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

Briery didn’t miss how Bronwyn perked up at the opportunity to leave the room which, to her, was probably no better than a cell, despite the comforts they had been  sure to provide for her. If she had spent the majority of her time among Locque’s allies as a wolf, then the acrobat could only imagine how confinement, no matter how comfortable, would eventually begin to grate on her nerves. And the last thing anyone wanted, or needed, was for the faoladh woman to have another psychotic break, of sorts. A day shut away in a small room with company that she didn’t choose was likely difficult enough to process. “Then let’s arrange for you to get out of this room for a while.” She said with a reassuring smile. “If you’ll let me come with you, then we may only require one Forbanne guard as an entourage… and believe me, their sense of style, in my opinion, is rather lacking. You’ll thank me later by bringing me along.”

She winked conspiratorially, but the reassured smile on her lips softened a little, as her account of Hadwin--one which Bronwyn had requested--was both rejected and refuted. Of course, his sister was entitled to her own opinions, and upon recalling a conversation she’d had with Hadwin regarding his oldest sister, it only made sense as to why she would be wary. Of all of the ‘gifts’ to be blessed with, Rowen Kavanagh had a tendency to see the good in people… and no doubt, that gift had led her astray on more than one occasion. It behooved her to be wary, and were she in the same position, Briery would also question any glowing accounts of character. But it was no less disheartening to hear her dismiss her anecdote, which had, indeed, come from the heart. “You are right, Bronwyn.  I cannot deny that I am biased in my opinions on your brother, and in my feelings toward him. It is not that I cannot understand why you are wary… believe it or not, I am aware of his shortcomings. I’ve seen them, and he’s deliberately showed them to me. In fact, on more than one occasion, he’s tried to push me away.”

Briery couldn’t help but recall the time he’d fled from her in the campgrounds just outside of Braighdath. When Cwenha, of all people, had talked him out of his destructive mood, and he had returned, although felt he did not deserve forgiveness. “It is what he does, when he becomes convinced that he is worth nothing. That he can’t be redeemed. He pushes away those who care for him. He has pushed me away, as I’ve said, and he’s even pushed Teselin away. You must know for yourself… how he gave up completely when Cwenha died. When he held himself responsible for her death. Bronwyn, those of us who do care for him, we do see his flaws. But you must understand… he sees them, too. In fact, he is almost too aware of them, to the point where he devalues his worth to a very dangerous extent. I happened to run into him again just last year when he was experiencing one of those lows; during a time when he was very nearly ready and willing to let Rowen kill him. Because he loves her… and he thought that was what she needed.”

Although she never brought it up, that memory still haunted her. Seeing Hadwin suffer an abdominal wound that would have killed an ordinary person… She would never forget that sight. Sometimes, when she closed her eyes, she still saw it, and it impelled her to seek Hadwin out to see that he was alright. “Believe me when I say, Hadwin has not given up on your sister, Bronwyn. He still holds out hope; I can see it in his eyes, however faint that hope might be. The difference is he has learned that he must hold her at arm’s length for his own survival. Surely you understand, Rowen intends to kill him, if she gets the chance. And with Teselin… I think he has now found a reason not to let that happen. He had found a reason to live, because Rowen refuses to be that reason any longer. However, if your sister can be saved… then he will be the first to step up and save her. But tell me, Bronwyn. You say that my appraisal of your brother is skewed, and too biased, but tell me… you have seen Locque, first hand. You have seen your sister in her company. Tell me, is Rowen acting as Locque’s puppet with invisible strings? So that she might take responsibility for the girl’s actions, the murders she’s caused? Or is Rowen acting of her own volition, and allying with Locque as a means of having a better chance of killing Hadwin?”

Bronwyn couldn’t answer right away, and the ring leader did not miss the conflicted expression that crossed her face. That was all she needed to know the answer. Certainly, Locque had a pull and a way of manipulating people, but so did Rowen, who had manipulated a well-meaning Teselin to leading her straight to her brother, just so she could try to gut him. Somehow, she wasn’t convinced that Rowen could fall for being a pawn in anyone else’s schemes but her own. “It’s debatable, of course, that Locque was most likely involved when Cwenha and the others were slaughtered. Just another message, another show of her power over life and death. I have no trouble believing that my singer would not have died by your sister’s hand, had it not been at the witch’s request; really, I don’t hold her fully accountable for that tragedy. However…” Briery stood slowly, as if, for a moment, she had forgotten how to move. Her voice grew softer, more tentative, but not without a hint of pain. “Locque was not in the picture, when Rowen, unprovoked, put a knife in Hadwin’s gut.”

