Elespeth sighed quietly in the bed next to Alster’s--not out of frustration or for losing patience with her husband, but because she didn’t have the answers he wanted. Couldn’t give him the reassurance he sought… the certainty that he wanted to hear. There was no good answer, so she could only tell him what she felt, in all honesty. “I want you to be who you are; who you’ve always been. Who you believe you should be, not in favour of winning this war against Locque, Alster, but in favour of being your most authentic self. Because it is that person--the man I married, the whole Alster Rigas, that will help us win this. I know it.” Opening her eyes for a brief moment, she turned her head just enough to glance in his direction. “We are all a duality. We all have a shadow. I’ve seen mine; so have you. She is self-righteous and clings to ideals that no longer hold. Ideals that belonged to the people who wanted to kill her. She wanted to kill me, for not being her; she still wants to. I used to see her in the mirror all the time… and although it isn’t as frequent anymore, she is still there. The Elespeth Tameris before you, the person you never knew. A person who would follow orders simply out of duty, without giving a fraction of a thought as to what it would mean to lift a hand… for good or for evil.”
There was little that he could say to her, in her fever-addled state, that could take her off guard right now. Be ir reacting with anger, sadness, betrayal… she was prepared for it all. It was the curiosity in his voice pertaining to her mention of Hadwin that hadn’t even crossed her mind, and ultimately gave her pause to really think. When did you become friends? Now that was a question that she hadn’t considered, because not once had it occurred to her that they had become friends. She had to think back, and think carefully, lest Alster get any wild ideas that she had been… disloyal with the overtly promiscuous faoladh. The very thought made her already warm skin flush a shade darker. He… he wasn’t really thinking that, was he? Because she would never…!
“Please… don’t tell me you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking.” She groaned softly and leaned so far back into her pillow, she wished she could disappear. “It’s not like that. I don’t know when things changed. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that I’m finally realizing he’s been more of a friend than an enemy for at least a year, now. He found me when I was almost dead in the woods. He stepped in at the right moment to prevent me from taking my own life. He helped us… reconnect when we were growing physically and intimately distant, and he hasn’t opened his mouth about any of that, despite it being an opportunity to brag or rub it in our faces. He’s…” She sighed, as if it rather pained her to admit it. “Weirdly enough… he’s been a reassurance. Not just in light of what has been happening to you--believe it or not, he was rooting for you, and called me out on removing my wedding ring. But it’s reassuring to realize that I don’t mind him the way that I used to. It means that the Elespeth Tameris that haunts me in the mirror isn’t who I am anymore, because that Elespeth would have looked down on someone like Hadwin until the day she died. Not to mention… I don’t think anyone else would have supported as heinously stupid an idea as making myself even more sick to try to get you to reconnect with yourself.”
She smiled flatly and breathed out, her breath warm as the rest of her body from her fever. “Anyway… we can’t afford to stand divided for any reason, right now. I’m not enamored with a lot of things Hadwin does, or chooses to do, but he’s on our side. And he was right about one thing; you and I… always seem to pull through, in the end. Through thick and thing. We’ve had to endure a lot, and we’re still her. Still standing strong… if you can forgive me for manipulating you into showing up, here. I know it wasn’t what you wanted…”
Listening to Alster’s reasoning for avoiding the D’Marian village, a part of her couldn’t help but fall into agreement with his outlook. He had really fucked up in terms of having the peoples’ faith and trust in him… and although she now understood the method behind his madness and why he had not informed anyone as to what he had planned to do, Aristide Canaveris had done a good job of wrapping up the example that her husband had set. Pegging him as dangerous and unstable… Not to mention, there wasn’t a hope in hell that one Lord Canaveris would rescind any of what he’d said about Alster to the public. Even if he confided privately that he had been too harsh, and meant no real harm, that was not a front he could show to his adoring citizens.
“Wherever you choose to go, Alster… I’ve been without you for long enough. We have enough eyes and ears in the palace, and resonance stones to communicate. Not to mention, you have reached others through their dreams, before. And now that I think about it… corresponding in a place where Locque can’t see or hear us might be safest in the long run, anyway. So if the farmhouse is where you are bound, then please let me come with you. It might be nice, to have a place all to ourselves… y’know, where we can wreck an entire bedroom in peace.” She couldn’t help the grin that tugged at her lips. “Where we don’t have to explain the carnage to Lilica or your cousin.”
Had Nia known she would be making a trek to the D’Marian village the next day, she’d have eased up on the drinking… but it was too late for hindsight. The Master Alchemist took care to drink plenty of water, along with a concoction to detoxify her body before collapsing on the bed she’d bought for the evening, but it hardly made a difference the next morning. She was mercifully spared from nausea upon awakening, but the headache that hammered behind her eyes was no joke. Stumbling out of her bed at first light, and wishing for nothing more than to crawl back into that bed and hibernate until the pain went away, Nia fumbled for a similar tonic she’d taken the night before to take the edge off of her migraine. It didn’t do much; perhaps made her care about the jarring pain a little bit less, but alas, she had already committed to the venture not only with Hadwin, but Aristide would be expecting her. And after the rather poor ending to their last encounter… it wouldn’t bode well for her outreach and business relations with the man were she to stand him up.
The faoladh was already waiting outside with that promised carriage, and looking… as if he’d gotten ten hours of sleep with a good meal and plenty of water. She almost didn’t take notice of the third passenger--the acrobat, ringleader of the Missing Links. She was too preoccupied with wanting to smack Hadwin. “How the hell do you drink more than me and get off the hook for a hangover?” She groaned, taking the seat across from him and pulling the window on the door shut. “You’re just lucky I don’t get motion sickness, or you can bet I’d make you feel as miserable as I do, right now… I’m Nia, by the way.” She tried to flash a pained smile at Nia. “Sorry you’re not seeing me at my best.”
“I’ve seen worse, and been worse; don’t worry yourself at all.” Briery smiled politely and took a seat next to Hadwin in the carriage, affording Nia the space to breathe and deal with what was obviously a handover.
And it was a miserable ride, with every bump on the road feeling like a stone being pelted at her skull. At one point, she took the resonance stone from her pocket, held it in an ungloved palm, and blew on it; seconds later, the stone was coated in a thick film of ice, which she then pressed to her temples and forehead to try and alleviate some of the pain. The only thing worse than the bumpy carriage ride was the bright, winter sunlight that assaulted her sensitive eyes the moment she stepped out of the carriage. Nia groaned audibly and folded her arm over her eyes, and grabbed Hadwin’s arm, relying on him to navigate and lead her inside upon Lazarus’s stoic “welcome” as he opened the heavy wooden doors. She didn’t move her arm as she took a seat upon one of the plush settees and rested her head against the wall. “He doesn’t like me very much,” she mentioned to Hadwin and Briery off-handedly. “So I don’t imagine he likes either of you much, either. Don’t take it personally; I think he’s suspicious of anyone who calls on his master. Luckily, his master is a hell of a lot friendlier, and was less intimidating… and not made of clay, like Big Man, there. But you probably gathered as much.”
“He certainly does have a certain… taste.” The acrobat raised her eyebrows, taking the decor into her range of vision. No detail was spared. “And to think, this was all only built within the past year… D’Marians really do want to feel like they are at home, it seems.”
Realizing this was her cue to try and be human, Nia rose from her seat and opened her eyes, which betrayed her obvious lack of sleep. Despite his cheerful demeanor, however, she felt it best to simply be a part of the background for this meeting, and offered only a smile and a nod, standing back to let Hadwin and his friend take the stage.
The acrobat turned, along with Hadwin, as their gracious host finally made an entrance--looking just as overdone as his dwelling. At the very least, he was pleasant. “Lord Canaveris… er, Ari.” Briery nodded her head in greeting. “I can’t thank you enough for allowing us the privilege of having an audience, and at such short notice. The pleasure is all mine.”
She happily accepted the proffered drink, which was by far the most luxurious she’d ever have tasted in her time on this plane. Nia, too, took the third glass, so as not to be rude, but made no move to bring it to her lips. “There is nothing wrong with appreciating your privileges. You’ll certainly find no judgment from us.” Briery smiled sweetly, bringing the drink to her lips for a small taste. As she’d predicted, it tasted as rich as it appeared. “And I am delighted that you are a supporter of our troupe. We… hope to perform again, soon, after all of these setbacks finally settle and we find our footing again.” Without realizing it, she slung a hand across her abdomen. Though long since having healed from her surgery, she was far stiffer, her muscles less defined, and her flexibility off. Even if everything cleared up tomorrow, and Locque disappeared, it would be months before she’d have the confidence to take to the trapeze again.
She was more than happy when Hadwin volunteered to explain their reason for coming, and what they sought from him. Even now, it was difficult for Briery to go into detail about what happened to Cwenha, let alone ask for yet another likeness of the sister she had lost. Just hearing the faoladh skirt over the details was enough to make her throat grow tight with sorrow; so she took another, fuller sip of her beverage to open it back up. “Please know, Ari, that I take works of art and their artists very seriously. My art is of the performance nature, and it is how I earn coin to get by. So, whatever your price… I want you to know that the Missing Links are willing to pay if. If we don’t have what you want, then we will find a way to get it.”
Her jaw nearly hit the floor, however, when the Canaveris lord declared that he neither required nor wanted any payment. Of course, she simply could not accept this as a case of charity… but it appeared that Hadwin had already thought ahead, and had an idea in mind. All eyes turned to the Master Alchemist, seated quietly to the side, who, by her widened brown eyes, had not anticipated that she would be dragged so far into the fray of this situation. You sneaky bastard, Nia thought, nearly dropping the fine crystal glass from her hand. He knew she wanted his camaraderie, if for no other reason than to have someone to drink with… so he was going to make her work for it. Brilliant, sneaky bastard. “...just to clear the air, here, I did not plan this.” She said, directly to Ari, raising her free hand as if in surrender, and to show that she was just as taken aback by the offer as he was. “And he speaks the truth. Whatever scares you out of your skin, you can’t hide it from him. But… I also can’t hide the fact I’m an accomplice by association. And that despite that what happened to the silver-clad girl did not sit well with me, despite that I did not advocate for it to happen… it was out of my hands. And I did nothing. Which makes me almost as bad as wolf-boy’s sister.”
She purposely avoided Briery’s gaze, despite that the ringleader was more confused by what was transpiring than angry at the Master Alchemist for not lifting a finger when she knew Cwenha was in danger. “So… consider this the least I can do to try and make something so wrong a little bit right. You can count me in; consider my services repayment for crafting this very deserving ringleader a likeness of the loved one she has lost. If, Lo--Ari… if that is what you want. And, if it’s not,” she smiled a cheeky half-grin and lowered her hand. “Then no offense taken. I've got plenty of talents of my own, though. Don’t spread word, but I am very skilled at crafting gold and silver from far less precious elements.”
“Nia… I don’t hold you responsible for what happened to Cwenha.” Briery spoke softly, sensing the odd tension between the Master Alchemist and their host. “Hadwin likes to volunteer people for anything; you don’t have to go along with it if it is going to jeopardize your safety with… with Locque.”
“Oh, believe me, Locque doesn’t give a rat’s ass about what I do in my down time so long as it doesn’t directly conflict with her plans.” Nia dismissed her concern with a wave of her hand. “Anyway, I’ve already offered my help to Ari, before your wolfish friend roped me into this. So the offer is already on the table; it’s up to our talented friend, here, what he wants to do.” The cheekiness from her grin faded, allowing for a more somber and serious countenance when she locked eyes with Ari again. “It’s up to you. And if all you want is for me to haul my unwelcome ass out of your lovely home in exchange for your artistic talents to the lovely Briery Frealy, then consider it done.”
As a sideeffect of his magical convergence, the dense energy generated a great deal of heat around his body, shifting the quality of air to a stifling degree. Sweat gathered on his forehead and on the back of his neck. Hanks of damp hair clung to skin, and the contact of water droplets on a galvanized surface sent him into a fit of uncomfortable shocks. Considering the ordeals he survived over the last handful of years, he’d developed the pain tolerance necessary to carry on without devolving into mental paralysis. Up until recently, the cauterized strip of flesh connecting organic tissue to the heavy, steel replacement appendage would flare into angry patches of inflammation, effectively immobilizing him for days--if he let it happen. He never did. Neither would he allow a pesky cold and the mosquito-like efforts of low-voltage electricity prevent him from speaking to his wife.
“You’re not wrong, El,” he said, fighting the urge to wipe the perspiration trickling in rivulets from his brow. “As humans, we’re all equipped with a shadow self. This, I am not disputing. But my duality...it’s literal. My soul split apart; half of it hid in the pocket of our shared dreamscape while the other half dominated my body. Though the two halves have reunited and my soul is mending, what if it never mends whole? What if I am never whole?” He sank into his pillow, suffocating the stabs of magic dancing along his spinal column. “My authentic self resides not as one, but as two selves. My alter ego, the one you captured and warded...he was being his authentic self. Driven by revenge and struggling to plant his feet on the earth, yes; no doubt he suffered some cognitive impairment, but he spoke no falsehoods about his--our--character. Sure, we share commonalities--we’re invested in saving lives--but whereas I’m emotional and sensitive, he’s pragmatic and indifferent. What if differences in opinion cause us to split anew? I don’t know how many times my soul can handle rupturing apart until the damage is permanent.” He kicked off the top layer of sheets, glad for the temporary relief from baking alive. “I want to be who you want me to be. The authentic self you prefer...because I prefer that person, too. If you ever feel like I’m losing to the shadow, and there’s an imbalance,” he rested his pleading gaze on her, “please don’t give up on me. I know you were doubting my commitments to this plane, to you, and I can’t cast blame when you had every right to question my loyalties. Which is why I find it strange...that it was Hadwin who advised you about us.”
Another surge rippled through his body, reflexively forcing his prosthesis to activate in lively, jerking movements. The sensation alone reminded Alster that with his magic’s return, he could move his right arm. No longer consigned to a decorative paperweight, it would operate as intended, backed by the wishes of its designer--.and the Master Alchemist who repurposed it for him. He lifted the arm into the air. It obeyed without hesitation, swiping the air in fluid grace, like a music note ready to sing. Muscle memory, fueled by magic, guided its direction, and the beauty of something so technically breathtaking gave him pause to consider: perhaps magic wouldn’t revert him back to a monster. Not when it, in conjunction with a friend’s generous hand, produced something so...so right. Isidor...Will you forgive me?
“Well,” he dropped his arm and returned to the subject at hand, “perhaps not strange. He’s advocated for our marriage, before.” A reactive blush flooded across his cheeks. “Even I cannot deny the efficacy in his...his methods. But no, El. I am not thinking what you think I’m thinking.” He wasn’t being completely honest. Following their assisted escapades in the sheets, a seed, however minuscule, of doubt, dropped into the soil at his feet, waiting to germinate and grow. What if Elespeth enjoyed Hadwin’s attention and unconsciously sought him out in hopes to replicate their experience? While unlikely...the possibility existed.
“I’m well-versed in languages,” he cleared his dry throat, banishing the thought. “I’ve been to Collcreagh and have an idea behind the etymology of their names and naming conventions. Hadwin means, best to my knowledge, ‘friend in adversity.’ I can’t ignore how he’s helped you--and helped us--in times of adversity. So maybe...he is your friend. If so, you don’t need to explain yourself. I trust you. While I can’t harbor the same confidence and trust in Hadwin, not since hurting Isidor, I’m nonetheless happy...that you’ve had someone to turn to in my absence. For that, I suppose I should be grateful to him.” A tiny, dismissive smile stretched one corner of his mouth. “One day.”
At her decision to remain closeby in the event that Locque’s takeover evicted him from the palace, he bobbed an incremental nod, which betrayed his patent lack of surprise. “Fair point, El. I won’t dissuade you...because I don’t want to dissuade you. Besides, who knows? Living in the farmhouse may be, at present, the closest thing we have to domestic bliss. A bit of simplicity, a rural landscape, open spaces,” he broke into a free smile, “and yes, mutually agreed-upon carnage. Also...I do believe I’ve yet to instruct you on the ways of magic. Allow me to remedy this oversight straightaway. Amid our plotting in the realms of dream ...we’ll have time, El. At last,” relief smoothed the ever-present tension in his brow, “we’ll have some time.”
What began as a pleasant enough house call--despite Nia’s presence reminding him of his missteps against always exuding professional, impartial demeanor--transitioned into a nightmare scenario as Hadwin Kavanagh smugly revealed that he’d known about the secret all along--and had Chara’s protection, no less! From the moment he walked into Galeyn’s council room, he’d effectively misjudged his audience by failing to research the latent abilities of Queen Lilica’s diverse coterie. Due to oversight, two, possibly three more people were privy to a truth too precious to let escape into questionable hands. While Lazarus, always waiting on standby, vowed to annihilate whoever learned the forbidden family secret, Ari preferred diplomacy over violence. The less blood on Canaveris hands, the better
Too late to school his expression into controlled calm, or to answer instead of stewing in speechlessness, he let the likes of Hadwin Kavanagh gain advantage over the conversation, a decidedly rookie move in the realm of politics. But before succumbing to panic, he listened to the proposal posited by the wolfish-man and supported by Miss Nia. If the two were in concert with each other, what did they want? He already offered to sculpt a statue of the departed Cwenha without asking for recompense. Though he wanted to place trust in Nia, he had not yet established the same level of rapport with her sketchy companion. Through his associations with Queen Lilica, Lady Chara, and Alster Rigas, he was untouchable, doubly protected by powerful alliances and his unassailable knowledge. At present, he could ask for anything, and Ari would have no choice but to comply. So why lead with a request, and not the revelation? Did he mean it when he said not to worry? Could he afford to accept Nia’s aid as payment?
And did he actually have the option to decline?
“I see.” Glass in hand, Ari rose from his chair and gestured for Hadwin and Nia to do the same. “I do not rescind my word. As arranged, I will sculpt the likeness of your beloved deceased. Miss Briery,” he addressed the seated ringleader, “please do not take offense, but I would like to speak with these two in private. If you have brought references, feel free to accompany Lazarus to the carriage; he will be more than happy to assist in helping you parse and arrange the materials. Is this amenable to everyone?”
“Yeah, no problem, Ari.” No longer concerned with making an impression, Hadwin drained his expensive drink and rolled to his feet. “Go on ahead, bushy-tail,” he glanced over his shoulder at Briery, who harbored some reservations about letting him follow a clearly distressed Ari further into the villa’s unknown territory. “Wait for us in the carriage, yeah?”
Once the ringleader took leave with the looming manservant in tow, Ari ushered Hadwin and Nia out of the parlor and into the small, private dining chambers where he’d hosted the ill-received dinner party for Queen and Advisor, and where he destroyed some of his most precious art pieces. Since then, he’d cleaned the space and covered the glaring gaps in his collection with holdover decorations, primarily faceless clay figures captured mid-dance--nothing remotely resembling or mistaken to resemble Chara Rigas. Requesting that no servant outside the room disturb him or his guests, Ari closed the door and faced the two people most able to destroy him and his family.
Dispensing formalities, Ari met Hadwin’s probing eyes directly. If indeed he could see fears, then there remained nothing else to hide. “Who else knows?”
“Who else?” Hadwin leaned an elbow over the back of a chair and shrugged. “Ah, Brie doesn’t know. Wouldn’t matter even if she did; you’re doing us a favor by sculpting Cwenha’s statue. Last thing she wants is to antagonize you.”
“And you, Hadwin Kavanagh? What do you want?”
Again, he shrugged. “Same thing. A statue. I mean, if we’re really asking, more of your top-shelf liquor, but I don’t have to blackmail you for the honor of drinking it when you’re a generous bloke who provides it freely. Listen,” he spread out his hands in a gesture of honesty, “I’m not here to step on your toes or nothing. Not gonna spill to Alster Rigas or his wife; I would’ve done it already. I merely saw an opportunity--and I took it. Y’see, I’m on your side. Why wouldn’t I be? You’re doing us a service. Not gonna ruin our working relationship. But neither am I gonna hide what I know. Not like you wouldn’t figure out I’ve got a knack for sniffing out fears, either through watching me operate, or from information farming. Eventually, the news would’ve reached your ears. Then you’d really suspect my intentions. If I kept mum from day one, then you’d wonder what else I’ve been hiding all along. Well,” he shot his hands in the air, dismissive, “here I am. I ain’t hiding.”
Frowning, Ari did not appear relieved or convinced. “Then, may I ask: what is Miss Nia’s part in your most benevolent expression of goodwill?”
“Yeah, so as you heard,” he nodded at Nia, “I volunteered her to lend some expertise for your very specific, rock-hard troubles. She’s offered to help you, before, so I figured she wouldn’t say ‘no.’ And as this is payment for a service rendered, she’s not gonna turn around and decide to charge you a hefty fee for it later. If it mollifies you, draft up a contract and bound our agreement in writing, but our transaction here’s as firm as a handshake. You don’t lose anything. In fact, you stand to gain.” Sensing Ari’s reservations regarding what he could mention of his curse, Hadwin added, “A Master Alchemist got you out of hot water when you were a tot. Broke you outta that cocoon of stone and restored your fleshy human skin, more or less.” Hadwin raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Are you doubting Nia’s skills, Ari?”
“I am certain you are wonderfully competent, Miss Nia,” Ari said, lowering a stiff arm to his side. “But please forgive my confusion. Why, Hadwin Kavanagh,” he pivoted towards the faoladh, “are you invested in providing me succor? I daresay benefactor is not an outfit you don well. You do not strike me as the sort to scoff at a gift and demand you repay the gift in full.”
“You’ve got that right! I’d take the gift and run!” Hadwin’s upper body trembled in a bark of laughter. “So believe me, I’m as rotten as they come. Let’s just say I made a bet with myself and now I gotta put the pieces in play to see my desired end result. So I’m, in a sense, investing in you, my good man! Say,” his animalistic eyes homed in on the arm Ari not-so-casually positioned in the crook of his other arm, supporting it like a cradle, “it’s happening, isn’t it? Well then, what better way for Nia to demonstrate her skills than to take a look-see at your arm? If she can’t help, she can’t help, and we’ll just drop the whole thing. But if she can, then think of what you stand to gain. Bit of relief does wonders for the creaky limbs, especially when they’re subject to harden into stone whenever the mood strikes. Either way, I wouldn’t let this offer slip, fancypants. Not too many Master Alchemists circling the earth, and I’ve got a feeling the other one ain’t too fond of you—and you’re not in a sharing mood about your condition, anyway.”
Ari’s discomfort levels reached their peak, in correlation with the fear skirting through his body. Hadwin could see the conflict churning in his brown eyes, furiously calculating if he could trust them—either of them. Finally, he came to a decision. Taking a seat at the table, the Canaveris Lord carefully rolled up the belled sleeve of his longcoat, revealing a patchy discoloration of gray, coarse, granite-like stone creeping up his elbow and locking his arm into a crooked shape. “Miss Nia,” he invited the Master Alchemist to sit in the empty chair next to him, “I will make an allowance. In this instance, you may touch me...and,” he hesitated, trying not to feel sick, “and you may touch the affected area.”
“Well… whatever is happening with your spirit and your body, Alster, we will deal with it. We will deal with whatever crops up. When I agreed to marry you, I understood that I would be marrying all of you; not just the parts of you that I like the most.” Elespeth flashed what she hoped was a reassuring smile. This was nothing new; she had told him this before, a number of times, in fact. But she needed him to understand just how serious she was, and how literally he could take it. “That Alster, the one that put everyone else and their needs aside to focus on revenge… it was still you. A harsher, less desirable half, perhaps, and a side that needed to be put in his place. But I loved him, too, because he is no less my husband that you are. Even if… he was eager to toss me aside for what he perceived as infractions.” She tried not to let it show. How much it hurt to see him take off his ring, look her in the eye, and to tell her that it was over. Made her realize just how awful a mistake it had been, for her to remove her own ring…
“The point is, I’m not going to give up on you because you exist as a duality. You… you didn’t give up on me when I was a mere shell of myself, weak and frail and wracked with sickness because of some very poor choices.” The former knight lowered her eyes, avoiding a glance in the mirror on the opposite wall of the room. In case she saw her staring back with those cold, judgmental, grey-green eyes. “We’ll work on it, with it, together. Although… for the time being, I don’t think it is a good idea for you to go venturing into the etherrealms. Not anytime soon, unless your life literally depends on it. After all, it was your absence from this plane of existence for far too long that triggered the series of events that followed.”
She flicked her gaze back over to her husband, who was watching her curiously, and tried to read the expressions on his face. “...I don’t know that I entirely believe you. That you’re not thinking what I’m thinking.” Shifting onto her side, she wrinkled her nose and clutched her pillow closer to her burning cheek. Between the two of them, hot and flushed and perspiring, they looked as though they were stuck in a steam room. “But I… don’t blame you. I was the one who suggested he help us… reconnect. Let him touch me. Let him touch you, for that matter. Though we have to give him credit that he has kept all that in confidence. To be honest… I don’t know why I’ve sought out his company and help, since then. Maybe it’s just because he is someone who would listen. And who can’t judge me, for all of the fucked up decisions he has made. But… that doesn’t mean he’s not still a professional bastard.” Her lips curled into a half-grin. “And I won’t hold it against you if you’re still sore about what he did to Isidor. So am I, for that matter, but I also need to take him for what he does right, infractions aside.”
Alster brought up a good point, then, about her magic. Given all of the time she had been spending with Alster in that room designed to stifle his powers, so, too, had it affected her in the same way. His magic was her magic, his heart was her heart. But she had only been gifted with that magic for a couple of months. It was still developing, still relatively weak compared to her husband’s, and leaving the room hadn’t affected her in the slightest. That said, she hadn’t used her magic in quite some time, and she couldn’t help but wonder if allowing it to lie dormant for so long had diminished it, to some extent. “I do look forward to picking up some mentoring again. I can’t say I’ve progressed any in your absence, Alster… if anything, I may have lost progress. Probably better that we retreat to the farmlands to bring me back to where I was. The last thing I need are any casualties getting caught in the crossfire. But… you’re right.” She reached across her cot to touch his; not to come in contact with his hand, lest it elicit an undesirable reaction, but to be close to him. Closer. She could feel the field of energy in the inch-wide gap between their fingers. Like calling to like. “We’ll have time. For now… take the time we have to get better. To get strong, again. I won’t be going anywhere. I’m staying right here, for as long as you need me.”
Briery had little clue as to what was transpiring between their gracious host, and Hadwin and the Master Alchemist, but she was not without her own concerns. Aristide Canaveris had already kindly accepted their request to sculpt a likeness of their departed Silver Fairy; why was Hadwin pushing the boundaries, now?
She did not hesitate to oblige the Canaveris lord, however, when he requested he speak with Nia and Hadwin alone. The acrobat nodded sagely and set her partially-pull glass of premium liquor aside. “Of course.” Was all she said, before she was escorted out by the same gigantic man who had led her inside.
As soon as the three of them were alone, in the familiar parlor where Nia had helped him destroy some of his finest works of art, the Master Alchemist exhaled a long sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose. If her headache hadn’t been bad, before, this unlikely turn of events exacerbated it. “For what it is worth, Ari, I’m just as taken off guard as you.” She told the sculptor in confidence, closing her eyes against the jarring morning light that spilled through the windows like liquid gold. Searing, painful liquid gold. “I can’t help that he knew your secret without needing to be told, but I did insist there was no need to bring it up in conversation. I tried! Although, he has a point… that I’ve already offered to help you. And, if I’m being honest with myself, I never closed that offer. Which is why I am telling you now that it still stands. He does have a point, though.” Shifting her fingers to a sore, throbbing temple, she stepped to the side to avoid the sunlight and opened her eyes. “You really don’t have anything to lose. Refuse and you’re no worse off than you already are; accept, and maybe we can get to the bottom of this awful affliction of yours. And whatever you decide, I wholeheartedly respect--we both wholeheartedly respect. Isn’t that right, Hadwin?” She nudged the faoladh with her elbow. “Just because some people need help doesn’t mean they’re ready to have it. It is up to Ari, how he wishes to proceed.”
The two of them awaited Aristide’s response patiently. The man looked incredibly pale, a greyish understone saturating his brilliantly hued, sun kissed complexion. Nia didn’t blame him one bit: to find not only that more people were aware of what he feared the most than he had initially thought, but that he was being pressured into accepting help from someone he wasn’t even sure he trusted. And she didn’t blame him; were the shoe on the other foot, she wasn’t sure that she would trust her, either. It didn’t matter that she had never done anything untoward to betray his wishes; Hadwin had been right. When you were working for the tyrannical sorceress that threatened the well-being of a peaceful kingdom… there wasn’t much left to earn you credibility as a trustworthy person.
You could almost feel her astonishment when Ari took a seat and pulled up his sleeve, inviting her to sit next to him and… well, do whatever she could do. Nia hesitated, not out of uncertainty, but out of surprise, before stepping away from Hadwin and taking a seat next to the Canaveris lord. Wordlessly, the Master Alchemist removed her leather, open-fingered gloves, and placed her hands on the affected area. It was stone, all right; cold and hard and rough, a dire contrast to the warm, pliant flesh just above his elbow that had not succumbed to petrification. In the moment, it wasn’t a hard fix; turning stone back to the flesh and blood and bone it was supposed to be was practically childsplay for someone of her calibre. Except that treating the symptoms was not what Ari was expecting, and not what Hadwin had been implying. Removing her hands from his arm, she tentatively rested them atop the table. “Forgive me for requesting this, but at risk of making you even more uncomfortable than you clearly already are… would you remove your shirt?” And at once, Ari was both pale and flustered, a tint of colouration detracting from the grey pallor of his face. Exhaling, she ventured to explain, “What I am seeing is only the tip of the iceberg. Curses… are extremely complicated beasts, and they never manifest the same way in two people. I need to know what I’m working with if I want to help you efficiently and effectively. So I’ll need to be able to get a read on what isn’t afflicted versus what is, at this moment.”
Though he was clearly treading uncomfortable territory, Nia did have to give the artist credit for his cooperation. With one arm half-petrified, she helped him out of his brilliant longcoat, and the fine tunic beneath, with all the gentleness and professionalism of someone who was well-practiced and confident in their craft. With the articles of clothing discarded at last, Nia respectfully folded them and sat them upon the table, before turning her attention to Ari’s now bare torso. With careful and respectful hands, she slid her fingers past his petrified arm to one shoulder, and then the other, and then down his opposite arm of pure flesh and bone and blood. Satisfied with what she learned there, her skilled hands traveled down his neck, and along the planes of his back. And when they made their way around to the front, she paused with her palm against his heart. “Your heart is racing; take a breath, Ari. A few deep, slow ones. In on four and our on eight. I’m getting the impression that this curse is feeding off of your anxiety, right now, and that is going to slow things down.”
It was far easier said than done for someone who hadn’t been comfortable accepting her help to begin with, but to his credit, and with an untrustworthy individual’s hands on him, he made a solid effort to calm himself down. Even if the mental panic still assaulted his mind, his body, gradually, began to relax. For a final take on the gist of what was happening to him, both magically and physiologically, Nia’s hands traveled across the planes of his chest, and then to his abdomen, where at last they stopped. Removing her invasive hands from his body, the Master Alchemist knelt down to reach into her boot, where she withdrew a small, albeit very sharp looking knife. Ari, understandably, balked at the sight, so she made no move to point it in his direction. “Relax, it’s clean; I just need a little bit of your blood. It’ll fix your arm right up, you have my word.”
When she had his consent, Nia took his opposite hand, the fingers still warm and pliant with flesh and blood, and nicked his middle finger with the tip of her blade. She gently squeezed until a few droplets of rich, warm blood fell into her palm, as her other hand encircled his currently petrified limb. Closing her eyes in concentration, she ran her fingers and palm over the stone, again and again, over and under for a couple of minutes. With each pass of her fingers, the stone gave way more and more to pliant flesh, until little more but a residue of dust coated the appendage, which had returned to living and feeling flesh and blood.
In her opposite hand, where she had collected some of his lifeblood, only a small pile of what appeared to be dust and stone remained. She blew away the residue with a breath, sheathed the knife back in her boot, and dusted off her hands. “There; good as new! Go ahead and put your garments back on,” she said lightly to Ari and gestured to his tunic and longcoat, before craning her neck to capture Hadwin’s gaze. “No offense, wolf-man, but I’m going to have to ask you to give us a little privacy. You might know about Ari’s affliction, but I keep the details of what I learn of my clients’ personal situations confidential. If he wants to fill you in later, then that’s up to him.” She angled her head toward the door. “Why don’t you go help your beautiful acrobat friend haul in some of that fan art? The carriage is chalk full of it.”
