change it seemed.

“Geez, Bron, you’re such a spendthrift!” He’d ragged on his sister within the shared space of the tiny room the three had shared in the town’s cheapest inn. “Why do you care, saving coin? It comes from Queen Lilica’s oh-so-generous coffers. There’s no obligation to return it to her in full, y’know. And she owes me, anyway--for saving her.” 

“Hadwin,” she raked through the frizzed-up ends of her hair, trying to neaten them upon her head by force, “we’ve already used half of our budget on lavish meals and drinks, new outfits for you and Teselin, and in-town lodging for three--because you’ve insisted you don’t want to return to Galeyn looking like a ragamuffin. That you’re some kind of,” she scoffed, “celebrity in certain circles, and the women will cry if they see you as anything less than remarkable. That’s what you told me--and I obliged. And now, what you’re proposing we do with the rest of our coin is to gamble it all away!?”

Hadwin stroked his face full of stubble, recently trimmed to complement the curves of his strong jawline. His hair, a moppy bird’s nest, before, was swept back and styled into a messy coiffure. He’d sported a leather jerkin, cut to flatter the shape of his torso, though it hung a little more loosely than he preferred, considering the weight he’d lost. Steadily, he was acquiring more muscle and bone on his abused body, filling in the gaunt lines of his cheekbones and revitalizing the virile, roguish charm in his features. For certain, he’d cleaned up well, and his efforts had attracted the attention of the inn’s barmaids downstairs. “What you’ve failed to consider, Brownling, is an outcome in which I win. I may have been one card short of a full deck for a time, but I haven’t forgotten the fundamentals of my very noble profession. I play to win. I’ll double our profits and then some. Enough to assuage your worries about paying back our Galeynian benefactor, plus, you’ll earn a bit of pocket change for yourself just for being a good sport. Sound fair?” 

“No! Because you refuse to accept probable defeat!”

“Tsk, tsk, big sis. Is that the attitude you wanna adopt when we cross into Galeyn to rescue Rowen? Remember the reason for this little way stop. I meant it when we said we need to shapen up our morale. And what better way to rebuild it than for our luck to make a glorious return, in the form of gold and riches galore? C’mon…” he nudged Bronwyn in the ribs, his grin ingratiatingly saccharine. “There was a time you couldn’t say no to me. You thought I was too cute to resist. Y’know, back before ‘cute’ meant a target for your fists to grind into my face like a mortar and pestle. Let’s relive those short, rare moments of mutual cooperation, hmm? Those moments where I got my own way all the time, and you didn’t beat me ‘till I was numb?”

“You promised Teselin an uneventful trip. What if she--” Bronwyn bit her lip mid-sentence, glancing worryingly over her shoulder at the summoner, who had retired early for bed, rolled up in a miserable ball of sleep.

“--It will be. I swear it.” his suddenly solemn eyes rested on the fitful sleeper. “It’s a bag of money, Bron. Not my life. I can be discreet. After all,” he cracked a smirk, “I was a spy for Mollengard for a good while and I did a bang-up job of it, I’d say.” 

In the end, Hadwin got his own way. And in the end, they left town the next evening, two bags of coin richer. 

“What did I say? What. Did. I. Say!?” Before mounting the Night steed, he slapped the back of Bronwyn’s shoulder, his mouth wide in a shit-eating grin. “I still got it! Luck has returned to roost in my asshole. I’m shitting out gold; and I’ll give you the honors to groom and powder it, Brownling.” 

“Shut up, Hadwin.”

“No,” he crooned in her ear, and dropped a small purse into her hand. “Because this bastard’s fixed your money troubles. You’re welcome, you ungrateful git. Now we can ride into Galeyn smelling a little less like losers. Right, Tes?” He swung his legs atop the saddle and offered a hand up, his smile transitioning into one more gentle, and enduring. “It ain’t over yet, kid. Sit back, but not too far back. I’m taking over the reins--literally. Give you a break, ok?” 

What ensued was four hours of rough riding, interspersed by four short breaks, followed by four separate checkpoints at the Galeynian border, a grueling process of four more hours. They didn’t reach the palace gates until well past morning, battered from a journey that had already left them too battered for words. After receiving word from Queen Lilica’s attendant that she would speak with them tomorrow, and to use the rest of the day to relax, Bronwyn wasted no opportunity to disperse from the group and wander off on her own. Hadwin calling after her in mock farewell, turned to Teselin and wrapped an arm across her shoulders. He’d always been a touch-oriented person, but as of late, physical contact became his most vital method of ensuring a connection with the material world. 

“Ah, well good riddance to her, huh? Couldn’t hack it, like I thought. Well,” he popped a few joints in his free arm, “looks like it’s you and me, again. Hope you don’t mind, chickadee.”  

Their hallway sojourns weren’t spent in isolation for long. In turning the corner towards Teselin’s private suite, they nearly crashed headlong into a figure with his head very much adrift in the clouds. He, in contrast, hadn’t fared much better! Now he knew he still had a few screws loose, if he failed to smell the man with the familiar scent wafting towards them at a steady pace. Taking a casual step back, he quietly observed Isidor, the famed Master Alchemist he heard mentioned, both from the necromancer and from Teselin. Evidently, Alster had been successful in dragging the hermit out of his tower, but not the tower from the hermit; like a crab without his shell, the exposed (and twiggish), alchemist searched--and not subtly--for the closest escape route. The man took absentmindedness and spun it into art. It fascinated him, how much commonplace social interaction caused him to wriggle like a fly trapped in a spider’s web. And like the web of his entrapment, its elaborate, silken pattern built a delicate, complex, and...incomplete mapping of his vastly troubled mind. In intrigue, Hadwin found himself staring.

“Isidor, hmm?” He shot his hand outward and gripped the man’s arm with a reflex as swift as a snake attacking its prey. “Oh yeah, I’ve heard of you! You patched Elly up all good and proper. Aces to you, Isidor; now, Serpent Lord won’t reemerge and annoy the shit out of me. But that’s a story for another time. I’m Hadwin Kavanagh.” He pumped Isidor’s twig arm up and down in motions so energetic, it rattled the entire man and threatened to uproot his potted plant of a body. “Everyone’s got something to say about me; what have you heard? ‘Cuz I can set those rumors straight for you. Well, not straight,” he wrinkled his nose. “Lopsided, at best. Though hells, I’m talking to the wrong person for gossip! You said it, yourself; you don’t get out much.” 

A hearty chuckle exposed all four of his prominent canines. “Tes here flatters me, of course. She fails to mention she just saved my sorry hide. That’s where she was; rescuing me from jumping off a fucking cliff. So...naw, she doesn’t owe me anything. It’s me who owes her all nine lives. Wait...I’m not a cat.” He affectionately hip-bumped the girl beside him, a small tap that wouldn’t veer the tired summoner off course. “This girl’s a treasure, but you can’t take any credit for her upbringing. Though hey, not your fault; your mam sold you into slavery. I get it. My mam sold me to the highest bidder, too, after a fashion. Ah, oversharing, aren’t I?” He finally relinquished the overburdened alchemist’s arm and tucked his thumb behind his belt. “I’ve got some family mucking about here in Galeyn, too. Pray you don’t run into my murderous sister; she’ll gut you, after making you feel like shit for breathing. She’ll dredge up the things you hate most about yourself. My other sister, eh, she’s bark and no bite. But she’ll make you feel great and damn, do you need the ego boost. As for me? Well,” he delivered the alchemist a rather sensual wink, “I’m on my best behavior. At least, for now. So I’ll let you scurry off, unscathed. But I’ll be seeing you, Isidor. That much is a promise. You’re too damn interesting to pass in the hallway, unacknowledged. Take that as either a compliment or a threat, but I know you’ll see it as the latter.” He saluted, hand to forehead, before heading off with Teselin to her chambers.

“Fuck--I’m beat. Your bro’s so wet behind the ears and I didn’t even take advantage of it!” he whined goodnaturedly at the summoner as they entered her suite. “He’s a case, though. Has got some deep-seated trauma that I’m dying to explore some more, with my Sight. But,” he exaggerated a yawn, and it reverberated against the walls like a wailing banshee, “neither here nor there. Our entrance into Galeyn was a little too neat, if you ask me. Rowen will wanna make a move pretty soon. I take it she’s annoyed I returned--and that you brought me back.” He turned around to undo the buckles on his jerkin and on his belt, shimmying them off one article at a time. 

“Eh, let’s sleep on it, mo storeen. Idle thought’s poison, right now, and we need every bit of sense on our side when the Galeynian council corners us with demands for a game-plan.” Stripping off his last layer of clothes, Hadwin, now naked, did not remain so for long. With a cacophonous cracking of bones, he shook into his wolf skin, jumped onto the overlarge bed, rested his fur-coated body against the tiny girl, and closed his golden wolf eyes. Though he mentioned shutting down all thought, one stray detail caught his notice as he settled into sleep. Among the myriad wisps of Isidor’s fears, several in particular related to Teselin. Simply, he feared her. He feared her power, her alien composition, the strange make-up of her existence. Isidor knew something Hadwin also knew; she wasn’t human, not entirely. But the Master Alchemist was privy to more details, and the faoladh...well, needless to say, he wasn’t done probing Isidor for answers and information. He was quite keen on catching the mild-mannered alchemist in a one-on-one conversation, free from polite interference, and free from filter. To do so, he needed to single him out, first. Unfortunately for Hadwin, he was still on suicide watch. Sneaking away would violate the trust between him and Teselin, and above all...he didn’t want to disappoint her. Not anymore.

His solo meeting with the reclusive alchemist would have to wait.

While arguably naive, Isidor was not exactly a fool, nor was he a stranger to basic emotions that flitted across peoples’ faces--and Teselin was particularly bad at hiding exactly what she happened to be feeling at any given time. Ever optimistic, the young summoner had greeted her brother in the corridor with an air of despondency that couldn’t possibly have had anything to do with him, given their limited interactions (and the fact that she had evidently been gone for weeks). But as soon as he’d revealed his ignorance to her absence, that despondency that her sweet smile couldn’t hide took another turn, one that seemed to make her heart sink--and for that, he knew he must be the cause. The roles of family were not something to which he had ever had the chance to become accustomed; unwritten rules that not only made no sense to him, but which he evidently appeared to be breaking time and again in his sister’s presence. It was different between him and Vitali; the Master Alchemist and the necromancer had never been on amicable terms, and therefore no pretense existed between them. But Teselin, his younger sister, was a different case. She sought and valued her family and friends, and with that came the expectation that they would, hopefully, reciprocate those feelings. So when she approached him with a smile, and he recoiled, or he openly admitted that she hadn’t had a place in his thoughts for weeks (given that he hadn’t even realized she was gone), he was immediately letting her down--which, understandably, did not sit well with him. Yet, at the same time, their desires were not mutual, and it had never occurred to him to want to seek out his family. And, all that said… was he therefore still entitled to feel guilty, for not considering the feelings of a young girl whom he had never intended to get to know?

As was the case for most issues that involved the nature of people, the Master Alchemist was well aware that there probably was no good, solid answer to that dilemma. But one thing was for certain, and that was that regardless of the circumstances, it was a dire social faux-pas to knowingly incite sadness in another person, and then to act as though you are unaffected by their melancholy. However Teselin’s familial expectations and Isidor’s differed, he knew he could not let that sinking heart mirrored in her own hematite eyes go unaddressed--especially not with that other man present. Hadwin. What kind of first impression would he make to show that he cared less about his own flesh and blood than to someone who wasn’t even obligated to care for her, yet did so anyway? So he did the only thing he knew to do as a means to endear himself to others, and for the umpteenth time since his arrival in Galeyn, determined to offer his help.

“Ah… that is, I… it is good to meet you, Hadwin.” Isidor only took in about half of what the overtly social man was saying, partially distracted (and shaken by) the faoladh’s hand on his arm, on top of feeling generally unsettled in Teselin’s presence. “I take it Teselin has told you about our mother? I… wasn’t even aware you were privy to those details. Well, about me…” That last part was directed at his sister, concern flickering in his eyes ever since her mouthy friend had mentioned that part of being  ‘sold into slavery’... Was that really what she was telling people?! And, furthermore… was she really that far from the truth?”

“I’ll admit, everything I know, I have learned from Vitali… so do feel free to correct me if I veer to far from the truth, Isidor.” Teselin confessed with a small smile. “Our brother isn’t much of a liar, but that does not mean he isn’t prone to embellishing the truth.”

“No, I… I suppose I can see where he came up with that interpretation.” The Master Alchemist nervously rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, given what your friend has said, I imagine you must be beyond exhausted. Has it reached the point where you are not truly able to easily fall asleep, despite how your body needs it? If it would be of any help, I could make you a mild tonic to remedy that issue.  It is nothing addictive, I assure you; it merely blocks stress receptors in the human body to allow it to relax, naturally…” And no sooner did he say human that it dawned on him that his tonics might not work for his sister at all. At least, not with the same potency as someone with entirely human cells…

But it was too late. Teselin had already paused to think, considering his offer, before she responded with a nod. “Actually… I would really appreciate that. If it is not too much trouble, Isidor. You’ve already done so much for Elespeth, and I’ve heard talk that you intend to help Alster with his arm...”

“It is no trouble, really. I have done this a hundred times before.” Isidor hazarded a shaky smile. “All I’ll need is a single strand of your hair. Something to promote efficacy with your unique genetic make-up… er, that is to say, your individual make-up. Because everyone is different, you know. And depending on individual differences, the efficacy of any medication or tonic can vary… But of course you’d know that; you’re quite clever!”

Though visibly confused by Isidor’s hasty backpedaling on words that didn’t really at all strike her as odd, the young summoner plucked a single inky hair from her head and handed it to her brother, who carefully took it between two fingers. “...may I ask you a question, Isidor? A theoretical one?”

“Theoretical? I mean… of course.”

“What you did for Elespeth… it involved changing her heart in a way, didn’t it? Replacing damaged cells with healthy ones so that she can heal?”

Isidor furrowed his brow. What was she getting at. “In essence, yes. Why?”

“Is it possible to… I mean, do you think you could do the same with someone who possesses untameable magic? As in, swap out that part of them for something more… ordinary? So that they either no longer possess magical ability, or it is dampened to the point where they can control it?”

So that was what she was asking after… now, he understood. And, frankly, he didn’t know what to tell her. So he evaded the inquiry to the best of his scholarly ability. “I don’t want to say it isn’t possible. But, in theory, it would largely depend on the person and the nature of their magic… I have come to find it often exists on a biological level. Those who are magically adept have an almost tangible connection to the sources of magic that surrounds us, and honestly, the way it manifests in an individual is as unique as the rest of their genetic make-up. So, to be truthful, even if this were feasible, I could not venture a guess as to the success rate… or what repercussions might occur.”

“But there is still a chance? There was risk involving Elespeth’s heart, and it all turned out well, didn’t it?”

“Well… arguably, yes. But, Teselin… why do you ask?”

The young summoner suddenly broke eye contact and shrugged her shoulders. “No real reason. I’m sorry to bother you, Isidor.”

“No, no--you’re not a bother at all.” The Master Alchemist hazarded a shaky smile that was probably fooling no one. It was difficult to mask the discomfort he felt in the presence of his half-sister… “Try to get some rest, now. I should have your tonic ready by this evening. It, um… it is nice to make your acquaintance, Hadwin.”

The three then parted ways, with Isidor looking a little more mystified and uncomfortable than when they had first run into him. But Teselin… beneath her obvious exhaustion, the young summoner appeared, thoughtful. In fact, for the first time in what seemed like so long… she seemed hopeful. “I’d ask you to go easy on Isidor, Hadwin. He’s not used to… well, anyone. People in general, and he did not receive the warmest welcome, even after venturing so far out of his comfort zone to come to Galeyn--and upon a stranger’s request, at that. You can bet he did not agree to come because Vitali asked him to; it was because he saw how desperate Alster was to save Elespeth. And, frankly… Alster, Elespeth and myself have been the only ones to show him any real kindness. Which he desperately needs, if he is going to learn to trust people…” It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t seem to want to trust me, that despondent voice in the back of her mind reminded her. But surely, he would, eventually. He was just hard to warm up; and they hadn’t had too many encounters for him to feel comfortable, yet…

“Anyway… he has put up with a good deal of Vitali’s ridicule. And Tivia seems to have arbitrarily decided to dislike him--probably Vitali’s influence--despite that he’s been nothing but kind to her.” Upon reaching the bedroom, Teselin kicked off her boots, but that was as far as she got before succumbing to the comforting down of her bed. She would clean up later; even if she didn’t truly fall asleep, she was determined to reap the benefits of closing her eyes… until those inevitable visions of Apelrade came flooding back. “And of course he has trauma. I am willing to bet the number of friendly faces he’s seen over the years pales in comparison to the cruel ones. It is an enormously significant feat that he has come here, at all, so… don’t give him a hard time. Okay? He’s had enough of that. He deserves better.”

When the faoladh came bounding up to the bed, and curled into that ever-enticing circle that had kept her warm on cold nights, the young summoner decided to forego the sheets (as she often did) and rested her cheek against Hadwin’s thick coat. “...especially if it is possible for him to help me. Imagine if is possible, Hadwin. Isidor restored Elespeth’s heart, when there was literally no other hope left for her. Why shouldn’t he be able to take away what is poisoning me? To think… maybe, all this time, I was pursuing the wrong brother, after all.” A small smile curled on her pink lips. “Even if there is some risk involved… I think I would take the chance. If it meant never hurting anyone, ever again…”

Whatever Hadwin thought of that prospect, he kept close to his chest, and the subject was not broached again; at least, now that day. True to his word, Isidor had quietly left the promised tonic for his sister outside her bedroom door, but they did not speak again until the next day. It was early that following morning that Queen Lilica summoned a congregation, similar in presence to what Teselin had demanded some weeks ago, prior to leaving to find Hadwin. This time, Roen of the Dawn Guard was present, along with Haraldur who commanded the Forbanne. Of course, there was also Chara, and once again, Alster also made an appearance to represent the Rigases and D’Marians--with Elespeth at his side, this time. Both had been escorted by Gardeners, and were to return to the sanctuary following the meeting, but had announced that they likely only needed a few more nights at the heart of the Night Garden, before they would be permitted to undergo the rest of their recovery in the comfort of their own room at the palace. Teselin was also in attendance, once again, and not only her, but both Bronwyn and Hadwin’s presences had been requested, as well. Given the topic of this meeting, it served them to hear what was to be said.

“Some of you already know what has been going on, since Bronwyn Kavanagh’s arrival, and Sigrid Sorenson’s departure from Galeyn.” The Galeynian Queen folded her hands on the table before her, nodding to the faoladh woman. “For those of you who have been gone, or were otherwise indisposed: Rowen Kavanagh remains at large, as does the sorceress we believe to be influencing her. Matters have remained quiet since she last attacked… but with these new developments--namely, the presence of her own family--I do not expect things to stay this way. This is why I requested you hear this.” She said, specifically to the Kavanaghs. “As she is you sister, you deserve to be in the know. And while I intend to honour my promise to apprehend the girl alive, and unharmed, it is also fair that the two of you understand that anyone she might attack--be they Galeynian, D’Marian, Forbanne or of the Dawn Guard--I cannot in good faith restrict them from their right to defend themselves. Please understand that I will not tolerate any more murder in this kingdom, and I do expect that Rowen will retaliate--especially if her goal was to drive you away, Hadwin. And now, you are back, with your mutual sister.”

“Queen Lilica…” Elespeth spoke up from the other side of the table. “If I may: it may be sound to keep the search parties moving, at this point. Don’t stop to watch and wait for her to make a move. If she is keeping us on our toes, then keep her on hers… and as soon as I have the healers’ approval, I would like to contribute to the search. I am not as good a hunter and a tracker as Sigrid, but… I have been idle for too long. And I would like to step up, in her absence.”

“Bear in mind, Elespeth, that you are a victim of Locque’s influence, as well.” Roen pointed out, although not unkindly. “So if this is your decision, then be sure to take care. And watch your back. That said, as a friend of Sigrid’s, the Dawn Guard would be happy to have you among us for this task.”

That comment alone brought a flush of color to the former Atvanian warrior’s cheeks, tickled pink that the Dawn Guard had invited her to work with them. But the topic of Sigrid was evidently not so cut and dry; at least, not in Teselin’s eyes.

“Your Majesty. I realize this may come across as untoward, and it needn’t happen right away… but I am concerned for Sigrid’s safety. Tivia alluded to something that sounded less than positive, and I… it was my decision that drove Sigrid away.” Though small, Teselin’s voice carried from her seat next to Hadwin. “At least, that was the catalyst. I think Rowen--or even Locque--targeted Naimah to break her. She may only be one person, but she is a powerful ally. And a friend.”

Lilica exhaled a slow breath, as if to find her center before answering the young summoner. “You have free will to do as your please, Teselin. But understand that I cannot afford to endorse yet another search, even if your last one ended up fruitful. If you are truly adamant about going after Sigrid, then I will give you my blessing and a Night Steed, but there is little else Galeyn can offer, right now. We must focus our time and resources on the people who are here, and who need our protection.”

“Of course, your Majesty. I completely understand; and I wouldn’t ask anything more of you. I simply thought it necessary to inform you…”

“Thank you Teselin. And now that we are speaking--it would be appreciated if you could perhaps speak with your brother--Isidor, that is, on my behalf. If I understand correctly, he has planned to prolong his stay; and I would be interested to speak with him. If we already have a Master Alchemist on our side, it may be in our best interests to see if he can bring us any form of advantage--if he agrees, of course.”

The young summoner nodded. “I think Isidor would be more than happy to help, if he is able. I can surely speak with him before I leave, though… it would be beneficial to have patience. He tends to be nervous around people, which I am sure you’ve already gathered.”

As soon as details involving the continued hunt for Rowen were hashed out, and all parties had an understanding of what was happening and what to do in the even that she did show herself soon, Teselin took her leave alongside Rowen and Hadwin. “Bronwyn, you and Hadwin are better trackers than most of us since you can pick up Rowen’s scent at a distance; you may be most useful joining either of the search parties. Honestly… I don’t think my presence is needed, here. I am better off looking for Sigrid… though I suppose I should go talk to Isidor before I pester Tivia for her help, if she has able to perhaps track Sigrid through Haraldur’s blood.”

It came as a surprise when Hadwin boldly offered to go and find Isidor, himself, to relay the message that Queen Lilica would like an audience. And, frankly, Teselin couldn’t help but find it just a little bit suspicious… “...only if you tell me I can trust you not to give him a hard time.” She said, after a period of thought. “Be nice, Hadwin. He’s my brother; I don’t want to scare him off before I get to know him.”

Much like Teselin, Hadwin did not enjoy a full night of restful slumber. The progression, or devolution, of recent events needed a space to process, and since Fiona dominated his conscious thoughts with her slanderous remarks about his character, his dream state replayed not only the details of his madness-induced death spiral, but the massive body count that such a death spiral had incurred. As a wolf, his ears twitched and his paws shivered. A low, mournful whine escaped from his snarling snout. He writhed and batted the air with his paws, unable to keep still. Despite how Teselin objected, the fall of Apelrade was a great deal his fault. And for someone who seldom accepted responsibility for his many transgressions, taking a large share of custody over Teselin’s stormy creation showed a maturity that even Bronwyn couldn’t deny, via her Sight. He was expressing culpability, but not necessarily over those who’d died. Frankly, he couldn’t extend a care to strangers or half-baked acquaintances, no matter how brutal their demise. He had a short and concise list of people who he’d defend to the death or, failing that (for he had failed), who he’d mourn, and Rowen just happened upon the names. So while Apelrade’s fate didn’t affect him the same as it affected Teselin, it affected him because he had contributed to her latest, greatest, and most destructive sorrow to date. And it was so brutally apropos of Hadwin Kavanagh to bring out the worst in people he wanted only the best for. 

Poison...poison. You are poison. But it’s too late. The people you’ve touched are infected. There is no antidote, my sweet, misled wretch of a son, Fiona’s sugarcoated voice drifted through the hollows of his dreamscape like reeds on the water. You can’t do good. It comes out gnarled and twisted. No tree under your nourishment could ever spread its boughs to claim full reach of the sun. You can’t save Teselin, and you can’t save Rowen, either. So why are you here, Hadwin? As the summoner’s glorified pet? Is that the reason why you live? 

She was not wrong. Presently, Teselin was the only reason why he chose to live. Because she did need him. She made it glaringly obvious, in wiping a city off the map to spare him his final moments, all broken and full up with brine beneath the ocean depths. But he was no longer deluded into thinking he was good for her. Scum did not filter back into water, even under the guidance of the most purifying streams. It scuffed about on the river bottom, kicking up sediment and agglomerating into a larger mass of miasmic ooze. Pathetic, how he believed himself capable of love, when his vessel was too corrupted to pour out nothing but a sickening concoction of good intentions, blackened by his spade of a heart. 

He saw how much Teselin yearned for a relationship with her other half brother, the twiggy alchemist with the warmth and approachability of a cellar door. Of the few qualities one would deem ‘redeemable’, Hadwin did not experience jealousy, for jealousy tended to occur when one first committed to a project or a person, and he rarely committed to anything for longer than a moon cycle to care about what he might lose to a better candidate. He didn’t feel jealous when Teselin reunited with Vitali, unafraid their dynamic would shift, but now...he was afraid. Afraid that Isidor would be the one to help her, rendering his own crooked but well-meaning guidance obsolete. From his first-impression analysis, the Master Alchemist exuded kindness, a penitent spirit, and strong moral fiber, three core aspects Hadwin lacked and would always lack. The faoladh was never at a deficit of self-confidence and high self-image, but in decisions concerning ethical integrity, he fell flat. Teselin one day would realize, as Rowen had realized, that he was a horribly suited role model, and she’d come to her senses, choose her more righteous blood brother over him, and cut ties with his noxious presence. Kin...he was no kin to her. They weren’t related. He had no claim as her brother...and he never would. 

Hadwin awoke early the next morning in a foul mood. As he shifted back into his human skin, he stayed uncharacteristically taciturn, and whiled away the hours before the big meeting, smoking potent herbs with the new pipe he purchased from his latest winnings. By the time he stepped inside the council room, strongly smelling of musk and pipesmoke, he’d forgotten about his latent troubles, too heady from the drugs to feel anything but manufactured elation and stimulated energy drumming about his buzzing head. 

“Well isn’t this a real treat?!” The loud-mouthed faoladh announced his arrival, shooting delighted smiles at the people as though they were gathered not for a strategy meeting to discuss methods to incapacitate his sister, but a meet-and-greet for the Missing Links aftershow. “It’s been a minute, huh?” Immediately, he made a beeline for Elespeth and Alster, throwing his arms over the two lovers. “Ah, together again; together at last! Glad to hear your heart thrumming around so healthily in your ribcage, Elly! Doesn’t squelch like an overripe strawberry anymore. You smell less of one, too.” 

“Ah,” Alster cleared his throat when the faoladh’s touch lingered a little too long on their shoulders. “Nice to see you too, Hadwin.” 

He bounded away from the married couple to the Galeynian Queen and her advisor, dropping a bag brimming with coins on the table. “My ransom, paid in full. I’m now absolved of any money debts, your Majesty. Lady Chara.” 

“Good. Our treasury will be singing your praises. Now, I’d thank you to sit down, mongrel, so we can address the matter of your sister.” Chara’s raised an eyebrow, a non-verbal gesture to coincide with her command for no-nonsense. But the wolf’s drug-induced enthusiasm was not to be deterred, and his gold eyes flashed to his next target. 

“No, my family doesn’t want a dog. You’ll give everyone rabies.” Haraldur, standing in his usual spot against the wall, settled his green glare on the advancing faoladh.

“Aw, that’s what I expected out of you, Harry. Your comebacks don’t disappoint.” Before he could land a playful fist on the Forbanne Commander’s arm, Bronwyn yanked the wandering canine from his gambol and leashed him to the nearest chair.

“Please forgive my idiot brother, if possible. He’s been through quite the ordeal and it’s turned him a little nutty...nuttier.” She bowed her head at the Galeynian monarch, hiding the light pink flush of her cheeks.

“He’s always like this,” Haraldur remarked, flatly. “Ordeal or not. Can’t see a difference, really.” 

“I can’t argue with you, Commander Sorde.” Bronwyn forced her brother’s restless limbs into a seat beside Teselin. “Nor can I fault your Forbanne for holding me prisoner. I know my sister has done horrendous, irrevocable damage to kith and kin, and to this community. Please hear, from my own lips, that I don’t excuse her actions. I don’t want her dead, understand; she’s my only sister, and I’m sure you can agree on the importance of family. But I’m not looking to sabotage whatever other operations you’ve set into motion. I’ll cooperate with your units. We both want the same thing; peaceful resolution. No one wants an unnecessary conflict, if it’s possible we can neutralize the conflict before it spreads into an untameable wildfire of destruction.” She shivered at the analogy and subtly twisted her chair in the direction opposite Teselin. 

Although the Forbanne commander did not appear convinced by Bronwyn’s speech, his tense guardian pose loosened and relaxed. She’d at least succeeded in disarming him. “Yes. So do you have a proposal in mind? What feats of teamwork will you and your brother accomplish, now that you’re reunited?”

Before she could respond, another feminine voice--Elespeth, they called her--suggested a continuous cycle of search parties with the intention of wearing down their quarry.

“From what I understand, your resources are finite. Let me join the main search party and my nose will be able to pinpoint her whereabouts with better accuracy than the blind search you’ve been conducting. If we concentrate our forces near the areas she’s frequented recently, then we can choke off her escape routes and completely surround her.”