Placing a hand on the doorframe, and her other hand on the handle, she looked partway over her shoulder, but couldn’t quite meet Bronwyn’s eyes. “I’ll see if I can call on Elespeth. Your brother ventured off on an errand with her husband… she offered to retrieve what was necessary to make this room comfortable for you, in return for his help.”

Elespeth had been happy to help coordinate Bronwyn’s recuperation and readjustment to living among… civil people, to say the least. It not only gave her something to do, other than to sit around and wait for her husband’s return, but it kept her mind from worrying about the result of Alster’s ventures to try and keep peace. Of course, she took care not to show herself to Bronwyn, afraid the faoladh woman suffered another anxious fit, facing off with someone capable of wielding magic. Not that the former knight had so much as felt a flicker in her fingers for quite some time, now; not since before Alster had summoned the Serpent and disappeared. Whatever volatility her newly born magic possessed had now lulled to the atrophy of utter disuse. It has been ages since she’d trained with Alster, and frankly, the only time that electricity had surfaced on her skin was when she been intimate with Alster… which, again, was not something that had occurred since before his first disappearance. Hells, she wasn’t sure she could summon so much as a minuscule spark if her life depended on it, at this point, but that wouldn’t be enough to reassure Bronwyn that she wasn’t dangerous. So Elespeth had ultimately decided it was best to cut her losses and let Hadwins’ sister continue to fear her. She’d find no friendship in someone who saw her only as a potential danger… and she hadn’t the luxury of time to make a case for herself, otherwise.

As soon as she got word of a carriage pulling up to the palace, however, she abandoned her tasks and didn’t hesitate to rush outside to greet its passengers. She didn’t even give the driver time to dismount and open the doors before she had her hand on one of the handles, and wrenched it open herself… only to stumble upon a very curious scene. “...was the ride really that bumpy?” Were the first words out of her mouth, as she pulled back just a little and blinked, in case her eyes were deceiving her. “Or should you have gotten a bigger carriage? We’ve crammed as many as four people in one of these things without ending up on one another’s laps, you know…”

While she was only joking, it did cross her mind--just for a split second!--that Alster’s proximity to Hadwin was a little bit suspicious… And for all she’d tried to forget about it, it was impossible to rid her mind of that image of the blissful surprise on her husband’s face when Hadwin had proven to him just what he could do. But for all Hadwin would be ready and willing to fuck with anyone (literally!), she knew her husband well enough to feel reassured that surely this couldn’t be what it looked like.

“Wait… okay, slow down. Hadwin did what? What did you do?” Immediately, she turned to Hadwin, more curiosity than accusation in her tone. “Did he say you… you took away a fear? Since when are you able to do that? Last I checked, you exacerbate fears, not assuage them. Is this a new development, or something you’ve had up your sleeve all along? Regardless… that sounds damn convenient, Hadwin. And useful. Don’t go too far, hm?” She lightly punched him in the shoulder. Playfully; but also something of a very vague warning, which he’d no doubt picked up on, to keep his hands off her husband. “Considering the majority of people in this palace are going to be scared shitless when Locque takes it as her own, your new fear-siphoning might well come in handy.”

When he wandered off to retire for the evening, Elespeth turned back to Alster, who appeared to have a lot he wanted to get off of his chest. She laid her hands on his shoulders to slow him down. “Alster, why are you apologizing? Nothing you’re saying comes as any surprise to me. It’s just as I thought: this Nia Ardane is not someone with whom we can ally, for any reason.” She shook her head, and then took his arm and led him inside. “She is our enemy because she is aligned with the woman who is threatening this place. Maybe you couldn’t see her for anything more than that because there isn’t anything more to it, Alster. Even if she genuinely thinks in her muddled head that this is the right way to go about things, that doesn’t mean she’s right. She’s delusional, or being manipulated, or both. You can’t get through to someone who likewise isn’t willing to see things your way, right?

“But I know you. And I know you probably tried your best to get through to her and to understand… and I can see why you’d be upset. You’ve never been someone who’s taken to failure well, Alster. And I should have known… I should have foreseen that you’d take it to heart when you couldn’t make her into a friend. I should have gone with you, but… I’ll be honest, I don’t know that I can be in her presence for more than five minutes without thinking about how she tore my armor to shreds. And how I’d love to return the favour.”