When Hadwin obliged, seemingly satisfied that he’d at least born witness to what she was capable of, Nia returned her attention to Ari at the sound of the door clicking shit behind the faoladh. And the first thing she did was sigh. “So, I’ve got some good news and bad news. But let me give you the good news first. Until today, I honestly thought that dealing with curses was beyond my capabilities… but, that doesn’t seem to be the case. I am pleased to say that I no longer think it’s impossible to eradicate it completely through alchemical treatments. I I think you owe it to the Master Alchemist that helped you in the first place. Since you sought treatment so quickly, the curse never had the chance to get a real foothold and assume total control of your body and what it chooses to do to it. But, the bad news…” She rubbed the back of her neck and eyed his previously-petrified arm. “That eradication may well be very slow going. I can’t even give you an estimate of how long it will take; months would be a very optimistic, possibly naive guess. And that’s because this curse is affecting you on a level that transcends physical. It is part of you, yet it isn’t; it resides in you, and yet, around you, simultaneously. Curses are a bitch because they’re a damn paradox, and how do you deal with what both is and isn’t? But… I’ll spare you the philosophical bullshit.”
Shifting in her seat once again to avoid the sunlight from blaring in her sensitive eyes, Nia pressed her full lips together thoughtfully as she pondered how to explain, and how they should proceed. “I’m not going to lie to you--what I did just now, with your arm, wasn’t much help. I treated a symptom, but it did nothing about the problem; it did not address the source. However, I did glean a few clues to suggest how we might move forward with addressing the issue at its source. For one,” she ticked the numbers off on her fingers, “the severity of these flare-ups seems to be strongly correlated with your ability to remain calm. In short, you panic, and you can almost guarantee part of you is going to turn to stone. Like your foot, when Alster Rigas summoned the Serpent on your quaint village. Again, when you almost fell into your own fireplace, and I had to grab you at the last minute. And then, just now, when Hadwin made it very clear he knew about your unique problem. This curse seems to thrive off of imbalance and surges of adrenaline. So, in the interim--you, my friend, need to learn how to calm down. It’ll at least give you a sense of agency over this nonsense; you do have some control over when these flare-ups occur. We can work on that.”
Nia flashed a reassuring smile, and ticked off another finger. “Secondly, from what I can tell of my very preliminary assessment, you, my friend, are otherwise in fine health. I think this contributes to why you don’t seem to flare up in more than one place at a time. You’re a fighter, and your body is doing its best to fight this curse off like a virus, or a poison, or… ugh, honestly, those are both shit analogies. Curses are their own thing--but you get the idea. Of course, we’ve all got our weaknesses, and it’s those weak points that are letting the curse manifest in these flare-ups. So,” she sat up straighter in her seat, “going forward, I propose we focus on working out the kinks in your body that are allowing the curse to flow unimpeded. That’s a good preventative measure, and it’ll give you a sense of control. But I am also not opposed to finding a way to draw it out of you completely, bit by bit. I think I have enough information to form a hypothesis or two, so I’ll get back to you on that front. Like I said, this could take time, but I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. And if you’re willing to stick around,” she grinned and pulled her gloves back onto her hands. “Then consider me at your service, Ari. Of course, the majority of my time and expertise, I have promised to the sorceress… but there are no rules against helping a friend in need when I can find the time.”
Driven to defeat and removed of options, Ari shed the protective layers of fabric that for decades had been his most reliable barrier between the casual observer and detection. At first, burying beneath loose-hanging garments happened as a necessity, but as he explored different fashionable cover-up alternatives, the style became his own. Like a reflection of his home, or of the places he made home, Ari wore art upon his body, displaying his sophisticated palate like colors upon a canvas. Every day, he would wipe the canvas clean, and begin afresh.
Now that he was bunching the most reliable curtain of fabric aside, exposing patches of raw earthen material that no human should comprise, those decades of careful wardrobe choices seemed like a pointless venture of frivolity and folly. They were mere distractions, obfuscating not only the truth from outsiders, but from himself. If he didn’t have to look at the mineralized reminder of his childhood accident, then he could pretend he had no affliction. For a while, pretending had worked. But like slapping a bandage upon an open, oozing wound, it wasn’t a permanent fix. This was made all the more evident whenever he let his calm demeanor slip, as was becoming too worryingly common, of late. Whether clothed or bare, the metamorphosis of skin into stone would always occur, regardless of his preparedness, mental or physical. And so long as it kept happening, Aristide Canaveris would never live as he truly desired: boundless and untethered to the chains of the past, the chains of his curse.
Perhaps that was why he, in part, agreed to the wolfish man’s proposal. Backed into a corner he might have been, but they had given him the option to decline. Granted, it was more Nia who had presented options, and Hadwin nodded in turn, as though bearing no strong opinion one way or another, but they ultimately left him to decide. Regrettably, Hadwin was right. A rare opportunity had fallen into his lap. If a Master Alchemist could assess the damage and spot a solution, then he would be remiss not to allow her an analysis.
In theory, recruiting Nia’s aid was a sound plan--if they resided in a vacuum whereupon consequences didn’t matter. Alas, within the finesses of family dynamics, politics, and self-preservation of a society and culture, acquiescing to Hadwin’s bullying request painted him as selfish and borderline foolish. What if neither wolf nor alchemist honored the transaction? Or, suppose they did, but demanded more of him to prevent an imbalance of services? Sculpting a to-scale statue was certainly not an overnight endeavor, but addressing a longstanding curse that no mage or Master Alchemist could resolve in full? He would need to offer more to achieve a balanced scale.
But what it really boiled down to...was trust. While Nia had shown trustworthy tendencies, enough for him to extend an open invitation to the villa--until either their truce ended or he and the D’Marians returned to Stella D’Mare--her loyalties lay first with a sorceress he was secretly conspiring to defeat. Unless negotiations between him and Queen Lilica turned out unsuccessful. What if, somehow, proximity to his flesh-turned-stone would reveal to her his treacherous intentions, as would scanning for bumps on one’s head reveal a person’s hidden nature? Or, more realistically, what if Hadwin Kavanagh, uncanny fear-scryer, unceremoniously listed his fear-charged plans and strategies for her to hear? What side of the table did he even sit? On one hand, he clearly supported Queen Lilica and Lady Chara. On the other hand...he’d befriended Nia. Even more damning--wasn’t Ari doing the same? Playing both sides? Would all of his well-devised goals unravel before one opportunistic wolf and his unnervingly insightful eyes?
Hadwin met Ari’s gaze and smiled devilishly. Oh, he knew everything, didn’t he!?
“Is this your revenge against my treatment of Lord Rigas?” he couldn’t help but lob the question to the man who was clearly enjoying himself.
“What, getting you help is revenge? Is that really what you think of me?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “And here I thought we had a rapport, Ari!”
“Are we to ignore your earlier comment in which you address yourself as ‘rotten’?”
“Ah, yeah, definitely rotten, but I’m not screwing you over, cross my heart!” You’d know it if I did, the crinkle in those devious eyes seemed to say.
Sighing and in no mood to argue, Ari twisted in his chair to Nia, whose hands poised over the strip of petrified flesh and patiently waited for his permission to proceed. He stiffened in his seat, but nodded, consenting to her touch.
He couldn’t remember the last time someone made contact with the calcified swaths that periodically replaced his skin, and it felt as off-putting as he’d anticipated. Though he experienced no sensation, no heat, and no pressure, gooseflesh sprawled over the unaffected parts of his arm in reaction to watching hand and stone connect. And when he thought the invasive procedure couldn’t be more uncomfortable, more awkward, she asked him to disrobe.
“P-pardon?!” The chills racking his body not a moment ago flew upward to a fever pitch. His cheeks boiled from the suggestion. Even as she elucidated on her reasons for so drastic a step, he still hesitated to comply. Beyond simple modesty, beyond the impropriety of stripping before guests, he avoided undressing whenever possible. Barring routine baths, he seldom spent more than a fraction of the day unclothed, refusing to so much as feel air pass over his skin, it bothered him so. Whenever changing wardrobes, he draped a curtain over his bedroom mirror, ashamed of the reflection, of what he might see deprived of his armor. To remove those protective identifiers and sit, stewing in greater vulnerability before an acquaintance and a stranger, was nearly enough to change his mind and renege on their agreement.
But they had already begun the process, and to quit now meant also dropping the possibility, however slim, of learning the cure to his stubborn curse.
“Very well.” Resigned, he unfastened the buttons of his longcoat, a one-handed skill he perfected over years of randomly losing dexterity in one hand or, at present, one arm. Already flummoxed and flustered, he shied from Nia’s assistance and, to maintain the precious few scraps of dignity remaining on his person, removed the brunt of his clothes independently, allowing her only to peel the coat and tunic from the hook of his stiff arm, and nothing more. Owing to the decades of necessary heavy-wear, a feat difficult to manage in the hot and humid climate of Stella D’Mare, the skin beneath his eliminated layers was underdeveloped in tone, a washed-out, muddy brown in place of the warm bronze glint splashed across his forehead, nose, and cheeks. Free of the padded longcoat, he lost two sizes in bulk, appearing frailer, sunken, and small. Gone was the proud Canaveris Lord. On display featured a man in shambles, his larger than life prestige, deflated and demystified. Loath to release his fine clothes, he draped the coat and tunic over the small dining table, assuring they wouldn’t leave his peripheral vision.
“Miss Nia...proceed,” he managed; despite the humiliation, he scrounged up the last vestiges of decorum and graced to project a stately, unruffled tone. The arm lowered on the table whence he’d positioned it, before. Its spread of petrifaction, which once covered a thin strip of the upper forearm, now dipped into the crook of his elbow. The areas of skin directly adjacent to the shelf of stone swelled and stretched taut, responding to the anticipated foreign assault by rising in temperature and firing off painful synapses. Taking a deep breath and holding it, he froze amid Nia’s examination, emitting the poise of a statue in its entirety as she traced her pliant fingers surveyed his shoulders, back, arms, neck, and torso.
When her roving hands inspected his heartbeat, he lost concentration on his breath, or lack of it, and exhaled on a streaming whoosh of air. “I...am aware,” he said, breathless. “Anxiety exacerbates it. Believe it or not, I am, by nature, a calm person.” Figuring he needed to prove his claims true, he closed his eyes and breathed as she instructed: in on four and out on eight. Within a minute, his heart-rate steadily decreased. No longer racing, it hovered around high-normal--until she mentioned blood, and it spiked up to high-high.
“Yes...of course.” Flattening his voice to prevent from wavering and wobbling, he pulled the white glove off the hand of the non-petrified arm with his teeth, and thus, removed the final barrier that encompassed the essence of Lord Aristide Canaveris. All finery stripped--save for his trousers and shoes--nothing remained but his constituent parts: flesh, bone, and blood. And stone. Wasn’t that all he was, in the end? Unrefined marble that he shaped and refined into something, someone else? Someone better? Someone capable? A leader who championed the people?
Unable to look, Ari squeezed his eyes shut, his finger twitching in response to the knife prick and the ensuing squeeze to juice out the blood like a lemon. He opened his eyes only when the heat of her hands transferred down his arm, to the affected area. Curious, he trained one eye on the band of stony, petrified skin, and amazed at how a few quick, blood-slicked swipes seemed to buff and massage the stone out of existence. He blinked, in case what he witnessed was some trick of the light, but no; somehow, she restored the original quality of his flesh. Granite gray subsided to brown, its coarse, rough surface now soft and springy to the touch--as his disbelieving hands had reported. Only a thin film of powder, the detritus, remained as a leftover from the rather quick and efficient process.
“It...vanished.” He pumped his arm up and down, in wide circles and side-to-side swipes. No resistance followed. No resulting inflammation, no absence of sensation or heat. Nia had done as promised and restored the limb. It was not a permanent measure; of course not, but if it could take minutes instead of days to rid of his pesky immobility issues...
His thoughts were interrupted by a loud caw of a secondary presence. He’d almost forgotten about Hadwin, who, to his credit, leaned one shoulder against the doorframe and quietly observed the procedure. “Now you tell me to leave?” He gave a good-natured scoff. “Probably should’ve said so before the strip-down, hmm?” Aiming a parting wink at Ari, the wolfish man opened the door and exited, a soft and muted clink following his departure.
Now that their third party was gone, Ari wasted no time getting redressed. Silent relief passed over him as the silken tunic brushed over his skin like a susurrus, and the welcome weight of his longcoat filled in his frame. Thus returned to his former glory, the Canaveris Lord took a seat and listened to Nia’s detailed prognosis with realistic expectations. If Stella D’Mare’s Master Alchemist, the best in the region, could not upend the curse, he wouldn’t exercise much hope for a permanent solution. As it stood, he was simply relieved to find a cure for the symptom. Unfortunately, it resided in Nia, a transient ally who would withdraw her aid the second she suspected foul play.
“I thank you for your observation, Miss Nia, but I must first inform you,” the smallest tick of defiance plied at his brow, “that I am calm. Considering this unusual slew of events have triggered my most recent flare-ups--chief among them, the Serpent appearing from the sky, and the two-fold discovery of my most guarded secret, which I’ve now found you’ve known about since the Serpent burrowed its reptilian face through a dimensional rift, it is inconceivable that I have been able to practice calming meditations and suchlike. Prior to Lord Rigas’ grievous foibles, I had not experienced a flare-up in a moon’s cycle. I bear no disrespect, but please acknowledge that your current perception of me is not an accurate one. My line of work requires that I am calm. Now that I’ve dispensed of the preface,” his brow smoothed, and he lowered his head, placing his ungloved hand to his chest in an appreciative bow, “would that it were possible, Miss Nia, if circumstances differed, I would have welcomed you into my court as my personal Master Alchemist. Your skill and professionalism are both well-developed, and you have demonstrated a clear understanding of the craft. You have my respect. But you are spoken for, I’m afraid. Which would make proceeding with any type of long-term plan a difficult endeavor. I cannot in good faith ask you to commit to a long, drawn-out process when you’ve enough to deal with. Therefore, it is regrettable that I must decline your longterm services.”
“However,” he slid on his glove, minding the pinprick wound on the fingerpad where Nia’s knife had nicked him, “should the need arise, I am not opposed to calling on you should I require alleviation of my symptoms. Pending your availability, of course--and your consent. For the statue, this is a payment I am willing to accept.” He paused when she referred to them as ‘friends.’ Friendships required trust, and for all that he felt he could trust her in some respects, could she trust him? Trust was only stable insofar as alliances held, and theirs was fleeting, ephemeral. Doomed to crack.
“I see you are nursing quite the headache. My apologies for not noticing it sooner. And here, I foolishly served you liquor.” Standing from his seat, he fished for an object in his coat’s front pocket. “Before you depart, take this.” He plopped a black, volcanic stone, its surface perfectly round and smooth, into her palm. “May it make up for my egregious oversight. This stone is capable of absorbing toxins from the carrier’s body. Hold it to the affected area until the symptoms abate. No, it is not effective on cursed persons, though that certainly did not stop me from trying,” he smiled in spite of himself. “Stella D’Mare is fond of the drink. As a result, we are quite well-versed in conceiving of cures for those pesky morning headaches.”
After becoming more or less presentable, Ari reached for his cane at the door and accompanied Nia to the carriage, where Briery and Hadwin waited for her. “We shall keep in touch via resonance stone. Despite today’s...travails,” he didn’t speak the travail’s source by name, but he meant Hadwin, “understand you are always welcome at my villa, Miss Nia.” With the carriage unburdened of its art and reference materials, the D’Marian leader, promising to inform everyone of the statue’s progress, bid farewell to the trio before turning and heading back inside the cozy warmth of his villa.
Catching Nia by the arm before she could climb into the carriage, Hadwin, grinning, whispered into her ear. “So I didn’t lie last night. I was gonna behave, but then I saw a perfect opportunity and changed my mind. And damn, am I pleased with the results! Sorta ruined my chances to party at his place, but I say it was worth it! After seeing your skill at work, there’s no way he’s gonna ignore you now. And hey,” he nudged her suggestively, “he likes you. Sure, he can’t really afford to trust anyone, big bad secret and all, but even with the threat of my offputting presence pressuring him to act, I don’t think he would’ve stripped bare-chested if he didn’t fancy or respect you a little. So I call this experiment a success. Rejoice; he’s not afraid of you. He’s afraid of the ‘what-if.’” Disengaging, he turned to the carriage and proceeded to crouch inside the small compartment. “I’m rooting for you two!”
“Hey, I believe you. Don’t get me wrong, Ari, you don’t strike me as a paranoid wreck--far from it! I’d definitely peg you as the composed type.” Realizing one of her suggestions had clearly hit a nerve in the Canaveris lord, Nia sat back in her seat and lent an ear as he defended his overall temperament and disposition. “I didn’t mean to assume or to insinuate that you don’t have your emotions under control. I’ve seen you under pressure; you get things done! You don’t let fear get in your way. What I meant by ‘calming down’, I don’t mean in the emotional sense. You’ve got a good, strong head on your shoulders, and you are capable of making sound and effective decisions when you find yourself in a bind. Hell, I don’t know that I’d have been as steadfast as you were if someone were to unleash some otherworldly beast on my home!”
Gently massaging a temple, the Master Alchemist closed her throbbing eyes against the light streaming in from the window. “What I mean is your physiological response; racing heart, adrenaline… all of that stuff. You have more control over your biofeedback than you might think. As of now… would it be safe for me to assume that you have no control over what turns to stone, and when?” When she opened her eyes, he gave her a nod of affirmation. It was just as she thought. “Well, what if I told you I think it might be possible to direct these flare-ups in a way that could be the least detrimental to you? I think that is a goal that certainly would not take months. Just some practice here and there, and a little bit of energy work. I think I’ve got a general idea of how your energies flow and which ones get caught up in stone. Imagine,” she leaned forward a little, “if, upon feeling another flare-up coming on… you could redirect it from your foot to, say a spot on your lower back, your shoulder, or the back of your thigh. Somewhere so minimally obvious that it would neither influence your behaviour, nor impede you. Don’t get me wrong, Ari, I am more than happy to come on over whenever you are in need of some instant relief from… well, turning to stone. But don’t tell me you aren’t interested in having some agency over your curious affliction?”
Of course, he didn’t need to say a word for her to read it on his face: the last thing Ari Canaveris wanted to do was to ask for help, even from her, for fear of being an inconvenience or, more specifically, at risk of his secret somehow getting out by way of seeking outside help. Even if he did not desire to rid himself of the curse completely, either for lack of faith in her or in himself, it would do him no good to simply act like a band-aid to what was a very complex problem. There was no guarantee that she would be around every time that he might require use of her unique skillset, and furthermore, she would not always be readily available in the same kingdom… or, neither would he. Not when his goal was ultimately to return to Stella D’Mare with his people.
A slow smile played on her lips as she carefully opened her eyes. “Contrary to what you may think… Locque doesn’t control me. I wouldn’t work with someone who does. Certainly, she has some expectations in exchange for ensuring my safety, but since you are not her enemy and have already surrendered, I cannot foresee her taking any issue in me helping you in any way. But if you don’t foresee complete eradication of your curse as something that is viable, given what you envision for your life...well, that is entirely up to you. However, I strongly suggest you let me help you gain a modicum of control. That’s something you can work on indefinitely, even long after I’m gone, once you have the tools. Besides… it might be something your life might one day depend on.”
That smile faded at the corners as a more serious shadow flickered through her vibrant, brown eyes. “I’m not an expert on curses; that would be the jurisdiction of a mage, first and foremost, and I can’t say I’ve had many people approach me to deal with curses. But given this preliminary examination, I think I have a fairly good idea of how yours operates, Ari. And… I’m not sure how else to put this, aside from the fact that I think you have been very, very lucky thus far. Every time you’ve experienced a flare up in my company, it seems they have been confined to your extremities: feet and legs, fingers, hands, and toes. And given the fact that you are still here--alive and well and talking to me, right now, I assume that this is usually the case, and has been such since you were first treated by a Master Alchemist. However, from what I can glean, there is nothing restricting this curse from flaring up in more serious areas… namely, internal. Organs. You can survive and deal with an arm or a leg turning to stone for a little while, but how long do you think you would have if it ever targeted your lungs… your heart?” Nia sank a little further into her chair, a look crossing her fair features that suggested this was something she had only recently considered, as well.
“You wouldn’t have long. Three minutes before you might end up coming to in a vegetative state; five to seven, and you’re gone, for good, if I cannot get to you soon enough, or if you cannot take control fast enough to redirect the flare-up. And while it doesn’t appear having your arm turn to stone causes you too much pain… believe me when I say you won’t be so fortunate if it happens to be your heart.” Pressing a sigh from her lungs, she added, “Word has it that the resident Master Alchemist at the palace… that’s how he killed his master. Turned his heart to stone. Don’t get me wrong, Zenech was one real son of a bitch and largely disliked by most of the global alchemical community; I can’t imagine the way he treated his poor apprentices. But that is not a peaceful, or comfortable, way to go. And for as long as you suffer this curse, Ari… it remains a solid possibility in your future. Sure, there are both better and worse things that could happen to you; but if possible--if it were me… That would certainly be a possibility that I’d rather eradicate.”
Now that she was no longer distracted by tending to Ari’s petrified arm (or his otherwise very good-looking torso; an observation which, for his sake, she had kept to herself for the sake of professionalism), the headache behind her eyes demanded her attention, pounding harder and sharper than before. Likely a result of putting her alchemical abilities to work, activating those runes on her hands; they could leave her winded and worse for the wear on a good day, under the right circumstances. Working with a hangover was another beast in and of itself. It evidently hadn’t surpassed Ari’s attention that she was feeling under the weather, and he reached into his pocket to retrieve something, which he placed in her palm. Nia knew what it was before her fingers curled around its smooth surface. “Ah; you’ve got one of these. Handy little stones, indeed. But you’re right; curses and toxins are very different beasts. Sadly it wouldn’t be of any help to you. I mean, after so many uses and it’s reached its capacity, it won’t be of use to anyone unless you can find someone capable of cleansing it… but you’re right. At the moment, I think it will do the trick. And--thank you. Honestly,” she blew a puff of air from between her lips. “I don’t think I could withstand another crammed carriage-ride back with one of the loudest individuals I have ever met. And I think you know I’m not talking about that sweet acrobat.”
Standing from her seat, Nia followed Ari out of the room, but just short of stepping outside, she paused, and turned to him.
“I, of course, respect whatever decision that you make, Ari. And if you’d like to keep it strictly to symptom management, then of course, I’m happy to help whenever I am able. But… I hope you will think on my offer. And I hope that you will reconsider a long-term treatment plan.” While well aware that Lazarus, his unmovable golem-turned-manservant was likely nearby, she went ahead anyway and spoke her mind one last time. “I know Locque got to me first. And, at least for now, I am rather at her beck and call, to some extent. I don’t really have a choice; she’s offering safety and security, and I can’t remember the last time I had any of htta. But she has not made me sign anything that suggests my skillset is exclusive to her whims and goals. You’ve already surrendered; this isn’t even a conflict in interest. Hell, I’m putting my neck on the line more by having casual drinks with the faoladh out there.”
A smile hooked the corner of her mouth again, but only for a moment. She had all the time in the world to joke, to flirt, to pass time idly; but depending on how Ari’s curse continued to unfold, however much he thought he had it under control… the same might not be said for him. And for some reason, despite that she could count their encounters on one hand, it… concerned her. And it made her worry. “I think I can help you; with more than band-aid solutions or calming down a flare-up whenever they occur. And honestly, if something were to happen that I know could have been prevented had we engaged in a more future-oriented approach… I don’t know that I’d be able to rid myself of that guilt. I get that I’m not trustworthy, but I’m not asking you to trust me. If I am the issue and you would feel better moving forward with someone’s else’s help, then hell, I’ll go and talk to the Master Alchemist at the palace, myself. Don’t know him personally, and it turns out he’s already decided to hate my guts--and to be honest, I’m not sure how easily he’d take to you, since it sounds like you kind of put his very best friend through hell…yeah, according to Hadwin, Alster’s been good to him. So he might be a little sore. But,” She shrugged her shoulders, “He sounds like a man of good moral structure. He’s kind of reclusive, and always has been, so he wouldn’t be the type to spread your secret like a disease. In fact, I’d even go so far to admit that he’s better than me; already learned everything he had to learn before he offed his abusive mentor. My family was killed when I was a young teenager, and there’s a lot I had to teach myself in the aftermath for lack of having a teacher. But I digress.”
Nia cast a glance over her shoulder, and at the carriage beyond. Hadwin and Briery had already unloaded the wide array of paintings and sketches of the fallen Silver Fairy for Ari to use as a reference, and they appeared to be waiting on her to depart. It was time to tie this up. “The bottom line is… I don’t think you should shy away from a far more stable and less rock-ridden future, because with the right help, it is entirely possible for you. Truth be told… I like you, Ari. You seem like a genuine person. And despite how you might read me with my allegiance to Locque, I have no intention of jeopardizing your safety; in fact, if I thought for a moment that I was, then you have my word I would stay the hell away. And you’ve really won me over with your plans for Stella D’Mare.” An idle hand reached up to toy with the oxidized steel star hanging at her throat. “All you want is what is best for your people and to see your home, again, and you don’t seem the type to have hidden agendas. I’m never going to see my home again; at least, not in a way that I can see it as home, so much as a pit of danger. So one of us should survive long enough to go home, right? At least promise… promise me that you will think my proposition over. Not for anyone’s sake but your own.”
Stepping outside and back into the daylight, Nia almost immediately regretted it and promptly placed that volcanic stone against one of her temples, as her headache rose up in a searing, sharp wave of agony at the light. “Oh, and… sorry about the ‘travails’.” She nodded in Hadwin’s direction. “Just because he seems relatively harmless doesn’t mean he doesn’t have the capacity to be a pain in the ass. Maybe send for Briery Frealy, alone, once you have that commission done, to save you the headache. Oh--and Ari?” She had just about turned away, but paused, and hesitated. “...thank you.”
Whether it was a ‘thank you’ for giving her another chance, for his cooperation, for tolerating her presence and hearing her out, or for simply telling her she was welcome in his home, wasn’t clear; and Nia didn’t elaborate. With a parting nod, Nia moved toward the carriage, and Ari was already back inside by the time Hadwin caught her by the arm before she could join Briery in her escape from the bright, chilly day. “You just got lucky it worked out the way that it did,” she blew out a puff of air and arched an eyebrow. “I told you his curse is a sore spot. And… hell, if I had known I would be treating him today, I wouldn’t have gotten drunk off my ass. You know how embarrassing it is to have to prove my ‘professionalism’ with an obvious hangover? He noticed, too!” She motioned to the stone he had given her. “I don’t think he accepted my services or stripped half-naked just now because he likes me, as much as because you seem to have a good way of pressuring people into doing what you want, and he probably felt pretty damned trapped. Not that I’m disappointed he trusted me enough to help… but I’m not sure he trusts me enough to continue to receive help. At least, not from me. Listen.”
She lowered her voice, in case anyone in the vicinity would overhear, and Ari’s privacy would only be further jeopardized. “This affliction of his? It appears benign for the most part, and up until now, I think it has been--but only because I think he’s been lucky. An arm or a leg turning to stone? Annoying, but not a real problem. But what if it were internal organs? He can’t invest faith in me because of Locque--and I get that. I don’t blame him. But neither do I want the guy to live at risk, especially since external stressors appear to be a trigger, and there will be no shortage of those for the next little while, I’m sure. Not to mention, he’s not going to be of much use to you if he’s dead, either. And I think you’ll be hard-pressed to find another sculptor of his calibre around these parts. What he needs is a long-term plan to first control and eventually eradicate the curse altogether. But he seems to think my affiliation with Locque is a conflict of interest. So, since you opened this can of worms,” she jabbed a finger at his chest. “Go talk to your reclusive Master Alchemist at the palace. Don’t mention Ari’s name, but try to get a feel as to whether he’d be comfortable tackling the situation. I don’t care if I’m not the one to do it. I just don’t want to see a good man taken down by something beyond his control that could have been prevented, or stopped, y’know?” She shrugged her shoulders and let her hand drop.
“As for anything else--before you think it, no, I don’t think there’s a hope in hell our talented sculptor would be interested in shacking up with me, virgin or no.” She snorted, and grabbed one of the door handles of the carriage to hoist herself into a seat. “I could hardly get him out of half of his clothes to fix his arm. Imagine how slim the chances are of him disrobing for any other reason. A shame, too.” Nia shook her head, a somewhat wistful, somewhat mischievous grin playing on her full lips. “...I liked what I saw.”
Ari would be spreading falsehoods if he said that Nia’s suppositions failed to pique his interest, for they certainly raised his eyebrows in consideration. While the concepts presented were not new to him, somewhere down the line, he’d since traded determination for resignation and surrendered to the caprices of his unusual affliction, convinced he could do little else but concoct creative cover-ups for whenever flare-ups occurred. His family hadn’t exactly encouraged exploration, either, fearing that excessive tampering would cause his condition to resurface. Curses were finicky beasts. They did not appreciate workarounds and often responded with a vengeance. Ergo, the odds of failure were far greater than the infinitesimal hope of success. Better to live with the inconvenience than die researching an unnecessary, and likely ineffective, panacea. Besides, the curse did not impact or spoil his quality of life. He grew up wanting for nothing, doted on, loved, cared for, and validated for his talents. No request or question was out of line...but for one prohibited topic. The Canaveris family never spoke of the curse. For knowledgeable members of the inner circle, mention of it at all was a taboo subject, subject to a stern rebuking and a fitting punishment. Whenever he mentioned the curse…
You are a perfectly healthy boy, Ari, the family would croon. There is nothing wrong with you.
But there is! He would insist, tired of their skirting the subject. There must be more we can do. The flare-ups, they take over, sometimes for days. I can’t always walk or run like the other boys. If my hands are rock, how can I eat?
Haven’t we given you everything? They would admonish, a chorus of voices reading from the same script. Spare us some gratitude, Ari. Nobody fancies an unappreciative child.
But… He would make one entreaty, to no avail. But what should I do?
There is nothing to do. There is nothing wrong with you. If someone tells you otherwise, you inform us posthaste and we will deal with the matter. End of story.
For the majority of his childhood, he followed his family’s model and ignored the problem, receiving mixed results. Some days, especially days which involved Chara Rigas, his flare-ups would render him bedridden, for his inability to walk without hobbling on a cane. A family physician, who, adhering to the Canaveris gag order, never addressed the nature of his curse, only providing accommodations and ease of conveyance during his phases of restricted mobility. Any inquiring outsiders who asked after the young Canaveris second-heir received an overly simplified explanation: he was a sickly boy. Nothing more substantial, nothing that would besmirch the family name. Nothing that would lose their influencing grip on high society. The Canaveris family might have been unconventional, but they too enforced certain traditions. In the end, it behooved everyone to forget Ari had been cursed. Ari, included.
Nonetheless, Nia’s perfectly sensible techniques appealed to him. She was offering him help. A few decades delayed, true, but wasn’t this what he wanted? Autonomous control over where to direct his flare-ups, should they manifest?
“I cannot deny that what you propose is rather appealing, Miss Nia. Long have I envisioned a scenario in which I’m able to banish, disrupt, or, at the very least, reposition flare-ups as they arise. If this is indeed conceivable, and would not be a strain on your resources, then I must give the matter careful thought. Expect a message via resonance stone in several days’ time. Then, I will compose an appropriate reply.” As he stood from his chair, he readjusted his cravat, fluffing it so that it presented like a bird’s plumage against his chest. Apart from agreeing with her out of politesse, he showed genuine receptiveness towards her strategy, wishing that, if only, he could ensure his path to curse-management was the correct one to take. But neither could he dismiss Nia’s endearing attempts to prove her sincerity. He believed it, believed her. She was too straight-forward and authentic to openly deceive him, or take advantage of their fledgling relationship. No, she did not pose the problem; Locque did. One day, he would have to defy the sorceress and, by default, defy Nia...and he did not wish to betray their burgeoning trust. Though I am cursed, I have lived a fruitful, healthful life thus far. I should be grateful, and not push my luck.
“If I may...I would like to put your fears at rest--lest your wolfish friend exploit them for his games of fancy.” Ari curled his fingers over the silver-tipped, protruding shaft of his blackwood cane, feeling the inviting metal even through the glove’s layered fabric. “As a child, when I...when the curse took hold,” he said, vaguely, “my internal organs remained unaffected. Only the outer casings of my body: skin, hair, all four appendages, eyes, ears, mouth--petrified to stone. The curse attacked the surface level, but never infiltrated beyond my external threshold. I would not be standing before you today had it penetrated deeper. Fortunately, my inheritance blessed me with strong magical resistance; it fended off the most damaging, deadly effects, warding the curse and preventing it from encasing me whole. Indeed, I am lucky to have avoided the brunt of its assault, and am certainly lucky to be alive. But--rest assured, Miss Nia.” A mollifying smile stretched across his face. “The curse cannot affect my organs because it never has petrified my organs. What I suffer is purely cosmetic. It is entirely unnecessary to seek the help of other professionals.” He leveled her a solemn, almost desperate gaze that read: Please do not involve anyone else. “If Master Isidor Kristeva is thus on favorable terms with Lord Rigas, all the more reason not to beseech his expertise. Should Lord Rigas catch wind of my unique condition, then I daresay he will gain the leverage needed to overthrow my rule and discredit my family, if he so chose. Considering his most recent stunt with the Serpent, I will no longer underestimate the man’s capacity for ruthlessness. I trust you will keep this between us, Miss Nia.”