“Psh--the lot of you are wasting your time.” Hadwin sprawled in his seat, resting his boot against the edge of the table. “Conventional methods aren’t gonna snag her.”

“So do you have a better idea?” Bronwyn pushed her brother’s leg off the table. He scrunched his face at her, displeased. “Let’s hear it.”

“Rowen’s cautious, and she knows you’re all grabbing for her. She also knows how to hide in plain sight. You think sniffing her out is the solution? She’ll smell you coming, too--and slip away. She ain’t a rabbit; you can’t drown her burrow and expect her to come hopping along into your obvious trap.”

“Please be cogent, mongrel,” Chara’s cracker-thin patience was liable to snap. “You and your sister know her better than anyone in this room. So if I suspect you are hiding pertinent information--”

“--No, Lady Chara, I wouldn’t dare,” he interjected, his tone sickly-smooth and sweet. “Rowen’s never been a good sport. She’s a sore loser. I always had to make sure she won a game or I wouldn’t hear the end of it. Well, she bet four murders I’d leave, and I did, but I came back...and rightly, she’s pissed because her victory’s void. So,” he cracked his knuckles upon the table, their joints crushing like walnuts through a nutcracker, “I propose a little mind game to distract her. And I’ll be that distraction. Let me leave and enter Galeyn as I please. Keep her guessing if I’m here to stay or just visiting. Hard for her to plan her next steps if she can’t predict my moves. Even if she knows she’s being played, it’ll incense her that I’m zig-zagging all over creation. Wear her down and she’ll get impatient, and sloppy--and she’ll strike. Won’t be pretty when she does, though. Not with Madame Mind-Fuck on her side.”

“So wait--you want to leave? After all the aggravation spent getting you here, and the, the--” Bronwyn sputtered into silence and conducted her frustrations in the form of unrestrained gesticulations. She refused to glance alongside at Teselin lest she break down and confess about what happened in Apelrade. 

“Relax, Bron.” Hadwin kicked her under the seat. “I’m not going alone.” He tilted his head at the summoner. “I’ll join Tes on her noble quest to fetch little miss sunshine from the pit of despair. You’re determined to go anyway, right, kid?” At her nod, he broke into a grin. “Then it’s settled. This is at least a two-person mission, here, so count me in.”

“Doesn’t Sigrid hate you?” Bronwyn’s mouth soured. “She’s said less than pleasant things about you, when I saw her last.”

“Don't they all!? They either hate me or want to fuck me. Or both. I’m not a pleasant person, as you know, Brownling. Eh, not to worry,” he loosened the buttons off his shirt collar, “she can’t hate me too much. Might’ve been indirectly responsible for her lover’s death, but I also introduced them, so yeah, we got a complicated history, but nothing a cathartic punch to the face won’t solve.” 

“...I motion against it.” Haraldur announced from his corner. A few faces looked to him with surprise. “Not that my opinion matters,” he stepped forward, the cavernous windows of the council room illuminating his haggard features. “Sigrid is safer outside of Galeynian borders. If she’s a target, they can’t reach her. We search for Sigrid and we create a trail that will lead Locque straight to her. She made her decision. Respect her choice; leave her out of this.” 

“Yeah, so,” Hadwin languidly ran a tongue over his teeth, “I left, too, made some piss-poor decisions, and nearly succeeded in killing myself, but Tes here got to me in time and saved my life. And yeah, I suppose Bronwyn helped,” He rolled his eyes. “Now, the reason I tell this very depressing anecdote is to draw a parallel. Siggy’s a right mess. Might not be suicidal or nothing, but she’s vulnerable. Malleable. Easy to mold. Now,” he rhythmically tapped his finger against his temple, “who else was vulnerable last time Locque sank her teeth into someone’s irresistible, influenceable brain? Oh, right,” he swept a hand across the table, “hate to call you out, but it was you, Elespeth. And this didn’t even happen in Galeyn. You think a powerful sorceress can’t get around? Search parties won’t stop her. Fuck, Al here tore a hole through the damn air and walked from one side of the country to the other in seconds! So, Papa Sorde, if I were to wager a tidy sum on the likelihood of your dear cousin’s safety, I’d say that no,” the intensity of gold eyes leveled on the Eyrallian prince, “the arrow’s still nocked and pointing at her head.” 

Hadwin’s ominous conclusion seemed to motivate the commander, insofar as it encouraged him to take a seat at the table. Though he said nothing, an imperceptible nod rattled the rest of his exhausted body into tentative, albeit hesitant, agreement. 

“He has a point,” Alster supplied, after an uneasy lull in the conversation. “Locque...it shouldn’t surprise us that Locque could strike anywhere. And with Rowen allegedly under her protection…”

“--We have to do something, in the meantime, while they’re out looking for Sigrid,” Bronwyn seized the natural gap in Alster’s faltering speech. “I’ll join your wife’s search party. Between her tracking and my tracking, perhaps we can discover something that will be vital to our progress.”

“But it’s not finalized, yet.” Alster frowned at Bronwyn, then at Elespeth, “we’re still in recovery, El. You don’t have the endurance to go on day-long searches in the wilderness. If I’m not allowed to use my magic, then it’s certainly not sensible for you to be joining expeditions.”

“Obviously, there is yet more we need to discuss, but for now, let’s take a recess and readjourn tomorrow,” Chara said, rising from her seat to formally dismiss the small collective at the table. “Whilst we’re formalizing plans, yes, it would behoove us to see of what use our Master Alchemist will be to us.” 

On exiting the council chambers, their party now diminished to three, Hadwin perked up at the opportunity to speak with Isidor on Queen Lilica’s behest. “I got this, Tes. Point me in the direction to his chambers and I’ll have a word with our shy fellow. I’ll be easy on him. It’s not above my limits to say a few kind words and mean ‘em, y’know.” 

Having received Teselin’s hesitant blessing, the faoladh sprang down the hallway and assaulted Isidor’s door with a flurry of spirited, syncopated knocks, each series a recognizable melody. When at last the twig of a man answered, Hadwin took him by the shoulders and grinned. “Hey, doorstop; remember me from yesterday!? I sure hope I solidified at least a buttprint’s worth of an impression in your absent-minded little head. If not, well--here’s a second chance. I’m coming in.” 

Moving Isidor aside by the shoulder, he strolled inside his chambers without any resistance. Shutting the door shut with his foot, the faoladh leaned over the latch, blocking the only exit and thus, forcing the social shut-in to partake in a conversation.

“I’ve got a message for you from her Majesty. She requests a personal audience. Thinks you’ve got some skills that can be of value to our evil sorceress eradication plan. Sure hope you’re up to date on the dire goings-on of your temporary residence. Nonetheless, she requires your aid, and she’ll brief you on whatever it is she wants you to know. But look at you,” he emitted a long, impressed whistle, “you’re hot shit! Saving the wife of an influential Rigas Lord and attracting the royal attention of your brother’s sister and hell, your half-sister, to boot. You’re accruing quite the following. By the way, fantastic tonic. Good as your word, hmm? We can use more honest people like you. That said,” he shrugged helplessly, “they’re telling me I have to ‘play nice’ and tiptoe around your ever-so-fragile existence, lest I breathe too heavily and you fall apart. But that’s not me, and you deserve my honesty. So you’ll have to excuse me if I’m crass. I’m not your cheer-meister, here to tuck you into bed with kind words and a sweet smile. What I’ve said’s the most you’ll get out of me. Hells, I’m not fond of you, and I couldn’t give a toss what you think of me--but I’m not your enemy, either.” 

He affixed the diffident alchemist with a casual, yet piercing gaze, the type that dissected before it killed its prey. “Now that we’ve established our bonds of honesty, I’d like you to tell me what you know about Teselin. She’s not human; Not all human; I can smell it on her. It’s like she’s bathed in an ocean made of storms. No...she is a storm. Burns my nose, sometimes. But that’s as much as I can trace. She can’t be separated from her magic; gets her sick and near-death. It’s much a part of her as the fabric of her bones. Mollengard couldn’t remove it from her with their crystals. Why she thinks stripping away the magic she needs to survive is gonna be her cure-all, just because you’re some alchemical savior or whatever and things are gonna go different with you, it’s beyond me. But she’s desperate. She’s really desperate. Nothing’s worked for her; no one can help her, and dammit,” he fisted a hand through his hair, “I’ve got nothing. ...Tell it to me straight, doorstop. You’re afraid of her. I mean,” he released his hand and ticked off with his fingers, tallying up a count, “you’re also afraid of becoming your slavemaster, and crowds, and people, and me, and of failure and inadequacy and making a huge splotchy mess of things--really, what aren’t you afraid of? You’re a headache and a half. But I digress.” He dropped his hand. “You are afraid of her. More, you’re afraid of what she is. So...what exactly is she? And is there a devil’s chance she can live, and thrive, closed-off from her wild magic?”

Since running into his younger half-sister and her rather… off-putting companion, Isidor had kept largely to himself in the comfort and safety of his room--which, admittedly, was just the behaviour anyone would have expected from the reclusive Master Alchemist. The difference was, this bout of reclusive tendency extended beyond his usual preference for solitude, and was predominantly influenced by Teselin’s request from the night before. She frightened him; everything about her frightened him. The fact that she wasn’t entirely human. The fact that he wasn’t entirely sure what her genetic make-up comprised, besides those features of their shared mother. The fact that he wasn’t sure exactly what she could do, but whatever it was, her magic presented as something he had never sensed before. Something completely… unparalleled. And as much as it made him feel guilty, considering her kindness towards him and her seemingly genuine desire to connect with long-lost family… he felt far more comfortable steering clear of her aura. She might not have been a dangerous person, but she had the propensity to be one, should she so choose.

So after he had crafted and delivered the promised tonic, the Master Alchemist returned to focusing on compiling a list of what he anticipated he would need both to help Alster Rigas, and--hopefully--Tivia. These were both tasks to which he could rise with a good expectation of success. And not only that, but neither Alster nor Tivia had exerted any pressure on him to solve their unique problems; he had offered, and they had merely agreed. It made it out to be less of a chore and more a handful of projects that he was happy to undertake, and work away at his own leisure. Truthfully, following the procedure he had performed on Elespeth Rigas, Isidor’s time in Galeyn was proving to be far less of an ordeal than he had originally anticipated… familial relations aside, that is. Unfortunately, when he assumed his biggest problem (and headache) would have been Vitali, the Master Alchemist was sorely mistaken. His concerns had not dissipated with the controlled distance between himself and the nefarious necromancer, for not only was Teselin now in the picture, but her very socially-assertive friend, who smelled far more like a dog than a human. While he had hoped that Hadwin’s parting words about ‘seeing him around’ had been naught but an absentminded and polite dismissal, he was to be unpleasantly surprised by the faoladh’s unsettling fascination in him, which came in the form of vigorous knocking late the following morning.

The Master Alchemist had never been much of a sleeper, only ever resting for perhaps five to six hours on any given night (with the exception of temporary comas that resulted from strenuous procedures, such as the case of Elespeth’s heart). He was late to sleep and early to rise, predominantly for his inability to completely shut his mind off. Those gears were always working away at new ideas (or anxieties), and if it wasn’t one thing keeping him up at night, it was something else entirely that caused him to awaken before sunrise. Today was no different: Isidor had risen approximately an hour before sunrise, had placed a kettle of water over the fire to brew some tea, and had taken a seat at one of his desks to work by candlelight until the sun rose. There was always something peaceful about that  time of day that no one else stirred, and he felt alone and safe in the world, if only temporarily. Such a pity, that that window was always so fleeting, and the world would eventually awaken and demand he take notice. And this morning, given the incessant knocking (whomever it was knew he was in his room, and wouldn’t let up until he answered) was that very call to take notice.

Exhaling audibly, the Master Alchemist’s joints snapped as he stood for the first time in hours, and made his way nervously toward the door. He wasn’t expecting anyone; hell, he didn’t know who to expect, or why they would be seeking to bother him. Alster wasn’t the nagging sort, and he was still in recovery, but whom else would see fit to seek an audience with him? Teselin… no, she wouldn’t be back so soon when he hadn’t knowingly given her any indication that it was even possible to achieve what she desired. Of course, there was Tivia, who as of yesterday had been undecided as to whether she wished to involve him in her own troubles…

If it was Tivia, he had to open the door; he’d already promised her he would do anything in his power to help!

...it wasn’t Tivia.

No sooner did Isidor open the door that a pair of hands latched onto his shoulders, and the uninvited guest invited himself in--and then shut the door behind him, before pulling the lock across the frame. Even if he was fast enough, the Master Alchemist didn’t stand a chance of escape. “W-what do you want?” He demanded, backing away several paces to put as much distance between himself and the faoladh as possible. “This is completely uncalled for… if you’d just asked, I’d have let you in!”

Evidently, he was here to deliver a message; and not one that he had expected to hear. “Queen Lilica… she wants to speak with me? I can hardly imagine why--though, I suppose… the same must go for her. Here she is, putting me up in several rooms, because I have been useful to but a single person, here…” Sooner or later, he’d have to pay up, or leave. Alster had high standing as far as Galeyn’s allies went, but he couldn’t see the Galeynian Queen happily allowing him to continue to take up space in her home just to create gimmicky tonics to manage stress and encourage sleep. Sooner or later, in one way or another, he would have to earn his keep, or… leave. Which would mean leaving his promises to Alster and Tivia unfulfilled.

He meant to thank the crass man for his message, reassuring him that he would certainly meet with Her Majesty, and then send Hadwin on his way, but the faoladh wasn’t going anywhere. He wasn’t anywhere near finished saying what he had to say, and Isidor realized with a spike of panic that he’d only played the role of messenger to weasel in the words he truly meant for Isidor to hear. “I… I didn’t do any of that for the attention. I did not come here to earn praise, or esteem, if that is what you are thinking.” Heat crept into the Master Alchemist’s face, tinting his pale cheeks a colour that might have suggested he was healthy enough to be getting sunlight. “Alster came to me with a desperate plea, and I didn’t… really have an excuse to refuse him. I wanted to, at first. What he was asking of me was enormous, with no guarantee of success, but… but I’m glad I came. Even if only to make a difference for him and his wife, and if Queen Lilica desires something of me, then I can’t exactly refuse her, for the hospitality she has shown me…”

He wasn’t even through speaking before he realized Hadwin really didn’t give a rat’s ass as to why he chose to come or stay, in the first place. The man was even so bold as to tell him he didn’t like him--which, understandably, set off alarms in Isidor’s mind. Despite that he was someone who often anticipated being disliked for one reason or another, whether for his social ineptitude or his standing as a Master Alchemist… it didn’t make it any easier when that very paranoia took form in the words that Hadwin spoke. Because it rendered him helpless; hell, he hadn’t done anything to the man, hadn’t so much as exchanged just a few words with him, and already he’d decided to think ill of him. You shouldn’t be so surprised, that negative voice at the back of his mind taunted, what that sad, desperate-to-be-accepted piece of his heart pleaded, What did I do wrong? Is it too late to fix it? Even if he had not intention of growing close to Hadwin as a friend, the way he had with Alster… it still stung.

“I don’t know what it is I have done to earn your disdain,” he said at last, clenching his jaw in a way that he hoped made him at least appear assertive. Deep down, he knew no amount of frowning would ever make him pass as anything but a nervous wreck. “I thanked you for saving my sister, and in turn I have helped people who I assume you consider to be allies. Given the circumstances, I would assume we’d be on better terms… but whatever unwritten rules I am missing, it is what it is. You’ve said your part. You are a friend of my sister’s, and you clearly mean a lot to her, so I am going to end this here and ask you to leave. While I would not ask you to ‘tiptoe’ around me, neither is there any sense in throwing stones.”

He turned away from the faoladh then, prepared to get back to his work and do his best to ignore the man until he left… until he brought up Teselin. That is, the fact that he knew--and knew that Isidor knew--she was not human. “...you know? But… for how long?” Mouth agape, Isidor straightened his spectacles and turned back to the man he realized he no longer could ignore. “Nevermind. That doesn’t matter. Though I take it that you’ve at least had the sense not to say anything… hells, I don’t want to be the person to do that, either, but if she starts asking questions, I may not have a choice. And unfortunately, I may not have the answers that you seek, either.”

Isidor crossed the room to one of his desks, where he opened a heavy book, and appeared to pick something up from off of one of the pages. At first, it might have appeared as though he wasn’t holding anything at all, but at a closer look, he pinched a familiar strand of inky-black hair. “I… confess I was not entirely honest with Teselin, yesterday. The tonic I gave her was fairly standard, and could easily be crafted by any given alchemist, or even a healer who possesses a hybrid skillset. It is effective for anyone or anything with a body to benefit from it, human or otherwise. I wanted--no, in the event that she starts asking questions, I needed to know for myself exactly what it is the keeps my sister alive and breathing. There is only so much that I can glean from a tress of hair, but… it did clear up some questions.” Gingerly, he placed the strand back onto the page for safe keeping, and closed the book. “The very nature of my skillset allows me to know the exact composition of almost anything, animate or inanimate, in a matter of seconds. I could almost immediately tell that you were more dog than human when you touched me.” While the words could have come across as insulting, Isidor didn’t sound particularly fazed, or even mean-spirited about the remark. “But when I first touched Teselin, something felt… I don’t want to say ‘wrong’. That isn’t the right word. But she feels unnatural. You are right in assuming she is not entirely human. After spending a little bit of time with that specimen…” He lay a hand atop the book containing that single piece of hair. “Teselin and I share a mother. Right away, I was aware of that, and of course, as per our mother’s ‘habits’, we do not share a father. None of us do, save for Vitali and Queen Lilica, it seems. But where things get hazy, and downright confusing, is… Teselin does not have a father. Not in biological terms. I cannot vouch for my opinion one-hundred-percent, based on a tiny piece of hair, but I am almost certain that not an ounce of her genetics were in any way shaped or influenced biologically by a man.”

His voice had taken on a hushed tone, as if he were afraid of an eavesdropper outside the door (as if anyone could hear anything through inches of solid oak and stone walls). Yet as uncomfortable as the topic of his sister made him… he also seemed relieved to get it off his chest. To share it with someone else who knew, but could not grasp at understanding. “In the alchemical world, a homunculus--a “man made” human that does not develop inside a womb, or through natural conception, is entirely possible. Tricky, and rapt with more failure than success, but it has been done. Except, that does not entirely apply to Teselin. There is human in her; our mother. But the rest of her, I… it eludes me. Though… what do you mean, separation from her magic makes her sick? Can you provide an example?”

Hadwin did, and whatever colour Isidor had gathered in his face was quick to fade. “So, she… actually becomes physically ill? Just by having her magic suppressed… then no. There is no possible, safe way to do what she wants--to separate herself from that magic, if that is the case. For if it is exactly as you say, then such a procedure would be akin to, to… drawing oxygen out of someone’s blood. She would not survive such a transformation, because she is her magic, down to her genetics. So why, exactly, does she want this? What has her magic done to her, or caused her to do, that she is so desperate to be rid of it?” 

At the shadows that crossed Hadwin’s face, the Master Alchemist immediately regretted his inquiry, and shook his head. “Never...mind. If it is something she wanted me to know, she would have told me. She might, yet, but… I do not know that I can help her. I do not know that it is possible, if the very fabric of her existence is causing her so much unhappiness. Getting rid of it isn’t the answer… and I know that is not what she wants to hear. And I don’t want to be the one to break her heart…” Isidor sighed and raked a hand through his ebony hair. “She seems like a nice girl… and I know that the truth is inevitable. But, for now… I think we can both agree not to say anything. Not unless she asks, herself, in which case I… I guess, like it or not, I may be the most qualified to answer. Or to offer some vague semblance of understanding. It won’t serve her to learn that there is nothing foreseeable that even I can do for her. What a miserable situation…”

Isidor pinched the bridge of his nose and and furrowed his brow. Hadwin wasn’t the only one with a headache. “I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you more, but based on my limited contact with Teselin thus far, I don’t have any answers or solutions. If ever the topic must be broached with her… well, we can have a discussion, then. Maybe find an explanation, not for what she is, but how. For now… well, you know her far better than I do. Yes, I am afraid of her. I am afraid of a lot of people, and for that… I do not know that I can be of any use, to her.”

“Here’s a tough life-lesson for you, doorstop,” Hadwin leaned his palm against the latch, its metallic molding clicking and whirring like an insect buzzing about the room. “There’s gonna be people out there who, for whatever reason, don’t like you. Now, you can go out of your way to change their mind, or you deal with it and move on. Seeing as you’re so sickeningly servile, your methods veer towards pleasing the people around you to create harmony, because you and conflict don’t get along. And if you can do a little good along the way, then hey, everyone’s happy, right? A better deal than rotting away in a tower. No people around to bother you, but you still stew in your inadequacies because it’s not like talking to yourself is gonna make ‘em go away. Other people have to validate you before you can see your worth; that’s how it works.” 

“But,” he released the latch and the buzzing stopped, “I don’t have to be one of those people. Great; you’ve helped my allies. Let them shower you with admiration and respect in my place. As for me, I’ll withhold. You want to know why?” He blew a raspberry with his lips. “Don’t have to give a reason. You’re just not my type. Doesn’t mean I can’t recognize your talents or consider you an ally. Hells, why else would I be so eager to trap you alone, with me? Not to jump your bones or anything; I can see you’re not interested--but I know who does interest you.” His bushy eyebrows waggled in conjunction with his broadening, shit-eating smile. But he chose not to reveal that one of the fears emanating from Isidor featured Tivia rejecting his heart and trampling upon it with her feet. “It’s cuz we both have questions pertaining to our mutually-affiliated summoner, that should be answered in privacy. Say what you’d like about what you don’t know; I’ll bet you’ve got some insights a wolf like me can’t discern with his nose alone. And yeah, setting the record straight.” He tilted his head, and the lantern light hanging from the sconce on the wall reflected off his eyes, like a pair of gold coins in the moonlight. “I’m not a dog; doesn’t stop everyone from calling me one, though. Mongrel, mutt, curr, whelp, son of a bitch--take your pick; I’ve heard ‘em all. Count yourself lucky, though.” His arms relaxed into a decidedly unthreatening stance. “If it’s on Tes’s behalf, I can set aside the beef I have with you, believe it or not. So, consider our little tete-a-tete a civil discourse. I’m not gonna break off your bones and suck out the marrow; rest assured, doorknob, alright? Not worth it to dismantle you, not when so many people want a piece for themselves.”

The subject of the summoner had, as Hadwin expected, reeled in Isidor’s interest such that he was more than eager to share his findings with someone who, moments ago, he wished would leave. He pushed away from the door to follow the alchemist further into his study, catching the threads of dark hair that unmistakably belonged to the summoner and which were pressed inside the pages of a book the width of a marble slab. How then, did the man possess such thin arms if he was manipulating dense, heavy tones on the regular? “Hm...that’s one hell of a conclusion,” he remarked, in midst of the alchemist’s explanation. “And you gleaned all of that through a handshake and a piece of hair? So, forgive my utter ignorance on the subject,  but if she’s a product of your mam’s experimentation, and she’s not artificially made--a homunculus, you say--then technically, her da’s also her mam, yeah? Somehow, your mam bypassed the whole rigamarole of fertilizing her egg with a willing donor’s fuck juice, used some freaky magic to replicate the missing half needed to make her daughter ‘whole,’ and conceived a baby created from materials pulled out of the fucking ether? Damn,” he clutched his head, “thought my parents were a trip. Between the slavery and the fatherless magic baby, she’s something else. Really something else. Happen to know what she’s doing, nowadays? I’d love to hear out of the horse’s mouth the fuck she was trying to accomplish. If you’ve got a lead, by all means, send me her way.”

Tactfully, he brushed up against Isidor’s shoulder, establishing the barest of physical contact as he squeezed past him en route to the door. He felt real, his fears were real, and his notes on Teselin’s bizarre origins were preposterous enough to ring true. In the past, he would favor a more skeptical approach to the man’s musings, but having survived the apocalyptic assault on Apelrade, he didn’t need further convincing. Teselin radiated magic; she burned of it, smelled of it, embodied it so strongly, it was her, and vice versa. One entity, impossible to split down the middle and isolate. Just as one could not separate the man from the beast in a faoladh--they were one and the same--she, too, was inextricably linked to her magic. They belonged, as whole and complete as a human being conceived by both a mother and a father. Nothing could be done to remove core aspects of herself from...well, herself. Isidor didn’t have the answer. Presently, he could not sweep in and play hero to a girl so desperately hopeful for an absolution to her magic’s bane. It should have pleased him, to hear of Isidor’s inability to provide a remedy for Teselin--it meant he would not yet replace him as the dearest, most important person in her life--but it didn’t. Whether with or without him, Hadwin cared more for her overall happiness than the security of his placement at her side. And now...yet another possible avenue for a cure had been quashed underfoot. 

“It’s a right mess,” he sighed, picking at the skin around the burn-scar on his palm. “If we can’t remove her magic without it killing her, then her only remaining solution is to learn to control it. And oh boy, that’s a loaded enterprise, cuz if she fails, there’s dire repercussions to be had. Your pal, Alster was working with her for a while. Thought he made some progress, but Mollengard got their grubby hands on her and wrung out whatever mastery and confidence she’d gained in the first place. Now she’s rightly too terrified to have anything to do with her magic, convinced she’s gonna destroy the world. With so much at stake if she gaffs or loses her grip, there’s no foreseeable win for her, in the future. But whatever,” he cracked his head from side to side, shaking off the vestiges of defeat from his body, “we’ll keep hammering at it. Keep me abreast of whatever other tidbits you discover about your sister. Meanwhile, if she asks,” he paused a beat, “it’s gonna pain me to say it, but I’ll tell her. It’s what I do; I tell people the hard to swallow truths they don’t wanna hear about themselves. Can’t shy away from my designated purpose in this world now, can I? Anyway--we can’t eradicate her magic, but it’s possible we could stabilize it some. Mollengard wrested control from her with their void crystals--so there must be some way to reverse the damage. That kind of alchemy isn’t beyond your grasp. There is use for you, yet,” he clapped the fidgety man intently on the shoulder and whispered in his ear, “Master.” 

Predictably, Isidor recoiled from the faoladh’s intimate, purposeful proximity. Breaking into a delighted grin, followed by a laugh, Hadwin gave the flummoxed alchemist a good-natured wave of dismissal. “Ah, couldn’t resist. Y’know, maybe you ain’t so rankling to me, after all. There’s a lot of potential in you, but it’s polluted with so much dust, it’s hard to see a clear picture.” Sliding forward a step, he caught the alchemist’s avoidant gaze and squinted. “Something pretty fucking terrifying happened to you, and it affects everything you do--thing is, I don’t think you’re aware of it at all. Giant, invisible hands press down on your shoulders, but since you can’t see them, you can’t address the source. So,” he stroked along his jawline, “I’m sure this will unsettle you, but you’re plenty unsettled by me anyway, so what’s a little more squirming? I know the fears of everyone I meet. They dance across my vision like smoke. I see yours. Of course, surface-level fears are more prominent; in particular, your dealings with people and your desire to be liked and to do good by others. I sure struck a nerve with you before, didn’t I?” He wore an insincere apology on his features. “If I delve deeper, I can usually get to the bottom of why you fear what you fear. But for you--well, there’s holes. Things you don’t wanna remember. Not uncommon to see in those who’ve suffered a particularly traumatic turn on Fate’s torture rack.”

“If you’re ever feeling morbidly curious, I bet I can entice those hidden spectres to the surface, and dig up your dead and buried memories. Y’know, throw a rotting, exhumed corpse directly on your mind’s front door to stink up your whole awkward, unassuming aesthetic for a while. Not really a rollicking good time or anything, but it’s not supposed to be. But if you ever wanna discover why you’re so broken--I’ve got you covered, doorstop. Remember, I’m the bearer of uncomfortable truths, after all. The journey might destroy you, but it might also lead to a new you--and into Tivia’s loving arms. Oh yeah, don’t think I don’t know about your infatuation.” He winked at the man. “It’s adorable. Best of luck--but there’s a reason she fancies Vitali, and men like him. Hells, maybe she would’ve fancied me, too, if I didn’t fuck her mam and drove her da to madness. Eh,” he shrugged dismissively, “that’s life for you. In short, she likes when men have a backbone, and a presence. Best work on straightening your spine and having your voice heard. Maybe then you’ll stand a chance. That's my advice to you.” 

Remembering his promise to Teselin, he left the conversation at that, aware of Isidor’s limitations and not yet wanting to render his talents ineffective to whoever required his services. “Well, I’m gonna pop out. Let you recover, hmm? Queen Lilica will wanna see you, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, at your earliest convenience. In tact, too, so yeah, probably my cue to leave, now. I’ll be in and out of Galeyn, so don’t think you’ve gotten rid of me that easily, even if you lock your door! I’m the fucking plague, Isidor,” an edge, sharp in form as the shadow of a blade, slid into his voice with cutting finality. The madness, untamed and unchecked, flickered in the lambent flames of his eyes. “And I’ll take the world down into hell with me. Locks don’t keep me out--or in.” 

After departing, Hadwin did not report directly back to Teselin but instead, wandered into the deepest recesses of the Night Garden, equipped with his pipe and enough potent herbs to do him in for the rest of the day. His morning fix had long lost its efficacy, and he needed to remedy the situation with a stronger strain. Hunkering behind a bush, he drew a few lingering puffs of his pipe and leaned his weary head against a tree. Gone was his swagger, his unfazed irreverence which acted more like a front, and less like his normal demeanor, day by day. It was getting harder fo fake it unless under the influence of something. Drugs, drink, gambling, sex…His parade of vices began anew, restoking the spokes of his wheels to a full, careening spin downhill. Normally, he enjoyed the ride. Now...he wanted off, because he knew where the end would lead him, as always. “Fuck,” he whispered aloud. “Why did you save me, Tes? It’s the same shit, the same damn shit, again and again. I’m gonna be your downfall...aren’t I?” 