She felt her jaw clench without meaning to at the thought of having to tolerate that insufferable woman, which only further validated her decision not to accompany Alster. “I’m sorry for what it did to you, though. I know it isn’t easy to swallow, but Alster, I am not like Teselin in that I’m not of the opinion that everyone can be saved, or that everyone is redeemable. Even if this Nia suggested we stay, I think that’s all the more reason to leave. We can’t trust her, let alone her judgment…”

“Alster--Elespeth.” A voice down the corridor caught their attention, and the couple turned to take notice of Briery as she approached the two. “Alster; I hope your errand went well? At least, as well as what we can hope… and Elespeth.” The ringleader clasped her hands in front of her apologetically. “I’m sure you must be exhausted, and the two fo you are bound to retire for the evening, but… your presence has been requested.”

“Mine? By whom?”

“Bronwyn would like to speak with her.”

A pause. The former Atvanian blinked several times. “Bronwyn wants to see me? Did she say exactly that, or are you reaching for an interpretation, Briery?”

“No interpretation; she specifically asked for you. She is doing well, and is not showing any signs of retaliation for taking her from Rowen, but she is struggling with her views on her brother. Since your relationship with him has been… well, all over the place, for lack of better words, she thought you might be able to help elucidate his character a bit. And, well, since the room has been warded against Alster’s magic--and it is Alster’s magic that you wield--she feels safe enough from your… abilities.”

“I…” Elespeth looked from Briery to Alster and back again. She hadn’t seen Bronwyn since the day she’d fled the sanctuary, out of fear that the former knight’s magic would flare up, again. “I mean, I can’t exactly say no, considering I offered to help, but… is my speaking with Rowen really a good idea?”

Briery shrugged her slight shoulders. “It’s hard to say. But it is possible that you can get through to her in a way that I could not.”

Turning back to Alster, the former knight sighed and gently squeezed his arm. “Go to bed and wait for me? I promise I won’t be long; I’m not sure that Bronwyn can stand the sight of me for more than a few minutes.”

With the promise that they would reunite shortly, Elespeth followed Briery back to the room that she’d have been happy never to see again. The room that had confined the shell of her husband for a week, and where she had slept in a cramped corner upon blankets. She’d never thought that they would repurpose it, especially no time soon, and couldn’t say she missed the confined feeling of those four walls when Briery opened the door and led her inside. Bronwyn, though a little on the thin side, at least looked healthy and well, if not a little wary. “Didn’t think I’d be back in here so soon,” she said, in a pitiful attempt to break the ice. “You must be anxious out of your mind, shut into this place. I’m surprised I didn’t lose my own sanity, keeping Alster company in here.”

Nervously shifting her feet, Elespeth tucked one hand into her belt and audibly sighed. “To be very honest, Bronwyn, I’m not sure why you asked for me, but… here I am. What is it I can do for you?”

Bronwyn was more apt to pay attention to the stellar account of her brother when Briery opted to address the flaws she alluded to, but had failed to detail. Hugging the bedpost, the faoladh twisted around to better listen to the specifics of Hadwin’s numerous failings. The ringleader had nothing new to report; the subject of Cwenha, the infamous Silver Fairy, whose death prompted Hadwin’s subsequent departure, had spawned two versions of the same event. Everyone knew of his version, but Rowen had revealed to Bronwyn her perspective of their fateful encounter. While it didn’t absolve her of the deed, it provided a little clarity as to why she targeted an acrobat of little influence from a traveling troupe. 

“I had nothing against the petite acrobat,” Rowen, in a rare bout of chattiness, had ventured to explain in their shared quarters one evening. “We are well aware that Hadwin is prone to petty acts of revenge. He avenged mam’s death when Chief had ruled it a suicide. Yet, he went forward and murdered those poor shepherds who were only defending their flock from a mad wolf. I killed that moppy-headed girl to test his loyalty. Would he choose revenge over his living family yet again? Even if it meant killing his beloved sister? As the fates would have it, he made an appearance at the execution site. And oh, I was pleased to see his hesitation. It meant that he still cared about me. He didn’t even give chase after I left a gaping wound in the wretched girl’s throat. Really, I did that bitch a favor; she had a writhing hatred for life and abused other people because she couldn’t reconcile her circumstances without resorting to rage.”