Stepping out of the room, they traversed the corridors and wended their way to the front entrance. Despite its size and coverage, his padded coat did not fully serve him against the afternoon chill. Growing up exclusively in Stella D’Mare made him unprepared for the faintest hint of cold weather. “If I am honest, Miss Nia, I doubt I could have provided you the protection you seek. In Galeyn, my role as a D’Marian leader is a diminished one. Compared to my Rigas predecessor, whose alliances range far and wide, my influence and reach are but a humble contrast at best.” He raised a hand to tidy the loose strands of black hair that had blown across his face in the bitter, raw wind. “Nonetheless, do be careful,” he lowered his voice to a volume where it could be mistaken for the wind. “A tyrant, by nature of the name, does not rule well, and her subjects are bound to suffer. For your sake, let us hope she utilizes her power justly. Life has been unkind; you deserve stable shelter in these trying times. That is my earnest wish for you, Miss Nia.” Though a bit taken aback by her earnest ‘thank you,’ he bowed elegantly from the waist and cast her a parting smile. “I believe I should be thanking you. Thank you. Do take care.”
After their affairs had been settled, in particular, the acquisition of Cwenha’s portraits, paintings, and detailed measurements, Ari disappeared into his villa in a swish of billowing coat-tails, buoyed by the wind. Now that the weather had favored his noble bearing, in sunlight and by the breeze, his classy egress caught Hadwin’s ever-hungry attention.
“That man’s got flair, and I’m all for it,” the faoladh rumbled into Nia’s ear. “Pity I dashed my chances with him; maybe he would’ve caved to my advances eventually. Given how patient I can be, I would’ve waited. Gotta say, I didn’t mind the physique he was packing, either. Bit underdeveloped and neglected, but an enviable shape. He’s a genuine snack, this one. And you ain’t gonna even attempt to reel in the goods?“ He snorted, patently unsatisfied. “What a waste, Nia. I’ve seen enough to capture a glint of, dare I say, interest, in his eye. Oh no, not sexual interest, not yet, but whatever you’ve done with him so far, he...brightens a bit when around you. He’s dead unaware or it. Between the confusion and fear, it’s hard to see you with clear eyes. But there’s an unmistakable compatibility in the air. Believe me, I do this shit for a living. Let’s work on it, shall we?”
Circling back to the condition that plagued the genteel Canaveris lord, Hadwin shrugged in dismissal, unaffected by the Master Alchemist’s light admonishment in regards to his meddlesome methods. “But eh, progress is progress. I’ll let you know if I feel guilty about it later. As is stands, pressuring him into compliance was the only way he’d agree to take your help. He wasn’t gonna bite any other way. He’s afraid it’s uncouth of him to request aid for an issue he doesn’t deem important enough to merit treating. Doing so means he’d lose face with his family, and he doesn’t wanna disappoint ‘em. I did my part, Nia, and you should be thanking me, really. But awww,” he crowed at the stone she showed him, “look it, he gave you a gift for your hangover. Scratch professionalism if it means you get shit for free, yeah? Keep on coming over, and he’ll sculpt your likeness, next! Oh wouldn’t that be something!?” His grin wore off as he mulled about Nia’s proposal, clicking his tongue to sound verbal ellipses in the air.
“Relax, I don’t want the man to die. He charmed my trousers right off giving me liquor and a statue, just by asking for it. But if you think I’ve got any kind of sway over fucking Isidor after forcing him to relive his greatest traumas and fears...psh, he’ll slam the door right in my face. Not saying I couldn’t squeeze my way through the door with persuasion and ace reflexes, but jury’s out on if he’ll hear me at all. I’ll give you he’s the curious sort, though. Might pique up at the details.” He slapped the topside of the carriage. “But don’t be surprised if he refers the matter to his Rigas friend. Y’know, the one that Ari screwed over? Hells, Al’s a healer who works in energy, and he’s dealt with curses, before. He’d be the one to ask, ‘cept, y’know, he and fancypants have a contentious history, now. Oh, and here’s a juicy detail;” he cupped a hand to Nia’s ear, for emphasis. “Ari’s a liiiittle afraid of him. So, just think about how you wanna proceed. This shit’s nuanced and politically charged. Tread too heavily, and you might eviscerate your chances of helping out your pretty-boy.” Swinging open the carriage door, the faoladh practically hopped inside, emulating less of a wolf, and more of a hyperactive monkey.
Under the careful supervision of the Gardeners, Elias, and Daphni, Alster recovered from his various ailments at an expedited rate. Accompanied by the sanctuary’s beneficial energies, he settled into his body—and his magic—just a day shy of the kingdom’s protracted surrender. Elespeth, too, showed signs of improvement. Her fever had broken and she was allowed free space to walk about the tiny hut and outside. He was thankful for their rate of convalescence, for, whether fully recovered or not, they would be scheduled to leave on the morrow—the day of surrender.
Every morning, Daphni and Elias would inform them of the latest goings-on in the council room. In a gesture signifying that no physical harm would befall Alster so long as he did not interfere, Locque offered to return Bronwyn Kavanagh to their company, a decision met with indifferent reception. At the very least, taking in the Kavanagh sibling meant one less wolf in Locque’s retinue. Not that her release made a substantial dent in the sorceress’ wide breadth of power, but the attempt at a bloodless transaction was recognized by the council, and accepted.
Understanding the time constraints, the healers discharged Alster early so he could get his affairs in order, under the condition that Elespeth, who they also discharged, accompanied and kept him in close supervision. By himself, Alster did not elicit much confidence or trust, a detail of which he was painfully aware. While it was not much, he determined to make his rounds about the palace and apologize profusely for his behavior. Starting with Isidor.
With Elespeth’s support, Alster, frail and unbalanced, leaned against her shoulder as they slowly traversed the corridors for quite possibly the penultimate time. If not indefinitely, it would be for a while. “When we relocate to the farmhouse, will you do me a favor?” He asked his wife, almost breathless from overreaction. “In exchange for teaching you magic, can you...train me in the way of a warrior? I’ve grown so weary...of well, of being weary. My constitution has taken a severe dive, of late, and...and I need to regain my strength. My physical strength. I know you’ll have no problem whipping me into shape, El. I may even come to enjoy it...if whipping is literally involved, and you’re the one doing it,” he added, a sly smile briefly crossing his lips.
However, any talk of their farmhouse plans, illicit or otherwise, was put on temporary hold as they arrived at Isidor’s closed door. Biting his lip, Alster, held upright by Elespeth, tentatively approached the door and laid a few shaky knocks upon the whorled wooden surface.
At his third knock, Isidor answered the summons, looking surprised to see Alster standing on the other side of the threshold.
“Isidor.” He swallowed his trepidation and nodded a greeting. “G-good morning. I hope I’m not disrupting your work. I won’t be long. You don’t even have to invite me inside. I...I only wanted to say,” he closed his eyes and hung his head, contrite, “I’m sorry. I don’t expect forgiveness for my actions. You were right to ward the room and block me from using my magic. I must say, it was...exceedingly effective,” he said, not without a hint of admiration in reserve for his talented friend. “You are my friend, Isidor. I sincerely regret if my unruly behavior has in any way jeopardized, or destroyed, our friendship.” Opening his eyes, he nodded over to Elespeth. “We’re to be leaving for the farmhouse tomorrow. Locque will not welcome those who refuse to surrender to her. But I won’t depart without saying goodbye...without expressing how truly sorry I am for causing you any amount of stress and worry. If you wish to renounce our ties...I understand. My conduct has been unconscionable and I am not worthy of another chance. All I wanted was to be a good friend to you...but I couldn’t uphold that promise. You’ve given me so much, and I, in turn, have given you nothing but grief. I’m afraid I’ve made a horrible friend. My apologies are endless, but they are meaningless if you have no use for them. I...I,” he retreated a step, invariably crashing into Elespeth, “I won’t waste more of your time. Goodbye, Isidor. Please stay safe.”
Nia huffed a semi-frustrated sigh and looked over her shoulder at the Canaveris residence, and couldn’t help but wonder if the wolf was correct in his appraisal of Aristide’s potential interest, or if it was just wishful thinking on both of their parts. Would she be passing up an opportunity if she did not entertain the idea that he might end up seeing her in a light beyond that of a professional alchemist? “It’s not that I wouldn’t want to see if I could get somewhere with him,” she confessed in a low tone, so that neither Briery nor the carriage driver would overhear. “Believe me, the thought has crossed my mind once or twice… but I think I’ve got a good thing going with our resident sculptor. He actually treats me like a human being, and he’s been nothing but generous and kind. If he’s not currently receptive to sex, the last thing I want is to scare him away, especially where he’s been sort of receptive to my help--and he needs it. Don’t you think it’s not worth the risk?” Life has been unkind; you deserve stable shelter in these trying times. No one had ever pointed that out, before; in fact, it hadn’t even been something that had crossed her mind in a long time. That she was, in fact, disadvantaged despite her unique skill set. That just because she was good at running, good at hiding, could even make her own money should push come to shove, did not mean life was easy.
She’d always known that, at the back of her mind, as someone who had been born into influence and privilege was apt to feel as soon as they no longer had access to it. And yet… why did that resonate so much to hear it from him?
“I haven’t done much with him, to be honest. Had a few drinks; helped him destroy some of his artwork because he needed that little bit of catharsis. And, of late, asked him to strip half-naked in front of two people he isn’t even sure he can trust.” The Master Alchemist snorted and folded her arms. “You mean to tell me he ‘brightened’ just now? I think he might have been a little relieved to get rid of me. Mind you… that doesn’t mean I’m not still interested. Just tiptoeing around him, you know? I’m familiar with his type, and his confidence, all of it, is entirely a front. You saw how he diminished without his clothes. It was… rather sad. And I don’t think it can all be chalked up to being embarrassed or feeling vulnerable; it was like he perceived himself as being something entirely less without all of that finery.” But it wasn’t pity that permeated her voice upon that remark; it was astonishment. That someone who had so much, and who held more power than perhaps he was aware, could lack such a degree of confidence (and with a nice body, to boot!)… It was baffling. “I’ve got experience with virgins, don’t get me wrong. But those virgins don’t want to be virgins anymore, and happily accept my advances. To be honest, I am not sure how I’d even proceed with our Lord Canaveris; not sure if it is possible to walk both the professional line as well as being friends with benefits. Some people can’t stomach that duality. You really think he’s capable of reconciling that?”
When Hadwin pointed out the small, volcanic stone, however, she half-wondered if her question had been answered. Certainly, whatever had developed of their relationship was, of late, very professional in nature… but if that were strictly the case, then why would he suggest caring for her wellbeing? Why give her that little stone to alleviate a discomfort that was clearly one-hundred-percent her own fault? “...yeah, you’re right about that. He isn’t the type to accept help. Probably wouldn’t have heard me out if you hadn’t put him on the spot.” She conceded at last, although if he did not feel guilty about it, then her expression suggested she felt guilty enough for the both of them. “And you’re sure that Isidor wouldn’t have anything to do with him? I mean, if this Alster Rigas really is the man’s closest ally, and Lord Canaveris did make a mockery of him publicly… yeah, okay, I understand your point of view. Hells, I saw that fucking Serpent, for myself. And I’d be a big, fat liar not to confess that Rigas makes my skin crawl a little bit, as well. And I haven’t even formally met the man!” She whistled and gave a single shake of her head. “Sucks that I am most likely already on his bad side, indefinitely. Nothing to be done about that. Furthermore, Ari did insinuate some discomfort at the possibility that Isidor might spill the beans to Alster and make him aware of the details of his curse. And the last thing he wants is this getting out to anyone, lest he lose his standing and the support of his family… damn, all of this really is more complex than it should be.” With a heavy sigh, she moved the stone to her opposite temple.
“...okay, you got me. Forget about asking Isidor, if he is no more apt to listen to you than he is to want to help Ari. If that really is the case, then I guess I’m his best bet, and if I can’t help him--if he won’t let me--then he just won’t get help. So how do you propose I proceed, then? One wrong move, one wrong advance, and those ties are severed and he won’t let me set foot in his home, again. If you’re the expert at this, wolf man, and you think Ari’s a possible conquest, then you’re gonna have to give me some better advice than ‘tread carefully’.” She nudged him with her elbow, her lips curling into a broad smirk. “And, hey--if you’re also eyeballing that body, at least give me the chance to take a swing at him, first! I mean… eventually, maybe. Probably no time soon, if just taking his top off made him want to throw up. But eventually, if I do find the chance. Give him too much experience and he’ll be too dangerous for me to pursue; and my options, here, are already very limited. But you can have anyone you want, with little consequence, so,” she arched an eyebrow, “throw a bone to those of us with less privilege than that.”
In the days that passed, no one saw Isidor, save for those who infrequently delivered his meals or who managed to find him in either of his workshops for other purposes. The hermit-like Master Alchemist didn’t see the point in leaving when all of his work could be done in the peace and quiet of his private chambers, and ever since current events had taken place--both those involving Tivia and, more recently, Alster--he had seen fit to avoid people as much as possible. Since the decision to surrender to Locque (and that surrender as imminent), there had been talks about the advantages of remaining in the palace, should the sorceress allow it, so he had since switched his focus from fortifying weapons to expertly hiding the most dangerous tomes and ingredients in his workshops, lest the sorceress’s Master Alchemist get her hands on them--namely, the Alchemist stone.
And it wasn’t just a matter of finding a good hiding place within the palace; no, that was too risky, and he did not exactly pride himself in that art of concealment. Stashing the exuberantly powerful stone under a mattress, beneath a floorboard, under a stone at the hearth, that was all far too obvious, and he was certain that should the Ardane alchemist become aware that an alchemist stone was stashed somewhere in the palace, she would certainly turn the place upside-down and inside-out to find it. So Isidor had quickly come to the decision that the only safe place for the ghastly thing was on his person… permanently.
He hadn’t told anyone that he was doing this, for both his own protection and that of his comrades, and had spent the past handful of days fasting in preparation. Had instructed the serving staff that he would not be needing any meals for the time-being, and that it was imperative he remain undisturbed until further noticed. Had locked his door to ensure that those wishes were respected; but for a man who seldom left his room in the first place, his allies did not interpret this behaviour as deviating from what would be expected of him.
So, in the privacy of his chamber, Isidor Kristeva decided to take a risk and undertake a task that he had never performed before--that he had never so much as tried. And he performed it on no one but himself. In theory, it was safe (if not rather painful), and did not pose any immediate risk to his life, but he couldn’t deny that the process would have gone far more smoothly and seamlessly had it been possible to have someone else do the job for them. Just as surgeons could not effectively perform surgeries on themselves, Master Alchemists could not perform their jobs quite as effectively if they were both the subject and the direct object of alchemical change. He’d read up for days, weighing the risks and taking into account the precautions, doing his due diligence before partaking on such a reckless venture… and it paid off. Not smoothly, and not without agony, but when push came to shove, there was no easy way to embed the coin-sized stone in his body to hide it.
He’d chosen his non-dominant arm, stuffing his mouth with a handkerchief to muffle the groans of pain as he’d sliced into the back of the bicep, and then let the runes on his hand do the rest of the work as he combined the stone with the muscle tissue. It had taken hours, what felt like the better part of a day, and that was a long time to not only be in pain, but also concentrating on such a gruelling task. By the time he’d finished, sealing the wound shut with the stone securely inside the muscle without so much as leaving a scar, he didn’t even have the energy or the strength to vomit from the pain. He’d fallen onto his bed, lost consciousness, and didn’t stir for two days.
When Alster and Elespeth came rapping on his door, the Master Alchemist had only been awake for a handful of hours; sour, dehydrated, and beyond famished. He’d been concentrating on sipping water, slowly so as to ensure he could keep it down, when he forced himself to summon the strength to move those several paces from his bed to his door. He didn’t even have his spectacles on when he greeted the Rigas couple, both who looked to have recovered from their ordeal since returning Alster to… well, himself.
“Alster, Elespeth… good morning.” He took note of how Alster was leaning on Elespeth for support, and stepped inside. “Please, come in, sit down. I’m glad you’re on your feet again, but I daresay, you’ve… looked better.”
“Thank you.” Elespeth nodded and helped Alster inside, where she eased him onto a chair to get the weight off of his feet. A hint of suspicion gleamed in her green eyes as she took in the sunken form of the Master Alchemist: paler than usual, looking dehydrated, and like he hadn’t eaten in far too long. “Though I could say the same for you, Isidor. Pardon my prying, but what…” She glanced sidelong at a table at the far end of the room, where rags that were still saturated with dried blood were piled and ready to be disposed of. A knife sitting in plain view. Her stomach turned and she lowered her voice, deeply concerned for the man standing before her. “Isidor… what did you do?”
“Believe me when I say it is better that neither of you know, Elespeth. I beg you, please leave it at that.” The Master Alchemist whispered in a hiss. He was in no mood to explain himself, but his tone and countenance softened when he turned to Alster. “What… brings you here? What can I do for you? I’m sorry to say, I am not sure that I will be of much help to you, at the moment…”
Alster wasn’t seeking anything from him. On the contrary, he had merely come to offer… an apology. And Isidor couldn’t for the life of him understand why. “Alster, you know that this is not necessary. What happened to you--it was rather beyond your control. At least as far as I was involved. The Alster I… the person that room was designed to contain and to stifle, I don’t feel that he is at all the same person who is sitting before me, right now. Perhaps he is a part of you, but even then, I do not hold you responsible for anything you said or did. No one was hurt, and of course, I still consider you to be my friend. My only sentiment on the matter is that I am beyond relieved to have you back...”
Whatever attempt at a smile his mouth had managed was quick to fade as the Rigas mage explained why he had come to apologize in the first place. And Isidor’s heart sank along with his hopes of returning to whatever he could consider ‘normal’, as far as his friendship with Alster went. “You… you’re leaving? Both of you? Then… then I should go, as well.” He glanced around the room. Was there much left to dispose of, to hide? It didn’t matter in the end. Master Alchemists were crafty. Resourceful. Whatever Anetania Ardane wanted or needed to perform her duties for Locque, she would see them through, one way or another.
“If you are surrendering along with Queen Lilica, Isidor, then there is no need. According to Hadwin, and what he has heard from Locque’s emissary… she doesn’t intend to expel anyone from the palace.” Elespeth ventured to explain. “And she already has a Master Alchemist at her beck and call; she has no reason to bother you.”
“I can’t know that for sure! And anyway, I don’t… it’s not as though…” Far more exhausted than usual, Isidor struggled to find the words. But it was a futile effort. At last, his shoulders drooped and his gaze drifted to the floor. “...you’re my friends. My only real friends, here. Without you, I might as well be back in my tower, locked away from the world. If you go, I won’t… have anyone.”
“That’s not true! Isidor, you have friends, here. You have Teselin--”
“Who hangs off of the wolf like he’s her only family, and who believes the sorceress can somehow be reasoned with.”
Touche. He had a point, sad though it was. “Everyone who sits at the table in the council room has respect for you, Isidor. All of us. And what about Tivia?” Now wasn’t that the question; what about Tivia? But a glance from Alster, a subtle shake of his head, informed the former knight that that was not safe ground to tread. Defeated, she heaved a sigh. “It would benefit all of us if you were to stay. To have a Master Alchemist on our side. Eyes and ears to keep an eye on the Ardane woman. I… know it might not be what you want, Isidor. And if you truly want to leave, we won’t stop you. But associating with me and with Alster… that will only endanger you.”
“No, you are right, of course. I understand. I came here to help, and I will see this through, as per my promise. Here.” Moving toward a bookshelf, Isidor made the mistake of reaching with his barely-healed arm, and hissed in pain before switching to his dominant arm. From the upper shelf, he took what appeared to be two rectangular slabs of smooth, unsullied slate. He handed one to Elespeth. “To keep communication lines open. Resonance stones are going to be risky to use with Locque present, but these are a little less direct. They’re called twin glyphs; whatever you do to one, happens to the other, no matter the distance between them. We can exchange messages this way: whatever you write to me, I will let you know the message has been received and understood by writing my initials next to it. Then, you can wipe your slate clean, and I will write my reply. Any substance can be used, but in my experienced, water-based inks allow for the best longevity.”
“Perfect; this is perfect.” Elespeth exchanged a smile with Alster, and tucked the twin glyph safely under her arm. “Whether or not we’ve anything to report, you can rely on receiving a message from us every day. Keep us in the know, and we will do the same.”
“I would like that. Very much.” Isidor smiled softly, his tired, dark eyes looking between the couple. “Take care, and be careful, Alster and Elespeth. Even if you are far from the sorceress… do not let your guard down.”
Before Alster could protest, preferring not to bother Isidor for longer than a quick stopover, Elespeth was already ushering him inside, and wherever she, his living crutch, went, he followed, lest he bowl over and collapse in an unceremonious heap on the floor. Together, she and Isidor cleared a spot on a chair for him to sit. Whilst he sat, they both remained standing, or in Isidor’s case, looming, over him, inadvertently making him even smaller than he felt. If shame hadn’t yet lit his cheeks in conspicuous red splotches, they certainly did now, inviting a shade of color on his otherwise wan, sunken features. To distract from the internal pressure wrenching his insides into complex knots that spelled out words, like ‘unworthy,’ he focused on the external details of his environment, honing in on the blood-soaked rags and the sharp glint of a knife. If possible, he sank further into the chair. Though he said nothing, respecting Isidor’s entreaty for privacy (and opposed to agitating the Master Alchemist before he could apologize), he compared the scene to the aftermath from when he severed two of his toes to induce a temporary reprieve from his sickly condition. The phantom pain on his left foot itched in remembrance, shifting away from the direction of the knife. Whatever Isidor had done, it involved an impromptu surgery.
As Alster laid out his apology bare, he expected Isidor to reply in reassurances, though he deserved much worse than gentle understanding and a dismissal. He opened his mouth to argue, to express why Isidor shouldn’t regard his past transgressions as bygones and nothing of consequence, but he took one sidelong look at Elespeth and replaced those bubbling words with a long, mournful sigh. What she said a few days ago rang true. They didn’t have time for stewing, for clinging to mistakes, for holding oneself responsible to such a stubborn degree as to hinder progress towards researching methods to defeat Locque. No one could afford to punish Alster; the two weeks Lilica and Chara reserved for the task scraped at resources they daren’t waste. And yet, they were wasted on him. The least he could do was operate at his best, most helpful, most powerful self. Which meant, unfortunately, accepting second chances and believing he deserved Isidor’s friendship. It wasn’t all about him, after all. Isidor, who lamented the news of his and Elespeth’s imminent departure, needed a friend. And Alster, in comparison...didn’t want to lose a friend, either.
“First off--thank you, Isidor.” His shoulders relaxed, leavening up to their unburdened height. “It relieves me to know I didn’t butcher and bungle our relations. It would dishearten me greatly if I truly had dashed our chances for reconciliation. Though my alter self is not interested in physically harming allies, I’m nonetheless prepared to pay for any damages he has caused in my absence. Please don’t hesitate to let me know if there’s anything I can do for you in recompense. That said,” he stretched out his steel arm, the one Isidor modified, and managed to rest four of its metal digits upon the other man’s forearm in support, “Elespeth is right. It’s far riskier to come with us. Locque will see it as a defiance if you, too, refuse to surrender, and decide to join us. The last thing I want is to inspire others to openly defy her rule and turn to me as some kind of resistance leader. Not only will doing so void Locque’s agreement not to harm me, but it will endanger the people, as well. No.” He slid his hand off Isidor’s arm and returned it to his lap. “This must be a silent revolution. We will quietly retreat,” he gestured to Elespeth. “But retreat is not abandonment. There are ways in which we can communicate, Isidor. Additionally, it would be helpful to us if you could keep us abreast of whatever pertinent information you happen to come by in the palace. Stretch out your legs; take a few walks. Not only will it be beneficial for your health, but you may end up overhearing something--or seeing something out of place, or suspicious.”
Mentioning remote communication options seemed to give Isidor an idea. As he reached out for the objects in question, Alster tracked the delicate and painful movements of his friend’s non-dominant arm right before he transferred the task to his stronger counterpart. Discerning eyes isolated the source of his pain; the upper bicep. Blinking out of his concentrated observation, Alster directed attention to the curious slate handed to Elespeth. The stirrings of a mischievous smile curled the edges of his mouth. “This is brilliant, Isidor. This method of communication doesn’t require the complexities of dream-coordination, nor does it require sound to activate. But--in case prying eyes should see whatever message appears,” the subtle mischief brightened into a full-fledged smile, “well, I do believe both you and I know the ancient language of old-Nairit. Using the language as our base, I daresay we could develop a cipher only the two of us can understand. If nothing else, writing by cipher will keep our cognitive senses sharp. Look forward to a daily message, Isidor. I’ve been steadily gaining dexterity in this arm you modified,” he pinched together the steel, segmented plates representing his thumb and forefinger to pantomime the act of writing, “and I’d love to start using it as my dominant hand, again.”
A brusque knock on the door startled the trio, almost knocking the slate out of Elespeth’s grip in her hurried attempts to hide it from view. Alster’s head craned to the door, brow furrowing in suspicion. “I recognize that knock. Loud, obtrusive, repetitious--it’s Hadwin.” He looked to Isidor, tilting his head in concern. “Should we let him in?”
“Hells yeah you should let me in!” The unwanted visitor exclaimed from the other side of the door. “I’ve got something to share with Isidor and I know you’d feel better supervising us--seeing as you don’t trust me being alone in a room with your mate!”
“Damn that faoladh’s ears,” Alster cursed under his breath. Aware that his persistence wouldn’t so soon exhaust itself, they agreed to allow him entrance. Once Elespeth secured the slate beneath her coat, she lifted the latch for the wolf scratching at their door and permitted his presence.
“Ah, much obliged! Al! Elly! Good to see the two of you are on the up and up! Can’t say the same for you, Isidor.” Hadwin wrinkled his nose at the Master Alchemist as he shut the door behind him. Taking note of the recluse’s injured arm, the faoladh’s eyes gleamed in a knowing light. “So I know time’s a precious commodity and all, so I’ll dispense with the chit-chat. I’ve got a smattering of news for you. Only,” he jerked his head at the ex-knight, “Elly here’s not in the know. Care to fill her in on what we’re doing? Otherwise, we’re gonna have to kick her out and then she’ll really start wondering what’s up.”
Figuring that Elespeth was as trusted a party as Alster, they collectively decided to include her in discussions concerning Cwenha’s resurrection, under the condition that she spoke not a word of it, not even privately to her husband or to Hadwin, outside of Isidor’s study. To cement their secrecy, Alster, in his first bit of magic since reactivating the movements in his prosthesis, warded the room with a silencing spell, ensuring that any sound traveled between their ears alone. “We’ve reason to believe Cwenha’s restless spirit is afoot,” Alster explained, barely above a whisper. “As a result, she hasn’t yet passed over to a higher, unreachable frequency. According to the necromancer, he’s confident he can tether her soul to a new vessel, granted the vessel is an exact replica of her original body. Hadwin,” he nodded to the faoladh, “managed to recruit Isidor into creating a body, by involving Vitali, Teselin, and Briery, like the conniving bastard he is.” Hadwin broke into a flattered grin. To protect Isidor’s moral integrity, Alster opted from mentioning the alchemist stone, and Hadwin did the same. “It’s an inconceivable project and an enormous undertaking, but Isidor has given his consent. I promised to help him wherever possible, if it is within my power to achieve. Whatever will help to lessen the burden.”
“Which is why I’ve got news on that front,” Hadwin, impatiently waiting for Alster to finish, butted in, dancing on his heels. “You said you needed reference materials for the job. A head-to-toe image, something complete and fully formed, sparing no details. Well, I did you one better than a projection. Though,” he shrugged at Alster, “feel free to shine one over to Isidor’s mind anytime. So, how’s a life-size statue sound?”
“A life-size statue?” The corners of Alster’s mouth edged into a frown. “Are you referring to--”
“Yup! I got your rival to say ‘yay’ on making us a statue--free of charge, might I add. I didn’t even have to blackmail him into doing it! The man’s a real generous bloke like that.”
“So we are clear,” Alster slapped his chest, freeing it of the lingering congestion that trapped in his throat, “you commissioned Lord Aristide Canaveris to sculpt a statue in Cwenha’s likeness?”
“Not to worry! I only said I wanted a memorial statue. Nothing more.” He threw his arms into a shrug. “He jumped at the idea. Thought it was a touching tribute. We gave ‘im everything he needs, Briery and me. Y’know,” he stroked the stubble on his chin in thought, “despite feeding you to a crowd of irate D’Marians, he ain’t half-bad. And according to Elly, he wants an alliance. The more the merrier, yeah? Can’t be too picky about the folks who wanna end Locque’s reign before it properly begins.”
“I know,” Alster lowered a defeated gaze to his feet, not quite prepared to relive one of his worst, most regrettable, moments in recent memory. “I’m not arguing against his suitability as an ally, or his suitability as a leader for Stella D’Mare. I fell on purpose so he could rise, well-aware of his readiness to give the D’Marians what I lack. My humanitarian efforts often led me astray, resulting in the neglect of my own citizens. They don’t need a failed diplomat with a checkered past; they need a champion who cares foremost for them. So no,” he concluded, “I don’t consider him a bad person. His statue will be a helpful and most valuable addition to Cwenha’s resurrection. Better than whatever image I could concoct with my ephemeral magic. A statue won’t fade into stardust. It has a lasting presence, a dimensionality that can be explored and measured by the fingertips. Whatever his motives, his contribution is no doubt appreciated. But make no mistake; I am not fond of him.”
“Hah,” Hadwin leaned against a rare section of empty wall, hands uncovered and on full display, in case they suspected him of stealing another of Isidor’s baubles, “then you should be glad to hear that sicing the Serpent on everyone scared the shit out of him and now he’s rightly squicked out by you, Al! Did that play into your strategy? Even just a little?”
Sickened by Hadwin’s choice of words, Alster cradled his stomach, distrusting its ability not to roil and threaten an upheaval of vomit. For all the man’s irreverent language, the spirit of his statement rang true. Alster never meant to ‘sic’ the Serpent on anyone, never meant to disregard D’Marian lives. However, what he did was considered a gamble and a flagrant disregard of the people he’d once professed to defend. He could have ended lives. He could have ended a lot of lives if his calculations were more than marginally askew. Not because of the Serpent, no; the Serpent fell under his jurisdiction. It would not have acted out of turn. It was because of Locque; how she could have retaliated for forcing her to play along. He could insist that he was prepared to enact a contingency plan against Locque should her frustrations target D’Marians, and at the time, he was confident in his power to protect the people. Only later had he come to realize his near-fatal mistake. If he failed to block Locque’s ether-realm assault, then how would he have warded the people against a full-scale genocidal invasion? Whether operating from within the system or without, Alster would always wrong the D’Marian people...no matter what he did.
“My alter self...no,” he shook his head, retracting the statement, “I will not cast blame on my other half, as though it’s separate from who I am. It’s all me, in the end. I have a vengeful streak. A small part of me wanted to demonstrate exactly what I’m capable of doing. So I flaunted my power: to Aristide, to the D’Marians, to Locque, watching--because I couldn’t walk away gracefully. Logically, I did it to sever my ties from the people. But emotionally, I did it because...they rejected me. Again. And it hurt.” A sudden chill assailed him in a shower of shivers; he lashed his arms tighter into his body. “It hurt so much. I wanted them to know exactly much they hurt me. And in that vein...I suppose I’m not too far off from Locque’s state of mind. I cannot sit here and boast any sliver of moral high ground, because I’m just as susceptible to the call of darkness. That, no matter how much love and support I have...I can do horrible things, on a large scale. Power can do that to a person. It can corrupt you; make you lose sight of what’s important.” He felt for Elespeth’s hand and stroked it, a touch so feather-light, he practically wasn’t touching her at all, in fear of harming her.
Realizing he struck a colossal nerve, Hadwin pushed away from his alcove and clamped a hand over Alster’s shoulder. “Nah Al, you’re not innocent. You’ve done some shit. For sure, I’ve seen large-scale destruction come from the most well-meaning of places. From kind folks who don’t wanna hurt a fly. The world is meant to break people like you, like Tes--like Locque. And like shit is there any advice I can give you. Hells, I couldn’t give any advice to her, either. But what you’ve got here’s a good start,” he gestured to Elespeth and Isidor. “Helps to have some lookouts keeping you from going mad.”