Yes yes yes yes yes. Take her down with you. Take them all down with you. No use resisting your purpose, Hadwin. No use, no use, no use…

He clamped his teeth over the stem of his pipe and shivered from an internal chill. Sweat poured across his forehead and his breaths shortened, quickened. He puffed so hard, pieces of the herb lodged free of the bowl and mingled around in his parched, gasping mouth.

Go away go away go away…

You should know better, Hadwin. Fear doesn’t go away. It never goes away…

Shortly after the meeting, Bronwyn did not stick around with Teselin as she waited for Hadwin’s return, and excused herself into the Night Garden. While Queen Lilica did not officially offer her a guest room, assuming she would be sharing the space with the summoner and her brother, Bronwyn did not care. She preferred the quiet serenity of the alien garden. As a wolf, she found quite a few ideal hideyholes, nestled under the overhang of a protruding root, or within a tunnel constructed entirely of the softest bramble she’d ever felt. It was the closest she’d reach to solace, a safe haven where nothing else existed but nature and herself. 

She was about to veer off the main path when she encountered a hush of discontented voices up ahead. Upon inspection, she recognized them from the meeting; Lord Alster Rigas and Elespeth Rigas, his wife. 

“We didn’t discuss this, El,” the visibly upset man with the curious steel arm whispered at the slightly taller woman, their walking pace slowing with every word exchanged. “I know you want to be of use; I do, too. I’m tired of waiting around in the sanctuary when I have so much I need to do. But El, you boldly volunteered your services in front of everyone. Need I remind you, we’re not yet ready to leave the sanctuary, and it’s under the healers’ instructions that we partake in light physical activity even after we’re discharged. Helming a search party with the Dawn Guard is not ‘light’ physical activity. Elespeth,” even from Bronwyn’s distance, she could see how he crumpled before his wife like an expelled set of bellows which had emptied its last breaths into the fire, “you promised you would take care of yourself. That you wouldn’t cost me anymore time, money, pieces of myself...that’s what you said. Please--your heart isn’t ready. Neither is mine. Would you agree that I’m recovered enough to use my magic liberally? If your answer is no, then why is physically exerting yourself a different story? I’m not opposed to your desire to help, El, but we have to do this right. Both of us. Gradually.”

Knowing she should have allowed the couple the space to resolve their disagreement uninterrupted, Bronwyn, who suspected they’d notice her in the next few seconds, anyway, cleared her throat and addressed them.

“Forgive my intrusion.” The two, startled by the third party, whirled around to face her. “I was only passing through, so...And,” she self-consciously tugged on one ear, “I couldn’t help but overhear. If you need the time to recover, then it’s no trouble. I’ll join the Dawn Guard in the search. As a wolf, I’m a superb tracker.” No, you’re not, she could hear Hadwin’s snide voice curl and twist in her head. You couldn’t find Rowen. “She’s my responsibility. My sister...I don’t want anyone else to get hurt by her hand, and if you’re already hurt... Teselin tells me you’re both recuperating from heart surgery. So please rest. One fewer person in the search party won’t decrease our chances.”

Alster, his face thoughtful, opened his mouth to say something, but a Galeynian attendant slipped on past Bronwyn on the garden path. “Lord Rigas, my apologies, but Lady Chara wishes to speak with you in her chambers, alone.”

“Oh.” The Rigas Lord frowned. “Is it urgent?”

“To be honest...I’m not entirely sure. Every word she says sounds urgent,” the attendant scratched the back of his neck, contrite.

“That is indicative of Chara, yes. I might as well see what she needs, then. We’ll resume this conversation later, El. Bronwyn--please excuse me,” he bowed his head respectfully as he withdrew and followed the attendant to the palace, his gait a lopsided waddle more than a walk. The two remaining women stood awkwardly, readjusting to the suddenness by which they were thrust into each other’s company.

“I believe we were not properly introduced,” she said lamely. When in doubt, lean on convention and custom. The correct custom for near-strangers usually called for an introduction, or at the very least, a greeting. Better to dole out pleasantries than slink away and ruin the chance to forge an alliance with someone who wouldn't dismiss her as just another detestable or troublesome Kavanagh. “I’m Bronwyn Kavanagh. Let me start by saying if my sister or likely my brother has caused you any undue stress or aggravation, I’m sorry, and I don’t condone their actions at all. And...well, I’m sure you’re busy, or in need of rest, so I’ll leave you alone.” She stepped aside and prepared to make her leave.

“What… beef is it you happen to have with me? How is it that my mere existence is enough to incite dislike in so many people?” Rather than saddened or offended, Isidor appeared and sounded completely baffled. Everything Hadwin told him hit home that the Master Alchemist really did not understand human nature or emotions. Didn’t understand why, though he stood taller than the faoladh, Hadwin looked at him like a pesky insect he’d sooner squash under his boot. Or why Tivia so often avoided looking at him, like he were the one with a facial deformity that did not deserve others’ favourable gazes… or why he so desperately wanted her to look upon him favourably. Those who despised him for his standing as a Master Alchemist… well, that he could understand, and frankly, he could not fault them. But Hadwin did not appear to understand what all of that entailed; and his dislike toward Isidor was just as organic as it was baseless.

“Look, you are free to think and feel what you want, but if you have some morbid desire for me to return the favour, you are going to be sorely disappointed.” The lithe man adjusted his spectacles on his face and fiddled nervously with the cuffs of his charcoal-grey tunic. “I have neither the time nor the interest to reciprocate and hold grudges. So if that is what you are looking for… you might be better off targeting someone with a better understanding of conflict.”

Hadwin’s feelings, be them as they may, was not the only reason he had sought the Master Alchemist out--which, honestly, Isidor had figured. He had also figured it would be about Teselin… and that, in and of itself, made him nervous. Teselin wanted answers; and so did her loyal (‘not’ a dog) companion. But he was not sure he had the answers that either of them sought, and he had no way of knowing how the faoladh would react, to find he had cornered the right person who had none of the right insights. Frankly, Isidor was surprised by the man’s lack of outrage when he revealed his hands, empty of whatever aces he had been expecting. Could it be that Hadwin wasn’t the violent type? Or that he was simply choosing not to be, at this given moment? “Certainly, you could interpret it in such a way that Solenice is both Teselin’s mother as well as father… which just twists my mind in so many directions, I cannot begin to fathom how Teselin is, at all. It not only defies logic and nature, but magic and alchemy. It doesn’t make sense to me, based on what little I know… I am certain that only Solenice has the answer. And even saying as much,” he frowned, and his brow creased for the first time in what could be considered something vaguely akin to anger, “I do not think even that would convince me to ever want to see that woman, again. You are welcome to hunt her down, but leave me out of it.”

For a moment, as Hadwin went on to explain how Alster Rigas had attempted to (and even partially succeeded) mentor young Teselin, the Master Alchemist was almost inclined to feel optimistic. That was good, wasn’t it? If someone had made some headway with Teselin before, who was to say they could not pick up from where they’d left off? Even if Mollengard had somehow tampered with her and wrested whatever control over her magic she had… that was optimistic. If she had been changed, she could change back. That, he believed. “There’s no possible way I could get my hands on whatever it was Mollengard used that made her magic go awry, is there? Yes, I can go through the process of elimination until the end of time, but it will save us all time and stress if we happen to cut out the guess work. I cannot take her magic from her, and I am not going to try, but… well, she is my sister. So,” he tried not to flinch from the faoladh’s sudden proximity, “If I have come so far to help Alster, who had been a complete stranger, it would not sit well with me not to do something for my own kin…”

Suddenly, Hadwin saw fit to change the subject, and once again (much to Isidor’s chagrin), the spotlight returned to him. The way Hadwin fixed so intently on his eyes, it was almost like he was looking through them, to something that he did not wish to be seen… except, Isidor wasn’t quite sure exactly as to what that was. “I see. So you see what others’ fear, what plagues them… and you rub it in, like salt in a wound?” A crease formed between Isidor’s brows, and although he might have appeared calm (albeit rather perplexed), his heart rate had begun to speed up, because… because something about what Hadwin said--holes in memories, something he could not remember… somehow, it all rang true. “For your information, lots of unfortunate events befell me in my youth. And yes, it all stayed with me, and continues to affect me to this day. You really think I wouldn’t remember it?” A flush had crept into his cheeks, but that bold furrow was quick to smooth upon the realization that Hadwin knew far more than he was comfortable with. 

“Wait, you won’t… p-please do not say anything to Tivia. It isn’t even as you say! I merely admire her as an individual who needs a little bit of help.” At least, that was what he believed; the Master Alchemist wouldn’t have understood infatuation in any context, even if it happened to him. “There is no need to complicate things further for me with the people of this kingdom… I simply wish to look out for Tivia’s well-being. And I am concerned for her, especially if she is so heavily influenced by my brother...”

When Hadwin finally made to leave, a wave of relief passed through the distressed Master Alchemist. He was beginning to wonder if this unnecessary source of stress would ever stop talking and just remove itself. But--and completely against his better judgment--he spoke up before the foladh closed the door behind him. “Hadwin--wait.” He paused to be certain the other man would stop to listen before deciding to waste any more breath. Sure enough, Hadwin went still. “About Teselin… if you tell her about--about her nature… that she isn’t entirely human, that is, she may resent you. It could break whatever trust you’ve cultivated if she thinks you have been hiding what you’ve suspected about her all this time. But I… we, the two of us, as brother and sister, don’t really have much of a relationship. We are little more than strangers, tied loosely by blood. So, really… I have far less to lose than you. I mean, of course I would like an amicable relationship with my younger sister, but I’m not all too well versed at relationships with people as it stands, so who am I kidding?” He hazarded an awkward smile that veered slightly towards sadness. “But you must mean a lot to her, if she left to find you and to save your life. What the two of you have is obviously important. I’ll be honest, I don’t quite understand it, but you’ve been there for her, and correct me if I’m wrong, but you will probably continue to be. Whereas I am bound to return to my tower, when Galeyn no longer has use for me. So… let me be the one to tell her. You seem to be convinced that I am of the cowardly sort--and you wouldn’t be wrong. So…” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Let me do something brave, for once. If she asks, I will tell her. And I won’t let on that you know anything. Though, in return…” A faint flush coloured his cheeks, and he looked away. “I would be eternally grateful if you wouldn’t dredge up suspicion in Tivia about my intentions or motivations. I only want to help, if she’ll let me; that is all.”

It wasn’t all, though, and Isidor suspected that Hadwin knew as much. So he could only hope and pray that the faoladh would have the decency to keep out of his business… and to refrain from spreading a rumour of feelings that he didn’t even quite understand. 

Despite her boisterous eagerness to be useful to a cause once again, to prove herself not only to her allies and comrades, but to herself, Elespeth Rigas was not entirely without guilt for offering up her services before a room full of important people, when she hadn’t so much as hinted at the prospect to Alster. In truth, it wasn’t until the room had fallen into discussion about Rowen Kavanagh and forming search parties that she realized this was her opportunity to gradually segue back into the person she was; or, more specifically, the person she wanted to be. For now--and possibly for quite a while--fighting was off the table, and that was a condition that she could not dispute. Bedridden for as long as she had been, her strength had depleted considerably, and she hadn’t so much as pondered an attempt to lift a weapon (not that she had been presented with the opportunity), lest she put too much strain on her body. But a search party, especially among other armed comrades, entailed little more than walking, observation, and following any trails they might happen upon. That was something she could do; and her body was restless for movement, and while it might not have been advisable to fight, she could participate in a search. Unfortunately, the plausibility of that idea did not seem all too favourable to her husband.

“I know; and I’m sorry. It didn’t really occur to me to help with the search party until I was part of the discussion,” she confided, staring at the tips of her boots so that she didn’t need to look her husband in the eye. “But I meant what I said, Alster. I do promise not to cost you any more time or money or pieces of myself. That is why I offered to join the search parties after I have recovered enough so that it is a reasonable endeavour. It isn’t as though I told them I would be jumping into the role as soon as tomorrow…” Heaving a heavy sigh, the former knight closed her hand over Alster’s, finally drawing her gaze away from her feet. “I’m sorry. I spoke up before I realized how it would affect you, but… I am ready, Alster. Perhaps not to throw myself in at full force; I’m not that daft! But partial days, at least. Just for a few hours at a time. It’s a start… I can build up to a day when I’m stronger. You… you are recovering more slowly than I am because of what you sacrificed. You’re still relearning to balance with missing toes. Traversing this small kingdom is not the same as expending the energy required to perform magic; they are taxing in different ways. Please,” the desperate look on his face pained her, but she had been the model patient for long enough. She was recovering, quickly and steadily, and she could do this. She could do this without letting Alster down. “You need to believe me when I say I am taking care of myself. I promise I’ll be safe. After all, I won’t be going alone.”

It was to Elespeth’s great relief that an unexpected presence interrupted their “heart to heart”, which was predominantly a one-sided attempt on Alster’s part to make her see things his way. A woman the two of them had seen not an hour ago stepped out of concealment, having caught wind of their conversation, and made a well-meaning (albeit slightly aggravating) offer. Damnit, why was it that everyone was imposing rest on her when resting was all she had been doing for the last handful of seasons?! But before Alster could make some comment in agreement with her offer, pointing out to Elespeth that he wasn’t the only one who felt her involvement was a bad idea, a messenger from the palace likewise inserted himself into the exchange to inform Alster that Lady Chara required his presence. Really, it didn’t matter the reason, or whether it was urgent; when Chara made demands, she got what she wanted, without fail.

Now alone with the woman who was more or less a stranger to her, despite her relation to a mutual “acquaintance”, Elespeth offered her strongest, most convincing smile, as well as an outstretched hand to the Kavanagh woman. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Bronwyn. I’m Elespeth. Really, do not feel the need to apologize on behalf of your kind. Rowen’s actions are her own… as are Hadwin’s. No one holds you responsible for their decisions. And, please… don’t worry about my ‘needs’.” She sighed quietly, and appearing utterly fatigued from trying to explain to people time and again that just because she was out of bed did not make it imperative to be in bed. “I’ve done nothing but rest for so long, I can’t recall the last time I spent an entire day out of bed. It has been a while. If I’m being honest, I can walk further and for longer without Alster… I’d be happy for the company, if you yourself aren’t busy.”

Evidently, she wasn’t; in fact, Bronwyn had the air about her of someone a little lost and confused, not entirely sure where to be or who to be with. Elespeth recalled feeling precisely that way, in the early days of Messino’s war camp. It wasn’t until she had met Alster, and then found a friend in Haraldur, that that feeling of not quite belonging began to dissipate. As an ally, Bronwyn deserved to feel as though she belonged, as well. “So… you must have been traveling alone for a good deal of time, looking for your sister. I take it from the fact that you weren’t traveling with Hadwin that the two of you don’t get on?” It was a question that more or less answered itself, and she smiled to indicate there was no judgement lodged beneath the layers of her inquiry. To exemplify that understanding, she added, “You know, I didn’t exactly get on with your brother, either, when we first met. And he didn’t think much of me; I’m sure he still doesn’t. It is only of late that he has seen fit to even call me by my given name. Before, it was ‘Friendless’, or… well, he would call me by your name. Evidently, he found I bore similarities to you. Which, personally, I am grateful for.” A grin crept across her face. “Because that tells me that there really is a level-headed Kavanagh I can trust.”

Before Hadwin so much as planted a foot outside of Isidor’s chambers, the Master Alchemist was already calling him back. He stopped to linger by the doorway, listening to the twiggy man’s petition; that he would be the one to reveal Teselin’s origins, were she to ask. He tilted his head at Isidor, regarding him a twitch more favorably--unless it was a trick of the ambient light from the sunlit hallway. “Dammit--it’s getting slightly harder to dislike you. You know, I’ll take you up on that. Can’t deny you your feat of bravery. Shows you’ve got grit--or, conversely, you’re just so damn afraid of rejection and want to please even your detractors, but hey, if that leads to performing some courageous action, even if it’s a misplaced one, who am I to deny you? Though--better get to her soon, before I do.” Present in his lowering voice was a touch--a slight touch--of raw honesty. Something in him was driven to confide in the man he was so determined not to like, and he couldn’t shake it off.

“It’s fine if she resents me. Might be better for her in the end, if she does. I’m a piss-poor role model. I’ll come clean to her, too. She’ll suspect I’ve known, all along. I mean, I was able to detect our other companion wasn’t all human, either. By the way--really should check on Haraldur Sorde once you’ve got the chance. I’d love to know his entire composition. For the record, he smells like a tree. Digressions aside,” he leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, “yeah, better for her to be around people who’re good, and trustworthy, and I dunno...not me. So thanks, Isidor. See?” He chuckled lightly. “I do know your name. By the way, I’ve got some of Mollengard’s crystals buried in the Garden somewhere. I made the ‘acquaintance’ of one of the higher-ups in charge of the dungeon that held Tes and Lady Chara captive. Got him to bring me a few. Never did anything with them, but figured they’d come in handy if I needed to strip down a magic-user and interrogate them or some shit. They were what Mollengard used on Teselin to drain her magic, but it obviously didn’t work out as planned. So if it’ll help in your research to ‘undo’ whatever it is they did to agitate her magic, I’m willing to part with one or two. Since you’re oh so eager to help and all.”

Despite the alchemist’s unvoiced dislike of physical contact, Hadwin straightened to his feet and clapped a hand on his shoulder, as before. “Before I go, I’ll leave you with this. Wanna know why they don’t like you? They, mind. Not talking about me. I’ve got different reasons. It’s because you’re forgettable. When you’re forgettable, you don’t leave an impression. And when you don’t leave an impression, people can’t tell who you are; if you’re to be trusted, or relied upon. Galeyn’s in a tight spot right now. They need all hands. Hands they can trust. Hands that get shit done. There’s no hiding when you’ve got something to offer. So it’s like I said--straighten your spine; show ‘em your worth. That’s how you get respect. And I’ve got your back on Tivia,” he winked, drawing an X across his lips with his finger. “I’ll keep it mum. I’m behaving, remember?” 

On that final note, he whirled away on his heels, headed out of the hallway, and to the Night Garden, to rendezvous with his pipe and a bag stuffed with enough herb to render him forgettable, for a while. Forgettable, at least, to himself. 

“Elespeth--likewise. It’s nice to meet you.” Bronwyn accepted her for a handshake, her fingers tentative in their placement against the other woman’s open palm. Since arriving in Galeyn, her obligatory residency had been fraught with capture, imprisonment, untrustworthy officials planning out her fate, a reunion with a most despised and frenetically mad sibling, and an alliance with an unstable magus capable of destroying cities when upset. She was not fool to trust so easily, even when the woman before her presented as pleasant and friendly. There was no reason for her affability when Bronwyn unintentionally spited her by suggesting she recuperate instead of join the search for Rowen, a counterpoint likely to offend the woman, a once-prideful warrior, from what she’d gathered via Sight and observations in conversation. But she’d also gathered, via Sight, that Elespeth was the honorable sort who valued decency and etiquette. She could hate Bronwyn, for all she claimed to the contrary, and yet, in her words and actions, honesty rang truer than hostility. 

“You’ll have to excuse me for nosing in on the private discussion with your husband. It was really none of my business, to say you require rest and shouldn’t move about. I’m not a healer; I can’t make those judgements.” She disconnected from their handshake and rested her arm across her stomach. “I couldn’t help but see how strongly your husband loves you and wants you to be well, and that might’ve biased me in his favor. Seeing as you’ve had run-ins with Hadwin--I won’t even assume you’re on friendly terms, though he certainly was friendly with everyone in the council room today,” she smacked her mouth distastefully, “I’m sure he’s made it no secret that he can see fears. I can see, too, but my Sight is designated towards virtue. I can see the best of people; their most glowing traits. As with your husband, you also share in a deep, all-abiding love for him--ah, Alster Rigas, is it? Either way, I was wrong to insinuate myself between you two. Or to share my knowledge of your very intimate union together; again, none of my business. I’m a stranger. Though--I hope this question isn’t too uncouth, but,” she wiped sweaty palms over the hem of her travelers’ trousers, the only article of clothing she allowed Hadwin to purchase for her with his secretive winnings, “your husband, as a Rigas Lord, he...he is magically inclined? To what extent, may I ask? And of you--you’re a Rigas, but by marriage. You’re not gifted. That wasn’t meant to sound rude,” she laughed, in a way she hoped was both natural and unobtrusive, “but I’m suddenly in the company of many powerful casters and it’s a new experience, to me. So I’m curious to know just how many there are.” 

After the woman assured she was not magically gifted, Bronwyn had to hide her sigh of relief. Perhaps the scent she caught in the air was left over from Alster Rigas and the enormous heft of his magical inheritance, which much reminded her of Teselin; it smelled of lightning and ozone. Flashes of that night arced across her memory, sending forth a riotous chill so profound, she’d almost gasped aloud in reaction. Luckily, she caught herself before the memory manifested as anything one could trace on her features or in her gestures. To her knowledge, she remained unperturbed, save for the obvious awkwardness peppered in her speech. And why had she the need to feel awkward?! Why put at ease the wife of the Rigas Head, when she’d already cast no blame towards Bronwyn and her relation to her two younger, heinous siblings? Why did she care so much about solidifying a connection to one person, when she resigned herself to disliking and distrusting Galeyn as some had seemed to dislike and distrust her by association? Needless to say, she accepted Elespeth’s invitation to walk along the Night Garden’s path. Together, they wended around the Garden’s outer circumference and spiraled in revolutions that brought them, by degrees, closer to the sentinel tree at the Garden’s center. 

“I’ve been traveling about a year on my own, yes,” she bobbed her head in agreement. “My father, the chief of our clan, tasked me with searching for Rowen. She was separated from us during Mollengard’s siege of Collcreagh. Our clan needed to flee, but we didn’t want to leave Rowen behind if something horrible happened to her. Which it did. Mollengard captured her, but she escaped. That’s what Teselin and Hadwin tell me. What they did to her, whatever they did to her--I’m sure it contributed to her madness. I’m by no means excusing her for what she’s done, but I’m only offering an explanation. Faoladh who separate from their clans are driven to madness, the specifics of which are determined by their ruling emotion. If she sees darkness in everything, then she’s likely to destroy everything she encounters...to protect herself.” 

She ducked her head as they passed under an archway of low-hanging branches emblazoned with fire-red petals. One had become dislodged and flitted downward, into Bronwyn’s open palm. She twisted its velvet smoothness delicately between her fingers. “As for Hadwin and me... ‘don’t get on’ is putting it lightly, if I’m frank with you. He’s a nightmare. Always has been. I haven’t seen him in close to eight years, and yet, it’s like no time’s passed at all. He’s still an insufferable twit. Well, now he is. But before we brought him back to Galeyn,” she lowered her eyes to her feet, “he was so far gone. Done for. Good as dead. At least, I thought he was, and somehow, Teselin was able to reach him. Pulled him back to safety. Restored him to some semblance of clarity, to the person he once was. And I thought...if there’s hope for him, and he’s been on his own all this time, then there has to be hope for Rowen. There has to be.” She failed to mention that the summoner had to destroy an entire city for Hadwin to snap back to his senses. What then, would it take for Rowen to return to herself? Would they need to trigger the same conditions? What price did they have to pay? Wholesale annihilation of Galeyn and all its people? If given the choice, she told Teselin that she would, but in reality...was it something she was capable of doing? 

Shaking away the grim thought, she concentrated instead on Elespeth’s brief summary of her dealings with Hadwin, which were at once predictable and fitting for his character. Yet...the warrior-woman did bear him any scruple. At least, not outright. “So would you say you get on with him, now? And,” hesitation crept in her voice, a hesitation edged with hope, “what changed? The fact that he started calling you by your name? If that’s all it took, Elespeth, then you are a far more charitable person than I am. It’s going to take divine intervention to get me to forgive him for his egregious behavior. The fact that he was calling you by my name, hah-!” she barked out a laugh. “I’m sure he meant it as a deep, cutting insult. I’m glad you don’t see it that way, Elespeth.” Lifting the petal above her head, she released it on the downwind, a lick of harmless flame eddying through the colorful Garden. It was a flame that would not multiply, engorging on wood and innocent lives, fueled by lightning strikes and emboldened by the whims of a tiny girl. No...it was a flame of a seed. It would engender life. It would not endanger life. 

“To be honest, I don’t know how level-headed I am. If most of my family has gone loony, what does that say about me? That I’m not all-straight, either. It’s too early to trust me, but...least I can do for you is make amends. When your husband returns...I’ll appeal to him. He seems reasonable; I’ll say that I’ll keep an eye on you when we’re out searching. Not that he has any reason to trust me, either,” she let out a troubled sigh. “No one does. But if they’ve somehow learned to trust Hadwin to some extent, to the point where they actually listened and heeded his advice this morning while he was high, and if you say I’m so level-headed...then,” she gave the other woman a shaky smile, “it shouldn’t be a problem for me, right?” 

Tivia, absent from the farmhouse for the past several days, was sorely missing its simplicity, however illusory and fleeting the simplicity. As she had before suspected--and feared--her days basking in an idyllic setting were winding to their unfortunate end. Much as she wanted to blame outside factors for the intrusion, ultimately, it was she who was readjusting to a different purpose. Though she’d be damned if she knew what purpose she desired. 

Still, it was her duty to check on the farmhouse, to partake in her half of the chores, and to provide company for Vitali, however much he advocated for his self-sufficiency by expressing, in so many words, and with a more refined parlance, how little her presence mattered. That she was wasting her time toiling under pointless tasks and wilfully isolating herself from people who cared about her, like Elespeth and Alster. He was correct, of course, but she didn’t want to face the truth--that her dream was crumbling, and that it was never her dream. Only an escape from reality. She wanted to prop it up with sticks and stabilize whatever remains were left of the ramshackle structure, and live on until it collapsed. Alas, the time had passed, and traveling backwards to meld with her former self was never an option. While time did not exist on a line, she certainly hadn’t transcended to a state of enlightened human evolution where she could experience every stage of her life in whichever order she liked. No--like everyone else, she had to trudge ahead, day after day, in a direct, unerring path to inevitable death.

In midst of packing for her farmhouse visit later that evening, she was startled out of her chore--and her thoughts--by a firm knock on her door. Half-suspecting the identity of her visitor, she tentatively crept towards the front of her chambers, lifted the latch, and with a wide swing of the door, answered her caller. 

“Teselin.” She stepped aside, allowing the girl with the haunted gaze to enter. She shut the two of them inside, ensuring their privacy from eavesdroppers in the hallway. “So you succeeded in fetching your dog,” she said, not bothering with pleasantries. “You reached him in time, before his star faded. He’s alive because of you. You succeeded...and what did it cost?” Her one eye widened with crystal-ball clarity. “What did you do to that city? Was he worth it?” She recoiled from the summoner. “I helped along this outcome. I prodded it forward...so if it’s a favor you’ve come to ask me, why in all heaven and creation should I agree to aid you in anything, anymore?”

“I’m not entirely sure if ‘get on with him’ is the right choice of wording,” the former knight confessed, and paused in step a moment to consider Bronwyn’s question. Honestly, the way her feelings had changed toward this woman’s errant brother had not been something she’d had much time to dwell on, following her own ‘madness’ after Hadwin and Alster had found her dying body in the nick of time, her coercion under Locque’s power, the threat lingering in Braighdath that had bled into Galeyn, the rapid failure of her heart, and finally, the necessary coma after Alster had returned to her what damage he had taken upon himself. But Bronwyn was right: somewhere along the line, her sentiment toward Hadwin had changed, without even a conscious thought on her part to solidify the decision not to despise him and the ground upon which he tred. And that change, she realized, had come about when she’d awoken in Braighdath, barely a human, and barely able to move. Her upbeat mood grew a little more somber at that memory.

“If I am being honest… Hadwin actually saved my life. Twice. For all it may be easy to point out his vices, we are not without our own, and mine… my pride, it almost killed me. It is the reason I am still recovering to this day, half a year later…” Elespeth rubbed her arm, and fixed her verdant gaze on the lush grass beneath their feet. She could not deny the guilt she felt for that ill-fated decision she’d made, when she ran off with the stimulant, determined that she could make it safely to Braighdath and recover from her injuries on her own… But it wasn’t often she wore that guilt in public, as she did now. Instead, she would lie awake at night with it, all too aware of that looming presence of the old Elespeth Tameris that judged and condemned her for her decisions, and where they had led her. She wasn’t sure that shadow would ever fade or leave her in peace; just as she wasn’t sure if she would ever find it in her to fully forgive herself for what it had cost her friends and loved ones--namely Alster. And here she was again, worrying him with yet another decision that may or may not have been entirely sound. The only difference was, this time, she would allow for a trusted ally to keep an eye on her well-being, just as Bronwyn had. And, indeed, it hadn’t taken long for Elespeth to decide that Hadwin’s ‘better’ sister could well be a trusted Ally. “When Mollengard infiltrated Stella D’Mare to take it over for their own means, I was very badly injured, just prior to our flight to Braighdath. I traveled for weeks with broken bones, to the point where I was beginning to slow down my allies, and became more of a burden than a comrade. So, I… I did something very selfish, and instead of allowing my friends to help me, I began to take a Mollengardian stimulant to keep me strong through the pain. But when Alster began to notice that it was a problem--that I was becoming fully dependent on that stimulant--I wouldn’t allow for him or anyone else to help me overcome that addiction. Instead, I took whatever I could, I ran off on my own, and eventually… at some point, my body just gave out, and I collapsed. For long long, I really have no idea… and, eventually, your brother found me.”