“When Hadwin took off from Galeyn, I let him go. He was accepting responsibility for his many, many wrongdoings. Just as mam did before him; she killed herself to apologize for being such a fuck-up. I could taste it in the air; he was ready to die for the same offense. To die with regrets, to die owning up to the harm he caused...it was the most heroic end. The only way he could still redeem himself. I wanted that for him; a little less darkness staining his pitch-black soul. He, at the very least, would die with dignity, and I would honor his memory.”

“But then, you went with Teselin to ‘save’ him. I let you go because I thought you would do the right thing and grant him his wish. I can’t rightly blame you, though. He would’ve been successful if not for that dreaded summoner. Not only did she completely shift his loyalties in her favor, but she destroyed an entire city to secure his life. Now, I can’t look at him without seeing a parade of countless victims he is jointly responsible for creating. Before, nothing short of death would redeem him. In the aftermath of Apelrade, however—death isn’t enough. I’m limited to what I can do, but with Locque’s help...when his soul passes on, it will go somewhere truly hellish, a place where he can never rest.”

At the time, Bronwyn viewed Rowen’s plan as too extreme to enact. Surely, her jilted little sister was using hyperbole as an expression of pain caused by Hadwin’s betrayal of trust, and didn’t literally intend to cast him into ‘hell.’ Farfetched as it sounded...Rowen meant every word. Worse yet, how had she ended up condoning the idea? And why hadn’t she changed her mind after disengaging from the sorceress’s sphere of influence? True, she often despised her brother, but she didn’t believe he deserved hell. ...Or death.

So, why did she need convincing, on Briery’s part, on Elespeth’s part, to cease her murderous aggressions towards him? Why would she think to condemn him to a fate worse than death? If you help me kill Hadwin, we can leave together… Rowen promised. She made a promise. Just as Bronwyn made a promise to Chief: Recover Rowen at all costs. 

At all costs. She hadn’t misconstrued his directive. He expected her to follow-through, or to forget returning to Clan Kavanagh. Empty-handed was not an option. 

Chief was a man of reason. Never would he have accounted for Hadwin’s presence mucking up a straightforward procedure--as usual. He’d understand if she cited the clan’s exiled black sheep as the reason for failing to retrieve Rowen...

Failing to retrieve Rowen? Was she already thinking in absolutes? How could she live with herself if she left her sister in the clutches of Locque, the manipulator? Who likely had a hand in manipulating Rowen, who in turn manipulated Bronwyn to such an extent, she couldn’t even differentiate between right and wrong? What was the correct solution? Side with Hadwin and betray Rowen, or help Rowen kill Hadwin on the slim chance she’d return to Clan Kavanagh? 

She promised me. She promised me…

Casting aside her moral conundrum for the moment, she caught the tail-end of Briery’s question, a question she had also been asking since discovering Locque and Rowen’s alliance.

“I’ll give you that Rowen is...twisted,” Bronwyn provided, taking care not to slander her sister’s name excessively. “She hasn’t denied her hand in Braighdath’s murders. She’s gone so far as to admit she did them all prior to meeting Locque. As for her first attempt on Hadwin’s life...you’re not wrong.” She removed her hands from the bed-post and practiced balancing on the soles of her feet, in true human configuration. “She was never manipulated. Mollengard’s capture did a number on her well-being, but yes, she is responsible for every grisly act performed by her hand...including the death of your acrobat, Cwenha,” she nodded her sincere condolences, in case Briery assumed that her silence on the matter meant she was excusing Rowen’s novel tendency to murder people. “Locque might not be manipulating her in the traditional sense, but she enables her behavior. Or...did. Since we’ve opened up this new route to peace, Rowen does appear to be complying with the ‘no-kill’ policy...as far as people who aren’t named Hadwin are concerned.” 

Stretching out her arms in a T-pose, she slid one experimental foot forward, straightening her spine to ensure the correct bipedal alignment. “So you do recognize my brother’s bad habit of tossing people to the wayside. I’m not ignorant of the ‘why’ behind his methods. When he does or is about to do something truly wrong, he doesn’t want to involve those who care for him. It’s his own warped form of protection. Protection from himself. But just because my Sight helps me to understand his well-meaning but cockeyed consideration of others doesn’t mean I also don’t believe he’s harming far more than he is helping. Same with Rowen, he’s twisted. His sense of reasoning is twisted. And you can’t tell me, if you weren’t part of his very limited and exclusive group of close-knit friends, that he wouldn’t fuck you over at the drop of the hat. You might’ve earned his fealty and devotion--which is conditional, at best--but I’ll never gain his approval. He’ll sell me off whenever he gets the chance.” She flopped on the bed, tired of the awkward sensation of standing on human legs. “Rowen lost his approval. For that, she won’t fare much better than me. He can’t save her if he doesn’t choose her. And I know who he’s chosen in her place.” He cast Briery a meaningful look from across the room. 