Wary of the normally combative faoladh spouting out encouraging, sensible advice, Alster shifted uncomfortably in his grip. “Thank you, but...why the sudden pep-talk? Coming from you, this is a little disconcerting.”
“Good question.” Laughing, Hadwin removed his hand and slid out of the Rigas caster’s range. “Guess I’m practicing for Tes, eh?” After retreating a few steps to the door, he spun on his heels, in their direction. “Hey, so here’s a huge subject change before I go. I see you’re all a bit nervous about Nia shacking up in the palace. Don’t be. I mean, sure, don’t tell her what you don’t want leaking out to Locque and definitely hide your shit,” he glanced meaningfully at Isidor, “but her alliance is one of convenience and not necessarily of ideologies. Foremost, she’s in it for the protection. You can’t argue her mistress is fuck-ass powerful, so she’s got that in spades. But if you ever do interact with the other Master Alchemist, you’ll find she’s lonely and hurting for conversation. And who knows? Could be possible to win ‘er over with some good ol’ rhetoric and a hot meal. At the very least, wouldn’t hurt to be on serviceable terms with the enemy. She doesn’t really wanna know what you’re up to, anyway.”
As much as Isidor appreciated and enjoyed the couple’s company (Alster’s in particular), he made no attempt to extend their stay when they made to leave. Not only did they seem to have a lot of preparations to attend to before they took their leave of the palace, but as the Master Alchemist’s face suggested, he was tired. Beyond exhausted, and still in a good deal of pain, with fusing stone with muscle reducing the mobility in his left arm. He didn’t want to ask anymore questions; didn’t want to provide any more answers. All he wanted was to forego the food and water his body desperately needed and collapse on his bed, undisturbed for at least another forty-eight hours. And he was fully prepared to do just that, until another knock sounded upon his door.
“For the love of everything…” Isidor muttered irately under his breath. He didn’t need Alster to point out who was likely the culprit behind that knock, as the faoladh had a way of inviting himself inside, anyway. And he wasn’t likely to go away unless he was obliged. “Fine. Elespeth, let the mutt inside.”
The former knight nodded and lifted the latch on the door, allowing the slight-less-than-welcome faoladh inside. While she might now have found herself on slightly better terms with Hadwin, it obviously did not escape her as to why Isidor did not share those same sentiments. “Hadwin,” she greeted the wolf man with a nod. “What brings you to Isidor? With all respect, I’m not sure he is in the mood for any more company… so if you have something important to divulge, let’s hear it.”
To his credit, Hadwin did have news, although as per his suggestion, Elespeth appeared to be entirely out of the loop. With her brow furrowed in confusion, she looked from her husband, to Isidor, and back to Hadwin again. “Is… something amiss? Something I should be aware of?”
A long, frustrated sigh from Isidor suggested that perhaps whatever lingered between him, Alster, and Hadwin had never been meant for more than their ears and knowledge, alone. “Of course. Let’s inform everyone. Let’s go and tell Queen Lilica all about it. While we’re at it, why don’t we inform the other Master Alchemist? Or, better yet, let’s just go and tell Locque?” Nothing but dead silence followed his outburst, giving Isidor pause to consider how unnecessary it was. Colour flooded his pale face, and he was quick to turn his eyes to the ground. “...I’m sorry. Forgive me, Elespeth,” he sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m exceptionally tired and short on patience… but that is no excuse for such an outburst.”
“There is no need to apologize, Isidor,” Elespeth assured him somewhat warily, “but if both Hadwin and Alster agree that I should perhaps be in the know… you can trust me to keep this information close to my chest. You have my word.”
With Isidor’s eventual consent, Hadwin and Alster ventured to explain that they were quickly bringing all the right pieces together to make it possible to resurrect the fallen acrobat, Cwenha. At first, disbelief flooded her face, especially when they mentioned that the necromancer had agreed to take part completely ‘free of charge’ (though she would believe it when she saw it), but this was something that was far too incredulous to be made up. “That’s… unbelievable. I mean, I can believe that it is most certainly possible, but…” The ex-Atvanian was at a loss for words. Within their small conglomerate, over the past handful of years, they had all collectively achieved a wide array of ‘impossible’ feats. From completely mowing down Messino’s army, to sending the Serpent back to its home dimension, to unearthing a hidden, sleeping kingdom, walking among etherrealms, and curing someone of what would otherwise be a terminal illness, there was no reason for astonishment anymore. Except… this felt different, somehow. Beating the odds was one thing; even cheating them, through magic and alchemy. But this--shunning death in favour of restoring life--was its own thing, in and of itself. It was the ultimate breach of nature, taking back what was lost, when it had already long since departed. Forcing the balance back in their favour, and… for what? Because Cwenha was missed? Because her life had been taken unjustly? Did those sentiments really warrant what the world, and the magical community at large, could consider blasphemy?
But one look at Alster, at his frail state and sickly constitution… and Elespeth knew she wouldn’t second guess the decision for so much as a moment. If it were Alster, she would turn the world inside out and upside down to get him back. There would be no question that she would go to any length, no matter how moral or immoral. It wasn’t her place to question this collective decision that the others had obviously come to terms with. “This is… I mean, I can hardly believe it is possible.” She breathed, blinking away any previous thoughts of doubt. “Isidor, how long do you think it will take? To create a new… perfect likeness of Cwenha’s body? And…” She paused. “How will you go about doing that, if you have never seen her?”
Hadwin, evidently, had the perfect remedy for that small problem… and, to everyone’s surprise, it happened to involve Aristide Canaveris.
“Why… why in all hells would you go and do that?!” Isidor demanded, incredulous. “After we just spoke about the dire necessity for secrecy? Did you actually entrust that… that man with our plan?”
No, he hadn’t. At least, as far as Hadwin was willing to explain, he had only asked Aristide if he would craft a lifesize statue of Cwenha in memoriam of her tragic passing. “Really.” Isidor heaved a sigh of relief and raked a hand through his hair. “And… he believed that? I mean… I can’t deny, a to-scale replica of the departed would be immensely useful. Without accurate measurements, I can otherwise only make my best guess when it comes to size… and this is not a process where I am comfortable doing any guessing.”
“It’s as Hadwin says; Aristide does wish for an alliance.” Elespeth confirmed, her arms folded thoughtfully across her chest. “He expressed as much with Lilica and Chara. I thought he might be dangerous, but honestly, he isn’t much of an enemy to any of us. He said that his surrender to Locque was completely intentional and without ulterior motives, but… I think what he was hinting at was that, sooner or later, that surrender will only be valid at face value. He is concerned for the safety of the D’Marians, so he will not make so bold a move as to openly oppose the sorceress, but if push comes to shove and he has the opportunity to coordinate with us to safely undermine her… I think he will. He might not be a friend, but he’s not an enemy. That said…”
She rested a hand on Alster’s shoulder, seeing the way he deflated. “There was nothing acceptable about the way he tore you down, Alster. And you’ll be happy to know, it was on those grounds that Lilica did not immediately agree to an alliance. If he wants to prove his worth, then eventually he will have to put his money where his mouth is. And, if he is agreeing to sculpt Cwenha’s very image without compensation…” Elespeth sighed and shook her head. “I suppose that’s a good place to start. I’m not sure that we can trust him, yet, but we needn’t fear him, either.”
But the Master Alchemist, on the other hand, was another story entirely. The room visibly darkened when Hadwin brought up the topic of Nia Ardane… and the normally quiet and introverted Isidor suddenly couldn’t say enough about his opinion on the matter. “Don’t be nervous about a Master Alchemist that is working for Locque? Are you even listening to what you are saying? She is the reason I don’t want to stay here, more than Locque herself.” He clenched his hands into tight fists. “Yes, I’ve spent days hiding everything I can’t have her get her hands on, but do you really think that will stop her?”
“I’m in agreement with Isidor. The bitch tore my armor to shreds.” Elespeth frowned and made no attempt to conceal her own dislike of the woman called ‘Nia’. “I don’t give a rat’s ass as to why she is choosing to work for Locque. The fact that she is choosing, at all, is enough to incriminate her. If she wanted allies in us, then she chose wrong. End of story. So if you’re going to try to stand here and plead her case in front of me,” he pointed to the door and looked directly at Hadwin, “then feel free to show yourself out. No one has the luxury of time to contemplate ‘what ifs’ and ‘maybes’ with Locque’s goons. And if you’re entertaining the idea that she might be an ally… then you are far less trustworthy than I thought, Hadwin.”
However trustworthy or untrustworthy Nia was, she hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said she was a woman of her word, and a solid keeper of promises. There was no question that she had her feet firmly planted in favour of helping Locque, whatever her reasons, but when she’d assured Hadwin that she would work toward sweetening the deal, she certainly had been busy pulling whatever strings she could. How soon she could convince the sorceress to release Sigrid remained up in the air, and Hadwin had made it clear that pushing for his older sister’s release wasn’t of much interest to his party, it was still something; an act of goodwill, on her part, for negotiating that they receive some of their own back, and a silent peace offering from Locque, who had promised to keep her hands off of Alster who had refused to take part in the surrender.
Not a day after she had accompanied him to make his plea to Ari, Nia had contacted Hadwin again via resonance stone, with the strong suggestion that he meet her at the same location where they’d held a meeting with Locque not long before. I have something--someone--for you. She’d said to him, through the distorted voice the resonance stone afforded her. But, heads up, she’s still rather terrified of magic. So whomever you bring with you… I strongly suggest they not be magically inclined. And no funny business; I’m doing you a solid, here!
Heeding her suggestion, Hadwin gathered a small party to meet with Nia at dusk that evening. After a little bit of convincing, he managed to procure both Haraldur and Kadri for protection and support (and in case they experienced some difficulty convincing Bronwyn to come willingly), as well as Briery, who had a way of talking down hysterical individuals at the best of times. Although it had recently come to light in the passing months that the Forbanne commander was himself not so far removed from magical disposition, it was not as… ouvert, nor as violent as what Teselin and Elespeth had expressed, and Bronwyn had no way of detecting it in him. With the four of them prepared (Kadri and Haraldur, of course, carried weapons), they took a carriage and two night steeds as soon as the sun set, and made for the borders of Galeyn.
By now, the snow had begun to melt, but winter’s chill still hung in the air, carrying breath on the atmosphere in misty clouds. This time, however, Nia was not fashionably late. Upon their arrival, the Master Alchemist was already standing there, with a cloaked woman standing next to her. Nia’s mouth spread into a grin as they were greeted by the party of… three? No, four. Only two with whom she was acquainted.
“Ah! Good evening to you all. Hadwin, Briery, lovely to see you again.” Nia stepped forward, then turned her body toward the two heavily muscular men who dismounted. Both of them practically screamed ‘Forbanne’; one of them was. And one of them had been. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. You can call me Nia.” She greeted them with a shallow bow, as her dark eyes settled on the taller of the two men. “And you must be… Haraldur Sorde. Prince of Eyraille and formidable Commander of the Forbanne. The pleasure is mine, really. And… sorry about your cousin and all.” She scratched behind one of her ears. “Believe it or not, I am working on that. Rest assured, she remains unharmed. I’m sure once Locque has her throne and everything falls into place, she will tire of keeping Sigrid under her thumb, and cut her loose from her binds. She really has no interest in keeping anyone around who isn’t inherently loyal to her or anything. But, in the meantime… I thought you would be a little mollified to have one of your own back. So… here she is! Still healthy and in one piece, but in my humble opinion, she could use a little TLC.”
With a gentle shove, she pushed Bronwyn forward, at which point both Hadwin and Briery took a single step forward to close the distance. The acrobat was the first to speak up. “Bronwyn? My name is Briery. I’m a good friend of your brother’s.” She flashed a disarming smile and held out a hand; not expectant or demanding, but inviting. “It’s chilly tonight, isn’t it? If you like, you’re welcome to join me in the carriage. There are some blankets if you’re cold, and some dried fruits and a little bit of bread if you’re hungry.”
“Ah, c’mon; a little credit here!” Hadwin whined good-naturedly. “You honestly think I wanna blow my chances of bringing the cygnet back from the dead? After everything I did to make it happen? I might be a legendary blabbermouth but I’m also tight-lipped where it counts. But,” he pointed over his shoulder at the Rigas couple, “Al and Elly here are so damn synchronized that one mind bleeds into the other. And now that Elly’s magically adept, who knows what kind of frequencies she can pick up in Al’s secretive headspace? Trusting in one is trusting in the other. They’re a two-for-one deal.”
“He...has a point.” Alster acknowledged the faoladh’s reasoned argument with a tentative nod, in case his agreement caused Isidor further agitation. “We do share dreams on occasion. It’s possible this information would have leaked to El, regardless. I’m sorry, Isidor. I know it’s stressful to compromise this already high-risk venture by informing more people than is necessary. After all, we mustn’t let Locque or this other Master Alchemist discover our plans lest she consider them an open act of defiance and a breach of truce. But no one else will learn about this.” He put a solemn hand to his chest. “You have my word.”
With Isidor’s reluctant consent, they brought Elespeth to speed, explaining the process, but sparing the details and sticking to general terms so as not to overwhelm her, or Isidor, who was currently failing to relax his last nerve.
“Course he believed me,” Hadwin continued as soon as they were all caught up with the situation. “I had Brie with me, selling her performance as the bereaved. To be fair, there wasn’t much to ‘perform.’ She’s still reeling something fierce over Cwenha’s death. No acting when her grief’s genuine. With her on board, what other reason would Ari think we want to commission a statue for? As a reference to model a homunculus body for a spirit to inhabit? That’s not gonna be the first thing that comes to anyone’s mind. Though,” he scratched his chin, pondering aloud, “he’s got that manservant made of clay. Mind of his own and everything. Intelligent. He even expresses fear. Hey, Is,” he leaned over the weary man’s chair, “if all this alchemical shit goes south, looks like Al’s pals from the Canaveris family can drum up life and stick it into golems. Worth it to keep steady ties, y’know.”
“Lazarus is a fabricated soul,” Alster said, temporarily pushing aside his personal misgivings of the Canaveris family to weigh in. “I won’t delve into the specifics of how he was created, but his existence is the culmination of harvesting specific energies to approximate the frequency and emotional resonance of a soul, a resource-consuming process that taxes the mage to perform as an active spell. If passively ‘grown’ over time, it’s a lengthy process spanning decades and requires frequent offerings of Canaveris blood and magical essence to ‘conceive’ and birth it to life. I can’t speak for transmitting a preexisting, human-originated soul into an inorganic husk such as clay or rock, but the results can’t be favorable. The soul would likely reject the host body, to a violent effect. It’s too messy and potentially damaging of a process to be considered reliable or wise. Vitali would be the better person to ask about matters of soul-transference, but in short--no. The Canaveris golems are far from an alternative replacement in the event that we end up drafting a contingency. That said,” he twitched a smile at the Master Alchemist, “I have every confidence in Isidor’s abilities. If we aren’t successful--a slim chance, indeed--it won’t be for his lack of trying.”
“Hah. Well, I stand corrected. Thanks for the magical input, Al! I’ll throw in all my money and bet on Isidor to win, then!” But Hadwin’s airy demeanor didn’t stay airy for long. At the mention of Nia, he prepared for their resistance and hostility, especially on Isidor’s part. What he didn’t expect was Elespeth’s harsh rebuttal that brushed the usually unruffled faoladh in the wrong direction. “By ‘winning her over,’ I don’t mean as our ally. She won’t switch over because it’s dangerous to defy her mistress when she’s already committed to her side. Outright betrayal at this late stage is liable to get her killed, so no, short of someone more powerful than Locque waltzing in and offering better protection, she wouldn’t dare change her mind. But the woman’s got a conscience, and if you can get in the way between her duty and her conscience, well, you might impact her ability to perform her duties. If nothing else, she could, y’know, overlook some things. Throw you a bone. Give you a head’s up; a warning. That’s all I’m saying about the woman; take it or leave it.”
“As for you,” he locked eyes with Elespeth; they narrowed in flashes of burnished scorn, “Locque’s goons you’re referring to? Two of them are my sisters. One of ‘em, you tried to befriend. Oh, how your opinion changes when she’s sniffed the air of the opposing team for a season. The other? I ain’t excusing Rowen’s behavior, but is anyone fucking surprised where I stand right now? Is it any damn wonder I’ve got a personal investment in how this ends, for both sides? So whatever, I hear you loud and clear; anyone who chooses Locque, or hells, by extension, Rowen, for any reason, is automatically irredeemable and deserving of death. By saying, “Hey, this enemy is a person,’ I’ve said something unforgiveable. So naturally, I’m now untrustworthy and this simple shocking suggestion has negated everything else I’ve ever done to benefit you and yours. You bet I’ve relished in other untrustworthy things but this one, the one where I dare call an enemy reasonable, takes the cake for sure! Ouch,” acting as though he’d been injured, he searched his arms for phantom bruises, “that one stings. And you say you can’t cast judgment like you used to, Sir Tameris of Atvany. Well, you’ll be happy to hear that you’ve still got it! Congrats are in order.” Two hands joined together in a mocking clap. “But at least you’re trustworthy, hm? Otherwise, I wouldn’t’ve spilled to you about Cwenha. Almost gave Isidor here a heart-attack to include you. Well, lesson learned, Tameris. Guess I’m the fool for not knowing my place. So sorry to disappoint you. I’ll go be untrustworthy elsewhere.” Grabbing the latch of the door, he flung it open. “This scoundrel’s heading out!”
As usual, he slammed the door, but it lacked the gusto and exuberant exclamation of his previous door slams. This one growled and roared, its reverberations humming in the wood beams long after his heated departure. Alster, exhausted by association, leaned forward in his chair to recover from the verbal slinging not even aimed at him. “I know you said nothing happened between you and him, El, but something did. Nothing untoward, but--a mutually-recognized friendship developed while I was...gone, for lack of a better word. It explains why he took umbrage with your words. He doesn’t easily upset, but you might have managed it. He wouldn’t have cared if he didn’t regard you as a friend.” He pressed his hands together, steel to flesh. “Concerning this Master Alchemist--Nia--my opinion might not be so well-received, either. My end-goal hasn’t changed; I’m determined to bring about Locque’s downfall. I will not rest until she is safely eliminated as a threat. But I can’t deny the appeal of diplomacy, either. If we can establish equitable ties with someone who is willing to listen and abide our requests, I’m receptive to opening a dialogue. I couldn’t reach Locque. By all accounts, I should have been reaching Nia for negotiations. If only I’d known, beforehand.” Avoiding their expressions, he stared at the far wall’s bookshelf, watching the dim lantern-light flicker on the spines of dusty, alchemical tomes. “Instead, I made a near-fatal mistake, contacting the source instead of the intermediary. If she is the one who has Locque’s ear, who interprets her policies and holds some sway over her decision-making process, then this woman is at least worth a conversation. I don’t expect either of you to follow suit with the faoladh’s advice, but if I’m able...I’ll talk to her. Not to befriend, not to forgive--I haven’t forgotten how she slashed your armor and left you a bleeding mess, El--but just to talk.”
Nodding for Elespeth to help, he hauled off the chair and stood, wobbling, to his feet. “You’re exhausted, Isidor, and rightly so. My sincerest apologies for exacerbating your need to rest. It goes without saying, but please--take care of yourself, as well. Let’s hold each other accountable, shall we? I will regain my strength, but you must do the same. And I will remind you. Every day. In old-Nairit. Until we meet again.” Reserving one more smile for Isidor’s sake, he clasped his friend’s uninjured arm in farewell and, with Elespeth in tow, took a much quieter exit from the alchemist’s chambers.
As promised, Hadwin took his untrustworthiness elsewhere and made himself scarce, seeking shelter at a local tavern, where he engaged in drink and sexual escapades, stopping only to redirect the activities upstairs when the bar closed its services for the night. Heaped in bed among two bodies (a man and a woman), he received a buzz from his resonance stone early the following morning, requesting his presence in a few short hours.
“You got me, Nia. Now it’s my turn to sputter on about my splitting headache and moan about the hour,” he grumbled into the stone as he lumbered out of bed, minding the sleeping mounds huddled in the sheets. “M’sure you’re satisfied to hear that faoladh are fully capable of suffering after a long night of bad drinking choices. Good thing is I’ll recover within the hour; so make that rendezvous for late afternoon and in the meantime, I’ll clear my head and scramble some folks for the journey.”
People called Hadwin many things: a hustler, a lowlife, a salacious, untrustworthy mongrel, but no one, not even his biggest detractors, could accuse him of laziness. The faoladh was dressed and out the door in ten minutes, at the palace by thirty, had recruited Briery at forty-five past the hour, and was cinching Haraldur’s approval by the tolling of the ninth bell. With Queen Lilica’s go-ahead, the company, consisting of himself, the acrobat, the Forbanne Commander, and Kadri, set-off to the Galeynian outskirts, not three hours later. As scheduled, they arrived at the disclosed clearing, not far from Osric’s pub, just as the sun was beginning to crown the tops of the bare-branched trees with its waning light. Contrary to previous meetings, Nia was early, standing in wait beside a cloaked figure.
“It’s been an age, Nia,” Hadwin said, returning the greeting with exaggerated flair. The two steeds on which the Forbanne Commander and his subordinate rode flanked him, one on each side. To establish friendly contact with Bronwyn, Briery maintained a front-facing proximity near Hadwin, making certain to be seen and heard. The two soldiers dismounted, hands warily clutching their weapons.
“Ah, yes, his reputation precedes him,” Hadwin mused, tilting his head to Haraldur. “And this is his friend, Kadri. But he’s in Forbanne mode right now, so don’t expect him to be chatty.” In proving the faoladh’s point, Kadri affixed his dark eyes on Nia, glared, and said nothing.
“Nia.” Haraldur gestured his acknowledgment, but did not return the bow. He stood with his feet apart, a guarded stance, and his shrewd expression, just as guarded. “You speak of Sigrid as if mind-compulsion isn’t a form of ‘harm.’ How long has Locque kept her in thrall? Months? And in those months, has Sigrid, acting against her will, slaughtered innocent lives? No, Nia. If you have any understanding of what it’s like to have your autonomy cruelly stripped from your being, to lose your personhood and are used as nothing but a weapon to follow orders, then you well know that she is harmed. Every day she spends like that, she takes lasting damage. Once you have a weapon at your disposal, you’re loath to let it go. Locque is no exception.” He rested his cold green eyes on the cloaked woman to Nia’s right. “I’m here to ensure a smooth transition between us and your prisoner, not to chat about false promises.”
At Nia’s shove, the figure stumbled forward, cloak falling from her head in the shuffle. Disheveled, brunette curls framed her lightly freckled face, almost concealing the mix of confusion, fear, and eerie compliance in her wide eyes. No doubt it was Bronwyn, not some doppelgänger or illusion meant to trick them. Smells didn’t lie, and Hadwin caught a whiff of her unwashed hair and clothes. Scalp, dirt, bodily odors--she reeked of filth, unwashed and unkempt, but the filth was characteristic of her scent profile. The moment she transferred hands, the steady compliance dispelled from her eyes, as though someone swiftly blew out a candle. Blinking out of her stupor, Bronwyn looked from Hadwin, to Briery, to Hadwin again, confusion now her dominant feature.
“Damn, Bron,” he pulled on his most affable, lighthearted smile, trying to emulate some of Briery’s docility but with his own, unique, Hadwin-like spin, “were you rolling around in dirt before you got to us?” But Nia had an answer to his rhetorical question--and it wasn’t far off the mark. In protest over leaving, Bronwyn threw herself in a mud puddle and refused to bathe or move, at which point Locque was forced to take over her mental faculties--temporarily--to encourage her cooperation. In order to reach their rendezvous spot in time, Nia could only afford to spot clean her, which explained her less-than-presentable appearance.
“Well then,” he patted the ringleader in between the shoulders, drawing necessary attention to her and not to him, or Haraldur and Kadri, who, in recognition, caused her hackles to rise in alarm, “Brie will get you squeaky clean. Unless you wanna be a dirt demon indefinitely, but I can’t guarantee you’ll make too many friends that way.”
Shaking her head, she retreated a step, eyes darting, desperate to find an escape.
“Bronwyn,” Haraldur, detecting the telltale signs of a person about to flee, sidled forward, hands positioned free of their weapons. He approached as a rider would to calm their spooked horse, voice pitched low and his steps deliberate and imperceptible to track. “We’re not here to harm you. But if you run, I can’t promise you anything.”
“You captured me,” she whispered, dark amber eyes swarming with paranoia. “You, and that man,” she pointed to Kadri. “Forbanne. I was your prisoner.” When Briery tried extending a hand to her, she caught the movement from her periphery and whirled in her direction. “I don’t know you. But if you’re a friend of my brother’s, you must be as rotten as he is.” She batted away the hand and pivoted to Hadwin. “Rowen has every reason to kill you, you know. Every damn reason!” In lieu of fleeing, she made to pounce on him, but Hadwin’s quick reflexes, anticipating the attack, swerved out of her way and rounded on her exposed back.
“Still too slow!” He shouted, and elbow-slammed her to the ground. By the time Haraldur and Kadri surrounded the pinned wolf, weapons at the ready, Hadwin had jammed a substance-tipped needle into her neck. In seconds, her lids grew heavy, and she collapsed fully onto a patch of snow, unconscious.
“Sorry ‘bout that, Bron,” he leaned back on his heels and yanked the needle from his sister. “I don’t think she’s ready for gentle and caring right now, Brie,” he glanced up the ringleader, who was leaning over the unresponsive Kavanagh sibling in concern. “But it was worth a try. For now, can I leave her in your charge? Something tells me she wants me dead and, I dunno, it’ll help her to be with someone who cares...and who isn’t me.”
“How long is that sedative good for?” Haraldur was already lifting the woman by the underarms, prepared to secure her with ropes for the expedited journey back to the palace.
“She’s faoladh, so not long. I wager she’ll shake it off in about an hour, so we might get her to the palace right as she wakes.” Hadwin sprung to his feet, wiping the bits of forest detritus and snow powder from his trousers. “She’s right bristling with fear, this one. Caught a dose of the madness from my baby sister. Procedure being what it is, she’s getting locked up, ain’t she?”
“I’ll compromise.” The Forbanne Commander held Bronwyn’s limp form in place as Kadri bound her wrists and legs with rope. “If, Briery, you’re confident she’ll recover better in your keeping, then I’ll motion to have her confined to a room and not a dungeon cell, with two Forbanne posted at her door. For now.” His eyes found Nia, who hadn’t yet vanished from the scene, “What happens next is ultimately up to the new Galeynian monarch. After today, she has control of the palace and the country. Once she’s queen, she can change the palace to suit her needs and oust whoever she wants.”
Elespeth pinched the bridge of her nose at the faoladh’s outburst. With her very willing agreement to Isidor’s very clear and very adamant rejection of entertaining the idea of cooperating with the other Master Alchemist called Nia, she realized too late that her agreement (given her own bias, mind you) with their very own Master Alchemist’s vehement words could easily come across as a shift toward mistrust for the faoladh’s suggestion, pertaining to the benefits of trying to cooperate with Nia--or, at least, not shun her very existence before the majority of them had formally met her. “You know Isidor is not referring to Sigrid. Nor am I.” She sighed, realizing too late she should have specified, or been more careful in supporting Isidor’s very strong words. “Should Sigrid have the choice, there is no way she would choose to work with--or for--Locque. Nor do we mean Bronwyn, because I believe she fled out of fear, and not out of some desire to serve a tyrant. But yes, Hadwin, I do mean Nia--and, to an extent… Rowen. It goes without saying that, like Isidor, I don’t trust them, because neither of them has given me any reason to. No, it doesn’t make her a ‘goon’... that’s not the right word. But remember, I was there with you when Locque said in so many words that she didn’t care what happened to you? That she would happily let Rowen tear you--and for all we know, anyone else she feels like--to shreds? I’m sorry, Hadwin, but I am having a hard time entertaining the idea of trying to be on ‘good terms’ with this other Master Alchemist, because we have no real way of knowing her actual agenda, however human she may be. And anyway, how are we so sure that her agreement to return Bronwyn to us isn’t a trap?”
“You don’t need to apologize to him, Elespeth. I’m happy to say what you’re too diplomatic to convey.” Isidor, lips pressed into a thin line, glared at Hadwin. “You’ve always got an idea or two up your sleeve. Certainly, sometimes they have some merit, but what you have already proven not to give a fuck about are the consequences. How it might affect other people, be they an enemy or a friend. You know exactly what I mean. Am I holding a grudge?” He clenched his hands into fists, glaring at the wolf-man through his red-rimmed, sleep-deprived eyes. “You can fucking bet I am. And even if this idea was well-intended, playing nice with another Master Alchemist--which, by the way, I guarantee you have no idea just how dangerous my lot can be--then you’re delusional. I don’t care about Nia’s motives, because here is something you haven’t sat down to think about. She hails from an infamous family of Master Alchemists. Unlike me, she was born into an environment that had her believe the ends always justified the means. Which means that everything she went through, everything and everyone she sacrificed to earn those runes on her palms… they meant nothing to her. There is no remorse among the Ardanes. So long as it meant she could become who she is today. So no,” he scoffed, his shoulders already bunched in anger, “Elespeth is not in the wrong for thinking this is a harebrained idea when what is more than likely is this Nia Ardane may be playing nice with you because those were Locque’s orders. Don’t give me bullshit about her having a conscience, because the one thing the Ardanes were known for is their unyielding amorality. In their minds, there is no real ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ so long as you can get the results you want. There is a reason they were driven out and exterminated from Ilandria. So yes, goons suits her just fine--and it suits your sister, too. Were it not for her,” his dark, rage-filled eyes were also clouded with unmistakable exhaustion, “then I wouldn’t be putting time that we don’t have into finding the most clandestine way to create a brand new human body for a girl that Rowen killed. So forgive me if I have no other words for her.”
“Maybe,” Elespeth cut in, with the foolish idea that she could smooth out this rocky ground into which she had unintentionally created potholes, “Isidor has a point, Hadwin. He would know of Nia’s kind better than any of us. I believe that you believe maybe all this woman wants is company outside of whatever Locque can offer, but… did you maybe stop to think about the possibility that she has been leading you astray? That maybe she managed to pick you out as the perfect target to try and weaken our defenses, for some ulterior motive? Have you thought,” she sighed, her eyes glinting with a seriousness that was a little more stable than Isidor’s, “that your correspondence with this woman has made you a pawn in her game, all along?”
It was the wrong thing to say, clearly; and Isidor had already cast the illusion that his sentiments and Elespeth’s on the matter of Nia Ardane were completely unanimous. And perhaps it was because Hadwin expected Isidor’s disdain that the guilty light shone on Elespeth, instead, as a betrayal of the trust she had reassured the faoladh that she’d invested in him. And before she or Alster could try to cool the air in the room, Hadwin had already made up his mind about her, and left upon Isidor’s demand, slamming the door behind him.
“That… probably could have gone better.” The former knight sighed, completely unsure as to how or if that which Hadwin had perceived as such an infraction of trust could be remedied. In just a matter of days, she and Alster would be gone from the palace, and if Hadwin had already made up his mind that she had turned the other heel and shut him out as a traitor of sorts, there may not be time to convince him otherwise. “I don’t know, Alster. I don’t know anymore. I don’t think Hadwin is untrustworthy, but I have to side with Isidor, on this. Our first impression of this Nia Ardane came from when she shredded my armor to bloody ribbons. Forgive me if I can’t seem to shake that first impression. Hadwin is right about one thing: I’m still judgmental. I’m biased, and I make up my mind about someone quickly. I was a knight, Alster, and most of my survival has depended upon first impressions and making decisions about situations quickly. That said…” She rubbed the back of her neck, her skin having grown hot from the exchange. “I am not beyond holding out hope, if you think there is hope to be found. And if you and Hadwin have already decided that getting chatty with this Nia Ardane has merit… then I guess that is that. As for Hadwin...”
She turned her head to look toward the door, which still seemed to vibrate with his anger. Wouldn’t it just be her luck that she would hit just the right one of his nerves at the right time. It seemed to be one of her unwanted talents. “I believe he thinks this is the right move. He wouldn’t have suggested it, otherwise… however misguided I believe it might be. He is a friend--or something like that. After just now, who knows.” Her shoulders sagged with the brand new stressors added to the old ones. She’d unwittingly heaped more on her plate than she’d realized. “Isidor… no one here expects you to play nice with Nia, least of all, me. You do what you can on other fronts, and we can leave her in the hands of people who are willing to talk to her.”
“Thank you. And… I’m sorry.” Realizing his culpability in the way Hadwin lashed out at Elespeth, Isidor’s remorse was not feigned. “I’m the one who condemns the wolf. He should be angry with me, not you. I have no qualms about him turning a cold shoulder to me because I certainly have no warmth to offer him.”