The former knight blew air from between her lips and rolled her shoulders back. No matter how many times she confronted it, it was, to say the least, embarrassing that someone who had once despised her had ultimately been the one to save her life--on more than one occasion. “He led Sigrid and Alster to me. I began to recover, but it was so impossible to reconcile what I’d done when I finally came to my senses again that I… I am ashamed to say this, but I contemplated taking my own life. I didn’t feel I deserved to live, only to continue to be a burden upon everyone who had ever helped me. My honour was gone, and I am afraid I might actually have followed through with it, if Hadwin hadn’t stepped in at the right time and taken the weapon from my hand.” She lifted a hand to rub her throat, which she had at one point been so determined to cut and let bleed out. Gods… how close she had come to throwing everything away! And she had Hadwin, of all people, to thank for interfering in that potentially fatal moment. “I really don’t know why he helped me. Up until that point, we had never been anything more than reluctant allies, and couldn’t care less for one another. And yet, he saved my life--twice. Maybe it simply had to do with wanting to earn a boon from my husband, who carries a good deal of responsibility and influence among the D’Marians. At least, that was what he told me when I asked him, but… I don’t think that has everything to do with it. For all he is keen on making a mess of so many things, it does occur to me that his intentions are… well, perhaps ‘pure’ isn’t the word. But of late, he seems to have this desire to do right onto the world. Even if his methods of achieving that are, to say the least, ‘questionable’.”

A small, tired smile spread across Elespeth’s lips when she looked up to meet Bronwyn’s gaze again, which now appeared more concerned than relaxes. “All that said… you don’t need to worry about me. I know Alster still does, and for that, I really cannot blame him. Not after all I’ve put him through. I’ve learned a hard lesson, and I have Hadwin, of all people, in part to thank for that. Anyway… with regard to my husband,” she changed the subject back to Alster, happy to no longer find herself in a position of divulging her past vices to someone who was little more than a friendly stranger, and who had likely lost whatever respect she had for her, at this point. “Yes, he is a mage. All Rigases possess a certain form of magic, to some extent. Alster… his magic is complex. I cannot really explain it because I don’t understand it, myself. It has both saved him and nearly led to his destruction, on more than one occasion. But, it was because of his magic that he was able to help me recover… if not for him, I would be slowly slipping away in my comatose state. My decisions have ended up costing him, as well as my friends, quite a bit, and… I know that I have been the reason for his magic going awry, from time to time. And yet, he still married me.” She shook her head with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Honestly, in Galeyn, if it is anything like Stella D’Mare, I am willing to bet that those of us not adept in magic is far outnumbered by those who are. The Gardeners who tend the Night Garden yield their own breed of magic, although it is quite specific, and to my knowledge, no offensive. In fact, that seems to be part of this kingdom’s biggest problem: lack of offense, in magic or skill or otherwise. A kingdom that only knows how to heal cannot hold a flame to a sorceress who seeks to control and destroy.”

A tiny, blue leaf from one of the towering trees fluttered downward and landed on in the former knight’s hair. She absently picked it out and observed its strange, but brilliant color, noting how its veins almost seemed to glow. No, nothing about Galeyn’s magic exuded offensive energy. It was calm, peaceful. A place where the weary came to rest, where the sick came to recover, and where the healthy came to thrive. “I understand how you feel, by the way. About Rowen. I have siblings, myself, although… I have long since been estranged from my family. Unfortunately--though, it is sadly necessary--they believe me to be dead. I had a brother...” Her green eyes glazed over for a moment, as Farran’s face flickered in her mind. “An older brother, who had actually been tasked with killing me. In fact, there was a time when most of my family sought my demise because I brought shame to their name in the kingdom from which I hail. Only my youngest brother fought to preserve my life. But, my older brother… I’d have done anything to protect him, even if it meant costing me my own life. I’d protect all of them, really, despite how they might feel toward me. They are… they were my family. Just like you have to believe there is hope for Rowen--and perhaps there is, yet--I can’t help but hope that there might one day be hope on the horizon for the people who were my family, again. Even if I am not the daughter or the sister that they remember, because to them, that Elespeth… Elespeth Tameris, is dead. Even if I am currently gone from there hearts, I want to believe that one day, the impossible might occur, and they will find a place for me once again. Or, at least, they will recognize and value me, the way they used to...”

She hadn’t intended to dredge up such a dark and despondent topic to someone she barely knew. But she did understand Bronwyn, and why she was so impelled to believe that not all was lost for the young assassin. Nor did she fault her for wanting to keep her alive, when there was an entire kingdom that wished her dead. “Not that I feel you would have reason to, but… please don’t mention this to Alster.” Elespeth shot a worried glance in Bronwyn’s direction. “I know my place, and I know what he expected of me. I am Elespeth Rigas, now; the Rigases are my family. Nothing from the past should matter, right? Why should any of it, or any of them matter, when I am happy and thriving with my new kin?” Though, perhaps thriving wasn’t the word. She was on decent terms with Chara, and got on just fine with Tivia, but it was not as though the other Rigases had welcomed her with open arms. Some had been reluctant to confess her virtue and worth to the Rigas family; others, at best, had passively acknowledged her becoming an honourary Rigas, but aside from her bond to Alster, this new Elespeth had nothing that the old Elespeth had. No brothers or sisters with whom she shared inside jokes, no tight-knit family unit. Sometimes, when she lay awake at night, she allowed herself to pine for those days, to miss Farran, and to let herself feel a little lonely, when no one was around to witness it… Just a few moments, to acknowledge that there were some parts of her heart that not even true love would repair. “The thing is, family is in our blood. And for whatever reason, that makes it that hard to leave family behind, or to forget about them. I believe Rowen is just another helpless pawn in Locque’s plan; and I hope that when we find her, you can set her straight, again. Maybe being reunited with her pack is exactly what she needs.

“Anyway… I apologize for going off on such a tangent.” A shade of pink coloured the Rigas woman’s cheeks. Frankly, she was surprised Bronwyn hadn’t yet made an excuse to politely remove herself from her company. All the same… it felt like a weight had been lifted from her chest in finally confiding those thoughts and feelings in someone who had no reason or motivation to spread them like wildfire. “What I mean to say is, I understand--and I am on your side. Really, we are all on the same side, here, and no one in Galeyn is permitted to harm your sister. With the vast amount of search parties seeking her out, in a small kingdom like this, there are only so many places she can hide. I may not be as keen a tracker as you, but, well, before I met Alster, I sustained myself primarily on what I could hunt. I’d like to think I have something to bring to the table, once I’m well enough. And, to be honest, I am not sure that Alster is inclined to listen to anyone speaking on my behalf, right now,” she couldn’t help but chuckle. “He is stubborn; just not as stubborn as me. But you are welcome to slide an encouraging word in. Anything would help. And don’t sell yourself short: trust me, you are more than adequately level-headed, compared to some of the run-ins we’ve had… I mean, especially compared to Hadwin. Maybe we’re all just too trusting. Regardless,” she flashed a genuine smile and inclined her head in a bob. “I have a feeling you and I could work well, together. As soon as I’m allowed more than six hours away from bedrest, I hope you’ll be able to see a side to me that isn’t quite so… well, pathetic, for lack of a better word.”

Teselin had poured over whether it was a good idea to ask for Tivia’s help a second time. The star seer had come through for her, in her search for Hadwin, albeit reluctantly; and the two of them were certainly not what she would consider ‘friends’... But after what Tivia had revealed about what she could glean from the stars regarding Sigrid, the young summoner knew she could not let things unfold if they would without interference. Sigrid was alone, and in danger; she was not herself a seer, but she could feel it. After all, Hadwin had a point: just because the Dawn Warrior did not currently reside in Galeyn did not mean she was beyond Locque’s reach, or even in another entirely different form of peril. She had been the reason Sigrid had left; she had spoken Bronwyn’s wishes on her behalf, and those wishes were what had driven the once proud, blonde warrior away from the family and friends who were there for her. And considering what she had done for her allies… Teselin felt she was more than deadweight to leave discarded. She was part of a bigger family, a bigger picture; and she needed to come home.

So later that day, after she had parted ways with Hadwin and Bronwyn, the young summoner finally mustered the courage to approach Tivia’s door, and knocked. She was actually surprised that Tivia answered, at all, but gratefully stepped into the Rigas woman’s room when she granted her entry. “Tivia. Yes, I did. Thanks to your help, Bronwyn and I reached Hadwin in the nick of time. We were losing him, but he’s… I think he is okay, now. Or he will be, at least…”

Ultimately, there was no need to awkwardly segue into the reason she had come to call on the star seer. Tivia knew--in fact, she knew more than she should, more than Teselin had hoped. Colour drained from the young summoner’s pale face, and she looked away from the other woman’s all-seeing eye. “...isn’t it always worth it, to save the people we care about? What if it had been you instead of me, Tivia? And what if it had been Vitali instead of Hadwin? Would you knowingly let him step off the precipice of a cliff?” Teselin shook her head. There was no downplaying the guilt in her own, dark eyes. “What happened in Apelrade… it has nothing to do with you, Tivia. You had no hand in it. It was all… me. It’s always me. But if you are asking if I regret saving Hadwin--then I’m afraid I can’t give you the answer you want. I’m sorry to bother you.”

Without another word, Teselin turned on her heel and left quickly, before tears could spring to her eyes. She knows… she knows, and she will tell others, and I’ll just be another threat they have to worry about. The young summoner continued down the corridor holding an arm close to her eyes to mop up the tears before they trickled down her face. She didn’t know where she was going; she couldn’t see where she was going, and before she knew it, she collided with a broad, sturdy form, and took a hard fall on her tailbone. “I’m… so sorry.” She stammered, opening her bloodshot eyes to look upon the face of the Forbanne commander. “Haraldur…” Suddenly, then, it dawned on her. Of course she could not go and ask Tivia for her help. But… perhaps someone who the star seer was more likely to want to talk to would have more luck. “...Haraldur, I need a favour from you. Nothing great, but like I told you before, I intend to find Sigrid. She needs to be found. Tivia was able to help me find Hadwin; but I think… if she is to be inclined to help me again, I cannot be the one to ask. You, on the other hand… Sigrid is your cousin. And Tivia seems to respect you. Would you… be willing to speak with her?”

“He saved your life.” It was a statement uttered less out of incredulity and more out of hesitant acknowledgment. Hadwin, the faoladh always raring for a good time, heedless of whoever he trampled along the way, was out saving lives on the side. Whether for gain or for ego-stroking satisfaction, he had contributed to the preservation of the woman before her who stood, testifying his good works without an ounce of sarcasm or hyperbole. And it was not his first go at it, either; he’d also saved Lady Chara and Teselin from Mollengardian imprisonment. Three lives. Three lives saved. What else did she not know about her brother? What else did she refuse to see, with her virtue-specific Sight? The answers were within her discovery, if only she met his gaze. “He saved your life, not only once but twice, and he never asked for recompense? Has he received any boons from your husband, then?” As Elespeth spoke of the two instances when her brother stepped in and lent her his aid, something made itself clear. Perhaps searching for Elespeth in the wilderness had been his initial attempt to rack up a debt in his favor. If Alster Rigas was a Lord and leader of his people, a man of immense magical and aristocratic means, he’d certainly affix Hadwin with all the trappings of luxury and comfort, quite possibly for the rest of his life. But it was the details of Elespeth’s second near-death instance that piqued Bronwyn’s curiosity. A suicide attempt. He prevented a suicide attempt. 

It all made sense. 

“I think I know why he helped you. If...if you’d allow me to speak more about an uncomfortable subject, especially when dwelling on the subject shames you. But, I may be able to shed some light for you. So...you said he came in with time to spare and disarmed your weapon?” She swallowed a hard lump in her throat, scrounging up memories of a forgotten history she did not wish to broach. But seeing as how Elespeth bared her soul and spouted uncomfortable truths about her very personal struggles, Bronwyn felt she ought to do the same, as a sign of solidarity. “Our mam...she was troubled. Disturbed. Promiscuous. She made it no secret that she wanted nothing to do with being a mam. She also made it no secret that she favored Hadwin above Rowen and me. She always took him with her on her escapades and exploits whenever she ventured outside of the clan’s boundaries. She...well, as I’ve said, she was troubled. Promiscuous, nonproprietary...confused. She crossed the line with Hadwin, and so did he. And I suppose she felt guilty for it. So she killed herself. It was suicide by proxy. She rampaged as a wolf and tore apart a shepherd’s flock, so the two shepherds shot her dead with arrows.” Her fingers etched into her skin, leaving red imprints on her arm. “He did not take her death well at all. It affected him deeply, and it still does, from what I can see, of how he mutters about seeing her ghost. He must feel responsible for what happened, to this day. For him to save you from suicide, it was an opportunity for him to do what he was unable to do, eight years ago. At least,” she emitted a hollow laugh, “that’s my interpretation. For all we know, it could’ve been another attempt to finagle his way into your husband’s change-purse, but I think what you tried to do really hit home for him. Just like what he tried to do…”

She trailed off, wrapping her arms as if to respond to a cold chill in the air, despite the pleasant, always-temperate weather of the Night Garden. How easily she could have lost him, same as their mother. She did not profess to be close with either of them, but...she wanted to be. A long time ago, when such a desire was not so impossible to achieve. Now, with Fiona dead, and Hadwin’s existence tied to the thousands of lives sacrificed to maintain his life, the opportunity was no longer feasible. She couldn’t even look at her brother without imagining the faces of the innocent people of Apelrade who could have been spared, if only he did not jump. But was it fair to blame him? His singular goal was to take his own life, no one else’s; and his madness was too advanced to realize how acutely he was hurting Teselin, hells, hurting Bronwyn, by choosing their mother’s similar methods of termination. But now that he was on the mend--well, as close to ‘mended’ as someone of his deranged persuasion could be--maybe she had treated him unfairly. Perhaps he really was trying to reconcile his reprehensible behavior by performing good deeds.

And yet...she still could not trust him, despite the new information extolling his newfound humanitarian feats. 

“I find I must also apologize to you, Elespeth. For perpetuating such a gloomy subject.” Having realized her legs had grounded to a stop, she kicked them forward, resuming her pace. “Family, in general, is a complex jumble, a spectrum of powerful emotions ranging from intense hatred, to intense love. That said, I’m sorry to hear about your brother." She worried her bottom lip, uncertain if she should share her feelings aloud; in the end, she said, “I...almost lost Hadwin, and though I always told myself, even to his face, that I wouldn’t care if he died, to see him step off that ledge knowing I wouldn’t pull him from the precipice in time--that I’d never see him again--I felt something, something strong, and its strength was liable to tear me apart. I can’t identify that feeling. I don’t think it was love; all the same, I didn’t want him to end up like our mam, though he’s the spitting image of her in so many ways. Anyway,” she swept back a flyaway strand of curly hair, “family brings out the best or worst in you, whether it be from scoundrel brothers, mothers who don’t love you, sisters who go on murder sprees, or siblings who shun you for your transgressions, whether those transgressions merit their flagrant disapproval or not. It’s hard not to love the brother who tries to kill you, if you’ve already made up your mind to love him, which you do--my Sight tells me so.” She lowered her dark amber eyes, removing the source of her probing implement in case its insights distressed her newest...acquaintance? Was it too soon to presume that they were on friendly terms, or was it simply a case of strangers’ disclosure, the act of confessing one’s deepest afflictions to a trusted nobody, comforted by the little risk it posed to unload on someone with whom no relationship existed? It could be, but if Elespeth had used Bronwyn for that purpose, then she had also taken advantage of their unique union. 

“Thank you, Elespeth. For giving me some hope for my family. For Rowen and...for Hadwin, too. I extend the same sentiment to you and yours. You may have married into the Rigas family, but your blood hasn’t forgotten your ties to the Tameris name. And--forgive me for being presumptuous, but maybe you should tell your husband. If he’s the understanding sort, and you mention how much you miss your family, I doubt he’ll dismiss your feelings. Through my glimpses of his nature, he’s the sort to do anything to help the people around him, is that right? Then...it could be possible to reunite with them, again. They matter. They’re blood, as you’ve said. If you’ll never feel whole without knowing their true feelings, then you owe it to yourself to reach out to them. Unless such a thing truly is impossible; I don’t know the details of your estrangement. But,” she played with the loose ends of her worn tunic, an article she did not replace with Hadwin’s winnings, particularly because it was a gift from her father, “you’re free to ignore me and my unsolicited advice. I’ve been told--by Sigrid, no less--that I’m disgustingly naive. And yes...sometimes, I am. Sometimes it’s hard to separate my Sight from my beliefs. Do I think everyone is worth saving? I thought that Hadwin wasn’t worth it, but hearing what he’s done for people...there could be a reason he’s still alive.” And those deaths, she thought, they won’t have been in vain. If together, we can save Rowen, I can accept what happened in Apelrade. 

“Anyway, I feel I should mention,” she sniffed the air and pointed ahead, “Hadwin’s about to emerge from those bushes. I suppose this is my opportunity to ‘get on’ with him, huh?”

Sure enough, the younger Kavanagh sibling stumbled onto the garden path, an intoxicated swagger that perfumed the air with a musk heavier than what permeated the council room that morning. At once, her hopes for a proper conversation collapsed like a rickety bridge into the river.

“Ugh, Hadwin, you stink,” she fanned her hand over her nose, for emphasis. “Did you attack your pipe again, after the meeting?”  

The aforementioned tool hung out the side of his mouth, no longer lit, its contents all gone. He ignored her comment to passively observe the two women, walking side-by-side on the road. “Thought I heard you two birds squawking away. Hah--! This is rich; Bronwyn and Bronwyn meet at last! It’s so pure; you’re both radiating purity like little twin golden suns. Unless I’ve got double vision or something.” He smacked one side of his head. “Confirm this for me--am I really seeing two Bronwyns?”

“No,” she rubbed at her temple, not sure if he was being serious or if he was making an honest inquiry. This is Elespeth,” she gestured to the woman on the right. 

“Same difference,” he said, dismissively. “But lemme feel it out for myself.” He rolled forward on discombobulated limbs and held out his hand for Elespeth to take. “Put it here; this ain’t a trick or nothing. Gotta make sure you’re real. Can’t allow the ghosts to infiltrate again, can I? Then I’d be good as dead, y’see.” He gripped Elespeth’s hand in his cold, clammy palm. “Ah, so you’re Elespeth, after all. Phew!” He mopped his brow with the back of his hand. “That’s a fucking relief! One Brownling’s more than enough; but two!? No thanks; I’d rather let Rowen gut me a second time.” 

“You’re one to talk,” she snapped. He’s high, he’s not yet free of his madness, don’t take it personally, she chanted to herself, to no avail. The anger bubbled up and spilled out of her mouth before she filtered it. She always ended up rising to his bait. “Lest we forget, you threw a hot poker at me and tried to slam my head into a wall when we sprung your sorry ass out of the dungeons, so it should be me who’s lamenting your company, not you! Let’s not forget, Hadwin; Tivia used my blood so we could find you. If not for me, we wouldn’t have gotten to you in time, and you’d be dead.”

A shadow darkened Hadwin’s previously upbeat visage. “Would’ve been for the best. You fucking know it, Bron. What good came out of it, huh? Fuck all, that’s what!”

“You’re alive. That’s...that’s the good that came out of it, Hadwin.” Her eyes moistened, but she refused to pull away from his intensifying gaze. Not this time. She slid her foot towards him and touched his forearm. “Because you’re...family. And I should start treating you like it. To help Rowen, we have to stick together because we’re all who’s left for her. Chief and clan Kavanagh--they can’t get to her. But we’re able to. So let’s cast aside the animosity. You’re alive...and you know I’m relieved you’re alive, because," she sucked in a courageous breath, "I was afraid I’d lose you. I’m still afraid that I will.” 

Hadwin, eyes widening, watched her for a good minute, his expression cycling through different phases until it settled on one; dismissal. “Yeah, this shit’s not real. You’re not Bron; you’re her Sight, masquerading as her. I can see the mask; it’s peeling off your damn face.” He shrugged away her touch and turned his back on her. “Fuck it. I’ve got no time for ghosts; I’m outta here.” 

“Do not project your guilty conscience onto me, Teselin!” Tivia’s unmarred half of her face twisted into a grotesque facsimile of that which she hid from the world. “Saving Vitali on my part would not require me to annihilate a city with deadly magic. Either way, I am partially responsible because I was the one who sent you to Apelrade! So no, I’m not sending you anywhere else. I’ve already seen my home city destroyed due to magic’s interference. I won’t be complicit in destroying any other cities--so I’ll ask you, kindly,” she opened the door and ushered the summoner out of her chambers, “to leave.” 

While Teselin did leave, reduced to tears as she were, Tivia was not alone for long before she received yet another visitor. By the stacattoed, crisp rhythm of the knock, she determined it was not Teselin, or worse, Hadwin, her lackey, come to chew her out for upsetting his precious not-sister. When she answered the door, she had to do a double-take, for the man standing on the other side surprised her so thoroughly, she let out an audible squeak. Dressed in full armor and weaponry, Haraldur Sorde presented himself with a polite bow and a serviceable smile.

“Tivia Rigas. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“N-no.” She cleared her throat. “To what do I owe this...unexpected visit?”

“It is unexpected, I’ll give you that,” the Forbanne commander carried a twinge of uneasiness in his overcompensatory stance, rigid and tense in the shoulders. “Probably not appropriate that I see you, either, considering...well,” his eyes wandered to the ceiling, “you know. But...I never did thank you personally for being instrumental in saving my life. And the truth is...we never did invite you to see the twins. Your words were a comfort to Vega when she needed it, and they were born, spry and healthy, by your prediction. Would you,” his leather armor creaked as he shifted from one foot to the other, “like to see them, Tivia?”

A rather unbecoming blush spread across Tivia’s cheeks. She lowered her head, concealing her very visible reaction. “This isn’t...this isn’t the real reason why you’re here.”

“No,” he admitted with a nod. “It’s not.”

“Teselin...I’m sure she sent you.”

“You’d be right, again. It’s about Sigrid,” his polite air faded with a sigh. “I’m afraid she’s in danger alone, and I...let her go, just like that. I didn’t even convince her to stay, or even to ask her where she’d be staying. If you can trace her whereabouts with my blood, we’d find her before the worst--if the worst--befalls her.”

“And I’m assuming Teselin will be the one to spearhead this mission, as before.” 

“I would go, myself. In fact, I should go. But Galeyn needs me here. Vega and the twins need me here. The truth is, we don’t have any other volunteers--other than Hadwin, and,” his mouth soured, “his involvement does not reassure me at all.” 

“I’m not reassured, either. Together, they embody the very definition of chaos. But,” she hesitated. She could not find it in her to reveal what the stars had screeched in her ears. They would fail to retrieve Sigrid, and she would return of her own accord, mercilessly changed. Any search would turn out fruitless. Sigrid’s unfortunate path was already a fixed point in time. However, the search would bear some fruit--not in the form of Haraldur’s cousin, but in another soul who needed saving. She did not know the person’s identity...but they were important to someone. To multiple someones, both living and dead. “I…” she dropped her hands to her sides in defeat, “I’ll do it. To start, we need something that belongs to Sigrid, a catalyst, for the tracing spell.”

“She left some of her personal effects behind. We have them in our chambers for safe-keeping, for,” he stumbled over the word, “when she returns.” Burying his worry, his lips folded into another smile. “It’ll take me a while to get what you need. Once the babies latch on to me, they don’t let go. You might as well come with me...Vega’s always said she wanted to see you, again. To thank you, and not to…” he rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, “not to hurt you or anything.”

Elespeth’s fear of scaring off a potential new companion quickly dissipated when Bronwyn saw fit to mutually open up about her own family, and her own less than ideal familial situation. There was something to be said about misery loving company; or, perhaps it was simply reassuring to know that she was not entirely alone, and that Bronwyn did not think her completely mad or unreasonable for continuing to harbour both hope and love for the family that had not only rejected her, but sanctioned her death, and now believed her to be dead. Not only was it such a relief to dispel these heavy thoughts and feelings that had been plaguing her for longer than she and Alster had been together, but to find someone that could empathize… Yes, her gut feeling had been right. Bronwyn was a Kavanagh she could trust.

“No apologies necessary; I am the one who went off on a tangent. I should be apologizing for turning things awkward… this probably isn’t what you want to discuss with someone you hardly know.” The former knight offered an apologetic smile and tucked a tress of chestnut hair behind her ear. Since taking refuge in the Night Garden, it had grown several inches from when she had lopped it off back in Braighdath. She’d almost forgotten what it was light to feel it brushed against her shoulders and the back of her neck, and the sensation took some getting used to, again; not to mention the maintenance. “And I don’t mean to sound trite or pretentious when I say I am also sorry about how you lost your mother. You know… I really did not give your brother a chance, now that I think about it. When we first met, I was in a particularly bad way. I’d been separate from Alster for a good deal of time, and without him around, it becomes dangerously easy to dwell on the things that I have lost--like my family. He really didn’t stand a chance to make it into my good books, at that point in time, because no one did. But knowing what I do now… I mean, is it really any wonder that he is the way he is? If you’ve known little else but pain, and see little else but fear, who wouldn’t want to alter their mind with herbs in a pipe? Not that I am excusing his actions or his… well, general disposition, but compared to Rowen…” She trailed off a moment, afraid she might unintentionally be vilifying Bronwyn’s sister by expressing this train of thought. Though it appeared that the faoladh woman was completely on the same page. “I mean, it seems to me that she broke without finding a way to cope, like Hadwin did. So she kills. But I do mean it when I say that I think there is still hope for her. She’s only young; the world might be making its impression, but it isn’t too late to make new impression. To recircuit her mind, and maybe help her find the coping that she needs to thrive as a functional being. So, no: it is not too late for your family, and I stand by that assertion.” 

On a different note, then, the smile faded around the corners of her mouth when Bronwyn proposed the suggestion to divulge all of this to Alster. Was she really not giving her husband enough credit to handle the feelings that still are away at those parts of her heart that he couldn’t reach? She had confided in him about that conflicting voice inside that had almost driven her to take her own life, or to give up on life entirely, and he understood. Well, after he grieved it, and lashed out at her for thinking in such a way, he understood. Could it be that he would take it well, were she to confess how she missed her link to the Tameris lineage? “...I don’t know that I can really take that chance,” she admitted at last, staring off into the distance at nothing in particular as the two women wound their way past impossibly tall trees. “I’ve… done a lot that has hurt him, these past months. Refusing help while damaging my body, turning him away… at my worst, I’d even told him I couldn’t marry him, because I felt too undeserving after what I had done. And that… that destroyed him. It changed him, and I thought I might never see the Alster Rigas that I knew and loved, ever again. And then, when it became obvious that my heart was failing… I don’t know. I just don’t know that it is either safe or fair to heap any more troubles on him. Especially not while he is in the process of healing because of me. I chose my path; I chose to forsake my family, and I chose to marry into his. So… it’s up to me to make it work, and to forget about who I once was, or what I once had. I owe that to him; especially,” she shook her head and smiled a guilty smile, “since I am worrying him once again with my desire to take part in the search parties. You know, it really is a wonder that he has put up with me, all this time. Anyway… thank you. For being a non-judgmental ear. I haven’t been able to confide too much in anyone, here; not where camaraderie is so close knit, and one thing can lead to another. Before you know it, a little secret ends up affecting a lot of people…”

Evidently, she’d concluded the spilling of her own “secrets” just in time, it seemed, when Bronwyn promptly noted that they were not alone. “Hadwin.” Elespeth greeted, wrinkling her nose slightly at the strong smell of herb that clung to his clothes. “I assure you, contrary to your belief, Bronwyn and I are different people. But yes, we are both here.” While his behaviour did not come as any surprise, it was rather baffling that the reckless faoladh seemed to have been high ever since he returned to Galeyn… and concerning, at that. Especially given Elespeth’s relevation as to why he chose to be high or drunk instead of sober.

“Hey.” The former knight reached out to grab his other shoulder, and pivoted until she was blocking his path. “Feel free to move me, but I’m going to just keep getting in your way--and I’m still recovering, remember. Imagine how bad it would look for you to forcibly throw me out of your path.” Elespeth arched a cunning eyebrow. “I don’t know that you’ve been sober for even a second since you returned, but let me assure you that this is real; we are real, and Bronwyn sure as hell is real, because I can see her, and unlike you, I don’t see ‘ghosts’. So why don’t you hold tight, for a minute, and actually listen to us.” When he seemed to oblige her, out of curiosity and surprise if nothing else, she took a small step back out of his personal bubble. “As hard as it might be to believe that people are glad you aren’t dead, it’s true. I was going to say, I already know of a certain summoner who was at her wits’ end not knowing if you were well, but… take a look in front of you, Hadwin. Like it or not, you aren’t alone. You’ve got family--hell, you’ve got family who still cares for you… which is something not all of us can claim. But, hell… you already know that, don’t you? ‘Friendless’, and all?” She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. “I don’t need to explain it to you, because you can already see how much I miss what I left behind in Atvany. You used to use that knowledge as a weapon to incite my ire, back in Stella D’Mare. Remember?”

With a half grin, Elespeth plucked the pipe from Hadwin’s mouth. “Look; I know you’ve been through some form of hell. I heard… about Cwenha. And that you left, shortly after, and according to Bronwyn, you weren’t long for this world. But--and hear me out for a second--why don’t you try not being high. Take a look around you. Crazy as it sounds, there are people who give a damn about you. And you sure as hell aren’t going to be on top of your game to find Rowen if your head is in such thick clouds of smoke that you can’t see what’s in front of you. So,” leaning in again, she placed a hand on his shoulder, and lowered her voice. “Give your sister a break. To hell with whatever bad blood you have; you’ve got each other, and if you play your cards right, maybe the two of you can get Rowen back.”