“We all interrupted you at a time when you clearly weren’t prepared to be interrupted, Isidor. No one holds you at fault. Alster is right,” she made to rest a hand on his shoulder, but curiously, he flinched away from her touch. Then she remembered the bloodied rags in the corner of the room, and backed off. “You should rest. As much as you need to. No one, ally or enemy, will disturb you until you are ready to take on this ludicrous situation.”
“Elespeth, if you know me at all, then you know I will never be ready.” The Master Alchemist groaned softly. “But… this is dire. And I promised to help. I won’t rescind that promise.”
Haraldur’s demeanor and reaction (and Kadri’s, for that matter) did not faze Nia. On the contrary, she had been fully anticipating this very reception. She wasn’t an idiot; she didn’t expect that they would be fawning over her for trying and failing to have Sigrid Sorenson released. Spreading her hands, she sighed. “I get it--and believe me, your stance is perfectly justified, Prince Sorde. I’m not oblivious to how you must feel. Hell, if it were my cousin… if I had a cousin, I mean, I’d probably be pretty pissed if they ended up as Locque’s hostage. So, rest assured, I’m not asking you to trust me, or to like me. I just wanted to let you know that I’ve been trying to do a little right, y’know? Sigrid… yeah, she’s a hefty one. A warrior through and through, but this is Locque, we’re talking. Really, think about it for a moment.” She shrugged her shoulders and leaned in, her posture hitting home the obvious as she arched an eyebrow. “Do you really think a more two-hundred-year-old sorceress needs a warrior? You’ve seen what she can do. Everything she’s had Sigrid do… well, before, it was to send a message. But now, it’s just a matter of insurance. She wants to believe that she can trust you, and that you aren’t going to retaliate. Once she’s sure of that? Sigrid is as good as yours again. Sure, she’s gonna have quite the mental load to deal with…” She blew air from between her lips and shook her head. “I can’t help you with that, sadly. But you’ll have her back, physically unharmed. I won’t stop working on it, promise! But, for now…”
She nodded to a slightly dazed Bronwyn and smiled a half-grin. “I’m afraid you’re gonna have to take this consolation prize--sorry, Bronwyn.” She turned to the other woman with an apologetic look. “I guess you’re not as hot a commodity as the she-warrior, but hey! You get to go back home. She, uh,” the Master Alchemist wrinkled her nose. “She might need a bath. Didn’t take being cut loose very well, and she threw herself into the mud. I did try to clean her up a little, buuuut she doesn’t like me very much. Sorry.”
Nia took a step back, then, but it didn’t mean much as Bronwyn also retreated a step and bumped into her. “Ah, no, miss. You’re going with these nice men and woman. Come on, don’t get me in even more trouble.” She groaned a little. “This is supposed to be peaceful! Although, Hadwin…” She glanced at the faoladh first, and then pointedly at Haraldur and Kadri, “you might’ve done better to heed my advice and not take along the biggest, hulking masses of testosterone you could find. What’re you scared of? You think I could take you on, let alone these muscles?”
Needless to say, this transition did not go smoothly, by any means. Briery gasped and Kadri and Haraldur stepped in to help subdue the hysterical she-wolf, who would clearly not go quietly, forcing Hadwin’s hand to use more extreme measures. The ringleader sighed, feeling a little bit defeated to see Bronwyn’s body go limp. “Please… don’t have her locked in a cell. She’s hurting and afraid; she needs care, and attention, not isolation and uncertainty.” She said quietly to Haraldur. “I’ll do what I can for her. I think… she needs time to trust. But, I am not a threat; and I don’t have magic. With some time and patience, I think I can help her come back to herself. I’ll care for her, Hadwin.” She turned her head, meeting his golden eyes. “You have my word.”
“Don’t worry, Locque has no intention to upset your wolf-girl’s rehabilitation plan.” Nia responded, stepping back to allow the men to collect the unconscious girl from the ground. “Crazy or sane, she couldn’t care much for what happens to Bronwyn, here. Rest assured, you’ll find no interference from my side. So--are we good, then?” She raised an eyebrow and nodded at Hadwin. “Three days from the agreement to surrender. Shall I report back that those days begin now? Communication is key, here. You can be sure you’ll be hearing from me again, soon. Gotta say… I’m kind of excited for the opportunity to sleep in a real bed, again!” Her lips stretched into a guilty grin, and her brown eyes glinted with delight. “Cots, blankets on floors, and the shoddy things you find in inns… I feel like my bones are aging prematurely. Well--I guess that’s that, then. Good luck with your charge!”
With a friendly wave, Nia turned and left the clearing, leaving the others to secure the unconscious woman for the trek back to the palace.
They had to act quickly, considering how fast Hadwin expected his sister to recover from the sedative. Fortunately, the room that Alster had been kept in was still set up for occupancy, and frankly, everyone had decided it would be in Bronwyn’s best interests to keep her there. Not because she had errant magic that needed to be kept at bay (and even if she did, it was solely capable of stifling Rigas magic), but it would be a small reassurance that some of the more powerful mages would be no threat to her in a place designed to contain Magic of the Rigas variety. Briery even suggested that they go further and line it with magic-inhibiting talismans, to reassure her even more, and it was agreed upon that they would consider it, depending on how she responded upon awakening. They were fortunate enough that Bronwyn didn’t awaken prior to being secured in that room, where Briery had promised to wait to try and explain things to her later on.
Given the hour, Kadri and Haraldur retired after assigning some other Forbanne soldiers at Bronwyn’s door, and Hadwin headed off to do the same thing, after the ringleader reassured him she would contact him if anything untoward occurred. But he didn’t get halfway to Teselin’s room (where he usually slept, curled up as a wolf) before a familiar face took note.
“...Hadwin! There’s talk that we’ve gotten Bronwyn back.” It was Elespeth, who had taken to patrolling that evening in Haraldur’s absence. As soon as she’d gotten word as to why the Forbanne commander was needed elsewhere, she had been alert and waiting for their return. “How is… is she alright? Did anything happen?”
Of course, after the ill-fated exchange earlier, with the exhausted Master Alchemist at the center of it, she should have known better than to think he would indulge her. His answers were terse and disinterested, and he didn’t stop walking. Elespeth blinked several times. “Hadwin.” Nothing. He kept walking. She swore under her breath. “...are you seriously going to make me chase you?”
It didn’t help that he was fast on his feet. It further didn’t help that she was only newly recovered from sickness, and still easily found herself short of breath when pushed to exertion. Through determination alone, Elespeth picked up her own pace, and made it to Teselin’s door just in time to slide her body between it and the shapeshifter. “You want to ignore me, then you’ll have plenty of opportunity for that when I’m gone, in a few days.” She said, panting in an attempt to catch her breath. “For now, I need you to listen. And if you want to go back to hating me afterward, then that’s fine, but right now, you need to hear me. Because I won’t go without saying it.”
He didn’t seem happy, but short of forcibly putting his hands on her and inciting a fight, he realized he didn’t have much of a choice. Elespeth sighed, and then took a breath in preparation for what she had to say. “What I meant, earlier, when I said I agreed with Isidor… I think that was skewed in the wrong direction. And I didn’t exactly make myself very clear--so I understand you’re pissed. And you have every right to be. But what I was trying to imply wasn’t that I don’t trust you, Hadwin. You’re on our side, and you always have been. And as much as I do trust you, you’re going to have to bet that for as long as we’re working together, I am going to question every one of your bright ideas, just like you’re always questioning me. Because, let’s face it--someone has to. If you don’t get a look at the other side of the coin, sometimes we can become too assured in our ideas and assumptions. And as much as I want to believe that trying to get close to Nia Ardane is a good strategy, I need--no, we need to consider the other side of the potential. That this has been her game, Locque’s game, all along. And that she is trying to find a way close to you for her own purposes. That’s what I’m afraid of. I’m afraid that you might be wrong… and that you’re going to fall for something that is just going to get you in trouble. Or get you hurt.”
Elespeth relaxed her shoulders a little when it appeared that she had his ear, and folded her arms across her chest. “You’re right, you know. I’m judgemental; maybe not as much as before, but I don’t know that it will change. I used to be a knight, and that's how I was taught to survive. I had to make quick decisions, make up my mind about people and situations quickly. Often, I was right; sometimes, I was wrong. The important part was coming to a decision at all. I realize it doesn’t really hold as much ground, here… not everything is a threat. It’s hard to stop thinking that way, though. It’s hard to stop wanting to stop all of the bad stuff before it happens--or to at least be prepared for it to happen. Why do you think I insisted on accompanying you and Teselin to meet with Locque? To protect the summoner? No.” A small, flat smile played upon her face. “You and I both know that, one wrong move, and Teselin would end the witch. Maybe not… intentionally, and she might take out everyone else in a ten mile radius, but I don’t fear for her safety. What concerns me is that Locque told us in so many words that despite this peaceful surrender, despite that she promised to keep her hands off of Alster, she made it very clear that you’ve been granted no amnesty. That if Rowen wants to kill you… she’s going to let her. Hell, she’ll probably set it up for her, if it means maintaining her loyalty. And, yeah, you’re a fighter, but I don’t know that you’d survive that. That you’d survive Locque through Rowen. So someone had to go and watch your back. However…”
She glanced down the corridor where, just a few corners away, Alster was waiting for her to join him in bed. She’d promised him that she would, as soon as she learned what have come of ‘rescuing’ Bronwyn. “Alster is leaving for the farmlands shortly. Not only for his safety, but for everyone’s; since he refuses to surrender, Locque might consider cavorting with him as a breach in contract. And I have to go with him. I have to, because look at what happened the last time I left him alone, to his own devices…” Elespeth hung her head, clearly still weary from the whole ordeal of getting her husband back to himself. “So… I’m not going to be here. No one’s going to be here to make you reconsider everything you plan. Teselin and Briery are on board with everything you do, for better or for worse. Haraldur and Vega don’t really concern themselves with you, nor do Lilica and Chara, for that matter--and they have far bigger fish to fry. Vitali might as well be a write-off because no one sees him during the day, anyway. Isidor… well.” She raised an eyebrow. The Master Alchemist had already made himself very clear as to where he stood. “And Tivia has enough going on with what the stars are telling her. No one’s going to be here to challenge you--and sure, try to tell me otherwise, but you need that. You’ve had my back and backed my marriage more times than I can count. So who’s going to be here to have yours if everything goes wrong, Hadwin? If the player ends up getting played, and you land yourself in danger… who is going to pull you out of it?”
There wasn’t a single trace of any of that self-righteousness he might have thought she was emanating, earlier. The same seriousness, perhaps, but also traces of the concern that came through in her words. “I know you promised Teselin you’re going to be careful. And I believe that you think you are. Which is precisely why I have to put the question right back in your face: are you being careful? Really? You know,” the corner of her mouth quirked. “It was so much easier to think you were a piece of shit. I wouldn’t ask these questions; I’d let you dig your own grave. But… I won’t go down peacefully if something were to happen, and I didn’t say anything. If I didn’t try to have you at least consider the alternative. So, sorry you have to put up with my bullshit, Hadwin. You were probably happier hating me, too. Because unfortunately for you… I’ve been known to nag the hell out of friends.”
“I’ve got the ok from her Majesty to count down those days--effective after we return with Bron,” Hadwin informed the Master Alchemist. He tucked the needle into an arm strap beneath his sleeve and made to head for the carriage with the others. “We’re down to the final count. Three days, like we discussed. ‘Till then,” he tipped two fingers to his brow in a flippant salute, “you’re gonna have to suffer the hay pallet and the neck pains a mite longer. If I’m feeling charitable, maybe I’ll pound your knotted muscles into working order, but,” he shrugged, “getting the feeling with Ro flitting about the palace, it ain’t bloody likely. Wouldn’t put it past her to police my habits before she kills me.” But the joke fell flat, delivered in a deadpan tone as opposed to his usual irreverent savviness. Lately, since promising Teselin and Briery to survive, it proved more difficult to joke about his own doom. However, between imagining his demise or Rowen’s, he preferred the former. Black humor kept him going, but there was nothing humorous in laughing at his youngest sister’s expense.
Only after Nia disappeared from the clearing did he face the carriage, catching the last of Bronwyn’s limp form as Haraldur and Kadri loaded her inside, taking care to support the back of her head to prevent it from lolling. They sat her on the cushions beside Briery, who pulled the unconscious Kavanagh sibling close to allow for a comfortable rest on her shoulder.
In passing Hadwin to reach his steed, Haraldur shook his head and frowned his disapproval. “Why does it not surprise me that you’re on casual terms with Locque’s Master Alchemist?”
“It’s how I do business, Papa Sorde.” Hadwin scrubbed a hand through his hair, wishing for a fix, a swig from a flask or a puff on his pipe--anything to wet, or smoke, his whistle during their expeditious yet strenuous route to the palace, traveling with yet another sister who fancied him dead. “I’ve always worked that familiarity angle. Keeps things interesting when you’re chummy with folks, friend and foe alike. You should try it some time!”
“No, thank you.” He adjusted the saddle, threaded a foot into the stirrups, and swung in place on his mount. “I don’t want ‘interesting.’ I want ‘safe.’ Speaking of safe,” he slipped on a pair of riding gloves and gripped the reins, “we’re leaving now. If we’ve only an hour before your sister stirs, I’d rather we’re at the palace than on the road.”
“Before we go,” he gnawed on the tip of his finger, “probably asking the wrong person, upstanding man like yourself, but I left all my shit at the palace, so...got anything on you? A flask? Canteen of ale?” His eyebrows lowered meaningfully, “A sprig of stimulant?”
“What? No.” Haraldur flicked on his reins, but the faoladh slapped a hand on his arm, stilling the motion.
“C’mon, don’t deny it,” he cajoled. “I fucking smell it on you. You’re using. You’ve been using. You put a little of it in your tea during meals to mask the odor and to control the dosage.” At Haraldur’s widening eyes, the faoladh waved his free hand in a gesture meant to placate. “Hey, I ain’t judging. You’ve got two kids and an army to babysit. Energy’s gotta come from somewhere. ‘Course, you don’t want anyone to know, not after what happened to Elespeth on your watch. Again, not judging. I just want a sprig, is all.”
“And what if I say ‘No’? Are you going to tell everyone about my bad habit?” Haraldur challenged, meeting Hadwin’s gaze with casual authority. “I wouldn’t, faoladh.” Kadri, aware of something amiss, rode up beside his Commander, dark eyes trained on the shifter’s back.
“Psh, no!” He exclaimed with a disarming smile. “I value our bare-bones relationship. But I’m winding down and I wanna either be asleep or juiced up. Out of the options, better to be alert. Wouldn’t be fair for you to deny me when you’re partaking for the same reason I’m looking to partake!”
“Hadwin.” From atop his horse, he leveled a glare; the added height contributed to the glare, making him more imposing than usual. “Go to the carriage or you’ll join your sister in ropes.”
In no mood to further antagonize the unyielding Forbanne Commander, Hadwin, cutting his losses, retreated with a swagger that didn’t shoulder the weight of loss at all. Asking the man who, following Elespeth’s incident, would never dispense the stimulant to anyone with a preexisting habit or susceptibility, was an attempt that offered a slim to none likelihood for success, but, desperate for relief, he took those abysmal odds and, no surprise, came up empty. There was no one else to blame but himself.
Opening the carriage door, he slid into the empty space on Bronwyn’s other side, effectively sandwiching her between him and Briery for the duration of the ride. To distract from the lack of a distraction, Hadwin continually smashed his knees together, gnawed on his fingers until bloody, and would not stop yammering on to Briery about whatever inane topic sprung to his head. If you won’t give me any shit, fine. He snorted out the window, at the shadowy figure of Haraldur atop his steed. I’ll produce my own bloody jollies.
During their jostling journey through the countryside, Bronwyn did not awaken, a testament to the strength of the sedative, considering his talkative outbursts could disturb even the dead from a restful slumber.
“Y’know, Bron ain’t in the wrong for going at me like that,” he said, in one of his many monologues. “I’d say it’s payback for lobbing a hot-iron poker at her. Probably should have let her get a punch in, at least, to even out the score. Pretty telling that when we’re both at our worst, at our most...well, mad,” he strained out a chuckle, “one of the first things we do is try to kill each other. The same’s true for Ro, too.” He rested one fingertip-stained hand behind his head. “Our family reunions are just killer, aren’t they?”
An hour later, and as scheduled, they pulled into the palace entrance, hustling to transfer her to Alster’s old holding chambers in case Bronwyn roused out of her drug-induced slumber prematurely. As soon as the Forbanne guard and his Commander carried her inside the vacant room and draped her over the bed, Bronwyn shifted against the pillow and blinked her eyes open. Seeing her awakening as a sign to split, Hadwin vaulted out of her vicinity, but not before addressing the acrobat over his shoulder. “Gimme a head’s up on how she’s doing. Once she gets out of her head that you’re guilty by association of knowing me, I’d say she’ll take to you well. There’s absolutely nothing offensive or off-putting about you, Brie, and she’ll only see the good stuff, besides. She’s gonna need your stability in the days to come because strangely, her Sight’s gonna help her recover. If I’d wager an educated guess, but the better the person, the better she does.” Patting the doorframe, he muttered under his breath as he turned to leave. “So I’m fucking out of the equation.”
He should have predicted that in his rush to get to Teseln’s chambers and gather his pipe, along with what little swill remained in his flask, that he’d invariably run into Elespeth on patrol. Just great. Another damn obstacle in my way to oblivion.
“Yeah. Brie’s got her,” came his terse reply as he sailed past her, launching forward on swift legs to deter her from following. Naturally, she gave chase, going so far as to try and match his grueling speed. In a frenzied burst of determination, she somehow managed to bound between him and Teselin’s door, blocking his entrance and forcing him to address her head-on. Though annoyed by her strong-arm tactics, he had to grant her kudos for the athletic feat.
“The fuck do you want, Elespeth?” He growled his frustrations, knowing full well what she wanted to discuss. “Whatever it is, make it quick, will you?”
It wasn’t quick, but he couldn’t bank on brevity when she’d been carrying her argument for him all day like an engorged tick ready to pop. Crossing his arms over his chest, he listened and watched her eyes, reading the flickers of fear that painted her speech. Huh. When did she start fearing for his safety? Had he missed it, burrowed somewhere beneath the all-consuming panic of losing her husband? “Aw, Elly, you’re worried about me, ain’t you?” A curl of a smile softened the severity lining his brow. “Get in line. That’s what you deal with when you’ve got me as a mate.”
Sighing away the smile, he lowered his arms, letting them dangle at his sides. “Look, I blew up over nothing. I realized it after I begged off. Who’da thunk? The Alchemist can get my goat. See, the shit that Isidor spewed about Nia--it applies to me, too. What's most despicable about her is what's most despicable about me. The ends justify the means. I don't care who I have to exploit to get the result I want. Who I end up killing in a fight. The people I fuck over. I’ve got no remorse for the vast majority of what I’ve done. Take Isidor, for example. Do I regret bombarding the man with his own fears? Nope! When you live every day to survive, you learn early-on to chuck black and white morality to the wayside; it won’t serve you. People like Nia are people like me. It's why we're birds of a feather. Hells, it’s why I got so pissed at you. Seeing as you agreed, after a fashion, with Isidor’s assessment of that irredeemable, unconscionable write-off of an Alchemist, well, I figured, aside from her ‘enemy’ status, what’s the real difference between her and me? I’m one of her ‘kind.’ Not a Master Alchemist, no, but I’m on her spectrum. Huh, well would you look at that?” He tsked low in his throat. “I guess it’s possible to get wound-up about my self-image, after all. Least where you’re concerned.”
“But don't get me wrong.” He leaned the heel of his palm against the doorframe, checking out the bloodstains on his fingers, “I accept her as much as I suspect her. I'm a contradiction. I play confidence games. I can be your best friend at the same time I'm stabbing you in the back, and both are true to my character. That's the piece of shit conman personality I've cultivated over years of dealing in the dregs of society. You get good at it. You learn not to trust even your closest confidants, but you can still appreciate those sons of bitches who’d happily cut your throat for a glint of silver. So cut me some slack, Elly. This is what I do. She can't play me and I’m no pawn. I’m shuffling with a stacked deck. Fear gives people away, more often than not, and I know her type. She’s not who I need to worry about, anyway.” His fingers wilted, curling into a weak fist. “It’s Rowen. Rowen through Locque, like you said.”
“To answer your question, oh meddler--and I must stop for a moment to applaud you, for the student has become the teacher--” he pushed off from the wall and clapped: once, twice, three times, “it’s all about perspective. Careful for me is still reckless for you. Can I ever be your definition of careful? Fuck no! But I can allay some of your concerns and answer you this: I’m not deliberately trying to throw my life away. I check every room I’m in. Even when I’m shooting the shit, or throwing back drinks, I never let my guard down. Always got one foot angled to the ground, ready to bolt, or ready to fight.” He nodded to the floor; sure enough, he was rolling on the balls of his feet, swaying to some established rhythm in his head. “But no matter how prepared I am, I figure, if Ro wants me dead, she’ll have me dead. Locque would make it a cinch for her to accomplish. Anytime she wants it to happen, well,” he shrugged, stretching his arms over his head, “it’ll happen. No amount of planning in the world is gonna prepare me for when she decides to spring up and attack. Though, I’m getting the vibe that she wants to take me down on her own merits. Mostly her own merits. As is, looks like she got to Bron, and now she wants to kill me, too. Had to stab her in the neck with the sedative we used to subdue Al. She’s resting in his old detoxing chambers, as we speak.” What he opted to omit from the story was how it felt to stab Bronwyn in the neck; how it was akin to raising a blade and striking Rowen for the kill. How he wanted to scrub the moment out of existence with whatever substance made itself available. How he seriously considered picking a fight with Haraldur to obtain a precious leaf of stimulant, the potent herb that almost ruined her twice-over.
But he said nothing. And he wouldn’t say a word. If Locque had the potential to watch them whenever she damn pleased, then he would never utter aloud what was eating him. What he decided upon doing. You get near me, Ro, you get near anyone I give a damn about...and you’re fucking dead.
“Y’know, since our new overlord hasn’t granted me amnesty, I can cavort with whoever the hell I like and it wouldn’t be a breach of contract at all. Sure, I’d have to take precautions and be careful,” he rolled his eyes at Elespeth, “but there ain’t nothing stopping me from popping by your farmhouse to say ‘Hello!’ We’ll take turns nagging each other, yeah? Give your beau a real headache. So put it here!” Stepping forward, he threw Elespeth into a lingering bear-hug of vising proportions. As he released the overwhelmed she-warrior, he laughed, amusement and mischief dancing in his yellow-gold eyes. “You sure I’m still not a piece of shit? Is that a judgement call you can accurately make? Cuz the whole reason I hugged you just now was so that he could watch.”
With the sideways jerk of his head, he revealed Alster’s position at the end of the corridor. Although he hugged the walls and heavy breaths labored out of his mouth, the Rigas caster possessed enough energy to close the distance between them and sputter, red-faced, “A f-friendship hug? If you’re looking to get blasted with magic...you’ll have to do worse than that, Hadwin”
“Hah! Fair enough. Aw, lookie you, Al, fighting strong!” He pivoted aside, allowing the two lovers to reunite. “What brings you traipsing out of bed, hm?”
Alster accepted Elespeth’s proffered arm of support. “I was actually...looking for you.”
“Really?” Hadwin raised an intrigued--and suggestive--eyebrow.
“Not like that.” He blanched, and pointed to the faoladh’s pockets. “Your resonance stone connects you to this Master Alchemist. If what you say is true...then before we head to the farmlands...I would like you to schedule a meeting with her. Nothing of import. Just to talk. To get a read on her, myself.”
She hadn’t expected him to give her the time of day--or night, as it was. But Elespeth, after carrying the weight of what had obviously been his hurt all day long, could not rest without at least trying to clear the air, or explaining her stance, which Isidor had inadvertently skewed in the bout of his anger. Really, Hadwin could have pushed her aside and slammed the door in her face; she wasn’t sure she’d have had the strength to resist. But, instead… he paused. He gave her that moment to explain, and so the former knight took a huge breath and, in far too many words, launched into an explanation of her words and what she had meant by them. And, to his credit, he stood there, and he listened. He heard her out, and to her relief, she could see the frustration slowly dissipate from his sharp, golden eyes. It appeared her breath hadn’t been wasted, after all; and Hadwin wasn’t entirely beyond reason.
“Yes, Hadwin. In so many words, I am worried. Can you blame me? When have you given me reason not to worry for you? Believe me, I’m well aware of the consequences of assigning some degree of importance to your existence.” The curl of her smile faded a little at the edges when he went so far as to compare himself to Nia. “But I don’t agree. Fine, if you want to say that you and the enemy Master Alchemist have a few things in common, then that is up to you--but you’re still very different. You said it yourself: this Nia Ardane is in it for survival. She is looking out for herself, and it sounds as though she will go to any lengths, by any means, to ensure she survives. And that might be a little true for yourself, too. You’re a survivor; that much is obvious. But here’s what is different: you give a damn for others. For Teselin, for your sister--for both of your sisters. For Briery. Hell, for whatever reason that I’ll probably never understand, you cared enough to save my life and my marriage. You do give a damn about other people and the consequences; frankly, you’re more notorious for not giving enough of a damn about yourself. So, sure, you might think you know Nia to an extent… and maybe you do. But,” she sighed, feeling a little defeated. “It doesn’t matter what I think or say. Because I also know you well enough to know that it is near impossible to change your mind, once it’s made up. You want to keep your enemies closer to your friends, and I respect that. But it doesn’t mean I’m not going to worry… or call you an idiot for it.”
He was convincing, she could say as much. However a terrible idea it might have been, Hadwin was convinced of his ability not to be played--not by Nia, at the very least. And Elespeth couldn’t have been further from agreement, but not for lack of faith in Hadwin’s genuine belief that he had things under control. What set off alarm bells in the former knight’s mind was the sheer fact that Locque was not an enemy of whom any one of them had ever encountered the likes. None of them knew as much as they thought they did, and day by day, they were hardly doing more than playing it all by ear. “I’m not going to try to change your mind or to stop you, because we all know that it is a completely fruitless endeavor.” She said at last, not looking particularly happy, still, at this decision to bring Nia Ardane closer, but neither was she fervently against it, as was the case with Isidor. “I just… hope you know what to expect. What to look for, in case you’re being deceived. And let’s hope we can stab her in the back before she can stab us. But, Hadwin,” her verdant eyes flickered with a far-away alarm. “Watch your back. Because Nia might not be the issue; she might just be the distraction. And what better time for your sister to strike than when you are paying attention to the wrong enemy? I know you think that Rowen holds on the control, here, but Hadwin...”
Reaching up, she set her hands heavily on her shoulders. “She won’t kill you if you’re prepared--and if you don’t want her to. So please, please tell me you intend to hold your promise to Briery and Teselin, and that you don’t want her to. Don’t prepare to go down when there are people who will fight for you. Believe me, the future stability of this kingdom is contingent on whether you are dead or alive… imagine what it would do to Teselin if you give up and wait for Locque to put your sister to good use of doing you in. And imagine…” She lowered her voice, in case the young summoner was still awake on the other side of the door. “Imagine what she could do if she loses control, in total anguish. We’ve got two summoners to keep in mind, here. So however you choose to proceed… remember.” She lowered one hand and prodded him in the chest. “You took Tes under your wing. That gives you the awful responsibility of not giving her a reason to completely lose it, and take Galeyn down with her. So none of this sitting and waiting for Rowen to do you in because you feel helpless to Locque’s will, hm? And…”
Her mouth curled into a smirk and she quirked an eyebrow. “I hope that even when I’m miles away at the farm house… that you hear my annoying, entitled, self-righteous voice every time you consider doing something stupid. I will find a way to nag the hell out of you from a distance, if I can. It… might still be safest if you stayed away for us non-compliants, anyway. Or at least, until you discuss boundaries with her new Majesty. And… speaking of stupid decisions…” Elespeth caught a glimpse of one of his bloodied hands and grabbed it, frowning at the fingertips. “What… did you do to yourself? That doesn’t look at all like an accident...”
Leave it to Hadwin to completely change the subject at a pivotal moment, however, as he did when he unexpectedly pulled her into a crushing hug that all but knocked the wind out of her. She drew a deep breath as soon as he let her go, and didn’t get another word in, before the faoladh pointed out that they weren’t alone in the corridor. Color flushed Elespeth’s cheeks and she flattened her body against the door of Teselin’s chamber, doing her damndest to try and put distance between herself and the wolf man, upon noticing her husband’s flustered face. “A-Alster… I was just trying to tie up loose ends from earlier,” she scrambled to explain. Nothing had happened--she wouldn’t dream of cheating on her husband, let alone with Hadwin! So why did she feel so… guilty, in spite of that? Hadwin, you sonuvabitch…!
“I take it back, Hadwin. Friend or not, you kind of are a piece of shit.” She muttered, sighing quietly in relief when Alster, at the very least, did not entirely seem to be falling for this ruse. Reaching out, she took him by the arm to help steady him. “Alster, I said I would be by shortly… did I take too long? I-I honestly didn’t intend to, I just couldn’t leave the conversation from earlier sitting the way it was…”
As it turned out, she wasn’t the only person who had been looking for Hadwin. Alster had not left to pursue her: he, too, needed some words with the faoladh. And what he asked shouldn’t have surprised her.
“You really want to go through with this. Try to get closer to the enemy as a means of making sure they don’t want to get too close to us…” Elespeth sighed, realizing just how outnumbered she was in thinking this was altogether a bad idea. With or without her cooperation, this was happening. And as nervous as the idea of Alster sitting face to face with someone who could potentially be a very dangerous woman made her… she had already faced Nia Ardane. Insisting that she accompany him on this fool’s errand would not yield any favourable results, particularly when she had no friendly words to exchange with the Master Alchemist.
“We’re surrendering in three days’ time,” she gently reminded Alster, her brows knitting together in uncertainty. “If you want to do this, then you’re going to have to rest up and get some strength back in your legs. I… don’t think I should go with you. I’ll fully admit, I feel nothing but bitterness toward that woman, and frankly, you’re the diplomat. I’d probably mess things up. But… I don’t think you should go alone, either. You resisted surrender: Nia knows this. And if Locque sees it as a sneaky opportunity to do away with you, make it look like an accident, then we can bet she will try. Hadwin.” She turned to the shapeshifter once more, with a simultaneously defeated and pleading gaze. “Will you accompany him? I don’t mean you need to sit in on the conversation; it would be more genuine to hear what she has to say to Alster, alone. But I’m nervous of him cavorting with the enemy without any backup. Just stay within a reasonable distance in the event that things get dangerous. If you’ll do that,” Elespeth glanced down the corridor, in the direction of that damned room where she and Alster had been cooped up for a week. “I’ll help Briery with Bronwyn. From the shadows, of course--I won’t upset your sister with my presence. I’m not sure that that is a relationship that can be salvaged… but what do you say? You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours--a euphemism! Gods, Hadwin, not literally.” Her cheeks heated at the suggestive look he flashed. She should have known better than to ever say anything to Hadwin that could be taken literally if it wasn’t meant to be taken literally.
“We’ll talk later, alright?” Elespeth said at last, feeling Alster’s weariness in the way he was practically holding himself up by her arm. “Get some rest, and see if you can contact the Master Alchemist. If she’s as accommodating as you claim she’s trying to be, I can’t imagine she will turn down the opportunity to meet Alster.”
Elespeth wasn’t wrong. Later the next morning, a low hum and vibration against her breast woke Nia up from her pile of blankets on the floor, in the cottage she was currently sharing with Locque. Confusion coloured her face until she remembered that she kept the resonance stone very close to her chest (literally), and promptly withdrew it. “...Hadwin. Don’t you sleep in?” She asked the faoladh, stifling a long yawn as she held the stone away from her face. “Something dissatisfy you with your most recent acquisition? Sorry, but we won’t be taking returns. Bronwyn is your problem, now.” She listened to his response, his reason for contacting her; then she frowned. She raised her eyebrows. “...Alster Rigas. Huh. What, pray tell, does your powerful celestial mage want with me? I mean, you know I won’t turn down the opportunity for some company. But considering he has outright refused to comply with surrender, I must ask… what is the catch, exactly? You can’t convince me he isn’t playing at something…”
Talk. Apparently… Alster Rigas just wanted to talk. About what? He had turned down surrender; what, exactly, did he think she could do for him, now? Or maybe he was still sore that she’d shredded his wife’s armor… Whatever the reason, whatever was on his mind, it would benefit her--and Locque--to know. Especially if there was the potential that he was interested in surrendering, after all. Wouldn’t that just make it easier for everyone? No more threats to take note of, everyone on board with this soft take-over… It could really play in the sorceress’s favour. “Kind of a bad time, y’know… We’re in the middle of planning the transition in a few days’ time. Best I can probably do is tomorrow evening. At Osric’s; sorry to make you travel, but I’ve got to stay kind of close to home until we take up residence in the palace. Will that suit Lord Rigas?”
Hadwin reassured her that he would make it work, and that was that. She hadn’t been lying--it was rather a hectic time, with the preparations and Locque constantly on her back, but Nia would be lying to claim she wouldn’t be happy for a little bit of a distraction.
That was, provided it sat well with Locque.
“Alster Rigas wishes to speak with you.” The sorceress didn’t need to use her magic to overhear; the cottage was certainly small enough.
“Sounds like it. Now, I know you don’t care for the man,” Nia groaned softly at her tense muscles as she sat upright. “But what if he is toying with the idea of surrendering, after all? I think we’d be passing up a real opportunity not to talk to him.”
“Or there is something else he wants. Something he thinks he can suss out from you. Anetania,” the sorceress fixed her brown eyes warily on the Master Alchemist. “I am putting a lot of trust in your judgment. I need your word that, at the slightest sign of dissent, or fowl play, that you will call this meeting to a close. And I want to know everything he tells you.”
Nia beamed. And here she’d thought it would be a fight to get Locque to consent! “You got it. I’d suggest you take a resonance stone, but then he may suspect fowl play… and I’m genuinely interested in what is on his mind. I’ll play nice if he plays nice, and then if I find out anything interesting, I’ll report back to you.”
So it was settled, and the next evening, Nia made her entrance a little early at Osric’s tavern, just before the sun had set. The barkeep waved her over as soon as he saw her. “Nia! I feel like it’s been an age… I was starting to get worried.” He put down the stein that he was cleaning, the smile fading around the corners of his thin lips. “Since it’s official the kingdom is surrendering and all… no one knows what is going to happen. Things could become very dangerous; more dangerous than they are now. Listen, I know you said you were a traveler and all, but if the world gets real dire and you need somewhere safe to hold up… you know you’re always welcome, here. Hell, my wife would enjoy the female company!”
How was it that in over a decade, she had nary encountered superficial kindness… and yet now that she found herself in Galeyn, two different people had opened up their homes to her? It was touching; almost brought a tear to her eye. “I’ll keep that in mind, Osric. But… call it a hunch, I’ve got a feeling that everything is gonna be just fine.” She covered one of his hands with hers and flashed the ever winning smile. “Living in fear is no way to live, believe me. I think better things are yet to come; you’ve got to keep thinking positive thoughts and all. Hey, want to hook me up with some of your dark ale? Might go for some of your wife’s pie, later, but we’ll see how the evening plays out.”
With a tankard in hand, Nia headed over to an empty table beneath a lantern that cast a fun array of shadows on the wooden surface. She was so entranced by the different patterns of light on the wood grain that she almost didn’t notice when someone took a seat in the empty chair across from her. When she looked up, she was met with blue eyes, and… pointed ears. Rigas.
“...Alster Rigas, I presume?” Nia offered a hand out of habit and flashed him a smile. “Pleasure to meet you. You can call me Nia--although I am sure you are already fully aware of who I am and what I do. That said, if you’re weird about shaking hands with a Master Alchemist, I won’t be offended. So, Lord Rigas.” She pulled her hand back after a moment and folded it in front of her chest. “What can I do for you this fine evening?”
“Yeah. Looks like I’ve grown soft over the years of being a career criminal,” Hadwin effused, not denying Elespeth’s assessment, which put his lack of care and lack of conscience into question. “Taking in strays, resolving marriages, saving lives and asking for nothing in return--genuine acts of kindness, you say? Oh, I definitely don’t have ulterior motives. Not like worming my way into the lives of folks brimming with influence and power has its benefits. Like I said, I can be benevolent and self-serving at the same time. For instance, we’re mates, but you’re also great currency when I wanna get in good with your beau and his retinue of supporters. Nia’s got this duality going for her, too. Beneath her survivor’s carapace, she’s all soft and doughy on the inside, if you know where to knead.” He caught Elespeth’s ear with a low, rumbling whisper. “And I know where to knead. Believe me, I’m working on her.” Dispensing no specifics, he left his vague message at that. No one needed the rundown concerning the Ardane woman and one Lord Aristide Canaveris, or the seed of kinship germinating between them. If he played his cards right, perhaps it was possible for her loyalties to shift, or, at the very least, turn murky and muddy from conflicting opinions. He had only to egg their burgeoning relationship along, observe the direction in which the river flowed--and divert the river, if necessary.
“You got that right. Completely fruitless endeavor to stop me.” Echoing her sentiments, he patted her on the back before retreating to an acceptable distance from her personable bubble. “Good talk. Glad we’re on the same page.” But his offhanded, cheeky smile waned into a sobering line when Elespeth emphasized a grim scenario that never, be it in waking hours or in the neverending nightmares of his dream-state, escaped his attention. “Elly, you think I don’t already know the consequences of my death? I saw firsthand what the attempt to die can do. My botched suicide takes the cake as the most expensive one in history. So no, I sure as shit ain’t giving in. Hells, you can say I have a foolproof defense, in Tes. Ro makes one wrong move, and this whole kingdom goes kaput.” He snapped his blood-stained fingers. “She ain’t gonna have Locque’s support if Galeyn’s lost in the process. But I’m sure they’re concocting some workarounds, some strategy for isolating me a fair distance from the heartbeat of this place and doing the deed there--letting the poor scamp blow off steam at some chosen venue far, far away from the epicenter. Believe me, I’m running all the calculations in my head. So come off it, yeah?” To supplant a little levity into his otherwise fractious statement, (and to conceal the heaviness of a subject he had no interest in pursuing), he gave a good-natured whine and playfully flicked her prodding finger out of chest range. The flippant gesture drew her focus to his fingers, a non-issue of a concern, considering the transient nature of any injury inflicted upon himself.
“I chewed them,” he said in a singsong voice, dismissing her worries with a crushing hug, which served as an example of his contrary persona. No doubt he grappled her out of affection, but also, it served both as a distraction...and as a well-timed stunt for the approaching Alster Rigas to stumble upon. “Y’see, Elly? Al here’s in on the joke. No harm, no harm! But thanks for the glowing endorsement! Gotta live up to expectations, y’know.” Smiling roguishly, he slapped Elespeth on the shoulder before sliding a respectful distance from husband and wife. For all his meddling, he recognized boundaries and knew to bugger off when the situation called for delicacy. Alster was far from fighting fit, both in body and in mind, so Hadwin readjusted to accommodate the frail caster and his intriguing request.
“You don’t say? What about my explosive rhetoric managed to persuade you to share a table with Locque’s Master Alchemist?”
“Because if it’s as you claim, Hadwin, and she’s interested in fostering a peaceful accord with us, then I’m curious to see how she chooses to regard me after I tell her I’ve no intention of surrendering.” Alster brushed an errant tendril of sandy hair out of his eyes. Weeks of forgoing his grooming regimen had contributed to a shaggy, overgrown fringe in dire need of trimming. “If she responds well to civility, then I will be civil and amicable. There is no reason on my end to antagonize or alienate her if maintaining favorable associations will keep the bridge to Locque open. Truly, if she’s serious about peace, she won’t denounce me outright for noncompliance. She wants to ensure I won’t retaliate, so she’ll be careful not to step on my toes. I’ll grant her and the sorceress the assurances she wants--as I have the suspicion that Locque will also be listening in on our conversation, remotely.”
“Sounds like a plan and all, but Elly’s right, Al.” The faoladh’s eyes drank in Alster’s diminished, scraggly form. “You gotta get your shit together, first. Give yourself a day, at least, so you’re not gasping for air every time you take a step. I’ll go on and let her know,” he patted the pocket where he stored the communication implement. “You don’t need to tell me, twice, Elly. ‘Course I’m gonna tag along. I’ll even carry another resonance stone that’s linked to Papa Sorde or her Majesty, in case things get hairy. Not that Nia or Locque would dare to do Al in when they can almost taste the sweet nectar of surrender in the air, but I’m being cautious like you wanted.” He snorted at Elespeth. “Oh, it’s a euphemism, now?” His lips stretched into a wide grin. “You seemed to like it when I literally scratched and pounded your back into a shapely loaf, before.”
Alster, not prepared for Hadwin’s risque comment, choked on his own saliva and hacked a series of spluttering coughs into the crook of his elbow. Once recovered, he shot an unappreciative look at the faoladh. “Thank you and good night, Hadwin.”
Liberated from the conversation, the faoladh, who before was desperate to shunt out the world with potent herbs and potent drink, chose, instead, to shift into his wolf-skin and curl up at the foot of Teselin’s bed, temporarily sated by teasing the snot out of Alster and Elespeth--and he supposed speaking with the she-warrior granted a shade of relief, too.
Heeding Elespeth and Hadwin’s advice, Alster spent the next day and a half strengthening his legs and his lungs by taking leisurely walks around the Night Garden at a regulated pace, stopping for frequent water breaks and nutrient-rich meals. He rested when his body demanded it, and took advantage of the short reprieve to meditate through breathing exercises, facilitating each session by sitting atop a leyline and welcoming the flow of healing energy as it addressed the toxins threatening to block the channels to recovery. Aside from its beneficial properties, Alster would miss spending time in the Night Garden, in particular, for the balmy, mild micro-climate that helped him forget about the stubborn grip of winter on the land. Though springtime showed its telltale signs: melting snow, longer days, and more stable, favorable weather, Alster was by blood a southerner and did poorly in cool, frigid conditions, such as what awaited him in the farmlands.
Prior to his rendezvous with Nia Ardane, which Hadwin arranged in a pub at Galeyn’s outskirts that evening, Alster bathed in the spring and trimmed his damp hair to more or less its original shape and style. While no expert at grooming, not to Chara’s level, as a Rigas, he understood the importance of a neat, clean, and presentable appearance, and adopted the skill to a passing degree of competence. Once satisfied with the reflection in the mirror (insofar as the elements of himself he could change; there was no fixing his insipid, boyish features or diminutive height), he dressed in layers of warm, unassuming travelers’ garments, nothing so loud and garish as Rigas finery for an incognito trip, kissed Elespeth farewell, and met Hadwin at the palace entrance for departure. They arrived at Osric’s pub within the hour, shuffling out of the carriage while the driver relocated to the adjacent carriage-house to stable and wait for their return.
“I’ll be out and about,” Hadwin said, lighting his pipe and letting loose a pungent stream of vapor into the misty evening air. “So go on in and do your thing. I’m right behind you.”
Upon entering the bustling pub, Alster scanned the crowd of people for the woman in question, along with any magic-related aberrations in his surrounding. Finding none, save for the telltale twinge of her, of Locque’s subtle, eavesdropping essence, he proceeded to a table in the corner, to the figure who matched the description of Nia Ardane, and sat in the chair reserved for him.
“Good evening, Nia.” Undeterred by her offering of a handshake, he clasped hold of her flesh and blood hand with the well-oiled steel digits of his prosthesis. “As I’m sure you’re aware, you’re not the first Master Alchemist I’ve met with a handshake. From what you can see, my composition is comprised of a predicable combination of metal and flesh. How I lost the arm is a long story.” Lowering his hand to the table, he returned Nia’s smile, well-manicured and polite, but it didn’t survive longer than a few seconds. “Yes, I’m Alster Rigas, but everyone calls me Alster. I believe you’ve met my wife, Elespeth, a number of times. I treated the injuries she sustained when she first encountered you in the woods--but,” he released a sigh, “I’m not here to hold a grudge, much as I want to. No, I’m here to talk--so I thank you for accepting my invitation. I suppose I’ll start by saying that I have not changed my mind about my refusal to surrender. Please understand, this is not because I undervalue peace. Despite my previous incursions against the D’Marian people, I desire to minimize harm and thus, I am always willing to strive for a nonviolent solution whenever possible. And if you’re willing, I’ll explain to you why I’ve decided not to comply.”
Locque was listening, and though unwise to smear her name or throw accusations in her face, neither would he underplay his side of events, or what she had done to him. He was no innocent party, either, and wasn’t looking for vindication, nor to pawn his guilt to other people. For the sake of fairness, he intended to offer an unbiased account. “First, a little background. Following the murder of a D’Marian family, the village was rightly in a furor. Terrified and angry with me for failing to protect them, a sizeable population of villagers threatened to leave Galeyn. Lord Aristide Canaveris saw an opportunity and stepped forward to offer a voice for the people, at first supporting their motion, but later convincing them of a better solution--specifically, delegitimizing my rule and overthrowing me and the Rigas family from our seat of power. With no intention of compromising, and with promises of inciting an uprising if I did not cooperate, he left me no choice but to step down. Further, he insisted I take the fall, publicly, to clinch his victory.”
He fiddled with the front end of his bare shirt collar. Since causing the ‘incident,’ he hadn’t worn Rigas-embroidered clothing or colors, preferring not to besmirch the name--whatever remained of the name. “What I did next--and you know well what I am referencing--was a deliberate act to vilify myself and to elate him as the better, more stable choice. Lord Canaveris would not rule unopposed; Rigases would have fought tooth and nail to secure their place, painting me as a tragic figurehead--a pawn to rally supporters and to encourage division under my name. I would not be used as a convenient instrument for the Rigas agenda. So, as a forceful method for quelling a rebellion,” he stared at the open palm of his prosthesis sprawled on the table, “I put myself in the unenviable position where supporting me would be considered treason. To promote peace, I united them against a common enemy--the Serpent.”
“Yes, I admit my plan was twofold.” His gaze drifted to the lantern, to its guttering flame working desperately not to flicker out of existence. “To gauge Locque’s trustworthiness, I summoned the Serpent to ensure she would protect those who surrender to her from a terrible foe. She did, so I felt I could also follow suit and surrender to her, as well, as a preliminary step before involving Queen Lilica, and as an attempt to ease any anger she might have harbored towards me. At the time,” he gestured to Nia and sighed, “I didn’t know you were acting as her liaison. I daresay the outcome would have been far different if I hadn’t approached her in the ether-realms; if I had gone to you, instead.” A wistful look plied at his brow, his regret palatable, unconquerable. Regardless of precautions, Alster found it impossible not to keep some of his emotions in check. Speaking of emotions...
“I do take fault for how I handled my conversation with her; a far cry from diplomacy. My anger got in the way; I’ve been angry with her since she compelled my wife to kill an innocent woman in Braighdath.” The previously unresponsive steel hand twitched and writhed from the unpleasant memory. To maintain control of the story, he slid the arm under the table and allowed it to curl into a tight fist, redirecting the anger out of sight. “Anyway, I can’t imagine she appreciated my outburst. But be that as it may, I genuinely wished for a peaceful end to the bloodshed, and I took her at her word when she agreed to accept my surrender--right before she banished me into the deepest bowels of the ether-realms. I was trapped, caught in an endless loop for,” he hesitated, making no effort to hide just how uncomfortable the subject was for him to relay, “...an immeasurable length of time. Longer than eons.” Closing his haunted eyes, he lowered his collar-fiddling hand and cradled it to his chest. “I can feel its span like a comet-shaped scar etched across my soul. Left drifting, I was as good as dead, in danger of my ethereal spirit stripping to pieces and scattering across the universe. I surely would have met my demise if not for the heroic efforts of my wife. She is why I survive.”
Blinking his eyes open, he redirected the attention to Nia, realizing he’d inevitably started to meander through his long discourse. “My apologies, Nia; I believe I’ve rambled. But through my lengthy speech, I hope you were able to understand my perspective. I cannot surrender because it does not make a difference whether I surrender to her or not. I surrendered, and I ended up in the abyss. If the same fate awaits me if I don’t surrender, then what will I have gained? There is no guarantee that I or anyone affiliated with me will remain unharmed--and so, my decision is based not on opposing peace, but on choosing survival. I’m sure you can relate.” He tilted his head and regarded her brown eyes curiously. “Is this not why you’ve allied with Locque? For protection?” In case lingering on the question brought her any sense of malaise, he continued, not expecting an answer. “Rest assured, I will not cross her path or disrupt her rulership. After all,” he smiled almost shamefully, “I want to live.”
When the glint of his steel arm returned to the surface, it was holding a few silver coins. “I hate for this to be a wasted trip, so I’m more than happy to pay for your drinks, or a meal, if you’re hungry. I heard this place has good pies. I do like pie. ...What would you recommend?”
For what Nia had expected to see in a Rigas, not so far-removed from their glamourous Canaveris counterparts, Alster, for lack of a better word, presented himself as very… well, plain. No garish clothes of vibrant colours, and with a head of hair that indeed looked to be in need of an expert trim. In part, she chalked it up to the trials the man must have endured over the weeks: being banished from the physical realm for such a long period of time, and then reportedly feeling dissociative and disconnected from his body when at last he returned. Locque’s ears had also picked up on the possibility that he had been down and out with minor illness for the past week, as well. Perhaps it had to do with that; or perhaps it was all an effort not to stand out. Not to intimidate her with his presence and the supposed power he had--or, used to have, as it seemed that the D’Marians were not beholden to a new leader.
Nonetheless, she appreciated the politesse and pleasantry, especially when he didn’t shy away from shaking her hand. That much told her that he must not see her as a threat; or, perhaps, that he had nothing he wished to hide. Either way, it was a harbinger that this discussion, wherever he meant to take it, would likely be a pleasant one. “Indeed. I can certainly see that I’m not the first Master Alchemist to walk into your life. This,” she hesitated to let go of his steel appendage, and even leaned in a little, clearly fascinated by its unique and careful composition. “This is indeed a work of art. Isidor Kristeva’s work, I assume? Or, insofar as he was able to modify it to better accommodate a mortal body. You’ve got quite a powerful friend in that one, I must say. He’s probably one of the best, as far as small talk within the rather widely dispersed circle of Master Alchemists goes… and he probably doesn’t even know it, reportedly holed up in a tower for most of his adult life, as it was. But--I apologize, I’m rambling. Didn’t mean to make you feel like a specimen. Just marveling at a fellow alchemist’s handiwork. You didn’t come here to talk about Isidor, though, did you?”
Nia drew her hand away at last and leaned back in her seat, taking a sip from her ale. “To be very honest, Alster Rigas--or just Alster, if you prefer, I was more than a little bit surprised to be informed that you wanted to speak to me at all. The only thing that I can think of which might have brought you all the way out here to Osric’s find establishment is that small faux pas that involved me and your wife and her armor.” The corner of her mouth upturned in a humourless half-grin. “Listen, I totally get it if you’re sour about that. She certainly is--I don’t blame her! Honestly, not that it really matters, but it wasn’t my idea, nor my desire to put up a fight. See, she wasn’t supposed to get involved with Rowen and her blood feud with Hadwin, so… she threw me in at the last minute. Take my word for it when I say I sure as hell am not much of a fighter.” She put her hands up for emphasis. “I’m pretty shit at it, actually. Yeah, I know enough to save my life long enough to run away, but that’s about it. If it’s any consolation, she got me real bad, too. Left a nasty gash on my leg; it almost left a scar!” She patted her right thigh for emphasis. “But anyway--I know that doesn’t really make it any better. Just know that my apology is genuine. Personally, I’m not much for violence and bloodshed. That just happens to be the way my current employer chooses to send messages… though you’ll be happy to know, of late, I’ve managed to talk her down quite a bit. But… that still doesn’t mean much to you, does it?”
The Master Alchemist leaned back in her seat and studied the Rigas mage’s face thoughtfully. “So, Alster… did you really ask for me to meet you here just to tell me that you have not changed your mind on your decision not to surrender? I figured that would have gone without saying, unless you made an attempt to specify otherwise. It’s odd, though; curiously, you, among those who have surrendered, appear to have the same goal. Perhaps you haven’t realized that.”
Nia swirled her ale in her tankard and huffed a sigh from her lungs, turning her gaze toward the flickering flames in the lantern above the table. “I can see your point of view, Alster. Really, I can, because despite that I am working for the person who you are dead-set against, I am able to understand the other side, as much as I am able to stand behind the sorceress. You’re right pissed off; and you have good reason to be. For what happened to your wife; for what happened to the little blonde fairy girl who was apparently so monumentally iconic that your wolf friend has Aristide Canaveris crafting a perfect to-scale replica of her as a momento. For what happened to the Dawn Warrior--which, to boast my own credit, I’m still working on. Just give it a little more time and she’ll be back in your hands. But then, there’s also the D’Marian lives lost…” She was ticking each and every event off on her partially gloved fingers. “And the last straw… that was when she sent you reeling through the etherealms, wasn’t it? If I were in your place--hell, yeah, I’d be damned pissed off, too! Surrender wouldn’t be the first thing on my mind. But, Alster… you say it won’t make a difference if you do or you don’t. And I can tell you first hand that it will absolutely make a difference, and here is why.”
Drawing a long breath in preparation for what would likely be a rather lengthy explanation, she closed both hands around her tankard and leaned in, lowering her voice so that the mellow tavern wouldn’t catch wind of their controversial conversation. “First of all--yeah, you sure as hell made a mistake by confronting her. By seeking her out when she did not want to be found. That’s a huge faux pas, and she doesn’t take lightly to people invading her privacy. Hell, if she wants peace and quiet, even I am not to try and contact her, barring the end of the world or something. But… for all you messed up, I guess I have to own up to my own negligence.” Her lips tugged into a guilty smile and her shoulders slouched a little. “Cutting up your wife’s armor really wasn’t the best way to make a first impression, hm? I really should have stepped up sooner and declared myself as liaison. I didn’t because… well, mostly, because I was afraid. No real good excuse, there. I didn’t think any of you folks would take to me very well if the first things out of my mouth were, ‘Hey, my name’s Nia, and I’m working for the woman who wants this kingdom as her own’. You can’t really blame me, right?” She chuckled in spite of herself and shook her head.
“It was only by happenstance that I encountered your faoladh friend. We both happened to have a hankering for some ale in the same place at the same time, and I’m chatty, and he’s chatty… and we sort of stumbled upon one another’s true identities by accident. Me, because--well, not like you can hide anything from me with a handshake. And him because he can dig right into my head and see what scares me, which apparently gives me away… but I digress. The first person I revealed myself to was Aristide Canaveris, because after the senseless death at the D’Marian village… I wanted it to stop. Think what you want of me for my allegiance, Alster Rigas, but I don’t condone death. And so… I figured that coming forward as a more reasonable individual willing to negotiate would sit better with everyone. And, so far, it seems to be working. Sucks that I stepped up so late, but… better late than never?” Except, that wasn’t quite the case when literal lives had been lost, and Nia was firmly aware of that. And, it seemed, feeling a little bit guilty for it.
“Here’s the thing, Alster. And I’m not saying this as some fruitless attempt to exonerate she who must not be named--this is a small tavern in a tightly-knit community--but merely as information that you may already be aware of. But this strategy that she has taken to reclaim her home… it isn’t because she is war-hungry or blood-thirsty. Frankly, I don’t think she could care less about either of those things. This carefully thought-out takeover all came to pass because there was a point in time when she tried to do the right thing. When she tried to play by all of the rules, because she grew up believing that only goodness and justice will win… and then the world crushed her. Took away everything and everyone she cared for. Imagine if that was you, Alster. A do-gooder, playing by the book, word for word, because surely, that is the only way to an honourable victory… only to lose. And not only lose, but to be eviscerated. Imagine what that must feel like, to lose everything when all you did was play the game the way it was supposed to be played, to end up with less than nothing in the end.” As if the heaviness of the topic was weighing on her shoulders with more stress than she imagined, Nia paused to take a long drink of her ale.
“It’s been almost two centuries since the witch gave up on being human and thinking like a human. Because politely asking for things didn’t get her what she wanted two-hundred years ago, she’s done asking politely, now. She schemes and she takes because it is the only way she’s managed to be successful, and hell, that changes the way you think. Reforms your brain in ways you didn’t think possible. Sure, she knows the impact that each and every death has on the people, here. She knows how it affects the population at large; but at this point, it's a means to an end. That doesn’t make it right, it’s just… the only way she understands success. In short, Al--can I call you that? In short, our sorceress has very much forgotten what it means to be human. Compassion and empathy and all that… it’s not in her. Not right now. But that’s where I hope to be the change. She’s learning, you know; she’s seeing what I’m doing and realizing that violence isn’t the only way. But that is going to take some time. For now, staying out of her line of fire and not giving her any more reasons to incite unnecessary violence is the best tactic--and hey, it’s worked, so far! You said it yourself that you were testing the waters by summoning the Serpent; and how did that turn out?” She arched an eyebrow and smiled knowingly. “She came through. Banished the thing before it could be a threat to the village--because the village surrendered. The D’Marians are safe and will continue to be safe so long as they adhere to the surrender. Don’t you see? All she wants is for power to change hands. She was kicked out of this place, her home, before. The only way she knows that won’t happen again is that if no one is above her to try and make that happen.
“But this, Al… this is why surrender is so important. It’s not a matter of pride or honour, but safety. I promised your rival, Ari, that he and his own would be safe, and they are. Hells, I even managed to have Bronwyn Kavanagh returned as a token of good faith that Queen Lilica will come good on her word and surrender. Yet the only reason I have been able to make these things happen is because the people in question are cooperating… yielding that power. That’s what is keeping them safe. And you, Alster Rigas… if you won’t yield, if you won’t surrender, then I am sorry to say that there is absolutely nothing that I can do for you. And that if I am asked to stand against you… then that is what I am going to have to do. If survival is what you want, then mark my words, you are choosing wrong. Not sure what my word is worth to you--we’re barely more than strangers, after all. But I guarantee that if you continue on this path, you will probably not see the future with your wife that you so seek. And I’m not making a threat; I’m just saying it like it is. I am as close to the sorceress as you are going to get, so if you can’t take my word for it, then I’m afraid I don’t know what else to tell you."
Tipping her stein back, Nia drained what was left with the air, but wasn’t yet drunk enough to really bear the heaviness of this conversation. Really? He had called her down and arranged this meeting so he could tell her that he had no intention to change his mind? This wasn’t a negotiation or even a means to see common ground. It was a headache. “Yeah, Al, I know about survival. Been living the survival life since I was probably around the summoner--well, your summoner’s age. The tiny, dangerous one. Yeah, don’t think we don’t know what she’s capable of.” She shook her head and set the pewter heavily atop the table. “And, yeah, maybe that’s why I’m able to see my Lady’s point of view. My family wasn’t much different. We played by the rules. Served the Ilandrian crown for generations, until their Majesties the House Karegalle decided they were done with us and drove us away--or killed us. You know why Ilandria earned the name, ‘Kingdom of Blades’? Because of us. Because we fucking made those blades bloody unstoppable, and unparalleled. So call me a little jaded, but playing the nice guy do-gooder hasn’t really worked out for me, either.
“And it’s been a hell of a long time, you know. Running. Ten years, I’ve been on the move, never in the same place for more than half a week because Ilandria knows I got away, and they’re not happy. They’ve sent some after me; others have tried to hunt me down of their own accord because of the pretty penny they could earn, bringing me in alive or dead. All they’d need is my hands, cut clean off and wrapped in a bow, as proof.” She turned her hands palms up, the intricate runes hidden beneath the leather of her half-gloves.
“It’s been… about a year and a half since I haven’t caught wind of someone on my trail. Yeah, ten years later, and Ilandria is still sour that I got away. They don’t let go of grudges easily. It was around the same time I met the sorceress in question that I could actually breathe again. Because no one is getting to me through her. And with her in power, and controlling this kingdom’s borders, no one ever will, again. I’ve been without a home for a very long long time, Alster Rigas. I’m tired; I miss having connections that I don’t need to say goodbye to every week. I’m ready to settle down and replant my roots without having to keep one eye open at night, lest I find another knife to my throat.” Nia absently rubbed the scar on her neck, a forever reminder of what it had cost her to let her guard down, once; only once. “Galeyn’s a nice place. And it will be fine under the sorceress’s rule. She might have a thing or two to learn… but she doesn’t intend to raze the kingdom. Anyway, your sweet little summoner friend didn’t seem to think all was lost. Just some time among real people, real mortals, and honestly, I’m confident that she’ll start to remember herself. Genuinely, I believe that. Pain can change a person, betrayal can, but so can kindness. Understanding. You seem to be the type of person who doesn’t think that’s bullshit; so why not, Alster? All of your friends saw fit to commit to surrender. I might have been able to secure your safety for now, but… so long as you remain on the opposite side, there’s the insinuation that you plan to retaliate. And if you do… then I can’t guarantee your safety. No one can. Please, just keep that in mind. It’s not too late to reconsider. Hey, Osric!”
Nia called over to the barkeep and waved a hand to get his attention. “Could I get a refill, when you’ve got a minute? Oh, and two pieces of your wife’s pie, if it’s not too much trouble.” On returning her attention to Alster, she pushed the silver back in his direction. “Don’t worry about it. It’s on me; call it a gesture of good faith. You’re a smart and a reasonable man, after all, and let it be known, I’ve got nothing against you. I know you’ll figure out what’s right.”
Spending the majority of the last week bedridden and guilt-ridden played as contributing factors to Alster’s mellower disposition. His scorned half, though reunited with his soul, required rest from its dominion over his consciousness and did not manifest, aside from flickers of anger that he housed in his hands, not his face. Though Nia was far more reasonable in mood than her wrathful employer, Alster took care not to damage his carefully-constructed cordiality, banishing even the remotest thought of an ugly outburst or a poorly-delivered retort, aware of his missteps in confronting Locque with anything less than stable professionalism. Not that approaching the sorceress as the very picture of genteel would have garnered better results; the audacity of approaching Locque uninvited at all was tantamount to death. However, despite his gentler demeanor...he was finding it quite difficult to stomach Nia as she excused and normalized many of Locque’s actions by framing them within the context of a magically-proficient woman who the world had abandoned. Justifying a tyrant’s right to rule, the same tyrant who denied his right to live, did not sit well with him, and he could not offer an unbiased opinion to the contrary.
“Please excuse my ignorance on the matter, Nia,” he said, attempting to choose his words delicately. “Yes, I made a mistake, but how else was I to reach your employer when she simply refused to be found? By that logic, wouldn’t any attempt to locate her be considered, if not a violation of her privacy, then an open invitation for her to strike? Before you, no one could make contact with her. It’s difficult to respect one’s wishes for privacy when she has made no prior intentions to communicate with naught but messages of violence. My options were limited. In my determination to broker a truce and to gauge her sincerity for an armistice yes, I sought her sanctum, but I kept my distance and surrendered to her at the onset, before my actions could be misconstrued as a threat to her safety.” He gestured to his slight form, fluffed, as it were, with winter outerwear. “I am no innocent party, Nia. It was a poor execution on my part, but neither do I believe that my tiny infraction of etiquette warranted her to not only attack, but annihilate someone much weaker than she. If we both want the same thing--an end to hostilities--responding in hostility does not inspire faith in a peaceable resolution. Therefore, I have little confidence in offering my surrender. Not until she is able to consistently demonstrate the humanity that you are keen on nudging to the surface.”
Decision notwithstanding, Alster wasn’t entirely set in his verdict. By the openness of his last statement, coupled with the widening position of his arms and the curious tilt of his head, he displayed the seedling of a possibility that he could be swayed--but it all depended on her negotiation prowess and his willingness to abide. After all, his purpose in speaking to Locque’s Master Alchemist had little to do with his surrender status and more to do with her trustworthiness insofar as she claimed to tout peaceful ties. If she could ‘win him over,’ then maybe, he would see fit to change his mind. But before he could come forth and offer an addendum or a modified plan, he first needed to gauge her authenticity. Did she believe her own words? Were they sincere? Straightforward, with not a shred of deceit in them? Sans Hadwin, everyone at the palace pegged her as a master manipulator, invested in the outcome but not in who the outcome would affect. It certainly didn’t help her case that she resembled Hadwin in personality. People of his ilk strutted along, practicing a blunt and familiar front as a method of establishing transparency when in actuality, it served as a misdirection. Allow the target to think they know you by expressing honest opinions and emotionally-charged anecdotes and take advantage of their lowered guard to wheedle whatever you wanted from them. Nia wanted him to surrender; the motivation was as plain as the wooden table between them. Nonetheless, he couldn’t help but notice in her a steadfast investment in Galeyn’s wholesale preservation, from its land to its people--for, to preserve the people meant to preserve the peace, which ultimately meant stability. And for someone driven to settle down and find a home, Alster believed her intentions were pure. Even so, he resolved to keep the details of surrender on his own terms. But first, to further drive home his perspective, he traded a story for a story. Not everyone who possessed immense magic and a tumultuous upbringing was doomed to carry out Locque’s fate. At least, he had to believe himself capable of breaking the cycle that threatened to manifest in him. If Nia could relate to a woman who elicited nothing but hate and violence, would she be able to extend some iota of fellowship for Alster, or were their histories too disparate to tune a sympathetic ear to his specific frequency?