It was strange, the way the concept and passage of time changed when having children. When Vega had been pregnant, she’d felt as though she had been pregnant forever. From general discomfort to lack of mobility, after the first trimester carrying two developing little humans inside of her, the Eyraillian princess had forgotten what it was like to not be pregnant. To feel dainty and agile, not exhausted, with swollen feet, and the inability to keep a wide variety of food down. But as soon as the twins had been born, it was almost as though the lagging months had accelerated the passage of time. The current happenings within and without Galeyn aside, there was no end to being a parent of two infants. Not even sleep put a stop to it, and frankly, she couldn’t remember the last time she and her husband had been asleep at the same time. There was always one (if not both) waking up periodically within the night, and as soon as one of them would fall asleep while the other tended one or more fussy babies, it would be the other’s turn to take over.

Perhaps it was because of that exhaustion, of always being on the move, and splitting themselves between their duties as a parent and those to keeping Galeyn safe, that made the days pass in the blink of an eye. That made it seem like Klara and Kynnet were growing before their very eyes; already, they’d put on a healthy amount of weight since birth. Before they knew it, the twins would be speaking their first words, or taking their first steps… and would the both of them be around to witness those moments, if they could hardly savour the time that they had, then and now?

To Haraldur’s credit, the Forbanne Commander had come through on his promise to his wife. That he would make up for his absence during her pregnancy by being there with her for their children--and he was. Of course, he had duties to the Forbanne as well, but nothing, he’d promised her, would take him from Galeyn. Nothing would take him from her, from their family, and those times when he was absent were always brief. He always came back, in the evening; always found moments to be present in her life, and that of the children’s. And when they were old enough--likely within the next year--and when Galeyn was safe again, he was determined to return to Eyraille. All four of them would go home, to their true home, and nothing would tear them apart, again. Not duty or politics or the wrath of a deranged sorceress. These were the moments that Vega was living for… except, it was so hard to treasure them when they were so tired. When she worried, from one day to the next, what would try to come between them, next… and when that single, nagging fear never subsided. The fear that their most recent interaction, be it a kiss or a passing embrace, would be their last. Haraldur might have defied Death time and again, but that wouldn’t stop Death from pursuing him again and again. And she couldn’t bear the thought of their new family being torn apart, so soon…

The two of them had left early that morning to attend the meeting Queen Lilica had instigated to communicate future intentions for protecting this kingdom to everyone. Afterwards, Haraldur had business with the Forbanne, and so Vega opted to return to their room and relieve her wetnurse from her duty. It was easy for those in a position of power to pawn off childrearing responsibilities to serving staff and nannies, and more and more, Vega was beginning to understand why they did this. But the stubborn princess was determined not to fall into step with what was expected of the Eyraillian monarchy (or any monarchy, for that matter), and resolved to be as much of a hands-on parent as was possible, in her given situation. So she tucked that ever-present worry for the safety of her husband at the back of her mind and spent the afternoon stimulating the fussy twins with songs and a mother’s touch, fed them a few hours later, and just managed to get them both to sleep (at the same time--what an unbelievable miracle!) when her husband returned--with someone else in tow.

“You’re back soon,” she commented, trying to sound lighthearted when, in fact, it was all relief. It was always a relief to know fate had not caught up to either of them, and their family was, as of now, still in tact. But the familiar blonde woman, with her face bowed as if to avoid eye contact, did not escape her attention. “Tivia…” Vega faltered. What did she say to a woman who had lain with her (not at the time, at least) husband? Whom she had then struck and harmed, and who, in turn, had harmed her in self-defense? The same woman who had reached out, during one of the darkest times of her pregnancy, to reassure her that it was written in the stars her children would be born, against all odds?

Haraldur, fortunately, filled what would otherwise have been an awkward silence by explaining the star seer’s presence, and her involvement in finding Sigrid. Immediately this put her at ease, and it felt as though a shroud had lifted from the room. “That’s wonderful news… Tivia, thank you for stepping in to help. Sigrid… she needs to come back. What happened to Naimah has wounded her deeply, but she won’t heal in isolation.” Another awkward silence fell between her and the Rigas woman, who only nodded her acknowledgement. And Vega was beginning to realize that this was not something with which she could continue to contend. It was time to break the silence and mend this bridge.

“...I haven’t had the opportunity to properly apologize to you.” The Eyraillian princess spoke quietly, tucking an errant lock of copper hair behind her ear. “For how I treated you, back in Tadasun… I was very much in the wrong. I let my emotions get the better of me, and I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have laid a hand on you, and I regret that I ever did. I hope you can accept my regret, Tivia, because it is real…” Glancing over her shoulder at the two sleeping infants, a ghost of a smile touched her lips. “...you know, I had a lot to worry about, during the later stages of my pregnancy. But I didn’t worry about the children, because you told me they would be born… and they were. Against all odds, despite a risky labour that might have taken all three of our lives had it happened back in Eyraille, they were born, and they are healthy and strong. And I knew that would be the case. As soon as you told me… I just knew. Did...” She hesitated, wondering if the question would come across as too presumptuous. “Did you want to see them? Klara and Kynnet. They’re finally asleep; you have the opportunity not to witness them as the little hellians they truly are.”

“Excuse my bluntness, but wouldn’t you be hurting him--and yourself--by not addressing the holes that are abundantly pocked through your heart? By stuffing away your troubles and living a lie out of fear of your husband’s pain? Physical recovery isn’t enough to mend your heart; if you claim that it’s not too late for family, then the same goes for you, too, Elespeth. But,” she absently tugged on the tassels of coppery hair emerging from her ponytail, “I’ve never been in love. I don’t know what it’s like to marry into another family; an influential one, at that. My life has been dedicated to Clan Kavanagh, to Chief, my father, to the collective whole; staunch individuality compromises our synchronicity. Faoladh are so susceptible to straying, and Chief went through great pains to ensure we remain as a single unit. Whether your clan lies with the Tameris name or with the Rigas name, I cannot say; you’re loyal to the Rigases, yes. But I suspect you’ll forever remain loyal to house Tameris, and convincing yourself otherwise will not change that beating heart of yours, and who it chooses to mourn. That’s…” she trailed off, rendering her unsolicited speech to a hushed, embarrassed silence. 

“No...that’s...I’m a subordinate. I have no influence, no clout, to suggest what you should do. I’m...my Sight sometimes gets the better of me. I see the best in people and try to stoke it to the forefront, ignorant of the person’s other, equally valid feelings, like anger and fear and regret. There’s obstacles to our potential, reasons to resist becoming our best selves. And sometimes, seeing virtue doesn’t actually reveal a person’s best self; it only reveals their integrity. What they value. I’m...I’m afraid I’ve lost my point, here,” she emitted an uneasy chuckle. “Only that...whatever you do, don’t forget to maintain your integrity.”

She thought for certain she would have alienated the Rigas woman, but on the contrary, she thanked Bronwyn for the company and the confidentiality. “Well, if you see my drivel as a comfort, then I suppose I’ll stop apologizing.” She reflected Elespeth’s kind smile with one of her own; close-mouthed, tight-lipped, in direct contrast to Hadwin’s sharkish grins that were liable to cut up a person, just by venturing too close to hearing range. “You’re welcome, Elespeth. And thank you. For the acceptance. I’ve done nothing to endear Galeyn to me; they’d sooner throw me away than risk Rowen’s ongoing appetite for the hunt. If they can snare her and kill her...well, I pose no threat to them. They hold no loyalty to me...and I wouldn’t expect them to care. You’re all so close-knit, as you’ve mentioned. And I’m a meddling outsider, without the charm and resourcefulness of my brother.”

Speak of the devil and the devil shall appear...Hadwin materialized from the brush moments later, hazy of mind and bleary-eyed, from the herb but little diminished in his glibness and flippancy. He was not wrong to accuse Bronwyn of hinging on her Sight and using it to speak for her. She did not trust him; she did not like him. She was jealous, resentful, and could not justify the blood spilled in his name. So she clung onto nuggets of his goodness, his potential, his integrity, and hoped that her self-acknowledgement of the honorable aspects of his character was enough to break through her long-standing enmity. Hoped that by extending the olive branch first, it would entice him to follow suit and behave, as he did so faultlessly around Teselin. But she failed to take into account that, just because she accepted his virtuous deeds that he would miraculously morph into the model individual. As she had explained to Elespeth, earlier, she could not focus exclusively on one’s inner light and disregard their range of very real, very raw, and sometimes ugly emotions--and Hadwin harbored a great deal of resentment towards her. It was why he was more apt to believe she was a figment of his imagination; he could ignore her hollow petitions for peace, for they were as incorporeal to him as wisps of phantom smoke. They meant nothing, because he didn’t believe her. 

She wasn’t sure she believed herself, either. But dammit if he couldn’t give her credit for the attempt! The intent, at least, was pure. She wanted her family. She wanted his acceptance. She wanted to belong, because they never let her belong. They left; Fiona, Hadwin, Rowen. They left her behind--and didn’t give a fig about how she felt at all! Even Chief...didn’t he essentially cast her out of the clan, alone and friendless, without another faoladh to share the burden of searching for Rowen? 

As of that moment, she did not have a clan. A pack. Or a family. Though desperate not to take Hadwin’s flight personally, it was hard not to flinch from the sensation of his words twisting into her chest like a rusty dagger. 

She did not pursue him. But someone else did, in her stead. 

The woman whose acquaintance she made less than an hour ago...was vouching for her. 

“Hah-!” Hadwin’s exclamation puffed out a bellows of air that nearly dislodged the pipe from his mouth. “And you think I don’t have it in me to punt you aside? Or that I care if it looks ‘bad’? I pioneer down the wrong way on the regular. No, Elly--” he clasped a hand on her arm, entrapping her into his close quarters, “reason I’m standing still is cuz I wanna humor you. So what is the moral you’re trying to oh-so-righteously graft onto my shoulders like an unwanted third arm, little miss disgraced knight? I don’t need the prosthesis; save it for when your hubby decides to sear off his other arm for you.” 

Despite the muddiness of his uncoordinated hands, his reflexes were quick enough to reclaim the pipe from Elespeth’s safekeeping. “Ah, capital idea, Elly. I’ll stop smoking straightaway cuz you told me to. Didn’t stop you from emptying bags of stimulant into your gaping maw and traipsing off into the wilderness on your own despite the love and support of your family. Yeah, unlike you, I’ve got a handle on this.” He wiped the stem of the pipe against the surface of his jerkin. “Been doing it for gods know how many years and I’m coasting along just fine for the most part. Whatever poison I throw into my mouth’s not the problem. I’ve got a clearer head right now than what you’re crediting me for; so of fucking course I know Teselin’s worried sick for me!” His cavernous, stalactite mouth twisted into a grimace. “That shit’s plenty evident, and I’m not gonna disappear on her again unless she wants me to disappear. But if you’re here in defense of fucking Bronwyn, who you’ve known for all of two seconds, I wager? Yeah, you don’t know what you’re on about. You're such good friends, though! Ask her about how she entertained herself as a child. Oh, did she have her share of fun tryin’ to beat the concept of fear out of my squishy five-year-old brain! Years and years of torment, and she thought she was doing me a favor. Ah, poor, misled little lamb, beating me senseless. Said she'd bleed out my weaknesses--the bad parts, but she snapped me full on in the other direction, and she despised the piece of rubbish I became. Blames me till this day for the mess she helped create. You think I don’t know her agenda? I’m suddenly worthwhile because she sees something redeemable to save. But she’ll turn on you once she finds a flaw she doesn’t like. Something that isn’t perfect, or beautiful, or wholesome. Family like her's a crock of shit; all lies. She's never seen me as a brother." 

He whistled over to Bronwyn, who was watching the proceedings with a mix of horror, shame, defeat, and shivering anger. “So, Brownling, did you catch a good whiff of your bosom friend? Smell something a little odd?” 

“What does that have to do with anything?!” She managed to seethe through her teeth. “It was her husband I smelled, anyway.” 

“Well, he ain’t here, and I still smell it, even through my stinky, stinky unbearable stench. It’s got a sharp bitterness to it--like lightning, yeah?” 

Hesitation and confusion wrinkled Bronwyn’s brow. She said nothing, but her nostrils flared and twitched as she took an imperceptible step closer to the source of the curious scent.

“Hate to break it to you, Elly, but whatever the hell happened when Doorstop swapped pieces of your heart with pieces of Al’s heart, I think you got more than what you bargained for. I know the smell of magic, especially the kind that pertains to storms--like lightning, which for sure’s streaming off of you like a big fat rain cloud.” 

“Ok--no more from you, you deplorable, miserable fuck-up!” Bronwyn roared, a thunderclap to accompany the essence of lightning that hung heavy in the air, and not generated by Elespeth, no! The person who lobbed the lightning was Hadwin and Hadwin alone. 

“Ah, so now I’m beyond redemption again, huh?” 

“Because you want to be!” Her hands curled into fists. “This is between us, Hadwin. There’s no reason for you to be commenting on Elespeth’s scent!"

“Oh, isn’t there?" He mused. "In denial, are we?” 

“About what?!” 

“So if it’s true that your forever friend has a touch of the gift, what’re you going to do, Brownling?” 

“Punch you in your smug face!” As soon as Elespeth released him, she spun through the small opening her retreat had left and propelled forward, her balled-up fist sailing towards his head. In expectation, Hadwin dodged and grappled her fist. 

“Oh, puppy, I guess you’re real, after all,” he tsked in mock sadness. “This isn't gonna end well for you.”

“You kidding me?!” She yanked her fist from his grip. “You’re too high to fight!” 

His grin was one of manic, masochistic delight. “Never stopped me before.” He threw the next punch. It landed on her side, but she brushed off the pain and disengaged, to gain the advantage she needed to run him aground with a tackle. She succeeded; the two of them rolled on the garden path, all fists and claws and teeth; two human wolves, fighting each other into submission. 

Tivia wasn’t sure when she agreed to Haraldur’s invitation, but one nod later and she was following the Forbanne Commander down the palace hallways to his family’s chambers. During the quiet trip, she worried at her fingernails, cutting and picking at the cuticles. It alleviated some of her nervous energy, but largely, she spent most of her inner monologue second-guessing if her presence in the Sorde suite--for they’d been gifted to one of the largest suites in the palace as per the demand of the Galeynian populace who so adored them--would be received all too well. She’d have been content to wait for Haraldur to return later, equipped with a catalyst for Sigrid; no fuss, no societal expectation on her part. But the commander was a man too busy to veer off course. If he was not tending to his children alongside Vega, he was attending meetings or running affairs with the Forbanne units in and outside the palace, or occasionally at the border. While he would have made a secondary, unplanned trip to accommodate Tivia were she on the fence about insinuating herself into the family dynamic unexpectantly, she didn’t want to inconvenience him when already, he was operating by the barest threads of consciousness. His eyes looked about to droop off his face. His movements were so automatic, he equated to a golem, a mud and clay creation mindlessly obeying its master. Walk, go here, do this. But never rest.

Tivia, therefore, could not deny his request. And so, swallowing the hornet’s nest of activity buzzing about her body, she stood straight and, when they reached the door to the Sorde chambers, adopted the Rigas sheen, as once demanded by every member of the formerly prestigious family: a mask of self-assured perfection, pleasant, unflappable, and unmistakably aristocratic. 

After stepping inside, she immediately billowed her skirts outwards into a curtsy. “Vega Sorde. Please forgive me for the impromptu visit,” she announced, adjusting her voice accordingly when Haraldur pointed to the cradle where the babies were resting and planted a finger over his lips.

“Tivia is here to help us locate Sigrid.” Haraldur gently closed the door and wandered inside to greet Vega with a soft kiss. “She needs my blood and something of Sigrid’s to conduct the spell. If we truly are related, then my blood should be able to find her whereabouts. Wait here, Tivia.” Haraldur nodded to the next room. “I’m going to remove my armor and weapons first--then I’ll grab you some of Sigrid’s things.” 

The moment he disappeared into the other room, Tivia’s nerves threatened to overtake her polite, proprietary stance. She awkwardly stood between the babies’ cradle and Vega, unsure of how to proceed. Did she need an invitation to observe the twins? To speak their names, to gaze her one eye upon them in their swaddling clothes as they twitched and sucked their tiny, pink mouths, as though in memory of mother’s milk? Rigas protocol did not quite cover the procedure on how to behave before the woman of an allied kingdom whom she’d wronged by sleeping with her husband and guilted into paying a necromancer’s steep price with her dear roc as the payment. Blessedly, Vega spoke up, first. 

“It...it is not necessary. To apologize,” she mumbled, staring rather intimately at the floor. “I should be apologizing to you. I,” she shrank within herself, “I’m so sorry. For...for the hand I played in overturning your life, for the worst. I can’t say if I’m much a changed person. I still,” she let out a staggering breath, “can’t see much good in this world. In myself. In what other people do, and why they do what they do. My power does not reveal fortunate news too often. Most everything the stars share is skewed towards a worst-case scenario. For that, I’m heartened by the health and vigor of your children. I...congratulations.” Daring to slink closer to the cradle, she tilted her head to regard the babies, two butterfly chrysalises curled up against each other, warm and safe and loved. A wave of wistfulness assailed her heart. Oh, so be so loved, beside the people who truly wanted her. Alas, she was a hateful wretch, too focused on certain doom to see anything else but loathing and bitterness. 

But she didn’t have to suffer alone. Nay, she didn’t need to suffer at all, if Isidor’s offer to dull the stars was pure. If she kept rejecting kindness after kindness, mistaking it for pity or as ingenuine, surely, she’d remain her greatest obstacle to happiness...and would die as another casualty of a cruel, cosmic game. 

“Congratulations,” she repeated, forming some approximation of a smile. “Your babies are...vibrant. Hardy. They,” her brow furrowed, “have a tree’s constitution. They’re sturdy. Earth-blessed. The Night Garden will protect them, as She protects all buds in bloom.” Her fingers traced the etching carved into the cradle’s wood. A three-pronged symbol. She didn’t recognize it...but the stars did. 

“This symbol...is sacred. It possesses great power, here. It is the language of nature. To the one who speaks its name, gives it form, and offers it the hues beneath the flesh...this symbol provides shelter for any who seek it. No harm will come to the family who sits beneath its branches. Here, you are safe. He is safe.” Blinking out of her half-trance, she withdrew her hand from the symbol, confusion replacing the eerie calm of her seer-triggered knowledge. “I’m...I’m trying not to rely on my star-seer ability. To not hang on what they tell me as an unerring fact. But this is different because…” she frowned, “something out there wanted me to be its voice. To say...you’ve received the blessing of the trees. They recognize their own. They also say...two new trees have sprouted in the Night Garden. And that they are...Klara and Kynnet.”

Was Bronwyn right? Would she only be hurting herself and Alster to keep those hopes and feelings for her Tameris family too close to her heart to share, where it would continue to cause damage if not shared and understood by the one other person who shared a part of her heart? She just couldn’t fathom having that conversation with him… Not after everything he had done to have her accepted into his family. To marry her, and to grant her an extended life as an honourary Rigas. To provide her with love and shelter from a world that had otherwise seemed to plot against her well-being… Could she really do that to him? Sit down and confide that despite it all, it just wasn’t enough? He’ll take it too personally. Take it too much as a failure, on his part… and I can’t do that to him. The least I can do is make him believe that I am not lacking. That everything he has done for me has not been overlooked, in favour of chasing the past…

It was an uneasy decision to dwell upon, and somehow, hearing it from an objective source make it all the more impactful. Bronwyn was not herself speaking from experience, if she had never been in love the way the former knight was. She was speaking from a position of rationale, which, for someone like Elespeth who had been so consumed by feelings for so long, was useful in and of itself to hear this perspective. Unfortunately, she hadn’t time to respond or to give it much thought at all, before a more disruptive presence made itself known… and for whatever reason, she couldn’t help but step in. Why she decided to insert herself into a feud between two siblings, one who she hardly knew and the only that she only recently decided not to despise, was a mystery even to the ex-Atvanian. Was it out of a budding respect for Bronwyn, a new and unintentional confidant, that she did not want the woman to feel her efforts to reach out to her errant brother were all in vain? Or did it have something to do with the fact she could no longer bring herself to despise the ground upon which Hadwin tread, since he had saved her life--however selfish his motives might have been?

Whatever the reason, it made Elespeth brazen enough to insert herself in the path of someone who could easily take her down in her weakened state… and who probably wouldn’t bat an eyelash to do it. “Nice try, but you can’t make me feel guilty about something for which I’ve already taken responsibility.” Her lips curled into a tight smile. Not so long ago, the old Elespeth might have let the faoladh’s words get to her. They might even have inspired violence or retaliation, on her part, for all the way Hadwin knew exactly how to get under people’s skin. Perhaps the bright side for shouldering so much guilt for what she’d done, for all of the pain and hardship she had caused her friends, was that her wrong-doings and fatally poor decisions were no longer a weapon which anyone could effective wield against her. Not when she had turned it on herself, time and again, and it still hovered above her like a blade that could strike at any time. Should her resolve to move past it ebb even just a little… there was still the possibility of succumbing to that other Elespeth. The one who would not fade from her peripheral vision, because… she could not let go of the desire to reconnect with her. To reclaim that part of her that had lived for Atvany, that had once belonged to her Atvanian family.

“Hindsight is always clearer than foresight. Take my grievous mistake as a cautionary tale.” She took a step back when he wrought his pipe back from her hands, and made no move to take it again. “I fucked up; we both know that. I was so determined to prove myself to myself that I completed disregarded everything the people who cared for me tried to do… and I paid for that. Months later, I am still paying for that. I can’t remember what it is like to be well.” Chestnut locks fell behind her shoulders as Elespeth shook her head. “If you’re only able to get by because of your pipe, you don’t have a handle on your situation. And you’re right; I may not know Bronwyn well, but yes, I will stand up for her because she’s reaching out for you. And as much as you like to pretend you don’t need people in your life… you aren’t fooling anyone. You need those people as much as I did, when I was injured, and barely able to move. And look at what turning them away got me…”

It did strike her as… well, shocking, to hear that their past had been far less than ideal, but even worse, violent. And it was even more shocking to hear that it was Bronwyn who instigated the violence… of course, if Hadwin was telling the truth, or remembering correctly. The herb he smoked could have gotten to his mind. “Even if all of that is true, can’t you credit people for changing? Or for finding common ground for a common cause? You both want Rowen back. You both want to reach her. Well what will she be coming back to if you’re still at each others’ throat? She may well prefer to stick with Locque if it looks as though she’ll be waltzing into a dysfunctional situation… If you can’t do it for yourself, or for Bronwyn,” she glanced between the two siblings, “then can’t you try for Rowen? Show her it’s worth it to leave behind the killing and manipulative sorceresses to return to a clan that won’t hurt her, or each other?”

She wasn’t sure that either of the faoladh actually heard her plea, because Hadwin had seen fit to divert the spotlight from himself and onto her, which struck her as very, very odd. Odd, and improbable, given what he was suggesting. “Of course I smell like my husband. Alster and I have been in close quarters recovering together for weeks; it shouldn’t come as any surprise that I’d smell a little like him, and that it would stick.” The former knight shrugged her shoulders, largely unfazed by what Hadwin was insinuating. “In fact, I was with him just recently, before I ran into Bronwyn. I don’t understand what the problem is…”

Elespeth looked between the two siblings, one who appeared disgustingly sure of himself, and the other who suddenly seemed wary. Self-consciousness began to set in, and she looked down at herself, as if trying to see exactly what it was Hadwin and Bronwyn could smell. Nothing: she looked the same. She felt the same; stir crazy, yet still limited in how quickly she could move, and for how long. The only difference was she was getting stronger, as opposed to weaker and weaker, like before… but that was to be expected. She had spent weeks at the heart of the Night Garden, healing from the inside out as her body recycled and replaced her damaged cells. In fact, she was beginning to feel more and more like herself every day. Not like someone or… something different. “I’m sorry to disappoint, but aside from the fact that I can actually stand on my own two feet again, I’m exactly the same as I was before, Hadwin.” She shook her head with a wry smile. “Which is to say I am an ordinary human. I mean, aside from the extended lifetime that I was bequeathed… I’m not magically adept. I never have been--the Tameris bloodline has never hinted at an ounce of magic. And I think it would take a little more than inheriting some of the cells of Alster’s heart to change that. I mean, if it were that easy, why hasn’t it become some rogue practice among those hungry for magic to chop up a mage and take whatever tissues they can integrate into their own body to absorb their magic? Maybe,” she raised an eyebrow, “you really do need to take a break from that pipe...”

 For whatever reason, this seemed to upset Bronwyn--and that was when the former Atvanian realized that everything Hadwin had said hadn’t been aimed to upset her, but rather, to get under his sister’s skin. He really hated her that much… “It’s fine, Bronwyn. Hadwin is being far too ludicrous to successfully offend me.” But this had already escalated so far beyond her. Maybe she’d gone too far, stepping into a situation that didn’t and shouldn’t concern her, because given the seething looks on the siblings’ faces, there was no turning back from whatever mire they’d dug themselves into…

Bronwyn was the first to throw a punch.

“Hey--what do you think you’re doing?!” That fist very nearly came into contact with her own face, when Hadwin dodged his sister’s punch, and Elespeth staggered back as a result. “Stop, both of you! This is ridiculous! We are all on the same side; do you honestly think we have time to fight amongst ourselves?”

It was too late. Neither of them heard her, and before she knew it, the Kavanagh that drove her crazy and the one she’d thought to have a cooler head on her shoulders were on the ground and scrapping like a couple of… as much as she hated to admit it, dogs. Elespeth couldn’t let this happen. Not here, not now, when they needed to be working together to otherwise prevent total disaster… So, against her better judgement, she tried to put a stop to it. Taking a steadying breath, she grabbed Hadwin by the back of his jerkin, but… she was still too weak, and he was too riled up, and it only caused her to fall right into the chaos--at which point she had no choice but to try and insert herself between them. “Stop! Look at what you’re doing!” She took elbows to the ribs. A poorly aimed punch to the face, causing her to painfully bite down on her tongue. This wasn’t her fight, and despite how senseless it all was, there was nothing she could do in her current condition to make it stop…

And then, as if out of nowhere, the three of them startled apart as a violent shock bloomed through their bodies, causing them to go temporarily limp. For a moment, Elespeth lay in a crumpled heap, trying to grasp at exactly what had happened. A couple of Gardeners who had already taken note of the commotion came rushing over to help them up--well, to help Elespeth up, in particular. It wasn’t until she was on her feet that she realized what had happened. “...you can’t fight here. You can’t bring violence into a place of healing.” She spat blood from the side of her mouth and tried to get her bearings, but her orientation was all off, and she wasn’t sure she could stand on her own, in that moment. “This is what you get for your foolishness… I’ve heard what this Garden can do when the situation calls for it, and that was just a warning. Look at what it did to Vitali? Or what it did to Queen Lilica, it’s own keeper? Everyone in Galeyn knows the story of what happened when she tried to attack the sentinel tree. She was bedridden for weeks… consider yourselves lucky that this place saw fit to let the both of you off with a warning.”

Without bidding either of them goodbye, Elespeth allowed the two Gardeners, one on either side of her, to escort her back to the sanctuary. So much for convincing Alster that she would be well enough to contribute to the search parties… If he hadn’t been on board before, seeing her with bruised ribs and a bloody lip would only solidify his opposition to her wishes to finally be useful, again.

“No… the truth is, you really didn’t overturn anything, Tivia. Haraldur and I had our moments before you became involved. And Aerial…” Vega spoke the name of her late companion softly, he azure eyes moistening at the memories she hadn’t dredged up for quite some time. Not since returning to Galeyn, and placing the entirety of her attention into the lives of the children she was carrying. “She might have lived a very long time. But that would have taken me--taken us--down another path, completely. A path that perhaps did not involve children. Ultimately… Klara and Kynnet are here today as a result of my decisions and experiences. So while I cannot say that our baggage makes me happy…” The Eyraillian princess sighed and ran a hand through her russet locks. “I am not unhappy with what I have now. A husband. Children. A family. I don’t know that I’d be happier adhering more strictly to the path of a Skyknight, because I am no longer sure how far I am able to venture down that path with children in the picture. But I am not unhappy. So, you… really, you have nothing to apologize for.”

She followed Tivia’s gaze to the symbol on the infants’ gradle. Honestly, she hadn’t thought much of it, but… she did not have the insights that Tivia had. Or Haraldur, for that matter. “I don’t know that symbol, but it has resonated with Haraldur, of late. Ever since he… he came back. Thwarted death for the umpteenth time. He said it was a symbol of protection, so it carved it on their cradle.” And there it was again: trees. Just as Haraldur had been curiously preoccupied with his draw to the sentinel tree at the heart of the Night Garden, now a seer was further validating what her husband suspected to be relevant. “So, the Night Garden… has blessed them? Because they were born upon its soil? Or is it… is it something more, Tivia? Something to do, maybe, with their… father?”

The star seer hadn’t a chance to answer, because Haraldur was quick to return, with something Sigrid had left behind. The Dawn Warrior hadn’t much in the realm of possessions, and had taken anything of use with her when she left. Everything else, she’d left… including the indigo tunic that signified her membership to the Dawn Guard. So she really had been telling the truth when she said she’d left them… “Well… the sooner we know where Sigrid is, the sooner she can be found. So,” she nodded to Tivia and stepped back. “I will leave this to you.”

It did not take long. Just a few drops of blood and the cloth of the tunic in the star seer’s hand, and a few moments later, Tivia came out of whatever trance the spell had pulled her into. It was successful, to a degree. Perhaps not as clear as Hadwin’s whereabouts, for Bronwyn was his sister, but Sigrid, as it turned out, was related to Haraldur by blood--only more distantly. Like a cousin; just as he’d suspected. Somewhere in a forest west of Galeyn: that was about as clear as what Tivia could offer. “So she is your blood. Your real family.” Vega smiled sadly. If only Sigrid had been able to hear this before she decided to leave, all on her own… “...thank you, Tivia. For helping our family, again.” 

The Eyraillian princess bowed her head in gratitude, and before the star seer could turn to leave, she placed a hand on her shoulder. “About what you said… I think you have grown, since you discovered your abilities as a seer. There is a lot to value in yourself, if you’d allow yourself to see it… and if you would allow others to acknowledge it. I know what it feels like to expect that there is no good left in this world, but… it turns out I was wrong. And you can be wrong, too. But this is not something the stars can tell you.” She hazarded a soft smile. “It is something you must tell yourself, in defiance of the stars. You need just allow yourself to look in the right places; and to the right people.”

The cretin had gone and done it! Hadwin’s penchant for chaos found its mark, and Bronwyn shamefully let her substance-impaired, unstable brother command the narrative. He preyed on her fears, unapologetic in targeting the one most recently inflicted on her mind, to which he caused, second-hand. The apocalypse at Apelrade had done more than leave a jagged scar in her memory; it encroached during sleeping hours like an unwelcome guest, sitting on her chest and cutting off the flow of her breathing. It also ushered a bevy of new fears, childish terrors never before to plague her, even in childhood. The slightest rumble of the earth, the howling of wind rattling the trees, ominous clouds promising a storm, flickers of snake-tongued lightning threatening to descend and follow her; whether human or wolf, she never outran its guided strike. Always, it clawed out of the ground, an inescapable paralysis holding her hostage, in thrall, until the bottom linked hands with its sky-brother. They connected, using her body as a circuit, frying her from within. She’d escaped Apelrade with her life, but the lightning did not forget the identity of its escapee. It would chase her, relentlessly, as it did when she fled with Teselin and Hadwin on Night steed. For hours, it pursued, determined to annihilate every person to have set foot upon that cursed city on the clifftops. 

How dare Hadwin make a mockery of her fears by singling out one of the only people to show her a shred of decency!? How dare he spin some farfetched yarn about Elespeth’s sudden, lightning-specific magical inheritance? Did he believe her so naive? So stupidly gullible? There was no denying the smell, but reason dictated the simplest explanation; it came from her husband, nothing more. Hadwin’s aim was to exact vengeance by attacking her relationships, however green and new. And because...why? Punishment for some ancient transgressions she scarcely remembered? If she had given him a series of torturous beatings, surely, he overexaggerated the effect of her blows. In the filter of a child, everything appeared scarier, more traumatic, especially when the child could see fears at a young age. When Hadwin was a whelp, a loud clap often sent him into shock for days. Back then, he was of no use to clan Kavanagh as a pathetic, terrified, shivering ball of fur who bristled and sobbed at the slightest provocation. They needed to toughen him up. Chief’s orders; she did as she was told. Let’s make him better, Bronwyn. Don’t you want to help your brother to survive? Don’t you want him to be a valued faoladh of our great clan? 

Make him better…

He grew worse. 

He was always destined to become a slag on human and wolf-kind, a raging disappointment with only intermittent glimpses of genuine kindness to spare for his barren soul. If he, too, was convinced of his innate despicable nature, then gladly would she retake the mantle as his disciplinarian and resolve to beat the sin out of him. 

On the ground, they wrestled for dominance. He threw dirt in her face and rammed her into a pile of gravel. She kneed his stomach and heeled her palm towards his nose. He bit her ear and popped her shoulder out of alignment; she clawed his arms. So severe was their tunnel vision, they paid no notice to the third party interweaving herself between their tussle of flailing fists and indecipherable, growling curses. They did not hear her pleas to stop; they did not register the recipient of their errant punches, elbows, and swipes. 

They did not hear what was coming for them.

The rumble of thunder did not warn Bronwyn amply enough to retreat. She comprehended her position too late, when a rippling shock petrified her to the spot. The nightmare flashed. No, not a nightmare; reality! A supercharged current assaulted her veins in waves of burning shivers. She seized; she gasped for air. The lightning had found her! 

The shocks subsided. Sensation returned to her scalding limbs. She turned her head to the side, checking to see if her brother was similarly affected. 

Hadwin’s bloody grimace curled with delight.

Hyperventilating from the encounter, she did not take heed of a Gardener’s helping hand until he’d forced her to stand.

“Nah, I’m good,” she heard Hadwin say to the third Gardener who sidled to his aid. He rolled to his feet, shaky from the lightning’s aftereffects, but unharmed, apart from the bloody scratches up his arms, the busted lip, and the faucet of blood leaking down his nose. He wiped off some of the blood with the back of his hand, but recoiled, as though from a residual shock. “Looks like I’ll be carrying a charge for the next hour. Well I’ll be, Elly!” He shifted his undivided attention to the unintentional conjurer, “you’re a Rigas caster, after all! Fucking hell, that was a rush. Do it again!”

She, however, gave all credit to the Night Garden for the attack, going off on how it punished wrongdoers for disturbing the peace. “Yikes; denial.” He swept back the sections of his hair that stood on end, picking up additional bits of static. “This ain’t my first fight in the Garden. I never got zapped, before. And hells, why would a tree zap us and not, I dunno, impale us with vines or induce sleep? Care to weigh-in, Gardeners?” He tilted his head at the three who had gathered, but they withheld comment to focus on the injured trio. For the second time, Hadwin waved off their aid. “We’ve already established I heal right quick. See?” He stretched open his nostrils, affording them an unnecessary look inside. “No more bleeding.” Waving goodbye to Elespeth as two Gardeners ushered her to the sanctuary, he glanced over his shoulder at Bronwyn, who, overflooded with fear, had yet to respond. He gestured to the remaining Gardener. “Take her to the infirmary, though. She’ll recover right quick, too, but she’s gonna need something for her nerves. Poor dove,” he laid a mocking hand against her cheek and whispered into her ear. “You’re in shock. How wonderfully poetic--in more ways than one.” 

Chara’s “urgent” need to see Alster did not yield anything screaming of emergency, but her impromptu meeting was of importance. Since his departure to Nairit, his cousin had taken up dual responsibilities as advisor to Queen Lilica and as Rigas Head. Now that Alster was showing hints of a full recovery, she was ready to saddle the brunt of responsibility back onto his shoulders. In the emptiness of the council chamber, they pored over parchments of reports on D’Marian happiness, village construction status, and other, miscellaneous Rigas matters--a boring but necessary slog that somehow seemed palatable in the sanctuary, but was unbearable when seated at a long oak table, fierce blue eyes judging your every dictation and signature. 

Thankfully, the paperwork took no longer than an hour to complete. Alster, thoroughly exhausted (and grateful for Chara’s leniency), stumbled out of the chambers en route to the sanctuary. Midway, his legs ground to a stop in the hallway. Something seemed...off. An air of contention settled over his heart and blossomed into a sudden physical assault on his body. Dull pains bloomed at his ribs, his face, his sides, phantom energies that did not result in injury, but ached all the same. Before he launched forward to investigate who was inflicting harm on Elespeth, a jolt of familiar electricity rattled him from within. Why is my magic--? He tried to dispell the rogue sensation, but it faded on its own. No, it was not his magic. It was coming from elsewhere. The Night Garden. And it was emanating from Elespeth. 

With his faulty feet, he kicked into a half-walk, half-run, a skewed and unbalanced gait requiring his hands to hug the palace walls. Out of breath, he emerged into the Night Garden, his heart hammering in his throat. He did not stop on the garden path; he wheezed and stumbled, sandy-blood streaks of hair sticking to his sweat-soaked forehead. At last, he reached the sanctuary door, catching his breath before entering. Two Gardeners were beside Elespeth, applying salve to surface level cuts and bruises on her chest, arms, and bottom lip. Closing the door shut, Alster took a seat on the chair beside her bed, looking on in concern.

“Elespeth,” he said, once able to speak. “What happened? Are you alright? It felt like people were bludgeoning you with fists. Who did this?” She assured him that she was not the victim; rather, she stepped in between Hadwin and Bronwyn’s fight and suffered some collateral damage until the Night Garden intervened with a wave of paralyzing magic. “The Night Garden intervened?” He hovered a hand over his chest. “I felt that, too, El. But...it was celestial magic. I don’t think the Night Garden has...that was my magic.” With care, he placed his flesh and blood palm over her hand. “Something is humming in you right now. It speaks with the same frequency that I’ve grown so familiar with over the years, since my magic first awakened. Except, unlike before, when you’ve accessed it through our bond, it isn’t something you’re borrowing from me. It’s coming from you.” His hand traveled to rest tenderly over her chest, minding her bruised ribs. 

“How do you feel? Are you ill? We’ve established your magic tolerance is quite weak. When you’ve used my magic in the past, it’s rendered you pale and nauseous. But now...you look fine. Are you fine?” The concern lined in his face broke enough to allow for a small smile. “I think...you’ve inherited some of my magic, through our transfer. This is...this is unprecedented.” The smile bordered on excitement. “But worth investigating. I’ll have to ask Isidor for his opinion but, stars, Elespeth,” he took his bewildered wife in his arms gazing at her in awe, “this is a wonderful development! My heart, it’s shared with you the gift of magic. It is your own, now! Perhaps it’s through my connection to the Rigas Blood seal. I’m not sure. It’s too early to start planning, and I know I’m getting ahead of myself, but--if what I suspect is true, we’ll have to train you straightaway!” 

“I...can see how much this symbol resonates with him.” Turning away from the carving in the cradle, Tivia headed to a table in the farthest corner, where, on display, animal sculptures ranging from small to large littered the counter. From a chipmunk, its cheeks stuffed with acorns, to a sparrow, fluffed up and fat with feathers, they all had one thing in common: the three-pronged symbol featured somewhere on the wooden toys. “He might not be aware of what he’s doing--an unconscious decision on his part, but,” she overturned the chipmunk sculpture, the symbol emblazoned and gouged into its underside, “he’s imbuing his essence into everything he creates, using this symbol as his signature. The field of his protection grows--but it is only viable, here. Close to the Night Garden.” 

She traced the symbol on the sparrow’s wing and set it down next to the chipmunk. “I implore you to visit the trees of your children. It’s necessary to establish a connection to their special ancestry. The Night Garden has blessed your children because they were born on its soil, yes, but also because of their father. His seed creates trees, but the Night Garden fosters their growth. Were they not born in Galeyn,” she hesitated, “they wouldn’t have thrived or...survived. No children he sires will survive unless they’re birthed in a place of power. A sacred grove, where nature reigns over the destructive whims of man. This,” she nodded at the cradle, “is why Klara’s namesake died. Her mother did not give birth to her in the sacred groves of the North. She did not make contact with her tree. Weakened and sickly, she could not grow--so she died.” 

“Well, here we are,” a loud voice sounded from the back room--a little too loud, considering the twins were asleep. As the now armorless commander crossed into the main living quarters, he readjusted his voice and glanced apologetically at the babies, who shifted in response to their father’s volume--but did not awaken. Rejoining Vega and Tivia, he presented the indigo tunic, neatly folded and pressed, in case, above all odds, Sigrid should return for it. “If possible...I don’t want to bloody it too badly for her.”

“I’ll try not to.” Tivia, still in her seer’s trance, reached for Haraldur’s palm, which he’d already sliced open with a knife. She tilted it, squeezed a few drops into her cupped hand, selected a small, inside corner of the tunic, and smeared the blood in a hard-to-see area along the seams. Closing her eye, she gripped the bit of fabric in her blood-coated hand and concentrated. As occurred during her search of Hadwin, the sky in her mind’s eye opened up, displaying the arrangement of stars as viewed in that particular location. It was not too dissimilar to Galeyn, geographically. “...mid-way between Galeyn and Nairit,” she managed, after a long period of uncomfortable silence as she tried to scry for a more accurate reading. “It...it is harder to pinpoint, I’m afraid. She’s not in a city, or anywhere near one.” Fortunately for Teselin, the conscious aspect of Tivia thought, with some measure of relief. “A forest. She’s in a forest, on the banks of a river. That is far as I can discern. I’m sorry. You will have to rely on the nose of that disturbed hound to do the rest.” 

“No--this is more than we knew of her whereabouts, before. Any lead, however small, is indispensable to us. And this is no small lead, Tivia. Thank you,” he accepted the tunic from Tivia and bowed his head in gratitude. “You’ve also been able to confirm...that we are related by blood. Though,” he shared a sad smile with Vega, “would it have mattered, if she’d known, Vega? Before she...left, she told me, blood or not, we’re like strangers to each other. Blood doesn’t make the family. Knowledge of this wouldn’t have kept her here. Not at all.” 

After Tivia recuperated with a tin of water Haraldur offered her, she, her trance slowly fading (and her energy depleting), stood up to take her leave. “I...I must rest, before embarking on my trip to the farmhouse, tonight. I do hope this was truly helpful. I,” she gazed across, to the sleeping children, “perhaps I could visit, again? When they’re...awake?”

“Of course.” Laying a supportive hand on her shoulder, Haraldur gently led her to the entryway. We know where to cast our eyes, now. Please rest, Tivia. And note--you are welcome, here. Whenever you’d like to visit.” He glanced sidelong at Vega, to confirm if she agreed to his proclamation.

Sending the wide-eyed, blushing Rigas caster on her way, he closed the door, waiting until her footfalls faded down the hallway before sighing away his polite smile. “So we’re actually related…” He draped the indigo tunic over his arm and squeezed a ball of cloth into the hand that bled from his self-inflicted wound. “And it hasn’t done her any good.” He slipped into the next room to deposit the indigo tunic. When he returned, his uninjured hand glided over the three-pronged rune he’d carved into the twins’ cradle. “What were you and Tivia talking about, before?” By the somber look in his green eyes, he had his suspicions as to exactly what they discussed outside of his hearing range.

It had never been her fight to begin with, and in hindsight, Elespeth knew she shouldn’t have gotten involved, but… A part of her just couldn’t help but wish that the two Kavanagh siblings would reconcile. Truthfully, she wasn’t even sure what had spurred her to so foolishly interfere, in her condition. Perhaps, deep down, she felt the need to protect the sanctity of the Night Garden and prevent it from becoming a place where chaos could thrive. It was impossible to spend so much time in a single place and not care about preserving its integrity as a haven of healing, however much she yearned for the day that she would be permitted to exist and live her life outside of it, again. Or, more like it had something to do with this newfound desire to connect with likeminded people--more specifically, Bronwyn.

For all she loved and cherished Alster’s company, it had been quite some time since the former knight had basked in the company of another level-headed fellow woman who had the time to lend and ear, and give unbiased feedback to what she had to say. Despite her rather rocky history with Hadwin, Elespeth had found herself taking to Bronwyn fairly quickly. In the absence of Vega, who was far too preoccupied with her children (and rightfully so) to pay her visitations, and Sigrid, who had lost her sense of reason long before she’d fled Galeyn, the former knight had unconsciously found herself missing the notion of simple friendship. Just speaking with the faoladh woman for that brief period of time in the Night Garden had offered her a sense of catharsis that she hadn’t thought she’d needed. Confiding in an unbiased ear about how she missed her family, how she struggled to regain and reconstruct her identity in the shadows of all of her misdoings, had almost felt akin to letting an infected wound drain. Though those problems were far from finding solutions--and it was still up in the air as to whether it would be a sound idea to confide in Alster, particularly about how she pined to reconnect with the part of her that was still a Tameris--somehow, voicing them aloud made them feel less like psychological burdens and more like opportunities for change that needed to be addressed. In short--she liked Bronwyn, and liked what she represented, or… what she could represent. A sound person to talk to, and one who was no more acquainted with her husband than she was with her. And, however selfishly… she didn’t want to be wrong about her.

Hadwin was right. She hadn’t known his sister for more than the better part of an hour, and had no insights into their history. Perhaps what he’d said about her was true; the faoladh woman certainly hadn’t spoken up to deny any of it, although Elespeth still maintained that it was possible he wasn’t remembering correctly. Ultimately, the former knight couldn’t deny that she liked Bronwyn, and she wanted to continue to like and to trust her, even if it would not prove to be a lasting friendship. And for that reason, it had so pained her to see Bronwyn fall to Hadwin’s ridiculous bait that she couldn’t help but throw herself right into the fray of his chaos to try and prevent damage, or to at least make Bronwyn snap out of it and see things clearly again.

At this point, as the two of them sat in the infirmary with minor injuries, Elespeth began to fear that whatever camaraderie they had developed in the short time they’d spent in one another’s presence was destined to be short-lived… and all because Hadwin had to get his digs in with his sister by making her potential new friend appear ‘threatening’. And what hogwash! Clearly whatever it was that the faoladh siblings “smelled” on her was a result of her proximity to her husband. She was not magically inclined, and she never had been, so why in all creation would he pull such a ludicrous lie out of thin air? Was he really so inclined to aggravate his sister that he had to pull the former night into it and colour her shade that Bronwyn didn’t favour, as if to cause some undue animosity between them?

Elespeth wanted to talk to her; to clarify that Hadwin was, in fact, completely full of shit, and to communicate that she understood the woman’s brother had only been stirring the pot. Unfortunately, Bronwyn hadn’t been in a good way since the Night Garden had seen fit to punish their little scuffle. It was almost as if the poor woman had gone into shock… and over what? She had seemed so nervous upon asking Elespeth about her husband’s magical potential, and even more shaken up upon Hadwin’s suggestion that she herself might now possess some magic, as a result of the procedure that had saved her life. What had happened to Bronwyn that elicited such a visceral fear of the magical world…? She couldn’t even ask her, because the faoladh woman wouldn’t respond when she tried to speak with her. 

Eventually, she gave up, and sat quietly with a cold cloth pressed to her swollen lip until her husband returned. Of course, he was visibly concerned with her sorry state; she hadn’t looked nearly so rough when he’d left her with Bronwyn to stroll the Night Garden. “Oh… you could feel it?” The former knight smiled apologetically. “Sorry. I hadn’t intended to end up like this… Hadwin decided all was too peaceful and decided to incite his sister.” She sighed and nodded to Bronwyn, who sat silent upon a cot on the other side of the room. “Honestly, I could have been a lot worse… I don’t think I could have possibly stopped them, in the end. We got lucky; the Night Garden decided to step up and put an end to their shenanigans. Kind of like… a really powerful shock. But, well, at least it worked… whether or not it is to Bronwyn’s benefit.”

That seemed to have piqued Alster’s interest. She could practically see the gears turning behind his eyes as he considered what she had told him, and then offered his own take on it. “Well… how are we to know the Night Garden isn’t imbued with celestial magic? Healing properties seem pretty celestial to me; though notably, I’m not magically inclined, so I can’t say for certain.” Except, for a second time in only an hour… someone else was impelled to deny that the former knight wasn’t magically adept. And this time, it was not Hadwin, trying to get a rise out of his sister. It was her own husband.

“Really, Alster? You are starting to sound like that herb-addled faoladh with more brawn than brains.” Elespeth shook her head--an action she quickly regretted, as she was quickly assaulted by a wave of vertigo. “Don’t be ridiculous. You know I don’t have magic. I can’t tolerate magic; I couldn’t tolerate yours when I borrowed it, or when I absorbed it into my body. It almost killed me, remember? I was unconscious for days. Can you imagine what sort of state I would be in if I possessed magic?” She frowned and expelled a breath in a frustrated huff. “What do you think I feel like? I feel like I was pummelled--because I was. And I guarantee that has nothing to do with magic, and everything to do with the fact that I was stupid enough to get involved in a sibling dispute when I was anything but ready for a fight…”

The cloth she had been holding to her swollen face had grown warm far too quickly, and no longer provided any relief from the swelling or bruising. The Gardeners had reassured her that the salve, accompanied by spending the night in the sanctuary, would take care of all of that nicely. “Of course you’re feeling something in me. I was just shocked by the Garden’s magic. I feel heated from the inside out. You’ll probably feel the same thing in Bronwyn… I know what the Garden can do, Alster. Look what it did to Vitali? To Lilica? It isn’t incapable of doing harm, even if that harm is for good…” Before she could get another word in, the Rigas lord gathered her in his arms and pressed him to his chest. She tried not to wince at the sudden pressure on her bruised ribs, but that wasn’t the only reaction from which she refrained. Why was Alster not only so sure that she had magic, but… happy about the change? It hadn’t mattered in the past that she was not magically inclined; after all, she was a warrior, and not a mage. But, from the glee in his voice and the hope in his eyes… It was almost as if he liked the notion of a magically inclined Elespeth Rigas than one who was mundane.

“Alster… stop.” The former Atvanian noble gingerly pulled back from his arms to sit upright upon her cot, favoring her left arm, which Bronwyn had unwittingly jabbed so hard she’d temporarily lost feeling in that hand. “You are far too ahead of yourself, and you are not… it isn’t rational. I’m sorry, but whatever it is you are feeling isn’t ‘magic’; at least, not magic that I possess. Whatever residual energies you are sensing probably came from the attack. It really shook us all up…” She glanced at Bronwyn, who was hugging her legs with her chin on her knees, and hadn’t said a word since the Gardeners had brought them to the sanctuary. “There is nothing to investigate. I’m just the same Elespeth I’ve always been… well, with the exception of a slightly longer life. But that is beside the point.”

Aching from the inside out, and feeling uncomfortably hot from the charge the Night Garden had sent through her body, Elespeth carefully laid herself back against the pillows and draped a hand over her eyes. She hadn’t felt this bad since the last time she’d imbibed in far too much grog and suffered a hangover that would take most grown men off their feet for hours… “I’m sorry if that is… disappointing to you, but can we maybe let it go? If I didn’t know better, I would say you and Hadwin are in on some scheme to make me feel like I’m losing my mind. But you aren’t one for schemes.” A small smile curled at the corners of her mouth, but it didn’t get far before pain shot through her busted lip, and she grimaced. “What a waste of a day… I feel like absolute rubbish after that ridiculous skirmish  when I was trying so hard to feel better. The Gardeners said it should pass by morning…” The former knight blew air from between her lips and finally asked, “I hate to be a bother, but could you retrieve a cold cloth from that basin? It’s unbearably hot in here. And… maybe see if you can offer something to Bronwyn. She wasn’t the one who instigated the fight, and…” She lowered her voice so only he could hear. “She hasn’t said anything since what happened in the Night Garden. Something about it completely terrified her… I’m rather worried.”

“I… I don’t know if it would have mattered to her.” Vega looked down, suddenly unsure of how well she really knew Sigrid. Truth be told, the guilt she harboured was not just for the way she had treated Tivia, nor for leaving her brother and Eyraille without any warning or notice, but also for the way she had treated Haraldur’s family upon meeting her. And even after she came to realize that not only was the former Dawn Warrior exclusively romantically interested in women (and was therefore no threat to her relationship with Haraldur), but also happened to be Haraldur’s potential kin by blood, she had toted her rank and noble standing over Sigrid. Just as all Sordes did: to make a point. To make it clear that she was not someone to be crossed. She forced her out of her comfort zone to attend a ball she had no interest in witnessing… so was it really any wonder that she had so little insight into what influenced Sigrid’s behaviours? At one point, the Dawn Warrior had seemed so determined to find a place in Haraldur’s life… but had that changed? “I think… there was a point when she wanted it to be true. When she wanted to know for certain that she was your kin, because connecting to family was important to her. I think… that changed, when she found out the truth about Gaolithe. She wasn’t sure what mattered anymore, beyond… well, beyond Naimah. But…” She placed a hand on her husband’s arm and smiled. “We will find her, and when we do, we’ll remind her why she wanted to know you, in the first place. She may not know it or believe it right now, but she won’t heal without us. Not without her family or friends.”

When Haraldur returned from tending to his self-inflicted injury, his question took her off guard. It hadn’t occurred to her that she might have to be the one to explain the heavy load of information that Tivia had bestowed upon her with her uncanny abilities. But now that he’d asked… it wouldn’t do any good to deflect the topic. Not when she suspected he already knew. “The twins. Tivia said they are… strong. And well-protected. Something to do with this symbol that you have carved into almost every single thing in this room…” She ran her hand over the wooden chipmunk, and the three-pronged sigil it bore, identical to the one Haraldur absently touched on the cradle. “And she said…” Her throat tightened, causing a hitch in her voice. Turning back to the cradle, the Eyraillian princess gently touched her son’s round, pink cheeks; the little prince didn’t even stir. “She said the children… wouldn’t have survived, had they been born in Eyraille. That the Night Garden has blessed and nourished these children since before they were born, and that is why they thrive. Haraldur…” Her eyes were misty with tears threatening to fall when she looked at her husband again. “Had I not left Eyraille… none of us would have survived. Myself, the children… you wouldn’t have had a family to return to. This is why I dreamed that the babies would be born here, in Galeyn. This is why I knew, against all odds, that I must come here…”

Vega blinked the tears from her eyes before she became to overcome with emotion. While she failed to mention what Tivia had said about Haraldur’s inability to sire children without a connection to some sort of sacred grove; a place of power. What would it benefit him to have such vague and confusing knowledge of his fertile potency? Or to know his beloved sister had died because her mother had not birthed her in the right place? “She also said… that there are two new trees, in the Garden. They have sprouted for each of our children. Both Klara and Kynnet have a tree… and I am not sure what that means, or how to find it, but… perhaps, you will know.”

Taking both of her husband’s hands, mindful of his injury, she searched his face for understanding. “You’ve said that you feel connected to the sentinel tree in the Night Garden. That you have even heard it ‘speak’. And you laughed when I said that whatever magic our children have, they inherited from you, but what Tivia said… I think I was right. That your existence is more than mundane, and that means… so is Klara and Kynnet’s. Do you think…” She paused, pressing her lips together thoughtfully, hoping that  what she was about to ask would not sound entirely ludicrous. “I wonder… if you would be able to find their trees. Tivia said we should visit them, but I wouldn’t know where to begin to look. Although, if it is true that you are somehow spiritually connected to the trees… maybe you’ll know them, inherently, when you see them.”

Alster was riding on an ebullient cloud, too high off the ground to notice Elespeth’s agitation and disquiet. His mind burst forth in a gurgling river of imaginary scenarios too numerous to parse through individually; they agglomerated into a messy mosaic projecting the future. Elespeth possessed magic! It was magic she somehow gained through their transfer, a magic once belonging to him and which she now could claim as her own. No longer did she have to wield it through the conduit of her enchanted sword. Celestial magic weaved through sections of her healing heart, and it hummed with radiant energy. His energy--no, their energy. They, twin stars in the night sky, shared more than their hearts, their souls, their spirits, and their bodies. The universe cast down the final line, linking them by magic, too! Together, they would share an activity. A commonality, at last--something that drew them into a more inseparable team. He could regale her with magic theory and she’d listen; they’d spend all hours of the night practicing and celebrating her progress and learning to appreciate each other on an entirely different level. It rang of bliss. 

The thoughts of how to proceed forward with Elespeth’s new gift temporarily overtook his obligations to reality, and to the present and therefore most relevant version of his wife. “It’s fortunate we caught it early, El. Buried magic presents its own complications, due to the nature of it being, well, buried. People who are unaware of their gifts can carry it around for years--decades, even, and they’re none the wiser. But magic doesn’t like to stay buried. Having no outlet to drain, it will retaliate, sometimes wreak havoc on the body. Of course, if one’s magic tolerance cannot handle their gift’s demands, it can also wreak havoc...as you’re well aware--and I’m well aware. I’m only able to keep Marianna’s disease at bay because I’ve made a pact with the Serpent. I know this is a lot to take in, but magic needn’t be scary. You couldn’t be in better hands; not to flaunt my worth, but magical matters are my specialty, and I’m most glad to teach you the ways of celestial magic. You’ll have ample support and guidance, I promise you.” he unloaded his torrent of verbal vomit not to Elespeth, but to the future construct alive in his fantasy conjurations. That version of Elespeth nodded her understanding, acceptant of the daunting but exciting prospect of her celestial acquisition. He opened his mouth, ignoring his lungs’ need for air in favor of launching into another dissertation, but one word from the real Elespeth gave him pause:

Stop.

“I’m sorry; I’ve gone on quite a tangent, haven’t I?” He slid his arms off Elespeth’s shoulders and sat back in his chair. “I know I shouldn’t overwhelm you, but I’m--” in his transition of perspective, from close-proximity to a close but observational distance, he caught the obstinance weighing heavy on her brow, the stress pinching the corners of her eyes taut, and the folds of rejection pulling her cupid’s bow mouth into a dour frown. A mighty gust of wind dissolved his saccharine fantasies in one swift motion. 

“You...you don’t believe me.” He visibly wilted in his seat, remembering the ever-present ache in his overexerted muscles. “No...you don’t believe yourself. Elespeth...I was there when the Night Garden enacted its ‘punishments’ on Vitali and Lilica. Both times, I never once felt the slightest nuance of celestial energy. Celestial magic is not known for its healing proficiency. The reason you think that is because I’m an over-achiever,” he attempted a humorous smile. “No--it’s considered an invasive magic. It runs counter to terrestial energies, to earthen, chthonic, and nature energies such as what proliferates in the Night Garden. It is a force of heaven, the vastness of the universe. Stars, planets, cosmic storms. Oblivion. Infinitude. This, I need you to understand. The Night Garden does not have this kind of energy. I’m not lying to you.” His eyelids kneaded downward, half-closing with the hurt of her accusation. 