“I have a story for you. See, I’m no stranger to your employer’s methodology.” If one can call it a methodology, he thought bitterly, but dared not say aloud. “My decision to summon the Serpent hinged on a calculation. This calculation prioritized results over people insofar as I understood that the consequences of failure could compromise the safety and lives of those I professed to protect--and I went along with my plan, regardless. Because what mattered in that critical moment was achieving my goal, damning the people--my wife, included--who stood in my way. Yes, I understand--more than you realize. Which brings me to my story.” He sank into his chair. “I also began life as a bright-eyed child eager to please and supersede everyone’s impossible expectations. At first, I followed the rules, striving to surmount every obstacle thrown before me with perfection and grace, for this is how my mother--and my family--taught me to behave. Anything less than perfection and I was wasting precious resources and potential. But when I realized nothing I did would ever be good enough for her,” he quickly amended, “for them, I began to rebel. I dismissed the rules; broke the rules; ran from the rules. And when petty rebellion gave me no reprieve from the constant pressure to perform, I took my rebellion further...by awakening the Serpent.” He traced the armored scales of steel rippling down his artificial arm.
“I suppose one could argue in my favor. I was a child suffering a multitude of abuses, crying for help and receiving none. They refused to listen to my cries--so I made them listen. But it cost the city dear. It cost lives and damaged the Rigas reputation. I was exiled from my home only because the crown refused to kill a child for his crimes. Since that fateful day over fifty years ago, I never lived it down. Among the Rigaes, among the D’Marians, I will always be Serpent Bane, no matter what I do or what I’ve done to save my city and its people. A month ago, I proved to them that I will always be Serpent Bane--because of one childhood mistake that no one will ever forgive.”
Realizing he slumped too far into his chair, he readjusted to a straight-backed posture and stabilized both hands on the table. “So yes, as I reiterate--I understand your employer’s reasoning. I don’t have to imagine because I’ve experienced a simulacrum of her experience. If I continued to play by the rules, I surely would have killed myself to escape them. When I instead chose to survive by breaking my chains, I sincerely wished I’d chosen death after seeing what gaining my freedom took from the one hundred lives lost in my stead. This is where my path and her path differ. Whenever I disconnect from my humanity, I despise what I become. Despite whatever tragedies befall me, I never want to lose myself so much that I forget who I am and what I stand for, because it will do a huge disservice to the people who sacrificed so I could live.”
The glimmer of diamonds and gold flashed in the lantern light. He lowered his head at the wedding band that signified marriage to a woman who represented the greatest sacrifice of all. She remained at his utmost savior, the reason he survived and wanted to survive. I suppose this is what you mean, El, he fiddled with the ring on his finger. To be my most authentic self, I must never forget what you’ve done for me. That’s how I can fight to uphold my integrity. As long as I don’t stray too far into the darkness. As long as I don’t despair and lose hope, like Locque. As long as I have you...I’ll be fine.
He released his thumb’s pressure on the ring and raised his eyes to meet Nia’s brown gaze. “Some people can’t afford to cling to their principles; to survive, one must adapt. I’ve no doubt she has adapted, but now she must adapt anew if she expects Galeyn to accept and legitimize her rule as queen. A lioness cannot preside over a field of sheep. Unless she can remove her teeth and claws and prove herself an ally to the sheep, she will not have the support and trust you believe she desires. I’m in agreement that kindness and compassion are essential in mending the broken...but it’s not always enough.” He sighed and pressed his hands together. “More than anything, I wish it could be enough. But I’ve touched her darkness, Nia, and it will take much more than sitting atop a throne to remove its infinitude of layers. Perhaps one day, she’ll come to some level of self-awareness and accept help. Until that day comes, there too is nothing I can do for her, as a healer.”
“But here is what I can do for you. A compromise. Call it a provisional surrender. If within an arranged period of time, say, a month, she shows exponential improvement in all facets of her leadership, then we can revisit the terms of my full and complete surrender. During this observational period, I will not make any attempts to attack or thwart her rule, but neither will I recognize her as Galeyn’s rightful monarch. She is not my queen; I will not bow or take orders from her, but I won’t openly oppose her in retaliation. Your lady has seen to remind me that I pose no threat, so really, I see no issue. However, if she should inflict harm on any individual surrendered to her, or if her policies are not in accordance with our articles for peace, then the provisional period is void, and I will treat her as my enemy. Is this agreement reasonable?” He searched her face for an understanding. “It’s surrender in everything but in name, and since you’re confident she will improve her relations with others and steadily restore her humanity, it’s as good as a surrender. The only reason I’m making concessions at all is not because of her,” he swept a hand in her direction, “but because of you. I’ll trust in your judgment, Nia, but I also must trust in my own; hence, the compromise.”
He extended his prosthetic hand a second time, inviting her to grasp it should she find their deal worthy enough to finalize on a handshake. “I’ve never grown particularly attached to Stella D’Mare, considering the bad memories associated with that place, but I understand what it’s like to be chased from your home, and I don’t fault you for wanting to provide a better life for yourself. It’s exactly what I’ve done in the past, to a horrible result. So long as no one else has to suffer or die, then I may be able to excuse the decisions that have led you to support an enemy for whom I have no fond words. Though I might still harbor a fair deal of bitterness for scoring my wife with your wicked blade,” he mumbled, as an aside. “In addition, you are complicit in the murders of Cwenha, Naimah--my friends--as you are also complicit in the murder of the D’Marian family. But, as you’ve now taken the interest and the mantle as an ambassador of sorts, I’ll entrust you to embody the precepts and values held dear by the people of Galeyn. If your monarch should waver in her moral duties to the people, then keep doing what you’ve been doing to mitigate the damage. That is what I humbly ask of you, Nia.” He bowed his head to his chest. “Maintain the peace, and you will have my cooperation.”
Why? The resentful, revenge-driven Alster stirred from his slumber to slither from his dark-den to shout at his conscious persona. Why do you concede? Locque must die! There is no saving her!
Let us wait and see what happens. He told the awakening voice of dissent. We’ve agreed to be patient, so we’ll be patient. I’m giving you what you want: we’re not surrendering; not in full. Now give me what I need: time. Time to come up with a plan.
The dissenting voice rumbled to silence.
When the two pies arrived, Alster pinched the fork provided between his prosthetic thumb and forefinger and carved into the flaky crust, revealing a steaming pile of bright-red berries leaking their heady aroma into the air. “I daresay it’s time I start using this as my dominant hand, again,” he said, with the curl of a smile. “I thank you for the dessert, Nia.” He put a small helping into his mouth, savoring the sweet, tart taste as he rolled it around his tongue and swallowed. “It’s not often I can partake in something so rich. Given my stomach’s weak constitution, I’m mostly restricted to bland foods and such. A pity, because this pie satisfies.” Reaching out for the tin of spring water he ordered to accompany the pie, he swished the contents in his mouth, silently deliberating on a matter that Nia referenced earlier. “I suppose...you can call me Al. It looks as though you’ve already made up your mind to do so--not unlike Hadwin, who has a nickname for everyone. Really,” he made a face, “anything is better than ‘Serpent Lord.’”
“She wasn’t ready to be found. At least, not by you. And not so soon after you forced her hand by summoning the Serpent.” Nia ventured to explain, as neutrally as was possible, given the situation and how it clearly appeared. “Look, I don’t fault you for being angry. And I’ll say it again, I should have stepped forward a lot sooner and presented myself to you as an appropriate liaison. So if we wanna point fingers, here, then that was my bad. Had I made it known that sending a message to the sorceress through me was an option, you’d never have had to seek her out somewhere between dimensions; she wouldn’t have interpreted it as a threat, and you wouldn’t have gone careening through nothingness for months. For that, you should honestly be angry with me, not with her. I mean, I’m sure you’re angry and sour with me by virtue of siding with her in the first place, but I’m perfectly fine adding to that list of all the wrong shit I did if it helps reframe the situation.”
She wasn’t sure that it helped reframe anything at all; Alster already seemed set in his opinions and conclusions, and hells, she couldn’t deny that Locque had acted rashly. She had even called the witch out on it, later on, after she ensured that Ari and the D’Marians were indeed spared her wrath. Effectively, she had just completely antagonized one of the strongest mages that opposed her. Not that relations would have bode well to begin with; not after forcing Elespeth Rigas to commit murder. That, alone, had solidified Alster’s stance and cemented where he stood, now. If anything, a friendly dialogue between the Rigas mage and the sorceress would have simply granted a more peaceful approach to their opposition. But, no… Locque had to show her power. Had to dissuade him from ever making such an attempt, again. “I’m not trying to defend her, believe it or not. Lashing out at you was clearly not the best tactic. The best I can offer is that you were very much cornering a scared animal. You found her in a place where you could see things about her that she perhaps did not want you to see; her past, small details… whatever. So, no, she did not react appropriately, and I’m not trying to say that she was justified in what she did. I’m just trying to paint you a picture as to how she saw it. To help you understand… if that is really why you’re here. To try to understand.”
Part of her thought that was why he had come; why he had asked her to meet with him. But as Alster Rigas continued to speak, it appeared more and more that he didn’t quite care to see things her way--or Locque’s way--so much as he wished to elucidate his own anecdote. Starting with his reasons for unleashing the Serpent on people he claimed to have wanted to protect. “Funny that you hold yourself in such a different light than the sorceress. See, if it is as you say--if summoning your Serpent really justified the means and the consequences--then that is exactly the sort of thinking ‘my lady’ engages in. Not immorality, but rather, complete and utter amorality. Which, as I’ve said, is something I’ve been working on; we’ve been working on, I should say. Locque has trusted my judgement calls, so far. The times I have talked her out of doing something completely outrageous. Don’t you see? Sooner than later, she is going to realize that you can attract more flies with honey than vinegar. That violence isn’t the easiest and most reliable way to obtain what she desires. And it is going to take a while. Unlearning thinking patterns such as hers… hells, again, it all goes back to survival. This is how she has survived for a very, very long time. It isn’t going to be easy for her to give up. But neither will it be entirely impossible. I suppose…” She sighed, blowing air between her lips as she rested her chin in one of her hands, “The real issue is your patience. Because I’m not sure she’s going to change fast enough for your liking; not after hundreds of years of the sort of mindset she has. So no, I can’t promise immediate reform. However, what I can promise is step after step in the right direction--starting with no more violence. So long as people continue to remain willing to negotiate, and that the non-violent path to peace appears to continue to pay off… I don’t see why this kingdom won’t eventually get the sort of ruler it wants. I mean, sure, say what you want about the sorceress and her means and all the evil she’s done… but what of your current Queen, hm? I know a thing or two.” She arched a knowing eyebrow. “And her slate isn’t exactly spotless, either. Particularly not when one of the first things she did upon reawakening this kingdom was directly threaten the Night Garden. Although… she is your friend. So,” Nia readjusted her position and folded one leg over her other. “I’m sure you will try to convince me that there was good reason as to why she should be so readily forgiven for threatening the most important aspect of a kingdom that she never wanted to inherit in the first place?”
As Alster went further into his story, detailing his experience with his parents and the abuse he suffered at their hands, Nia did appear to be actively listening, although… somehow, seemed somewhat unmoved, at the same time. For all people liked to accuse her of trying to sway them by tugging at heartstrings, how were his tactics any different? “You’re telling me a story that I already know, Alster Rigas. Because it’s not unique; it’s also my story. Believe me, I know a thing or two about having a tumultuous upbringing with parents who harbour completely unrealistic expectations for their brood.” Picking at a loose thread on her sleeve, she shrugged, as if it was all old news; both his story, as well as hers. “There was no crying and pleading in my house, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how hard it was; you endured, and you either came through victorious… or you died. More often than not, you died. Even among the Ardanes, Master Alchemy is not an art to be taken lightly. I think I probably had it the easiest, if I’m being honest, because there were never any expectations for me in the first place. I was never supposed to be born; but my stubborn ass apparently fought those odds. Even so, I’m not sure my own mother so much as looked at me with anything but resentment until I was the only one left. With three of her four kids gone and dead, even then, it took her some time to accept I was all she had left, and only then she did decide to start investing faith in me and my skills. So I get it; it’s a weird thing, growing up unwanted, yet being expected to succeed and excel, nonetheless. And no, like you, that didn’t turn me down the same path as the witch. But I didn’t have her power; neither do you. All the same, there’s still blood on your hands, and there’s blood on mine. But just because we all may share something in common does not mean that the result will always be the same. I had to run for my life. She got exiled; so did you, and then, somehow you bounced back and ended up leading the people who exiled you. Gee… actually, that does sound a little familiar, don’t you think?”
Nia traced the rim of her now empty stein, Nia’s ears perked up when, at last, Alster laid out the terms of what sounded like conditional surrender. Now, this made showing up here tonight well worth it! Her brown eyes brightened and she smiled for the first time in several long moments. “So what you’re saying is you just want more of what I’ve already been working hard to establish. No death, no violence, and fair rulership. That, I can promise. Believe me, she’s not looking for you to hang on and abide her every word. She acts and retaliates out of feeling threatened--so, take away any indication that you might be threatening her, and you’ll have a very contented and non-violent ruler. In a matter of time, so long as no one tries to pull anything fast, and she’ll have no reason to think in terms of violence or fear-mongering. We’re already seeing signs of that change: what she did to protect the D’Marians from the Serpent. The act of good faith in surrendering Bronwyn Kavanagh. I know it’s not enough, but you can’t deny it is promising, hm? So, listen.” She looked at his proffered prosthetic hand, still a marvel in his workmanship. What a shame, that Isidor Kristeva wouldn’t have anything to do with her. She’d loved to learn a thing or two about how he conducted his own work! “I’ll promise you this. I appreciate the vote of confidence, especially since you have no real reason to want to trust me. I’ll keep doing what I’ve been doing and ensure that no one else has to get hurt--but I can only keep doing my job if you and your friends do your part. No false surrendering; no funny business behind our backs. If any of you try to pull a fast one, then it goes without saying that there is really nothing I can do to stay the provoked lionness. But, if you can hold up your end, then you’ve got my word, I’ll hold up mine.”
Grinning, she clasped Alster’s steel palm, marveling at just how warm it felt for being crafted entirely of metals. Her smile wavered, just a little. “I’ll give it to you that you’ve got every right to be rightly pissed at me, Al. I get it; your wife got hurt. Too many people got hurt, too many people died, and because I wasn’t able to stop any of it from the beginning, we can’t really be friends. That’s fine--if it’s easier for you to hate on me for not preventing any of that shit so that you can try and stomach this change in leadership, then I’m completely fine with that. I’ve sorta come to expect that more people despise me than actually like me, over the years. So don’t worry, no offense taken. I’m not going to go crying to the sorceress that you hurt my delicate feelings or anything.” Nia drew her hand away into her lap and shrugged her shoulder. Though curiously, for someone who purportedly took so much pleasure in partaking in good food, the piece of pie in front of her remained untouched. “But, from one family fuck-up to another… I’m gonna tell you right now, as much as I think peaceful camaraderie between us would be beneficial on both sides, I don’t want or need your ‘understanding’ or your ‘forgiveness’. No one ever asks to be born into this world, huh? I never asked to be here; never asked to be a mistake. Never asked to miraculously survive when my mother made an attempt to abort her unwanted pregnancy. Never asked for any of it, and yet here I am now, alive and well, and ironically enough, the only surviving member of my family. So you’ll have to forgive me that, no, aside from my lady’s recklessness… to which, at the time, I was still rather helpless, I don’t have any regrets.”
With her stein filled anew, Nia chose to partake in the ale over the pie, and whet her palate with the heady, bitter beverage before continuing. “The thing about ‘regret’ is that it is a sentiment for people who have a choice. Who have the option and free will to choose right over wrong. Who have the choice of two paths, and are completely unimpeded in treading either one of them. Regret is not for people whose only choice is to live or die. Think what you will of me, I’m not gonna try and change your mind. But I don’t regret anything that has led me to today. A day where I am still living and breathing and able to feel the winter air and take moderately appealing ale. Am I sorry for the bodies that lie in my wake? For the blood on my hands because I couldn’t stop all of the murders and violence that has taken place in the past year? Does it suck that I had to go along with the violence before I was able to convince the aggressor that it wasn’t worth it? Sure, it smarts; it doesn’t sit well within my own moral framework. But no, I don’t regret everything that it has taken me to survive to this very day; so I’m afraid that the only apology you’re going to get out of me is for the fact that I will not apologize for choosing to live, and all that it has taken for me to see today. And to see it comfortably.”
It didn’t take long for her to drain her tankard, and set the pewter heavily on the table, before she stood to stretch her legs. Since the majority of the palace and its affiliates already seemed hellbent on despising her, anyway, then what did it really matter if she made it clear she couldn’t afford regret? By their predetermined outlook on her character… she had nothing to lose. “Don’t mean to end this on a sour note, but since you were so kind as to make it very clear where you stood, Al, then I figured it’s only fair that I do the same. But you can rest assured, your conditions will be met, and you have my word that I’ll see to it no one else has to get hurt. Otherwise, I’m sure you didn’t come here with the intention to make smalltalk with the woman who cut up your wife’s armor, huh? So unless there’s anything else you’d like to discuss… it’s getting rather late. My employer was profusely uncomfortable with the fact that I was meeting with you in the first place, so I’d better get going to inform her of what you told me so that you can get the outcome you desire. Here; help yourself. No offense, but you could use some more meat on your bones.”
Nia pushed her plate of untouched pie toward him and grinned. “Shame to let it go to waste, especially when you won’t find any better pie in Galeyn. Oh,” before turning away, she added, as an aside, “if your stomach issues are longstanding, you can offset that in the short term with some ginger root, and in the long term, just try adding a little bit of citrus to the water you drink. I’m no healer, and only so much can be gleaned from a handshake, but I’d say contrary to what you’re probably used to hearing, your tummy troubles feel like a result of not enough acid for your digestive system. Try adding a little more, just a bit at a time, and you might be surprised at how many more foods you’ll be able to tolerate. Anyway… now that you know how to reach me, feel free to give me a shout through the resonance stone. I do love a good talk.”
Offering a knowing wink, the Master Alchemist left some coins on the table to pay for the ale and pie, before waving goodbye to Osric and heading out into the chilly evening.
Briery had known that getting through to Bronwyn would be a trial; but she didn’t shy away from the challenge, and with Elespeth to help on the sidelines, it was going as well as what could reasonably be expected of the shaken faoladh.
“Bronwyn? You have a moment?” The ringleader had the courtesy to knock before entering the guarded room, but while Bronwyn never gave her the verb go-ahead, she had no choice but to enter, regardless. Too many times, silence following a knock meant something bad had happened… and although there was nothing with which Bronwyn could harm herself in the room, Briery, remembering what had happened to Chara Rigas, was not willing to make a chance.
She always wore a smile, trying her best to be at her most inviting, knowing that kindness and friendliness did make a difference in the long run. Over her arm she carried swaths of mossy green and pale blues, all with careful stitching, and even a little bit of beaded detailing along the collar and hems. “I thought you’d like something that fits you a little better. We… weren’t really successful in restoring your other clothes to the way they were, before. Between the mud and the fact it had been so long since they were cleaned, I am sorry to say they weren’t salvageable. But,” her face brightened a little as she held up two separate outfits, both trousers and matching tunics. “I took note of the style, and I made you these from some repurposed fabrics I had lying around. I thought the green would especially suit you. Or, at the very least, it must be more comfortable than what you’re wearing.”
It had taken a good deal of convincing the day before, but through Briery’s perseverance and patience, she had at last managed to convince Bronwyn to bathe, and to temporarily don a nightgown that they’d borrowed from the infirmary. “If it isn’t to your liking, then not to worry. I used to make a living as a seamstress; I can hunt down the right fabrics and colors that you so choose. In the meantime, why not at least give these a try?”
Like Chara, Bronwyn was slow to warm to her. She suspected she was only cooperating in hopes that she would be let out without a leash on good behaviour; but they were far from letting her go off on her own, again. It simply wasn’t safe for anyone. “Can I ask you something?” She angled her head curiously, changing the subject to negate the uncomfortable silence between them, if nothing else. “What is it you fear about magic? I understand you’ve had some frightening experiences, but… I’ve only known kindness from the magic users of this kingdom. The only one I’ve come to fear is the one whose company you shared for some time. I daresay, Bronwyn, you are far safer here than you were with Locque.”
It was my only opportunity to find her at the time,” he returned, like Nia, also treading as neutrally as possible, but for a different reason. Continually revisiting the scene in his head as he struggled not to lose his composure took a great deal of willpower to accomplish. He stiffened as he yet again elucidated on his version of events, commanding the spikes of rage and distress to retreat. Assured of his stability, he resumed. “When she banished the Serpent, she left an energy trail of dispersed magic, making it possible for me to track her. I realize it was bad timing, but I wasn’t certain how she would retaliate after I forced her hand, so I was determined to reach her before anything worse could happen. Little did I know,” he massaged a sore spot on his temple, “I invited the worst to happen. And now, here we are. I am sorry,” his polite apology masked the bubbling ire he’d buried into the core of his stomach, “but I have exhausted all attempts to accommodate your employer’s volatile temperament. Forgiveness is a virtue I try to practice. Not so much for the person who wronged me, but for my sake; because I don’t want to linger on past misdeeds or mistakes. I’ve already taken on too much carrying capacity and prefer not to overburden my limits—of what I’m able to handle. I want to forgive because I need to forgive. But I can only forgive those who believe they’ve done wrong, and if neither you nor your lady have any regrets, then I suppose I’m stuck carting around my resentment and blame. Though, if you are asking that I redirect all blame to you,” his mouth frowned in a hard line, “then no. While you are complicit by association, I’m not going to transfer her infractions over to you simply to ease her responsibility. She sent me careening through the ether-realms, not you.” A spike of the aforementioned resentment poked through the smooth surface of his careful rhetoric. You shouldn’t have to defend yourself, the resentment, the Alster in the Serpent’s den, writhed, affronted. Why do you waste your breath? There’s no argument. Anyone who makes exceptions for Locque doesn’t deserve your patience. Before he could stop himself, his mouth curled into a grimace. “Scared animal or not, she’s not the victim, here. She hasn’t been the victim; not for a long, long while.”
Clearing his throat, he tamped down the seedling of an outburst before it had the chance to grow and expand into an ugly garden of thorns. “Nia. Forgive me if I haven’t been clear in my explanation,” he said, exuding poise and restraint. “I’m in argument against my summoning of the Serpent in the D’Marian village. I’m not justifying it. What I did was wrong. Nor am I denying that my ‘amoral’ tactic falls within the range of your lady’s milieu. Rather, I’m admitting, however painfully, that we bear similarities. This particular similarity is something that I don’t condone, whether it’s coming from me or from her. Again, I never professed to be innocent. The story I told you was to draw parallels between her and I, but I see it’s resonated with your upbringing, as well. No, it doesn’t escape my observation that she’s about to lead the people who have exiled her, same as I have done. As we are so similar, do not be surprised if they never accept her rule. Look no further than the D’Marians for a real-time example.” He ran a finger over his plain collar, bereft of the Rigas insignia he once wore to signify his status as a leader. “No matter how benevolent you are, you can’t force people to overlook your past transgressions. True, Galeyn is not Stella D’Mare, but even you must agree, history has an uncanny way of repeating itself. Locque must accept this possibility. Sometimes, you’ll never be enough. The same goes for you, Nia.” He regarded the woman, eyes softening around the edges. “A home means nothing if you can’t foster strong, lasting relationships. That is why I never considered Stella D’Mare much of a home. There won’t be many people who will take a shine to you at the palace, even if you’re more tolerable than your employer.”
He propped a hand under his chin as a buoy to appear more receptive to Nia’s volley of words, but he was quickly losing the energy to keep up with her brimming vivacity. Exhaustion set in, agitating the crinkles beneath his sleepless eyes. Stop defending yourself; you owe her no explanation, the Alster in the cave reiterated in demand, but he resisted. “For as much as we are similar, we are also vastly different. Each of us: you, me, and your employer. You are in agreement, as am I. I never claimed otherwise, but even with what we have in common so glaringly on display, I’m still allowed to condemn her,” his jaw tightened and the words came out strained, “considering how she nearly destroyed me and nearly destroyed my wife. The former I can shoulder responsibility for, but Elespeth did nothing wrong. Absolutely nothing wrong,” he seethed, again fighting to control the dialogue with civility, as promised. He sighed away the rising anger. “She did not by any means threaten your lady or corner her like a ‘scared animal.’ It was much the opposite; my condolences that my surrender attempt registered as comparable to approaching a frightened woman in the woods and telling her to kill.” Breathe, he instructed. His recovering lungs rattled as his chest expanded and contracted.
“By itself, her amorality isn’t the problem. As you’ve pointed out, my friends do not tout clean reputations. Queen Lilica threatened the Night Garden and has ended lives with her errant magic. Prince Haraldur Sorde was a Forbanne soldier who tortured and killed many innocent civilians. Isidor inherited the runes on his hands the same as you did. No one is free from sin in this world. We’re not morally superior. What I care about most is defending against a woman who has no compunctions about extinguishing the lives of the people I’m here to protect: people who, despite their checkered pasts, aspire to do good, to be better. If you can accomplish this feat for Locque, I wish you every success. I mean that, sincerely. I don’t want to see anyone else getting hurt. I’ll do my part, but on my own terms. We don’t expect to be welcomed at the palace, Elespeth and I, so we’re moving far from the heart of Galeyn. Rest assured, at our distance, we won’t be standing in your way.”
Regaining something of a second wind, and some semblance of control, Alster removed his hand from beneath his chin and slid forward on his chair, shaking his head gently. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to disagree with you, Nia. Between death and survival, I chose survival, and for fifty years, I’ve regretted my choice. Up until recently, I wish I had chosen death. What you propose is not a clean-cut formula. Am I an outlier? Maybe. But that means there are other outliers, too. People who suffer from survivor’s guilt. People who vehemently believe they shouldn’t be alive. Regret is absolutely a sentiment for individuals who are left without a choice. It didn’t feature prominently in your story, but that doesn’t mean that others, when faced with life or death, haven’t experienced it. Be that as it may,” he lifted his head to the wood-beamed ceiling, “I’m not expecting an apology. You’ve made your stance perfectly clear, as have I. You have no regrets, and I have too many to count. There is no need for us to belabor the point with unhelpful platitudes. They have no impact when our perspectives, though comparable in origin, are incompatible. I can offer you cooperation, but not companionship; you’re not wrong in your assessment. With that said,” he lowered his head and cast her a meaningful glance, “I do hope the life you’ve seized here will truly satisfy you, in the end.”
Before she said her goodbyes and retreated from the table, she threw him a consolation prize in the form of medical advice, a thoughtful gesture that he couldn’t accept. “Ah, thank you, Nia,” he said, nonetheless. “But there is no need. I have been taking ginger root and citrus at the instruction of my current physician. He’s a brilliant man, but a self-proclaimed misanthrope, so you will find no camaraderie in him. He will pack me some tinctures and teas before my wife and I depart from the Night Garden. Your counsel doesn’t go unrecognized. I’ve just recovered from a bout of illness and it’s compounded some of my latent symptoms, but it’s nothing worrisome...save for failing to finish this pie.” He nodded at his plate, in tact save for a tiny nibble at the tapered end of the wedge. “Good night, then. If I should call upon you, I can’t promise it will be for a reason other than business matters. You might be more reasonable than your lady, but you do serve her...and therein lies our conflict. Perhaps relations will change, in the future, if I see the exponential growth towards nonviolence that you’re certain will occur, but for now, our current affiliations suits me just fine. Take care, Nia. And...my apologies for my inflammatory remarks. My anger was not directed at you.”
As soon as the Master Alchemist took leave from Osric’s pub, another body swept in and stole her seat. “So,” Hadwin propped his elbows on the table and steered his chair closer to Alster, “what did you think of Nia?”
“I…” he stabbed at the pie, but made no move to scoop another bite into his mouth, “...I think Isidor is right. Her conscience is lacking. It’s there, but...she’s flagrantly unapologetic about everything. She flat-out told me she doesn’t have regrets. Though I can understand that she’s the victim of her circumstances and can’t afford to compromise her survival instinct, I hate to say it, but I don’t like her all too much.”
“Yeah, but you don’t fancy me, either, and I’m as unapologetic as they come, so that’s not surprising. Now, do you dislike her cuz she’s in league with the big lady who you despise, or is it cuz she rubs you wrong?”
“...Both. We can’t see eye to eye. We’re too biased towards our own viewpoints. I tried to be impartial at first, but...the more I tried, the more I was tempted to lose this facade of mine and resort to anger.” He spun his fork around the berry juice. “She dismissed my shoddy attempts to relate, even though it sickened me to keep comparing myself to the sorceress. I tried so hard to be diplomatic, but...it came off skewed. I don’t know what I was trying to accomplish. Was I trying to seek empathy from the enemy? Did I actually want an apology? I don’t know. My heart’s not in it. I’m just too...too...furious. How could she look me in the eye and make excuses for what that damnable woman did to me? How?” Tears of frustration sprang from his eyes. In shame, he hurriedly rubbed them away. “I don’t want to hear about how I cornered her like a frightened animal, like being afraid negates the act. She’s not an animal! And what about me? I was terrified, too! I’m...I’m still terrified. I don’t need to tell you about the nightmares, Hadwin. I can’t sleep; I return to that place, I return to that moment, again and again, powerless to do anything to stop my descent. I have no interest in understanding; understanding doesn’t erase the memory. It doesn’t ease the pain to humanize her, to legitimize her reasons for fucking me over; it worsens it!” Releasing the fork with a clatter, he ran both hands over his face, concealing the leaks in his eyes and muffling the pitches of panic in his voice before they evolved into pure panic. “Why did I think it was wise to maintain friendly relations with someone who can’t, who won’t, denounce the witch? Why did I listen to you? Why did I do this at all?!”
"Ah, geez, Al, listen to yourself,” Hadwin reached out and anchored the unraveling Rigas caster by the shoulder. “You’re going off in a bad place; people are gonna look at you funny and wonder just how Nia did you wrong. Guess it ain’t too out of order; she’s got a reputation as a heartbreaker. Look,” he sighed, figuring he’d make an effort to pacify Alster before he flew off the deep end in fear, “you arranged for a tentative truce; I heard it from my vantage point. It was not nothing, what you did. And of course she’s gonna support the witch. Her future’s riding on that woman’s success. Changing direction this late in the game would be a piss-poor move, and she’d gain nothing for the switch. Hells, she’d probably end up dead.”
“I know, I know,” Alster hissed between his teeth. “I wasn’t looking to change her mind, but...I’m an idiot! Did I honestly believe context would warm her to my point-of-view when I refused to do the same for her--for their side? But I can’t. I just can’t.” He shivered under the faoladh’s hand. “I thought I could, but I can’t. I wanted to be empathetic, but it’s too soon, too much. I’m not ready.”
“Ok, so here’s what we’re gonna do.” Snapping his fingers before Alster’s face to get his attention, he pointed to the plates of practically untouched pie. “I’m gonna get you a drink. One drink, that’s it. Just enough to calm your nerves. Then we’re gonna focus on eating this pie together, yeah?”
“I...I’m not hungry,” Alster mumbled between his fingers.
“Don’t I know it? You can’t eat when you’re afraid. It’s a survival instinct. So...you’ve gotta be a little less afraid, is all.” Their eyes met, blue on brilliant, fire-flickers of lambent gold, the very same that prefaced a Fearsight assault. Hadwin didn’t realize what exactly had transpired until after contact, once the twin glints faded as sure as a double-vision moon retreated behind a blanket of clouds. Unbidden, he had...activated something. The last time a Sight-related incident of that nature occurred unexpectedly, people ended up dead, driven to madness by their fears. Anyone within his vicinity caught sight of his accidental projections, and it was too late to stop the onslaught. But this instance, between him and Alster, it felt...different. For one, the Rigas caster, blinking as though waking from a dream, exhibited no shades of the requisite fear that dominated him just moments ago.
This also explained Hadwin’s sudden, raging headache. “Damn,” he clutched his head and grimaced. “The fuck just happened?”
“I...don’t know,” Alster lowered his hands to the table, “but I think you took it away. You told me to be less afraid. Then, your eyes glowed, and...the feeling, it...stopped.”
Once Bronwyn realized she was never going to shake Briery’s indefatigable persistence, she resigned to her company. Bereft of options, her only way outside her chambers-turned-prison-cell was to play nice with the people in charge of her shackles; and she, if nothing else, excelled at following directions.