“I’m not in league with Hadwin. I have nothing to do with whatever it is he said to you. I haven’t even spoken to him since his return. Why would you think that I would intend to drive you mad, El?” The hurt blossomed, from his eyes to the sorrow laden in his voice. “I’m on your side. I’m always on your side. I’m not here to cause you unnecessary distress. I’m trying to help. I’ve only ever wanted to help you. But...I see that you’re not ready to talk about this, yet, and I’ll respect your wishes.” Carefully, he rose from his chair to wring the water out of a clean cloth by the washbasin. Brushing away the stray strands of hair from her ashen forehead, he draped the cool cloth over her brow. “You’re beginning to look peaky--and you’re getting hot with fever,” he tried to strain the worry out of him, but his worry for Elespeth persisted for well over a half-year and was impossible to extricate. When magic first manifested in a person, it did not always arrive clean. Elespeth, with her history of intolerance, was no exception. “Please rest. I’ll leave you alone, but I’ll see to Bronwyn before I go. Just promise me you don’t try to step between another fight in my absence--especially a fight with wolves.” He didn’t need to say that by ‘wolves,’ he also meant Rowen, a thinly veiled suggestion to forgo her search party efforts until the healers deemed her recovery satisfactory. It would not be tomorrow. 

He excused himself from her bedside, making no further fuss, understanding how much she abhorred it when he hovered. It was best to give her space. While he did not mind their almost exclusive company together for weeks in the sanctuary, she...was likely growing sick of him. 

I’d grow sick of me, too, he thought, forlornly. I’m insufferable company…

Bronwyn lay in an infirmary bed two aisles away from Elespeth, showing no signs of visible injury, thanks to her faoladh regeneration. But regeneration did not heal the scars brought about by trauma. Whatever the eldest Kavanagh sibling suffered, it did not have a salve or an instant cure. She rested her elbows over her knees and stared out the window opposite her bed. By the glaze in her dark amber eyes, she was reliving something particularly brutal. She shivered as though experiencing aftershocks of the attack in the Night Garden. 

“Bronwyn.” Alster quietly slid forward, offering the woman a tin of water. “You seem parched. Please have something to drink. And,” his steel hand dragged over a woolen blanket from the foot of her bed, “this will help to keep you warm.” He smiled gratefully when her fingers reached for the proffered water tin, but she paused, delaying the action mid-air. Her eyes blinked from the window and settled on him.

“You...are you Lord Alster Rigas?” she began, speaking with deliberate apprehension.

“Guilty,” he rolled one shoulder into a disarming half-shrug. “You can call me Alster. Everyone does.”

Slow recognition dawned on her. “You’re Elespeth’s husband.” 

“Also guilty--but with no regrets attached.”

“So,” she lowered her hand, rejecting his offering, “you have magic. Complex magic. It smells thick in the air. Lightning...it clings to you like it clung to her on that night...the night that everything went wrong.” She recoiled at his nearness. “Don’t come closer. With all respect--please leave.” 

“I--”

“--Please!” Her eyes burned fiercely. “Leave the cup on the table and go. ...Thank you. You’re a good man, and you have control. I can see that--but it doesn’t matter. You lot are dangerous. Stay away from me. You, and your wife, and her,” she did not name the ‘her’, but Alster suspected who she was referencing,’ “and them. Keep magic...away from me.” 

“I’m...sorry to hear that, Bronwyn.” He set the cup on the end table, as instructed. “And I’m sorry that magic hurt you. There’s nothing I can say at this juncture to change your mind, but I hope, one day...you’ll find a friend in me. And in Elespeth; it sounds like she’s taken to you.”

“I’m here for Rowen,” she pressed her forehead against her knees, blocking him out of her sight. “No one else. Now please go.” 

His heart heavy from the dual rejection, Alster nodded his compliance and slunk silently out of the infirmary, cowed and useless. His magic was supposed to help people; it was his best redeeming quality. Now...it put people ill at ease. Elespeth denied the strongest parts of him. Bronwyn feared it--feared him. Feared Elespeth by association. And feared...Teselin. That much was apparent by the whispered utterance of ‘her.’ In the faoladh’s eyes, Alster fared no better than the summoner. He could not blame her for lumping them together, especially if Bronwyn had seen something Teselin had unleashed during their travels. Nonetheless, it cut him deep, to feel so outed based on his magic. While it was needless to take things so personally, it was too late to stop the onslaught of his self-piteous thoughts. Presently...the existence of his magic made everything worse.

Aiming to be productive, he resolved to shake away the wallowing as he headed for Isidor’s chambers. It took a few knocks for the Master Alchemist to answer. At first thinking he was preoccupied with studies, or elsewhere, the defeatist in him turned to go, figuring he was not meant to succeed in anything he did today. But the door clicked and swung open, and Isidor stepped through the threshold. By the other man’s tense expression, he expected someone else, though Alster couldn’t tell if the “someone else” was an unpleasant or a pleasant guest.

“Good afternoon, Isidor,” he greeted, with a stout, tight smile. “If I’m interrupting important work, I’ll call upon you later. It looks like there’s someone you’re waiting to see.” 

The alchemist, saying nothing of his eagerness to house Tivia in his study, did mention that he made the “acquaintance” of Hadwin earlier and was not looking forward to a return visit, which would be inevitable, but he didn’t know when.

“Ah. So you met him. But you survived it! He’s been making a stink of things all morning, so you’re not the only person he's targeted. May I come in?” At the alchemist’s permissible nod, Alster entered, immediately apologizing as he hunkered down on the seat closest to him. “I’m not used to walking, or physical activity of any sort, but this morning’s sure given me the runaround.” He pulled a handkerchief out of his pouch and wiped his perspiring face with it, focusing on the brow, the upper lip, and the cheeks. “I won’t waste too much of your time, but I’ve come with an inquiry--and news of a curious development. I wasn’t there to see it, but Elespeth performed...magic, in the Night Garden. She denies it, convinced that the Garden punished Bronwyn and Hadwin for fighting each other--oh right, did I mention she tried to break up a physical altercation? The wolf is surely making up for lost time by stirring up as much chaos as possible.”

He hefted a sigh. “I’m assuming he told her he smelled magic on her, because when I detected readings of celestial magic--celestial magic that once belonged to me--on her energy signature, she accused me of working in concert with the faoladh to drive her mad. But if Hadwin smelled it, Bronwyn smelled it, and I can detect it, then I’m not mistaken. She’s denying it, but...somehow, through the transfer of our heart cells, she acquired some of my magic.” He glanced upwards at Isidor. “I know you’ve never performed this operation before, but is there a likelihood that the patient could end up receiving something ‘extra’ from the donor? Or,” the metal fingers of his prosthetic hand clanked as he lowered his head in thought, “I hypothesize that the strength of our blood bond facilitated this secondary exchange. I do possess plenty of magic; I suppose it isn’t so unlikely that some of it leaked into her, if our union is so unbreakable. Our souls interweave and overlap, so...naturally, magic was certain to follow, from one stream to another. Though,” he dropped the handkerchief into his lap, “what does this mean for her, Isidor? She does not have the tolerance for magic. Unless she’s also inherited the tolerance, going forward, any manifestation of energy is bound to make her sick. And,” he threaded his hands tightly, as best as one could, with metal on flesh, “I’m afraid we’ve cycled back around, to the beginning. From heart sick, to magic sick...and I’m the idiot who was so elated about discovering her newfound proficiency. I’m,” he picked up the handkerchief and twisted it, “awful…”

Haraldur’s perpetually tired face drew-up with guilt. He didn’t like to be reminded of how imperative it had been to birth the children in Galeyn. For his unsupportive role, his self-imposed isolation, and subsequent suicide, he paid the price for rejecting his family over some nonsense about her risky, but necessary flight to Galeyn. Now, according to Tivia, it was not only the mother who would have perished, but the twins, as well? 

“I see,” he responded in a drowned whisper. “So I would have lost you, again. I would have lost them. So close was I...to having an actual reason to die. And if I had my way...I’d be condemning you all. This whole time, maybe I haven’t had bad luck...I just made bad decisions. I caused my own misfortune. That would be unsurprising to learn of myself. That it’s me. That it’s only ever been me--and that you’re, as always, right.” His smile did not spark his eyes, but rather, dulled them, paining his face instead of brightening it. He removed his hand from the cradle. “I guess that’s why I’m carving this symbol on everything I can find. It’s a...precaution as well as a comfort. Like my necklace, I always believed it protected me, and...I extend that protection, even if it’s for my own peace of mind and nothing else. At least it sounds, by what Tivia said...like I’m doing something right, for once.” 

He replaced a blanket over the huddled forms of the twins, who, in their shifting slumber, had kicked it aside with their tiny feet. He froze at Vega’s mention of trees for the children sprouting in the Night Garden.

“They...what?” His brow folded in unease and in confusion. “I...I don’t know what that means, either. They each have a tree? I’m not…” he stumbled back a step, his fingers seeking the chain around his neck. They traced the contours of his wedding band, the embossed lines of the tree, its three-pronged branches stretching towards heaven. “My mother was a witch, but she was human. My sister talked to trees...but she was human. The mongrel says I don’t smell human...but I’m human. Our children are human. This, whatever is happening...it’s the Night Garden, not me. I have a connection to the sentinel tree because I woke up from death in the Garden. It sensed that my mother was a nature-worker...and that’s...that’s the whole of it. Whatever I’m able to find...the twins’ trees have sprouted as a celebration to new life, just as the plants of the deceased--of Naimah and the others--also celebrate life. I have nothing to do with it. The twins may have inherited the magic I once had...but…”

But…

He had no answer. Nothing made any sense. Asking Gardeners yielded vague responses. Sometimes people could hear the spirits of nature, and since awakening on the leyline, his life renewed, his connection to the sentinel tree was not unusual. The twins and their trees...it was a blessing from the Night Garden. Only a blessing.

“I...I will look for them,” he concluded, after a few moments of still, immovable silence. “If the sentinel tree wants me to find them...then that’s what will happen. But I...but for now,” he forced a shaky, unconvincing smile, “let’s try to enjoy the beautiful gift our sleeping children have bestowed us. Quick, before they wake up...let’s use this opportunity...to sleep.”

Ever since Hadwin’s impromptu visit to his room, Isidor had found it near impossible to relax, or to return to that blissful headspace that permitted him the concentration to research plausible solutions for Tivia’s troubles (even if the Rigas woman had yet to accept his offer to help). He couldn’t believe what he had promised the wayward faoladh, especially considering the man hadn’t so much as batted an eyelash to inform him that he didn’t think anymore more of him than he would the dirt under his boots. Now that it mattered to the Master Alchemist what he (or anyone else) thought of him--they weren’t the reason he was here. At least… that was what he told himself, over and over, even if it was rather a far stretch from the truth. But what really had him shaken was the fact that he had willingly agreed (offered, ing fact) to explain to his younger sister he hardly knew that her fears were a reality. That there was no safe, feasible way to separate herself from the magic that so plagued her, not without it resulting in her death. It shouldn’t bother him: he hardly knew her, and it wasn’t as though she really expected him to have much of an involvement in her life, but all the same… being the bearer of bad news was not his strong suit.

For a good part of the afternoon, the Master Alchemist paced his room, fretting over finding the right words for when his sister would inevitably ask for his help. Were there any ideal words when it came to shattering someone’s hopes? While it was not quite the same scenario, he rather felt it akin to explaining to a terminally ill patient that they hadn’t much time left. Complete loss of hope translated across any number of situations, and knowing how desperately young Teselin clung to the possibility that he had the answer to her problems… what would it do to her? Would she spiral in a pit of despair? Would she end up hating him? Or, for that matter… would she end up hating Hadwin, a beloved friend, for knowing for so long that she wasn’t entirely human without telling her?

People were not Isidor’s strong suit; that being said, neither were people’s feelings. This was a grey area that he had never truly wished to have to adapt to, but ultimately, it was his own fault for thinking he could live a truly sheltered life from all of the hardships socializing had to offer. He had put himself in his situation; he had agreed to come here, and against his better judgment, he had agreed to take the fall so that a man who didn’t even like him didn’t have to. Logically, this was the best solution: if Teselin came to resent him, at least she would still have faith in the faoladh with a questionable moral code. She wouldn’t be alone, she would have support, and he… well, he preferred being alone, anyway. Company made him nervous, more often than not, and he had spent the better part of his life alone in a tower. So, really, what did alienating anyone matter…?

Although, if that were really the case… then why was he so beside himself, just thinking about it?

A knock at the door early in the afternoon startled the Master Alchemist from the miasma of thoughts contributing to his tunnel vision, and for several moments, he considered pretending that he did not hear. If it was that faoladh, he wasn’t sure he had the mental stamina to go through another horribly awkward exchange with him. Or, worse, if it was Teselin… No! Not her… I don’t have the words yet! I don’t know how to explain, or if it will make sense, or if she is even willing to believe it…

Isidor stopped himself mid-thought when it became obvious to him how he was staring at his chamber door in fear. Hadwin had said that people did not like him because he was ‘forgettable’; that he made such an effort to erase himself from their minds and mitigate his presence that they did not feel safe to trust him. And, like a vicious cycle, their mistrust only further encouraged him to keep away… So just how long would he entertain this ridiculous fear of his door? Of who he might be forced to speak with when he opened it?

Before he could think too hard on his decision, he crossed the room, and opened the door to find Alster standing shyly at the threshold. He let out an embarrassingly audible sigh or relief to find it was neither Hadwin nor Teselin seeking his company… “No… no, Alster, you aren’t interrupting anything. There honestly isn’t anyone I am waiting to see. I was nervous that maybe you were Hadwin… although,” he flashed a self-deprecating smile. “I guess I was foolish to think that. If the man’s entrance earlier was at all indicative of his character, he wouldn’t have bothered knocking.”

The Master Alchemist stepped aside to let Alster inside, before closing the door to allow them some privacy. Whether or not whatever the man had come to discuss was sensitive information, Isidor was himself a private person, and respected that others might not want their discussions open to other curious ears. “I hope you did not over-exert yourself just to come see me… If you ever deem it necessary, I am happy to leave this room for a bit and come to you. After all, you and Elesepth are the reason I am here.” He offered a kind smile. “What can I do for you? Are you ready to discuss what can be done about your arm? I haven’t spoken with your metallurgist yet, but I’ve been tossing around some ideas in my head...”

He was not here about his arm, though. Isidor lent an ear to the Rigas lord’s concerns, of a rather curious development that had occurred with his life. A rather noteworthy development, at that, and one that even someone as experienced in his craft as Isidor had not anticipated: Elespeth had magic. And the only way he could gather that that were possible was due to some side-effect of the procedure on her heart…

Isidor rubbed the back of his neck. His skin began to grow uncomfortably warm. “I… well, I cannot in good faith say that was has happened with your wife is not a result of what was done to save her life. There are theories about magic and how it is inherited, and exactly where it resides within the tissues of the body. Some theories stipulate that it has nothing to do with physiology and everything to do with what we consider to be ‘the soul’, which may yet be true for some cases, but… in your case, I think we may have found confirmation that it resides on the cellular level. For that is the only part of you that now contributes to the fabric of your wife’s heart: your healthy cells. I cannot speak for the psychic bond between the two of you that you spoke of, but of late, the only changes to Elespeth have been to her heart. It may not be the direct cause, but… it certainly sounds as though it was ultimately the catalyst.”

An obvious flush, one of embarrassment, crept up the alchemist’s neck and cheeks. “Alster, I apologize that this was not something I had anticipated… With a procedure such as the one performed on Elespeth, there is always a high chance of inheriting a myriad of other side effects from the ‘donor’. This was why I insisted you must be optimally healthy: so that you would not pass on any potential disease or illness on to Elespeth that might otherwise compromise the success of the procedure. But magic… that wasn’t something that I had considered. I can only hazard a guess, given my inexperience with magic, but I agree that between your bond, and the fact that your healthy cells are what are healing her heart, it created--well, for lack of a better analogy, the ‘perfect storm’ for what you have described to occur. But… let us not get ahead of ourselves.”

Moving toward his desk, Isidor picked up a quill and dipped it into ink with one hand, while the other scrambled to find a piece of clean paper. “When you say she has an intolerance… can you describe that? What has happened in the past that has made you aware of it? What does it look like?” As Alster explained the details to the best of his ability, describing the way Elespeth’s body responded to the invasion of magic in much the same way it would to infection or disease, and how it had threatened her life when she’d absorbed too much of it, the Master Alchemist took detailed notes to organize his thoughts. “And just now, when you saw her… how was her health? I suppose that would be difficult to judge, if she tried to break up a fight in her recovering condition…” He paused, adjusting his spectacles as he considered his notes, before turning back to Alster. “I realize she is probably resting, but may I see her for myself? I’ll have a better idea of what is afflicting her if I can do it in person. And if this magic really is a threat to her health, then I promise, we will find a way to rectify it.” After all, it is not as if she needs the magic to survive, he thought, as he and Alster left the vast room together. Not like Teselin… Elespeth’s is a case that I do feel like I can solve.

It had been a little under an hour since Alster had left, and although she had promised to rest, the former knight couldn’t find it in her to sleep. Though feverish and sore, and with a hint of nausea that she only attributed to not eating enough that day, Elespeth felt oddly restless. Like there was something inside her that wanted activity, that wanted out… and she refused to believe it had anything to do with magic. Who wouldn’t feel stir crazy after being confined to a bed for as long as she had? After some time, since rest wasn’t doing any good, and the cloth on her forehead had grown warm just a moment after Alster had put it there, she stood up from her cot, fighting off a wave of dizziness. Earlier, she thought she’d heard Bronwyn exchange some… strange words with Alster, to say the least, but she couldn’t be sure. Her mind was foggy and her memory largely unreliable, and she was still concerned for Bronwyn. The way the faoladh woman curled in on herself, afraid of some invisible enemy… What had happened to her to make her so petrified of the notion of magic?

“...Bronwyn?” She took a few cautious steps towards the other woman’s cot, her own pale face lined with concern. “Are you alright? I thought I heard… you say something to Alster, earlier. What happened in the Night Garden obviously terrified you… but I promise, you can trust Alster. If magic is what you fear, I guarantee that you won’t find anyone less inclined to do harm with his magic. In fact, he has aspirations to specialize in healing magic, not offensive magic…”

Bronwyn visibly tensed--and for a moment, Elespeth could not grasp why, until she realized she had drawn closer to the other woman’s cot, upon Bronwyn frantically exclaiming and demanding she step back. But… why? What had she done? She’d been under the impression they were making amicable acquaintances… was it to do with something Hadwin had said?

“Bronwyn, I don’t have magic.” She tried not to sound crestfallen; if only Alster hadn’t gotten too excited over nothing… Now he and Hadwin had Bronwyn terrified of her, and for no good reason! “I’m from Atvany; from a family of knights, in fact. Not mages. I’ve never had magic; I am as ordinary as they came. The Night Garden retaliated, but… it isn’t a reason to fear it. It’s a place of healing. I think it only meant to remind you and your brother not to harm yourselves…” When her reasoning did not appear to be resonating, but only making things worse, she took a single step back. “Even if I did have magic, Bronwyn, I’m not a violent person. I wouldn’t want to hurt you… why would I? I remember what it’s like, stepping out of your element and into a myriad of magic users… believe it or not, I was there, not long ago. When I met Alster…” She hazarded a smile, but it didn’t seem to make a difference. Her heart sank when Bronwyn, having had enough, jumped up from her cot and dashed out the door. “Bronwyn--! Wait!”

Sadly, it wasn’t as though she could chase after her. Even those few steps away from her cot left her feeling light-headed, and her knees felt weak enough to give out. Unsure as to whether she could make it back to her own cot, the former Atvanian warrior took a seat on Bronwyn’s and looked down at her hands. What was going on? Why was everyone suddenly so convinced she possessed magic? “It wasn’t even me… it was the Garden. The Night Garden…” She spoke, but there was no one around to listen. Bronwyn had been a good listener… for that short period of time that Elespeth thought they might be friends. With Vega always busy with and exhausted from her children, and Sigrid now gone, she was out of options in terms of a confidant who wasn’t Alster. There were just some things she had learned she could not confide in him, for fear of breaking his heart, or making him feel inadequate… like her family. The way she wanted to see them again, and yearned for a way to reconnect. Once again, she found herself very much alone with those burdens… and the stupid thing was, she didn’t have to be.

All because Hadwin was too bitter to let his sister find a safe acquaintance… and her hopes of making a connection outside of the Rigases and Galeynians were dashed.

Upon Alster’s removal from the infirmary, Bronwyn kicked away the woolen sheets and pushed aside the tin of water, wary of magical contamination. However mundane the objects the Rigas Lord had touched, he’d made contact, transferring whatever potential energy hissed from his magically-inclined fingertips to the affected surface. Whether intentional or not, Alster had marked his surroundings with his essence, and it stank of ozone--same as Teselin, same as Elespeth. It was better to avoid the territory the Rigases and their similarly gifted ilk tread, accepting from them no food, water, homey comforts, or a helping hand. Not when there was no guarantee their helping hand would not seer your flesh with lightning, or annihilate the landscape beneath your feet. Bronwyn was done weighing her chances; everyone she encountered in this cursed kingdom epitomized instability. If not mental instability, then definitely an imbalance of the thaumaturgic kind. 

It was not her fight. They were not her people. Hadwin was not her people, and yet she was foolish enough to nearly chase him off a cliff because she believed he mattered, as her brother. Foolish enough to ally with a girl and not inquire about her sordid history with wild, world-breaking magic. Foolish--and desperate--enough to trust the first person she’d eyed in the Night Garden. And who was responsible for every steaming pile of bad luck that she’d stumbled into, unawares? 

Hadwin. It was always Hadwin. Associating at all with the irreparable faoladh portended one’s ultimate undoing. No one in his questionable company survived the ordeal alive...or sane. He might have saved a few lives, but a few selfless acts didn’t mend the fabric of his damaged soul. He was hateful, wrathful, callous, and immoral, caring for nothing but his own sick fetishes and pleasure. His involvement lost her a potential friend. His involvement wiped a city off the map. His involvement ruined her sister...and killed her mother. If Teselin’s grief would have destroyed Apelrade regardless of Hadwin’s survival...what if she’d failed to save his life? If he’d dropped from the cliff and disappeared into the ocean...would they all fare better, without him? Rowen didn’t start her spate of killings until recently, whereas, Hadwin had always been rotten to the core. He was responsible for so much more than a few key murders in Galeyn and Braighdath. Who Galeyn really needed to eliminate...was him. Perhaps his death was necessary to lift the shroud of darkness from Rowen’s bleak perspective. To kill him was to set her free, and Rowen also knew as much; it was why she gutted him.

If only she could do the same…

She jolted out of her dark desires when someone called her name. Lifting her chin from the cradle of her knees, she scanned ahead, and her eyes met Elespeth. The astringent smell of ozone assaulted her nostrils; she held her breath to block out the offending odor and its associated memory...of jagged, frenzied burning from the inside. While her rancor did not hang as thick as her husband’s, it was not subtle, either. Distinguishable and a little sickly, it stood apart from Alster, boasting its own, unique signature. Why did she dismiss her senses? She was so eager to associate the smell of magic to her husband, that she denied the ugly truth. Elespeth possessed magic, and by nature of its fledgling power, she had no control over when or how her new lightning ability would strike. 

She tucked her legs into a tighter, more defensive ball and crushed her back against the wall. “Elespeth--stay where you are!” She bared her teeth, exposing her full canines. “I’ll tell you what I told your husband: leave...please.” 

As Elespeth ventured to explain just how unmagical she was, citing the Night Garden as the perpetrator of the attack. 

“For fuck’s sake, Elespeth, it wasn’t the Night Garden!” she roared, lashing her full-bodied ire directly at the source. “If it’s so concerned about healing people, then it wouldn’t have used a lightning attack on me! So get that inane notion out of your head. It was you. It is you! If you can’t come to terms with it, then you’re even more of a walking disaster and if you think I’m going to stick around when you have another incident, well...this is my answer!” 

She scrambled out of bed, pointing her feet towards the exit doors. “I won’t say it again. Stay away from me. Keep your husband away from me. You belong with the magic-users, now. You’re a Rigas, like you wanted to be.” 

Facing the doors to her freedom, she sprang off her feet and fled, refusing to glance behind at the woman who she’d hurt, and who’d unintentionally hurt her. But as she learned from Teselin, intent meant nothing when equipped with explosive pockets of unpredictable magic. Elespeth did not mean harm, and neither did Teselin. Yet...magic did not care. It was a wellspring of chaos. It was Hadwin; immoral, selfish, impulsive...and it would take what it wanted, intent be damned. 

About two hours later, Alster returned to the infirmary, Isidor in tow. Before entering, he peeked through the crack in the doors, mindful of disturbing Bronwyn’s rest. She’d made it quite clear she did not want to see him and he would cast a wide berth to honor her wishes. But her cot was empty, and when he inquired to Elespeth about her disappearance, he learned that she’d flung heated words and run, with a high probability of never returning. 

“I’m so sorry,” he sat on the edge of her bed, glancing at Bronwyn’s vacant space, her sheets and water untouched. “I...we,” he corrected, tentatively, “shouldn’t take it too personally. She’s obviously terrified of magic--lightning, especially. Whatever happened to her, it seems like a recent trauma. She might have mentioned Teselin to me--not by name, but by her actions. She said that lightning clung to her on that night. The ‘night that everything went wrong.’” He twisted in his seat to face Elespeth and Isidor, keeping the sound of his voice contained within their area. “While her energy manipulation is practically limitless, her magic typically manifests in the form of freak natural disasters. It could be Bronwyn bore witness to a particularly nasty electrical storm. It’s happened to Teselin, before, and...bound to happen, again. Her magic is emotionally volatile. Through recovering Hadwin from...well, to be frank, a suicide attempt,” he frowned, “it’s possible that she...lost control.” He exchanged a thoughtful look with Isidor, remembering how the alchemist confided in him the curiosity of Teselin’s composition. She was not fully human. Though born out of a mother’s womb, the other half of her genetic structure remained...unknown. She had no biological father, no biological ‘other’ from whom to inherit. It was as if she were born out of pure, entropic energy and tied to this earth by a human construct. She existed, essentially, as a free-will golem of wild magic. An arbiter of chaos.

“But,” he squared his shoulders and straightened his spine, lest he hang over the bed like a weeping willow, “we can investigate the peculiar goings-on of ‘that night’ later. For now,” he gestured up at the alchemist, the silver birch to Alster’s weeping willow; papery white, twig-thin, and altitudinous, “I know I said I’d give you some space, Elespeth, but I’ve spoken with Isidor and he wanted to see you, personally.” So as not to alert his wife on the nature of the Master Alchemist’s visit, he encapsulated the true reason within another, equally viable reason. “When the magic shuddered through you, before, El, the ensuing reaction may have agitated your heart. Isidor wants to check on your condition to see how you’re faring. Will you allow him a look?”

On the grounds that he would behave and not stir trouble of the violent or physical kind, Hadwin was allowed to stay in the Night Garden. Really, it didn’t matter where he chose to waste the day, so long as he was equipped with a pipe and the space to wander--but the large oasis wedged inside the white-washed walls of the palace provided the most accessible territory for mindless gallivanting. In the claustrophobic kingdom of Galeyn, beset with more restrictions, barriers, and checkpoints than a Mollengardian class fortress (a fair comparison, considering the Forbanne and their militant love of structure), the Night Garden was the last remaining bastion of freedom; or rather, the illusion of freedom. He was free, after all; free of his meddling sister, free of respect, free of himself--for a price. Uncaging Hadwin Kavanagh meant that someone was bound to get their leg chewed off. And at viewing his handiwork, it reinforced the belief that he was some good-for-nothing scoundrel who thrived only when he inflicted misery on others. Sabotage of the mind was his special skill, and to veer towards the path of benevolence invited misery for himself...because then he cared about the suffering of others. And when he cared...people did not survive. He was too fucked-up to care properly, and it was always his hapless victims who foundered--not him. 

Too preoccupied with his thoughts and his pipe, Hadwin stumbled upon a white rose bush, the one-fourth that comprised the memorial garden. It was an area he expressly avoided. Who wanted to visit a graveyard that reminded him of how his unconditional love set off a series of violent murders? Of how his fucked-up version of caring toppled a queue of dominoes that kept on falling, and falling, and falling? 

“They gave you a fucking rose bush,” he muttered to the plant which undeniably represented the memory of Cwenha. “What a crock of shit! It should be a bushel of thorns speckled with tiny roses the size of fruit flies! But folks see what they wanna see, and they didn’t wanna see the thorn shaped as your middle finger.” He removed the pipe from his mouth. “It’s all moot, anyway. Funerals are bullshit; they always wanna remember the good parts and not the bad. But whatever. You’re down there and I’m up here. Were it that we switched places. I wonder how people here would memorialize me? What plant they’d choose?” A corner of his lip turned upward, exposing one pronounced eyetooth. “Something dazzling, flashy, bold. An assault on the eyes. Alluring and powerful and too fucking obnoxious to ignore. Close-up, though...it’s some rotten fungus. Stinks like shit, and its spores...well it’s too late for you if you’re the sucker to inhale ‘em. You’ll end up some pretty little unassuming plant in the ground.”

A residual shock from Elespeth’s assault snapped and popped between his fingers. A shortlived glimmer of life, snuffed. “I’m envious of you, Cygnet. In the end, you got what I always wanted. Hells, I helped you get here. You better fucking enjoy it. If you don’t, feel free to pull me under and suck out my life-meat for yourself. I’ll put up a fight, for appearances...but I’ll go down. And don’t give me any guff about abandoning Briery, either. She’s...goddammit, she’s,” he ripped one finger out of its socket, relieved by the snap and pop and shock. The desperation in his brow smoothed. He took another puff from his pipe, gazing at his broken finger. “...I wish she hated me, y’know. It’d be so much easier. I wouldn’t have to see her in my nightmares...whispering that she loves me. It’d be easier for her, too. Wherever she’s at…”

He didn’t finish whatever musing pulsed on his pipe-heated tongue. A distinct smell alerted him to a visitor, who straggled the Garden paths without pep or purpose. He turned as Teselin approached the memorials and smiled his usual devil-may-care smile. 

“Ah, chickadee; were you looking for me? Or coming to pay your respects? Can’t say I’m doing any respect paying, but...I’m on a roll, today, so might as well desecrate the dead with my words, too.” 

He flexed his fingers; they all moved fluidly, with nary a broken one in sight. Little pains weren’t enough to mollify him. If only Elespeth could seize up his insides, again! “Yeah, I am on a roll. Flat-out told Isidor I didn’t like his face and I broke up a promising friendship between Brownling and El by inciting a fist-fight. It left the two of them very shaken up. So, let’s keep the downhill momentum going, shall we?” While his tone flitted with an air of flippancy, his eyes told a different story; they glinted in apology, in regret. They softened, drifted, faded. 

“Kid...c’mere.” He draped an arm around her shoulders and guided her from the memorial patch to a denser, less-trammeled side-trail. Under the cover of sound-dampening palm fronds, he revealed his truth. “So remember when I smelled tree off Papa Sorde? Said he wasn’t fully human? Well, he’s not the only one. I smell it off you, too, Tes. Something...else. You’ve got human traits, but they don’t comprise you as a whole. But your unaccounted for, mysterious, non-human half...it’s unquantifiable. Like a universe of magic jammed inside a shell of human flesh and bone.” His grip loosened into a gentle touch. “I’ve known something was off about you since I met you. As if a bolt of lightning’s forged you into being. But I never told you. Not like there was anything significant I could tell you. So, I went and asked your idiot savant brother for some details, which he so eagerly provided. The short of it is that he confirmed my suspicions about you. If you want those details, he’ll tell you straight what he knows. I warn you, though; it ain’t pretty. You won’t like it one bit, what you’ll hear. Because, aside from your unconventional origins, Teselin,” he met her eyes with tenderness, to help soften the blow, “you’re a being made of magic. You’ll die if any part of it’s removed. Isidor can’t expunge it from your body. It’s the same as taking the wolf out of me. Can’t be done. We’re integral to each other. True for you and your magic, too.” He lowered his arm, severing their physical contact. “I’m sorry, kid. Get the story from him if you’re hurting for some answers. The short of it is you’re stuck with your magic. Isidor wanted to be the one to dash your hopes and dreams by telling you, sparing me from bearing the bad news, but...I don’t trust he won’t melt into a puddle of his own piss if he’s the one to do it. Besides, like I said,” his smile was tinged with sadness, “I’m on a roll.”

Elespeth struggled to absorb Bronwyn’s cutting words, like a stone did to water. It sounded so foreign to her; like she was trying to understand a language with which she was not familiar. What was going on? It was happening so fast… Just a handful of hours ago, the former knight had felt her spirits uplifting with the promise of something new. A new companion, someone who seemed not so different than her (well… aside from the fact she could turn into a wolf), someone who might understand that part of her that she knew, no matter how hard she tried, would not fit in with the Rigas crowd. After all, Elespeth Rigas was only an honourary Rigas, one lucky enough to marry into the family and gain all of the rights and privileges that accompanied such an affluent last name. But deep down, at her core, she would always be a Tameris: a knight, a warrior, a connoisseur in the art of the sword… but not a mage. She was not a mage, she did not--could not--possess magic, and yet… and yet…

Hadwin was one thing. Anything he said had to be taken with a grain of salt, and even then, it was more likely for him to open his maw to stir trouble than to divulge truths. But Alster--and then Bronwyn… Alster was not a liar. She knew that with as strong a certainty as her love for him. At best, he withheld truths, but he never twisted them. Never spun thread from silk that didn’t exist into bold-faced lies… And then, Bronwyn. Elespeth was not well-acquainted with the woman: she had hoped to be, but it seemed those hopes had lost their footing, now. However, the former knight liked to pride herself in being a relatively good judge of character, and she had taken to the faoladh woman quickly for her reasonable demeanor and well-intending attitude. Bronwyn Kavanagh was not an enemy; and she did not seem particularly drawn to the dramatic, like her errant brother. So then… why had she exclaimed, so dead-sure on what she sensed, what the former Atvanian now possessed magic? As someone who appeared not to act on irrational paranoia, but rather as a result of what she tangibly saw and sensed, what reason would she have to so boldly accuse Elespeth of now being yet another player in this vast group of magic-users?

But I’m still me. I’m not dangerous. I’m still the same… Perhaps if she thought it enough, it would be true. Perhaps they would all be mistaken, and somehow what had occurred between her and the two faoladh siblings would become unveiled as an act of the Night Garden, after all. Yet the more she thought about it, the more that possibility seemed farfetched and implausible. Ridiculously enough… it might not have been so hard to swallow, had it not been for Bronwyn’s visceral, vehement reaction. As if the chance that she had magic was just as bad (if not worse) than carrying a highly contagious plague. But Elespeth wasn’t violent. She wasn’t someone who sought to do harm, and even if she had magic… Even if by some chance, it were true… did that really make her someone to fear?

When the sanctuary door creaked open, the former knight looked up, hoping (in vain) that perhaps Brownyn had returned. That she’d only needed a moment to cool off, to come to her senses. That she was back to apologize for the outburst, for making Elespeth feel like she was too dangerous to be around… It was Alster, though; and Isidor, who nervously followed with the sort of smile that suggested he wasn’t sure whether or not he should really be here, or whether he even wanted to be here. “Alster--and Isidor.” She greeted them with a nod, temporarily snapping out of her despondent daze. “I… ah, no. Bronwyn… isn’t here. I don’t think she will be back.” Somehow, she managed to maintain a stoic expression that hid the sting of the faoladh woman’s parting words to her. “She seemed very… distressed. I do not know what happened to her, but it must have involved magic, because… Ever since Hadwin planted the seed in her mind that I have spontaneously acquired magic, she is now afraid of me. And of all of you--Rigases, magic users… she is terrified. I am worried for her.” Concern knit her brows together as she stared out the door. Even for the woman’s hurtful words, she couldn’t fault her for her fears; she was still an ally, in Elespeth’s mind, even if that feeling was not mutual.

As Alster went on to explain that he suspected it had something to do with her search for Hadwin, accompanied by Teselin (whose magic was known to be volatile and unstable), a sense of understanding fell into place. Teselin… of course Bronwyn was terrified of magic. If Teselin Kristeva was her first exposure to the magnitude of such energies, then was it little wonder she absolutely couldn’t trust anyone who was slightly--or even just potentially--magically inclined? “I wonder… what must have happened. When they went to look for Hadwin…” She furrowed her brow thoughtfully, trying to grasp at what she knew of that venture--which, admittedly, wasn’t much. “Hadwin seemed… well, more off than usual. Whatever happened…”

She shook her head slowly, before averting her attention to Isidor, who had been standing awkwardly back until Alster permitted him an in. “I am truly sorry to disturb you, Elespeth; I know you must need your rest. Might I just take a quick moment to ascertain the…” He hesitated, as if having trouble finding the words. “I only mean to check the condition of your heart. You are looking rather feverish; I want to make sure nothing has gone array with that… well, whatever happened when, uh…”

“It’s fine, Isidor.” Elespeth expelled a slow breath. The man was harmless--and helpful, even--but she was beginning to understand how and why some could so quickly lose their patience with him. “I am not feeling my best, to be honest… do whatever you need to do.”

“Of course. Ah… I hope this is alright, um, with your heart being… I-I’ll need to--”

“With all respect, Isidor, please just do what you need to do.”

“Right! Yes. My apologies.” Hot in the face with the visible flush that had crept into his cheeks, the Master Alchemist slid a long-fingered hand just beneath the collar of her tunic, to rest it directly above her heart. He did not longer for long, however, whether for the obvious discomfort it caused him, or because he had what he needed to know relatively quickly. “Perfect. Everything seems to be just fine. Not to worry, though--I think I can craft something to relieve you of these symptoms. Shouldn’t take me long. I, ah--Alster. You know where to find me, should you need me.” Within those words was the thinly-veiled request, Come and find me later, before Isidor Kristeva quietly and respectfully took his leave of the sanctuary, and the couple within.

Elespeth watched the Master Alchemist leave, closing the door quietly behind him. A pensive, somewhat despondent expression settled on her pale features. For a moment that lasted too long for comfort, she finally settled her gaze on her lap. “It had nothing to do with my heart, did it?” She did not have to look up to see the confirmation in the apologetic look she expected to be mirrored in Alster’s eyes. “It’s magic. Hadwin wasn’t trying to fuck with me; he wasn’t trying to fuck with Bronwyn, either. I’ve got… somehow, I’ve developed magic. I’ve…” She sat with the unspoken word for a moment. It sat uncomfortably on her tongue. “...changed. Isidor is a terrible liar. As kind a soul as he seems, Alster, I wouldn’t entrust him with anything you don’t want other people to know.” Her lips curled into a sympathetic smile. “Look… it’s alright. It’s just a lot to… take in. To believe. And… I’m sorry I did not believe you, earlier. It was not my intent to call you a liar… don’t feel as though you must tiptoe around me, though. I’m not so fragile, you know.”

Pressing a hand to her brow, which was still warm with fever, Elespeth rubbed her eyes with the ball of her palm. For someone who’d only so much as strolled through the Night Garden, that day, she looked positively exhausted. “I think Isidor’s parting words were code for wanting to speak to you. Go and talk with him. And please, stop worrying about me. Whatever is happening to my body now can’t be life threatening. He didn’t seem particularly concerned; if he was, I doubt he’d be able to hide it.”

When Alster agreed to return shortly, and relay to her what Isidor had in mind to ‘treat her symptoms’, as he’d so put it, Elespeth settled back onto the cot and turned on her side to face the steel pitcher of water that her husband had left to keep her hydrated. And for the first time in months, she stared into the reflective surface, searching for that other Elespeth--the one who pointed fingers of accusation. The one that had wanted her to die. The one who was still inextricably connected to her family, back in Atvany…

And for the first time in months, that Elespeth did not show her face. And Elespeth Rigas did not know how that made her feel.

Isidor had not made it far from the sanctuary when he heard a familiar voice call his name, and was struck with surprise to find Alster had come to find him so soon. “Alster. Well, that was rather fast--don’t over-exert yourself! I’ll slow my pace.”

He stopped to let the Rigas caster catch up, offering his arm to help him steady himself on his feet, which were missing the optimal number of toes. “Well, I can tell you with a fair bit of confidence that I do not believe Elespeth’s life is in danger, due to this unprecedented development. What I felt was akin to a transitional phase. Something--well, magic, has awakened in her, and her body is struggling to reconcile what it once considered toxic. My educated guess--based on what you have told me of her past reactions to magic--is that her physiology is trying to fight something that isn’t actually doing her any harm. At worst, what she is experiencing is just a small setback and inconvenience.” Pushing his spectacles up his nose, the Master Alchemist offered the Rigas lord a reassuring smile. “Here are my thoughts: if you can have Elespeth’s primary physician draw some more of her blood, I will create a serum that will temporarily dampen her immunosufficiency. Were it anyone else, in any other place, this would be risky; it could put the individual at risk for any pathogens or disease they might encounter. But in the Night Garden, I would think Elespeth would be perfectly safe. Over a period of time, we can lighten the dosage, until her body is sufficiently acclimatized to this… change, at which point, it will no longer be necessary for her to take it at all. To be honest, I think she will start feeling better almost immediately; once her body stops fighting itself.”

He thought it was good news; something that was not only feasible, but which he believed had a promising success rate. And yet… Alster did not seem particularly uplifted. “Is that… does that plan ring as sufficient to you? If it isn’t preferable, I can try and come up with something else, but…” Alster stopped him mid-sentence. This wasn’t about Elespeth’s prognosis: it wasn’t about something that Isidor could fix, at all, in fact. “...she knows, doesn’t she? I’m sorry. I am terrible at lying when it matters.” Isidor sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I am sure it must be a shock to her. This change… I wish I could offer a solution for your wife’s mental discomfort. But she is growing well, again; her heart felt so strong, Alster. Surely, this shall pass. With your support, it won’t feel so unfamiliar to her for long…”

Having faith that Haraldur would find a way to convince Tivia to divulge Sigrid’s whereabouts, soon after her encounter with the Eyraillian prince, Teselin made for the Night Garden to search for Hadwin. She’d overheard a couple of Gardeners murmur something about a ‘fight’, and, of course, there was no one else she could think of who would have it in them to instigate a fight in the Night Garden, of all places, than her beloved faoladh. To her relief, he was not difficult to find (and did not appear to be in bad shape; not physically, anyway). Hadwin was crouched near the memorial rosebush planted in honour of Cwenha’s life: talking to it, as if the rosebush could hear him. And perhaps it could, if any part of Cwenha’s consciousness somehow remained in the beautiful shrub.

“Hadwin.” As always, the young summoner only had a smile for him. But she did not get a chance to reveal the stirrings of her plan to search for Sigrid, before he began to divulge secrets of his own. “You...said what to Isidor? But Hadwin, why? I told you he doesn’t have that kind of emotional stamina…”

If only that were the worst of it; truth be told, Teselin had suspected he wouldn’t be able to hold back from showing his worst to her brother at some point in time, but… she honestly hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. “Well… we can work that out, later. I heard something about a fight… are you alright? What about Bronwyn and Elespeth? What exactly happened, Hadwin? There had to have been a reason…”

Whatever the reason, her knowing would have to wait, because Hadwin had something far more important to tell her, it seemed. Something that she never would have been ready or willing to hear, no matter the time or place.

Teselin let him talk. She listened to every word, to the way they sounded, and how they all played a part in a narrative that frightened her as much as it saddened her. Not human… something else. I’m something else. And there was no hope of her being anything other than what she was--lethal magic and all. She was chaos, embodied, and there was no unweaving that tapestry. Existence, or death: those were her choices. And anyone could agree, they were not choices, at all.

“...you talked to Isidor. And that was what he told you? What he… confirmed?” Her hands were shaking. To stop them, she knelt with her back to a vast treetrunk and squeezed them between her knees. Everything suddenly felt surreal… like this couldn’t possibly be reality. “You’ve known something, all this time, but you… you couldn’t have helped me. How could you, if you didn’t know what was off? If you couldn’t put your finger on it?” No; she couldn’t be angry with him. What good would it have done her for him to tell her what he did just now, at any point in time in their past, together? What was the point of bringing up a problem if you didn’t have the details to suggest a solution?

But, Isidor…

“And Isidor… he knows, as well? He was able to discern this much in our limited contact together? ...when was he going to tell me?” The young summoner’s cheeks grew warm and wet. How long had she been crying…? “He knew what I was going to ask him… I made it obvious. But he has been nervous around me from the very beginning… is this why? Because he doesn’t know what I am? Because he fears what he doesn’t know, and I’m that very definition of what he fears?” It wasn’t Isidor’s fault; it was hers. She, who had built up both of her brothers in her mind as being so much greater--so much better--than they actually were. Who was she trying to fool? Why would someone like Isidor want or care about having a relationship with a sister he has never known, and even moreso if she wasn’t even human?

It wasn’t his fault; and yet, when she thought about how he--a specialist in anything and everything material--hadn’t said a word to her about this… it angered her. And for once, Teselin Kristeva needed someone other than herself to be angry at.

“What is the point on learning the details if nothing can be done?” Her voice, strained from quiet sobbing, was little more than a whisper. “How am I the only one in this universe without a single hope, Hadwin? Vitali was not my answer. I was so sure that Isidor--he’s brilliant. He should be able to find some solution, were I to ask him… that’s what I thought. But I guess it doesn’t matter. Not if he would rather sweep me under a rug and avoid me like a mess he doesn’t want to clean up.”

She lifted her hand to wipe her dark eyes dry, tresses of inky hair sticking to her reddened cheeks. “Tivia was right. I am the stuff that destroys worlds. Bronwyn is right to fear me. But you… why aren’t you running from me, given what you know? Why do you stay, if the wrong slant of light could cause my magic to destroy you?” The young summoner turned to Hadwin, her wide eyes swimming with sadness and confusion. “I can’t be good for you. I’m a confirmed danger to everyone within a city-wide radius… it would be safer for everyone were I to leave. I don’t see… I don’t think there is another solution.

While Alster did not ask Isidor to outright lie to Elespeth, he suggested, prior to their arrival at Elespeth’s bedside, not to mention the magic-related reason for the visit. As he should have suspected, the alchemist’s attempts at playing along had failed miserably, and it was all Alster could do not to nudge him in the elbows to cease talking altogether. After Isidor’s egress (more of a hurried shuffle than a proper exit), the Rigas Lord admitted his guilty hand, knowing such an unconvincing act would not fool Elespeth.”

“I merely didn’t want to cause you any upset,” he said, clanking his boots together idly. Even the sound of his left foot thudded more hollowly and loosely for its lack of substance. “But...yes. It’s about magic. I know you don’t believe me, but…” he raised his head in surprise as Elespeth reconciled the truth out loud. “I...I understand, El. It is a lot to take in and I’m sorry for my...inappropriate outburst, earlier. I incorrectly assumed you’d be happy to hear you’ve inherited some of my magic. Many ungifted people pay their life’s fortune to undergo controversial procedures in the pursuit of magic. And just as many die as their bodies reject the foreign intrusion. The Clematis healers of St. Thorne, for example, initiate healers into their sect through ritual. Their magic is acquired, they claim, by the benevolence of the Eight-Colored God. Elias is no exception; his magic is not by birthright. But he chose to join the Order and to be a healer. You,” he smiled sadly, “you did not choose this, El. You didn’t choose to acquire magic. You’re a knight, not a mage. But we shouldn’t limit ourselves with surface-level identifiers. You’re Elespeth before you are a knight, a wife, a mage...or a Rigas, that’s for certain," he elected for a chuckle. "Even I struggle as a Rigas. Perhaps I should also try to identify myself beyond my magic, or my name. Though...I suppose I’m afraid of what I’ll find there, once I strip myself to the barest constituents of myself. Free of magic, I always wondered if I’d have a purpose. But you don’t have to worry about that, Elespeth. You’re gaining something. By gaining, you lose nothing of yourself. Nothing gets pushed out. I assure you, there’s room to hold the entire spectrum of Elespeth.” 

Squeezing Elespeth’s knee affectionally, Alster rose from the edge of her bed, wobbling slightly to equalize his balance. “Don’t feel like you have to tiptoe around me, either. Contrary to how I appear or react with my feelings firmly smeared all over my sleeves, I’m also not fragile. So if you need to talk, I’m here to listen.” With promises to return shortly, Alster nodded his farewell and headed out of doors. He soon caught up to Isidor, whose long legs moved stridently along the Night Garden path.

“Ah--I managed to catch you before you traveled too far,” he wheezed, half out of breath. “Do not slow...on my account. I assure you, I need the exercise.” 

The two of them compromised and readjusted their pace to a leisurely walk. Once Alster achieved his optimum balance, he found an easy rhythm in his movements and did not struggle half as much as his previous attempts to put one foot in front of the other. 

He listened as Isidor analyzed his wife’s condition and posited the most viable option to proceed. “I am in agreement, Isidor. Indeed, what's happening with Elespeth rings similar to other case studies I've read, where the patient’s immune system tries to flush out invasive magic. But, so long as she has the tolerance to house it on her own, there shouldn’t be need for drastic expulsion of any sort. From my sources, extraction is horrendously agonizing, though the stories I hear come from Mollengard’s torturous methods of extraction via special crystals exclusive to their nation. Your method, at least, is humane, and she won't lose what she's gained. This is a sound plan. To be certain, I will clear things with her physician, and ask for his opinion before we commit. How long do you surmise she will have to take these suppressants? Because,” he glanced nervously over his shoulder, whence he came, “I can guarantee she will not respond well, upon hearing that she requires a great deal more bedrest in the sanctuary. She has my full support, yes, but even I am no match for the thing she desires most: freedom to go wherever she pleases.” He overturned his left hand, and a little starburst of light danced blinked its radiance on his palm. “I fear she’ll grow to resent her magic if it delays her recovery and her release for another fortnight or so.” 

Hadwin slid to the forest floor and joined Teselin beside the tree. His pipe, which had smoldered and died sometime during their walk to their private forest haven, sat useless in his hand, a chestnut paperweight in his hand, bereft of its primary function. Dumping the ashy detritus out of the bowl, he pocketed the smoking implement. With his now unburdened hands, he wound them around her wrists, as he’d done in Apelrade, when the world pieced apart and splashed into the sea. He expected her to crumble, so he steadied the shivering of her body and held her together. By her power, cliffs fissured in twain and lightning shaved off rooftops, but she did not have to fall in a similar fashion. Not if he hefted some of the burden. A ridiculous notion, really. Moments earlier, he equated himself to a poisonous mushroom which rendered its spore-infested radius toxic to the people drawn to its appearance. Now, he supported a girl who he’d long thought could do better, in terms of company. By regaling to her the unfathomable list of misdeeds and malfeasance he continually inflicted, she’d eventually come to realize the man she destroyed a city to save should have sundered beneath the waves, and she’d cut ties with him of her own accord. She’d reach out to healthier alternatives, like Alster or Isidor, people with the likelihood of helping her, and he’d disengage, assured in her association with the idealists and not the opportunists, who only knew how to take and not give. But, in an amusing twist of expectations, Teselin directed her anger not at him, but at Isidor. Despite his future plans for the summoner, he was not disappointed in who she chose to resent. He may talk the talk, but in the end, he didn’t want Teselin to despise him. He should have known better. It would take a lot more than withholding the inconclusive details of her scent profile to trigger her hatred. 

“Isidor knew,” he nodded in confirmation. “When I first met him in the hallway the other day, I saw he was afraid of you, that it had something to do with your origins. Made him uneasy; squicked him out. So I cornered him this morning to ask what’s up, and he fessed up. The man’s a coward but he committed to telling you the truth. Didn’t even need to wrench that promise out of his scrawny arse. He offered it up, free of threats from yours truly. But who knows how long it would’ve taken him to drum up the courage to spit it out? So, consider yourself informed...somewhat. And hey,” he pressed his forehead against hers, “it’s fine to be angry at him--fine to be angry at me, too, if you feel so inclined to spread your aggravation to multiple sources. Can’t believe I’m defending him, but that lout’s suffering some severe arrested development. He’s got so little basis in human nature and social cues that of course he’s firmly rooted in flight mode when things get too overwhelming and scary. We just gotta beat it out of him, is all. I’ll gladly help. Together, we’ll get him to own up to his fears about you, yeah?”

Teselin’s tears did not cease flowing. They puddled beneath her eyes in salty pools of despair. “Hey, hey, chickadee,” he cooed, wiping away the overflow that gushed down her cheeks, “I haven’t given up hope on you yet, y’know. How can I, when you believe a cad like me’s not too far off the deep end to yank back to the surface? I was gone, Tes. Reached my rope--but you extended my rope, and I climbed it, to see another day. So--I’m not giving up on you, either. We can’t eliminate your magic, but we can make it easier to control, and our resident problem solvers are gonna help. I’ll make them help.” 

When asked why he continued to stick around, he raised a bushy eyebrow and chuckled, a low but pleasant vibration of good humor. “Is that a serious question, Tes? I should be asking you the same thing. I’m no good for you and yet you’re still here. Shockingly, I must be doing something right. And...I’d be a piss-poor excuse for a daredevil if I couldn’t hack it with your magic. It’s a hazard but it’s not a deal-breaker, Besides,” he glanced at the brand mark on his palm, a scar his faoladh regeneration could not heal, “you took down a city to grab me before I plummeted, but you left me unscathed. Unconsciously, I think your magic knows not to touch me. So I doubt you’d clip me, but even if you do, the possibility doesn’t faze me in the least. Not enough to surrender what we have, together. I’m sticking with you, kid,” he punted her playfully on the shoulder. “You leave, I’m right behind you. Bron’s got it covered here, looking for Rowen. And anyway, being ‘safe’ was never my thing. On the contrary, the more danger, the better. Couldn’t have recruited a more fearless and foolish rogue to accompany you, my dear.”

“Teselin,” he captured her eyes with a serious look, “you could be the offspring of an alien god tasked with destroying the world and I’m not gonna care. Whatever you are, whatever you do...I’m always gonna love you, kid. So if I’m no good for you and you’re no good for me, then we’re a match, yeah?”

I’m a fucking idiot, he thought as he helped Teselin to clean the tears off her face. Shouldn’t matter if I’m ‘good’ for her. We’re both fucked. We might as well stick together and get each other through it. 

Even if your ‘influence’ will take her down a dark path? Even if she destroys another city, or cracks the marrow of the world and drains it dry? Fiona’s shade rumbled her contrary inquiries into his ear, as Fiona was wont to do. 

I’m not failing another lost cause. This all happened ‘cuz I left. So I’m not leaving her again. And what difference does it make, ‘mam’? Damned if you don’t, damned if you do. The odds are stacked against me...but I keep playing the game.

Bounding to his feet, Hadwin stretched out a hand and pulled the summoner upright. “C’mon, kid. Our boy wonders are wandering the Night Garden, right over yonder.” His mouth broke into a toothy grin. “Let’s go say ‘hi.’” 

Whether through encouragement or eagerness, Teselin complied and followed Hadwin to the main road, where, sure enough, Alster and Isidor were strolling, shoulder to shoulder, chattering amongst themselves clannishly and resembling an old married couple in familiarity. If only Alster weren’t so close-mindedly monogamous, and if Isidor...weren’t Isidor, they would make quite a pair! 

Hadwin ambled across the road, Teselin in tow, and obstructed the way ahead for the two scholars. 

“Oh no. It’s my turn,” Alster stopped mid-stride and braced for impact. “I’ve heard you’ve been making the rounds today, Hadwin. So what do you want?” His tone, though polite, was guarded, and his brow creased with agitation. “Elespeth’s upset, Bronwyn’s upset--no, she’s terrified...couldn’t you have gone about your escapades with a little more finesse? I’m afraid you’ve gone disproportionately too far, today.”

“Relax, Al--it’s out of my system. And hey, you’ll be thanking me later; were it not for my hedging, El wouldn’t have displayed such a beautiful and delightfully painful array of sparks. Shame it zapped Brownling, but psssh. She threw the first punch. El got to see her true colors; I did her a favor. Anyway,” Hadwin rolled his shoulders, “I’m not here just for you.” He gestured to Teselin. “We’re also here for your friend.” 

Alster, noticing Teselin behind the bombastic presence of Hadwin Kavanagh, dipped his head in apology. “Teselin. I’m sorry; it was rude of me not to greet you. Good afternoon. How are you faring?” 

“I told her,” Hadwin interrupted Alster’s pleasantries to rove his eyes over to the unassuming alchemist, who failed to shrink out of existence in time. “It’s your turn to keep to regale Teselin with the details, as promised. Thought I’d expedite the process; wasn’t sure how long it’d take you and I realized, well, some of us don’t have all century. So the floor is yours now, doorstop. That is--if she’s willing to hear you out. She’s right mad at you, y’know. As you correctly assumed she would be. Maybe you’re not so shit at reading social cues and behaviors, after all. Or, you assume everyone hates you, so it’s not like you were taking a shot in the dark.” 

“If you’re angry at Isidor, Teselin, then you should also direct your anger at me as well.” Alster, putting two and two together about the nature of their conversation, stepped forward to defend the alchemist. “I’ve known. Ever since Isidor confided his observations to me, I’ve known. We both agreed not to say anything until we could decide on how best to tell you. It’s not...easy to hear, and you were already worried sick about where your friend ran off to,” he shot back at Hadwin. “It wasn’t the best time. I mean, there never will be an opportune time, but now that you know, if there’s anything we can do to ease the burden of truth--”

“Yes, there is something you can do.” Hadwin pointed at Alster. “You work with and understand energy patterns, and you,” he tossed his head at Isidor, “are a fucking Master Alchemist, whatever the hell that means. Between you two geniuses, you can figure out how to divert or declutter or unclog all the magical buildup that’s swarming around poor Tes, here. If she can’t get rid of her magic, help her to optimize it. Despite it coming from me, this is a sincere request. Do something--and fucking prioritize it, too.”

“Your sudden urgency...did,” Alster swallowed, “--did something happen, Teselin, when you left to find Hadwin? Prior to your return, I felt a disturbance in the atmosphere. And...Bronwyn’s terrified of lightning. Of magic. Is it safe to assume she wasn’t like this, before?” 

“She used to rub in my face how it’s childish to be afraid of storms. She never thought much of them...or of magic,” Hadwin offered, but shone no other elucidating insights on his sister’s condition. 

“I see.” Alster turned in the direction of the palace. “Let’s continue this conversation in a safe place. You’ll find no judgement from me, Teselin. I’ve made a horrible mess of things with my magic, too,” he said, with a kind, sympathetic smile. “But I won’t know how to help you if I’m not privy to the details, however gruesome they are. So please…” he shifted his course to the palace, “come with us.”