It had taken a day to return to a modicum of her senses. Distanced from Rowen and from Locque’s influencing grapple on her mind, whatever residual madness she sheltered had begun to peel like old paint exposed to sunlight. While the confusion, the fear, and the anger behind her imprisonment hadn’t dissipated, she slowly found the words to express those emotions; at least, to Briery. She spoke with no one else. Not the attendants who delivered her food, or the Forbanne soldiers who sometimes guarded the inside of her door, as a measure to prevent escape. Fortunately, Briery kept their contacts to a minimum--though it did not escape her expert nose to detect traces of Hadwin’s unmistakable scent, coursed-through with another familiar, ozone sharpness, a tang she still tasted on her tongue in memory of the lightning that had exited Elespeth Rigas’s hands and rattled her skull senseless. Outside her chambers, Briery regularly communicated with them, and it regularly filled the faoladh with suspicion, which she kept largely to herself.
Despite her questionable associations, Briery presented as nothing but pleasant, a feature not false or misleading, as flickers of Bronwyn’s virtue-based Sight could attest. The ringleader of the Missing Links oozed a genuine generosity, impossible to ignore or deride. However, much as she came across as trustworthy, Bronwyn couldn’t trust what she saw, Sight or no Sight.
Prepared for the woman’s intrusion, Bronwyn sat up in her bed, eyeing the clothes that were delivered to her lap. Her fingers experimentally traced the beading on the tunic’s collar. She nodded, not invested in a strong opinion, either way. “These will do,” she said, her voice guttural and unpracticed. “I spent the majority of my time as a wolf since I went with Rowen. It was easier, that way. I didn’t have to worry about clothes or grooming and I hunted for whatever I liked.”
When asked about why she feared magic, she tensed a little, retracting her hand from the outfit. “I’m not denying that the people I’ve met, the people who possess magic, are friendly and kind. It’s not them. It’s the magic, itself. It’s how easily they can lose control of it. How easily it could wreak havoc, level cities to the ground, or burn someone from the inside out…” She draped her bedsheets around her shoulders. “Locque kept her distance from me. I rarely saw her. It was easy to forget she was there. She sent me on missions, but it was Rowen who would tell me where to go. And I listened. I questioned nothing...and I obeyed.” She rocked forward on the bed; hanks of unruly, unkempt hair spooled into her face. “I was supposed to help Rowen and I ended up doing her bidding. She said I was helping her by being there. But now...I don’t know, anymore. Not after she discarded me...I don’t know.”
Abruptly changing the subject, she looked up from her curtain of hair, observing Briery with curious amber eyes. “Tell me, what are you to my brother? I’ve heard mention of you. He’s...been a big help to you. Is that why you love him? Even though he may never come to love you...in that way?”
She was making him uncomfortable; that much was obvious to the Master Alchemist, as she sat across from a man who really had no reason to talk to her, let alone like her. What Locque had done to him weighed heavily, had consequences, and it was not something he was going to readily forget, let alone forgive. And perhaps she should have yielded, a little; as a negotiator, she should have validated his disposition, his pain, just a little more. But something inside of Nia prohibited her from cowing to his point of view for the sole reason of saving face or appeasing him into cooperation. Honestly, she wasn’t sure what she had hoped, coming into this meeting. Alster was a survivor, in his own right; not only of life circumstances, but of a rather toxic family dynamic. Had she hoped they might find some common ground? Some familiarity upon which camaraderie could blossom?
No: from what she had seen, Alster Rigas was a reasonable person. Then again, so, too, had she thought herself reasonable. But there were some instances for which neither of them could be swayed… and survival happened to be one of them. Try though she might, however, Nia could not so much as entertain the idea of regretting what it cost her to be alive, today. She had made too many solemn promises to the contrary for that to be possible. “Believe it or not, I’ve been there. The survivor’s guilt and all.” Her voice took on a softer, more controlled tone, but she made no eye contact. Her eyes focused solely on the woodgrain of the table. “For every possible reason. I felt guilty every time I lost a sibling: I mirrored my mother’s sentiments. Why not me? I was the mistake, the one that was never supposed to be. Why should I be the one to survive?” She snorted and shook her head and leaned back, as if trying to dispel some unpleasant memories. “And then I felt guilty for being the only one left. Even more so when Ilandria killed my mother and father. Why me? Why was I the one that fate decided to spare, when I never should have been here in the first place? But here’s the thing, Alster.”
A long sigh eased a bit of the tension in her shoulders, as Nia sat forward again. “Survivor’s guilt--it’s a stage. Most people in our situations will experience it; the difference between those people is how long they choose to hang onto it, and for what reasons they refuse to let it go. I went through it for many, many years. In my case, I just couldn’t afford to hang onto it for too long: because a long time ago, I made a solid promise to someone very important to me that I would survive. And that was the very last thing that they asked of me before I lost them, too, forever. So,” she clasped her hands in front of her and drew her lips into a humourless smile. “I get it. I understand your frustration. I’m sure I must seem completely remorseless to you, in the face of everything your friends have endured, and that’s not what you were hoping for. But, Alster, just like you have decided to continue living for your wife, in spite of your guilt, I’ve had to shed my guilt to honor my promise. I won’t bore you with the details, but it’s a promise that is way bigger than me, and if I lived with regret, then that would mean that everything it has taken, everything it has cost for me to see today… it would all be for nothing.” She spread her hands, palms up on the table, a gesture that the decision and everything that led to it was at this point beyond her. “It would render all of those sacrifices, both willing and unwilling, null and void if I did not try to live life instead of endure it through self-loathing. I’m not sure if this helps you understand; and I’m not trying to change your mind. But this is my perspective. This is the path I have taken, and this is where I find myself now. Not grieving for being alive, but living for the person who decided my survival meant something for them. So no… I don’t have regrets. I don’t regret living for for the person who wanted me alive, today. And by that, for all I know it makes me seem shameless and completely amoral, myself, I can’t regret my decision to work with the woman who you’ve deemed your mortal enemy.”
It was obvious he was trying to understand; trying to find some neutral ground, as was she, but the deeper the two of them became involved in their conversation, the more she realized just how incompatible their ideologies were. Some people were able to overlook her involvement with Locque and see her beyond that association; Hadwin was one of those people. And so, too, was Ari, to an extent. But not Alster. Say what he might, to him, she was little more than an extension of the woman that he hated. “I’m sorry, though. That you’re still stuck in that survivor’s guilt phase. You shouldn’t feel down on yourself for being alive. The way I see it, sure, some blood might have been left in your wake… but, hey, look at how many people you’ve helped, right? That’s my aspiration, too. To eventually make my survival worth something more than just a promise, you know? But first, I need to survive. I’m at the bottom of the hierarchy of basic human needs. Self-actualization is at the very top--once, y’know, you’ve got safety, shelter, all of that nitty-gritty stuff.
“But, yeah, you’re right. My employer isn’t a victim anymore. She was, once, but everyone who’s technically wronged her is long dead. She’s evolved from a victim to a product of her experiences. You could probably say the same, for me; for all of us. Though you--yeah, you’ve been a victim. Her victim. So has your wife. Elespeth, if I’m being honest, got caught in the crosshairs of the sorceress’s previous way of thinking; her former plan of action. Before I had the courage to speak up and try to offer alternatives. I’m sorry I didn’t think to speak up sooner, to spare her all that, but… like I said before, I was chicken-shit. And I wasn’t convinced she would even listen. Glad I was wrong about that… even if it was all a little too late.”
The Master Alchemist rubbed the back of her neck, the scar that marred the side of her throat. “I’m asking a lot of you. To not only lay down arms to someone who has been openly aggressive, but to trust that she’s going to change. And I don’t take it lightly--I know that may be hard to believe, but I don’t. I’m not making excuses for the way my employer has acted; I’m only trying to frame it in a way you might understand. Yeah, I’m still backing her and going through with all of this because it benefits me and I kind of like remaining alive… So, by all means, be angry. And be angry at me, because it’s sure as hell safer than being angry at her. But if you can manage, try to hold out hope that this will work out. Because I think it will; I’ve got a good feeling about it. And, hey,” her eyes softened a little, a crease forming between her brows. “Don’t feel as though you’ve gotta run away. This is currently your home, too, and I’ve already gotten the promise that no one will lay a hand on you… Plus, all of your friends are sticking around. You really going to shy away from your gang because of a little grudge?”
But it seemed that he and his wife had already made up his mind, and there was nothing that she could say to change it. So Nia let that issue drop and acknowledged his decision with a shrug. All this talking and they were at an impasse. “Any sort of life here is still better than a life of uncertainty on the run. It’s stability, if nothing else. But thanks… I think. However insincere those well wishes are.” Nia raised her eyebrows as she pushed her chair in, fastening the winter cloak at her throat. “Though if I can make one thing clear after this long discussion, Alster, it’s that I’m not going to be heartbroken by your refusal to engage in friendlier terms because I really don’t need it. No, the palace might not take a liking to me, but I’ve already gotten in good with a few citizens here and there. The big guy up there? He owns this place, and I’ve been his best customer to date. He’d probably want to kick your ass if he thought you were causing me trouble.” She couldn’t help but chuckle. “Not to mention your arch rival, Lord Canaveris. He’s a pretty civil guy, all things considered; I like him. And he knows exactly who I am and who I play for… and hells, he’s been kind to me, too. We’ve shared a drink or two over conversation that has nothing to do with me or my employer. It is possible to be friends despite incompatible views here and there.
“So we don’t need to be friends, Al. I’m perfectly fine with that, no hard feelings or anything. But… I also don’t need to be your enemy. Not if you don’t want me to be. Say what you want, we do have the exact same goal in common: peace, and an end to violence. Sorry if that’s not enough, but if working hard and putting my neck on the line to meet this mutual goal doesn’t satisfy your expectations… then, no offense, but I don’t really have the time for people who won’t give credit where it is due. If I’m bored and want to talk, your faoladh pal is quite the talker--and he’s always willing.”
A half-grin tugged at the corner of her mouth, and she bid the anxious Rigas mage farewell with a wave. “Good luck with your stomach issues, then. That shit would be the death of me; if I couldn’t eat all the food I wanted, you can bet I’d be one cranky bitch. Food’s one of the greater joys in life, in my humble opinion. And hey--here’s some completely unsolicited advice that I’m sure you don’t want, but try putting the guilt away. Don’t shy away from the shit you’ve done; own it. And look at where it got you. Believe me, that can open you up to perspectives you never thought you’d see.”
Nia left Alster then to stew in his own self-loathing and stubborn grudges, not even taking notice when Hadwin breezed past to take her place at the table. It was hard to get on her nerves, on a good day; even on a bad day, she wasn’t someone who was particularly irked. But Alster Rigas, in his stalwart stubbornness to remain opposed to her and the woman she worked for, in spite of the fact that they both wanted peace in the end… It was so frustrating! Both Ari and Hadwin recognized that she was working night and day to try and shape this situation into something that would benefit everyone; but not Alster. Locque was bad, and evil, and nothing to do with her would ever suit him or his lifestyle. And by virtue, nothing that she said or did would suffice, either. Not that this meeting wasn’t a waste of time… after all, he had called for a conditional ceasefire and truce. But it was the first time in a long time that she hadn’t left a conversation feeling somewhat uplifted. Hells, she hadn’t even felt comfortable enough to eat--and that in and of itself was a feat!
Sometime later, when she returned to the quiet, dark cottage, Locque did not hesitate to grill her for answers. “You seemed confident that it would go well. But by the look on your face,” she scrutinized Nia’s pout and the furrow of her brows. “I can’t help but wonder otherwise.”
“Let’s be honest, here. You fucked with his wife, with his friends, and he sure as hell isn’t going to kiss your feet. But,” Nia hung her cloak on the wall and shook some residual winter dampness out of her hair. “He’s not going to fight back. If you keep your hands off of the innocents, he isn’t going to interfere. Not exactly the surrender you wanted, but hey, it’s something, right?”
The summoner nodded, appearing thoughtful for a moment. “In just a couple of days, we will be relocating, then, to the palace. And you’ve seen no indication that we might need to prepare for alternate circumstances?”
“No--gods, no. No more plotting. I’ve come through for you, haven’t I? Every single time, even tonight, I’ve gone and talked, and we’ve all gotten something out of it. Isn’t that enough? Listen…” Plopping down on a bundle of blankets on the floor, Nia ignored the growling in her stomach and the desire in hindsight to have eaten that pie. “It’s been over a year, and everything I’ve done, I’ve done in favour of you. In exchange for protection, and I’m grateful for that, but Locque… you want this to be a home, right? A real home? Then you’re going to have to start by not giving people a reason to fear and loathe you. I’m doing my best, but my word will only carry so much. If you--if we want this to be a home, then we can’t alienate everyone. ‘Cause I want this too, Locque. A home. You gave Rowen what she wanted--free reign to do whatever the hell she wants to her brother. I haven’t asked for anything, yet, beyond safety… but I have to ask now. To tell you that I want to grow some roots and stop running. I want to wake up at dawn and head to a tavern for a huge breakfast and to make conversation with the owner. I want to get to know some of the artisans in the central market by name, and find a favourite baker who makes just the right kind of bread for a good chowder. I want… I want this to work out. To belong, here. Not just to this place, but it’s people. But I can’t. Not if you insist on continuing to be a threat… do you understand? You can’t rule by fear. Otherwise, it’s not a home. A home isn’t where people fear you. It’s where they care for you, care for what happens to you… but, hell, what do I know? Not like I’ve ever had any of that. For all I know, that dream is bullshit.”
Fearing she’d gone too far, said too much, Nia clammed up and pulled her knees to her chest. Her heart began to race when Locque stared at her with her sharp eyes from across the room, and she wondered if she’d be punished for overstepping. Instead, to her surprise, the sorceress replied, “You want a second chance, don’t you? At a home; maybe even a family?”
The Master Alchemist swallowed. The scar on her neck ached. “C’mon, don’t try to interpret when you haven’t been part of the human world in eons. I don’t know what family is; I wouldn’t know it if I found it. I just want to trust. That’s all. I want to be able to vent and cry and kiss someone without holding my breath and keeping a knife in my boot.”
“I can do that. You can have the security that you desire. You are right, Anetania; you’ve come through for me, and I am so close to having what I want. So, I will come through for you.”
Nia was speechless, her mouth and throat gone dry with surprise. She’d expected a rebuttal; instead, Locque was… reaching out to her? “How… do you mean?”
“Just as you said. I may have gained this kingdom through violence and fear… but it is not what I want for the future. I didn’t lie to you when I said I wanted my home back. And if you are confident that your ways will be the most effective, then I am willing to invest in them. And in you. Anetania, I am sorry if I have appeared to have neglected your needs, thus far. You’ve done everything for me that you said you would. So,” Locque shrugged her shoulders. “No more violence… on my part. You know that Rowen does as she likes.”
“Okay, no violence--but what about the Dawn Warrior? That’s gonna be a sore point until you five her back.”
The witch’s eyes flashed. “Eventually. Trust goes both ways. When I am convinced I’ll see no retaliation from them, and when I can find a means of doing away with that sword… the she-warrior will return to her home. Her family and friends.”
“But not unscathed. Not after what you made her do.”
“No. But she’ll endure no further injustices, at this point.”
“Everything you’re telling me--this is what you need to say to them. Because I can’t speak for you forever, you know? I won’t be the one ruling this kingdom.” Nia sighed, resting her chin atop her knees. “I won’t be the one they’ll want to hear from.
“So I’ll take your advice. And when the palace is ours… I will run it all by you. Everything I mean to say. But I will be the one to say it. And you can return to your duties solely as a Master Alchemist. I never intended for you to be the go-between, in the first place.”
The Master Alchemist looked up at the other woman in the shadows of the dark cottage. “...alright. We can work with that.” She smiled, feeling more relieved now than she had when speaking with Alster. See, Rigas? You should have known better than to doubt me. People can change. If it’s not good enough for you… then that’s your problem.
“Ah… well, that explains the ill-fitting attire you arrived in. And all the tangles.” Briery winced at the very memory of her meticulously washing and very gently unsnarling the tangles in Bronwyn’s long, curly hair. Fortunately, she was an expert at it: Cwenha’s curls had also been unruly on the best of days, but she’d never spent as long easing out knots and tangles as she had with the faoladh woman. She had to give her credit for having the patience to sit there for several hours while she completed the task. “Anyway, these are only temporary. I threw them together fairly quickly… I don’t suppose you are at all a fan of shopping? If not, and if you trust my judgment, I can find you something far more suitable at the tailor’s shop.”
Fearing she may have hit a sore spot with regard to the magic, the acrobat put the clothes aside and took a seat a respectable distance away, at a nearby desk. “I can understand that. Though you’ll be happy to know that most people are rather in control of their magic; it is other things we cannot trust. Temperament, impulses… hidden agendas.” Her face softened at the obvious distress that overcame Bronwyn at the mention of her sister. “Hadwin has struggled the same, you know. Between wanting to let Rowen destroy him because he thinks it might help him, believing he can help her overcome her madness… if she can be helped, then we merely haven’t found a way, yet. You were manipulated because that is what Locque is good at. Whatever happened these past few weeks… you cannot blame yourself for the outcome. What’s important is that you have your free will, again.”
Briery had figured that the youngest Kavanagh sister would be a touchy topic for the young woman, but she hadn’t anticipated that it would shift to her connection with Hadwin. Unbidden, her cheeks flushed. “I’m not sure there’s a label that would satisfy your curiosity, to be honest. I care for your brother because he has been a loyal and caring friend to the Missing Links for years. Up until recently, I suffered from a very painful and debilitating disease… he supported me countless times through that. He even saved my life. I don’t know that there is a word for that kind of love. The flexible sort where you will be for someone whatever it is they need, in the moment, romantic or otherwise.” Absently, she smoothed her skirts in her lap, although they were not all too wrinkled. “He will come and go, but I will always have a place in my heart for your brother. For everything he has done for me--and I would do anything for him, in turn. And, by virtue, anything for you. Believe what you will, he cares. He wouldn’t have gone to retrieve you if he didn’t. And now that has become all the more evident that he may not be able to reach Rowen…” Briery paused, and sighed very softly. “I think he is gaining a better sense of what he has--who he has, and what he can do for them. Don’t get me wrong, Bronwyn, he is not without his faults. But… he is one of the good ones. In my walk of life, I’ve seen the good and bad and in-between… and he is a good one. If you have the patience, and if you’ll give him a chance… or two.”
One ear perked at the mention of shopping. “If it means I get to leave this room, then I’m open to a shopping excursion. I realize I’ll have Forbanne for company,” he glanced uneasily at the door behind which two guards were stationed, for her ‘protection,’ “but...I’d like to go outside, if I’m allowed. It’s been too long since I’ve walked on two legs and I wouldn’t want to lose the ability. As it is,” she reached for the water tin at her bedstand and swished the liquid in her mouth, attempting to lubricate her raw, hoarse voice, “I’m having a wee bit of trouble...sounding out words. Stringing thoughts...and...making sense of things.”
At this juncture, just about every topic of relevance bordered on difficult territory, but Bronwyn didn’t shy away from the subject matters presented before her. They weren’t liable to vanish on their own, nor would the palace denizens ignore her collusion with the sorceress sans an explanation. In the past, she’d attempted to build an immunity towards fearsome situations, anticipating Hadwin’s remarks to catch her off-guard and preparing for his worst offenses. But as she quickly discovered, steeling against an unknown variable did not make her better prepared; it only made her overly-cautious, and on occasion, paranoid. Fixating on her paranoia was precisely what had led her to disengage from helpful people and beneficial alliances, and what ultimately led her into Rowen’s company. Yearning for the familiar, she followed her sister into the mist, convinced she could succeed where Hadwin failed. But hadn’t that been the correct decision? After all, why else would Chief entrust her with the important mission to retrieve Rowen, at all costs? Why had she initially doubted his directive? Chief wants me out of the way. I’m disposable. He’s sending me on a fool’s errand. For a well over a year, she nursed those dread thoughts, fearing their truth; that perhaps, Chief didn’t value her contributions to clan Kavanagh and her ‘mission’ was a banishment in disguise.
But not only did she find Rowen, she recovered Hadwin, as well. Whether or not he wanted to be found was a different story, but he survived, nonetheless. Seeing how far she’d come and how close she was in satisfying Chief’s order, it would be a betrayal of his trust not to stay at her sister’s side and gradually convince her to leave. So, while fear of sharing proximity to volatile magic-users might have encouraged her to flee the Night Garden, it was the promise of helping Rowen that drew her to Locque’s side.
She couldn’t remember what had happened during her tenure at the witch’s camp; only the hushed affirmations Rowen whispered into her ears. Stay with me. Stay here. Hadwin wouldn’t stay. He hurt me so much. He made me who I am. But you won’t hurt me. With you, I’m safe. If you help me, Bronwyn, we can leave together. Help me...kill Hadwin.
If ripping out their brother’s throat ensured Rowen’s compliance and her mission’s success, then she...wait, was she still considering it? Killing Hadwin?
When Rowen and Locque decided to hand her over as a peace offering to the surrendering party--fronted by the hapless faoladh, himself--Bronwyn pitched her complaints, hurt by their act of abandonment. Hadn’t she done everything to the letter? She never wavered in her commitment to Rowen, and Locque, by proxy. Why did they look to discard her?
Bronwyn...you’re going ahead of us, that’s all, Rowen’s sonorous voice soothed. We’ll be reunited at the palace. This ‘peace offering’ is a gesture of good will, but we’re not tossing you aside. Wait for us.
Wait for us…
I’m not going without you! But Bronwyn’s objections, her only objection to date, fell on deaf ears. The nerve-grating Master Alchemist pushed her forward, into Hadwin’s clutches--and she wanted to rip his head off then and there to prove her loyalty. In her clunky human skin, she was at a disadvantage, but she advanced for the kill, regardless. Hadwin, expecting her uncoordinated assault, struck with a counterattack. A sharp pain jabbed at her throat...
Then, she woke up in a strange room, with her brother’s on-again, off-again lover as her sole confidant. As she slowly grew accustomed to the space, to her company, and to a gradually-clearing head, she began to question her time among Rowen and Locque. Was she merely doing their bidding? Did they abandon her? Would they return for her, as promised? And if Rowen welcomed her back into the fold, what then? Was the plan to kill Hadwin and run? Where did Bronwyn stand in terms of fratricide? If she truly wished him gone, then why did she reach for him in Apelrade, before he stepped off the cliff to his presumed doom?
I don’t know. I don’t know…
But she would be damned if she basked in the shroud of uncertainty while holed away in some random palace room. If she wanted answers, the best method for understanding her stance was not to avoid the uncomfortable but imperative topics that Briery shied from asking. Eventually, they would have to discuss Rowen...and Hadwin.
As the Missing Links ringleader effused about her brother, Bronwyn entertained her gushing dialogue with a raised eyebrow. “You might have been the wrong person to ask,” she snorted, almost amused. Almost. “Forget I even asked you. For one, you lost me at ‘good.’ He’s a self-serving bastard. You--and that young summoner--only caught his good side because he was tickled by you. I also doubt he thinks highly of me at all. He probably retrieved me because, as his relation, I became his responsibility by default. He’s going to need several dozen chances before I fold, but I’ll never get there, because I’ll lose my patience at chance number three.” She sighed, brushing back the thick layers of hair from her face. “He’s given up on saving Rowen, and I can’t abide by that decision. How could he do that to her? No wonder she’s so lost in her revenge. He meant the world to her, and he threw her aside twiceover. The first time was in Clan Kavanagh. The second time, it was because he chose the summoner--and you, and the Missing Links--over her. He’s not loyal to his true family; he hasn’t been loyal to us. Not since our mam’s death. And that is why he’ll toss me aside, too. I’m sorry, Briery, but you’re wrong.”
Throwing aside her bedsheets, the faoladh woman planted her feet on the woven rug beneath her bed, too riled up to stay in one place. She rose, clinging to one of the posters for balance and resisting the urge to clamber about on all fours. “There are others who I’m sure have a less flattering perspective of my brother, and I’d be more inclined to listen to their accounts, no offense. How about,” she hesitated, “that Rigas woman? ...Elespeth. She’s...well, if you’re to be believed, this room is warded against Rigas magic. She can’t hurt me by accident in here. Besides, I know she’s afoot.” She pressed a finger to the tip of her freckled nose. “I smell her on you.”
The carriage ride from Osric’s pub to the palace dragged out so long, Hadwin could have sworn they were going backwards in time instead of flying forward at an expedited clip.
“The hell, are those even Night steeds?” Hadwin hissed between his clenched teeth. “Snails move fucking faster!” Since the unexplained manifestation of his Fearsight at the pub, Hadwin had been tending a headache of immeasurable proportions, its classification on a transcendent level of pain comparable to Aristide Canaveris chiseling his skull into a sculpted masterpiece--heavy on the details. Drinking didn’t help. Eating pie didn’t help. Smoking the contents of his pipe dulled the edge marginally, but the stubborn ache persisted.
Alster, no stranger to the, well, strange, quickly pieced together the phenomena that had occurred between them. “You have my fear,” he concluded, having finished his share of the pie. “Somehow. In place of what you took, there’s a hole in me where the fear should be. Whenever I think of the sorceress, or Nia...my anger hasn’t dampened, but I can think rationally and breathe calmly. I’m detached from the experience; the memories don’t attack the pit of my stomach in waves of terror, or helplessness or...anything. Whatever you did, it can be assumed that my fear will return and your headache will clear once you release the fragment to its original owner. But were it that easy, it would have happened, already.” He stabbed a fork in Hadwin’s direction. “We have to figure out how to separate the fragment from your mind. I believe I know what needs to be done.”
“I’m on board with whatever, Al, but can we beg out of here, first?” Hadwin slumped his head on the table, into the cradle of his sound-muffling arms. “Pub noise ain’t conducive to this sort of experiment,” he mumbled through the darkness. “Better yet, let’s wait till we’re at the palace. I wanna be close to all the Night Garden drugs, in case I’ll need ‘em.”
“Are you sure you can last that long?”
“Fuck, Al, who do you think I am?” In slurring his words, he ironically resembled a drunkard, but he couldn’t be arsed to disturb his jaw muscles and agitate the headache even worse. “Been living with this hot shit since I was a tot. So c’mon,” he pushed off from the table and aligned to his full height, miraculously keeping his head centered. “I bet I can even race ya to the carriage to prove I’m in top form for the trip. ‘Sides, they’re Night steeds we’re traveling with; a snap of the fingers and we’ll be home, no problem.”
How could he be more wrong? Every little jerk and jostle of the carriage was like a small death, and for every small death, a cycle that spanned in repetitious forever-patterns. To combat the extreme light sensitivity, he found a kerchief and blindfolded his eyes, understanding, to a small extent, Vitali’s conditional blindness.
“We can ask the coach to go slower,” Alster suggested in a soft tone, mindful of the faoladh’s hyper-awareness of sound.
“Don’t you dare!” He whisper-growled, taking umbrage over the mere suggestion that their carriage-ride would span out for yet a longer period of time. “Damn, should’ve asked Lord Fancypants to throw in one of his ache-be-gone stones along with the statue.”
Huffing out a sigh of exasperation (with a hint of affront), Alster hovered his hand over the prone wolf-shifter’s face. “Let me help.” At Hadwin’s go-ahead, he sent a low-humming pulse of magic over the affected area, and a cool, tingling sensation wafted over the faoladh, as if his brain took a gradual dunk in a silky mint bath.
“Ah yeah, that’s the right stuff,” he crooned, relaxing in his reclined position on the seat. “Just keep that up...til we’re back.”
Not a half an hour later, they arrived at the front entrance to the palace. But before they exited the carriage and dismissed the driver, Alster’s sparking hand gently tugged at Hadwin’s kerchief. “We’re at the palace and we’ve stopped. You’ll need to open your eyes for this part. If you removed my fear through eye contact, then it stands to reason that you can return it through eye contact, as well. Try to locate that fear within yourself and...project it outward, as you would when you’re about to assault an unsuspecting person—someone like Isidor, for instance,” a hint of bitterness coated over his words, “—with a flush of their worst nightmares. If you’re ready, we’re going to remove the blindfold, and I’ll cast some etherea in my hand so we can see each other.”
“I’m ready, but the question is, are you? If this shit goes sour, I could end up giving you the Isidor treatment.”
“I’m prepared for that possibility. It’s not like I haven’t been through this, before.”
With the two of them in agreement, Alster cast a small light of etherea in his palm and held it to Hadwin’s face just as the blindfold came away. Sure enough, when his gold, glowing eyes made contact with Alster’s pools of blue, the fragment of purloined fear pushed from his consciousness and plummeted into the mindscape of its originator like a sword to the head. Gasping from the unceremonious reintroduction, the Rigas caster brought a free hand to his temple, trying and failing to regulate his hurried breaths. “It’s, b-back,” he spluttered. “Not as pronounced as before, but I feel it again. In my...in my stomach. How...is your head?”
“All clear on my end! Oh, by the way,” before Hadwin could sit up and deliver his warning, the carriage door on his side wrenched open, revealing a very confused Elespeth on the other side. Considering how Alster had leaned over Hadwin’s reclining form, reduced to frenzied panting as their faces almost touched and the only light made available was shining out of one poised hand...it was understandable how someone, especially one’s wife, could interpret the scene.
“Elespeth!” In his desperation to scramble out of Hadwin’s immediacy, he sprung in recoil and rammed his head against the carriage’s low ceiling. “This isn’t how it looks!”
“So they all say,” Hadwin chuckled low in his throat.
Alster turned an accusatory glare at the faoladh, rubbing the sore spot on his head. “You knew she was outside, didn’t you?!”
“My lad, I didn’t know anything but for the sweet requiem of pure agony.” Hadwin slowly sat up in his seat. “I wouldn’t have noticed if oblivion hit. Anyway, aren’t you the one who’s got the sixth sense for when she’s near?”
“...Not when I’m concentrating on something else. No...no, that didn’t come out right. El,” Alster’s face rivaled that of a ripe strawberry, “nothing untoward happened, I swear! Hadwin stole one of my fears by accident and it gave him a monstrous headache. Since eye-contact was the culprit, we correctly assumed eye-contact would be the solution. That’s why we were...erm…”
“--Staring lovingly into each other’s eyes.” Hadwin purred.
“Everything’s-back-to-normal,” Alster rushed, scrambling out of the carriage and brushing invisible dirt off his traveler’s outfit in a bid not to look at Elespeth. “His headache is gone and my fear is back where it belongs.”
“And as much as I love to bust your chops, Al’s being right honest with you. That’s exactly how it went down.” Hadwin slid out of his seat and shut the carriage door behind him. “Well, I’ll leave you two lovebirds to catch up. Though my headache’s gone, the whole ordeal’s got me zonked. Gonna go crash for the night. See ya!” Saluting, hand to forehead, Hadwin turned on his heels and marched towards Teselin’s chambers.
“I’m so sorry.” Still reeling from mortification, Alster took Elespeth’s hands and pressed an apology kiss to her cheek. “I’m afraid the events that led to...what you just witnessed, were largely my fault. When I met Nia, I tried to remain impartial and judgment-free. I could tell she spun no falsehoods, yet I wanted to find fault in everything she said. I wanted to believe she was ruthless and without conscience because it’s easier to lump her as irredeemable, like Locque. My entire reason for the visit was to see her as a complex human being and I did; she’s very straightforward about her motivations and of her history. But,” he released Elespeth’s hands, “I wasn’t ready to explore those avenues with her. I wasn’t ready to accept rationale, only disdain, because she’ll never hate Locque as I hate her. She’ll always find justifications for her appalling behavior. I can’t, I’m unable, to see Nia as anything more than an extension of my enemy, because her idea of peace and my idea of peace differ. I believe that peace can never be achieved as long as Locque rules as monarch, whereas she’s convinced that such a result is possible. I realize it’s wrong of me to make a snap judgment when I’ve always prided myself in empathy and diplomacy, but I can’t move past what Locque did to us. I can’t stop revisiting that moment in the ether-realms when I thought I would be lost forever and...it’s currently not feasible for me to ally with anyone who supports the sorceress, no matter their cogent reasoning. I doubt I can even speak with Teselin about her position, either. It hurts too much to consider any opinion that doesn’t oppose her outright.” He turned to the palace doors and entered alongside Elespeth, eager to step out of the cold. “When Nia left, those heady thoughts left me in a downward spiral. Hadwin tried to talk me down, but he inadvertently removed the fears that were causing me distress and,” he sighed, “I hope this attempt at an explanation provides some amount of clarification, El.”
He traversed the hallways, taking care not to pace his steps appropriately so as not to tire from overextending his recovering body. “Be that as it may, I did offer my terms for a conditional surrender. I won’t act in aggression as long as she does the same, but that is all I have promised to do. We’re still scheduled to leave for the farmhouse. Nia has suggested we will be granted permission to stay, but...I can’t be anywhere near them. Please understand,” he dipped his head, contrite “it’s best that I keep as much physical distance from them. For now. But you are free to come and go as you please. If I am understanding our agreement correctly, you will be allowed to do so.”