“At this rate, he’ll never reach her, because he’s already moved on. He found another life, a life free from his commitments to the sister he good-as raised himself. As her guardian, he is responsible for her welfare, yet...what has he done for her in the interim? You say he is keeping her at arm’s length in order to survive. I see differently.” She rested against the headboard, raising her head to the ceiling. “I see him carousing in pubs, sleeping around in orgies, and sharing drinks with Locque’s jabbering Master Alchemist. I don’t know about you, but it seems to me like he’s having a grand ol’ time ‘surviving.’” She threw a dismissive hand at the former ringleader. “Call it ‘poise,’ danger-savviness, or social-navigability. Whatever rhymes with ‘survival.’ Say that he’s doing his level best not to lose his shit and crumble. But no matter how you spin it, Briery,” she lowered her head and sighed in defeat, “my brother is a scumbag. I see his best qualities, and he’s still a scumbag because of how he handles any given situation--like he’s always amid some perverted bacchanal. Rowen’s not blind to his freewheeling, and I daresay inviting distractions to ignore her existence is compounding the problem and broadening the gulf between them. It makes it look like he doesn’t care at all.”

So you are motioning for his death, hm? Rowen’s voice seemed to snark in her ear.

...No. I’m not. Not after what I risked in Apelrade to keep him alive.

You don’t sound too sure, Bronwyn…

She ignored the niggling voice in her head that replicated Rowen’s speech and mannerisms. 

“My apologies, Briery, but I don’t have as rosy an outlook on my brother as you do. We grew up hating each other. That kind of animosity doesn’t go away overnight, let alone over a lifetime. I tried to be civil with him as far as recently, but he rejected my attempt because he didn’t want to bother with niceties, saying how I elected to ignore our bad blood by putting up some unstable and insincere false front. He’s insincere all the time! Why don’t I get a pass? That’s the only way I can handle him, besides!” She bunched her thick hair into a fist over her shoulder. “I’ll spare you the rant. You’re set in your perspective and so am I. But Elespeth Rigas...she bears an interesting relationship with him. She’s mentioned it to me before, but I’d like to hear if there have been any updates since last time.”

As Briery excused herself to fetch the Rigas woman, Bronwyn whiled away the time by drinking her fill of water and clipping her tangle of hair away from her face in an effort to look presentable and less...wild. Why she cared to come across as put-together for Elespeth, whose burgeoning friendship was ruined by Hadwin’s meddling, she hadn’t a clue, but grooming, however minimal, helped her to assert a modicum of control over her circumstances—and with that control, the ability to show no fear. Nevermind that her hair had reached a length too unwieldy to maintain without an expert trim, and her body, attired in baggy bedclothes, looked more prepared for slumber than for guests, but it was the best she could do with the limited resources available. No one would trust her with scissors or a knife, and as for clothes…

She eyed the bundle across the room. 

By the time Briery returned with the requested party, Bronwyn had donned one of the seamstress’s creations—a bit of a loose fit, to account for gaining the weight she lost subsisting on small prey animals (and the occasional deer, if Rowen helped)—and had returned to sit on the edge of the bed. To aid in the prevention against hunching her back, she positioned hands on either side of her lap, bolstering herself upright.

“Briery,” she gestured to the green tunic and the beaded collar, “it fits. Thank you. And thank you for fulfilling my request so quickly.” Her head tilted towards Elespeth, but she established no eye contact, not out of rudeness, but out of custom. Hadwin was one of the few morons who defied the faoladh rule and stared dead-on at everyone he addressed. Sight was only meant to be used sparingly, a furtive scan to discern small nuggets of information at a time. Anything more than incremental glimpses and it put the faoladh under stress: headaches at best, a mental break at worst. But, as always, he threw convention and proportion out the window, leaving Bronwyn to ogle at how he managed such a high-functioning lifestyle, with few (but significant) hiccups, for so long.

“Elespeth Rigas,” she greeted her guest, directing her gaze downward, giving off a demure, almost submissive appearance. To offset any resurgence of panic, she took shallow breaths, blocking out the brunt of the woman’s distinctive Rigas magic odor. “I hope you’re well? I,” she dug bracing fingers into the bedsheets, “I realize I’m not the most welcome sight, nor am I ignorant of your recent history with this room, so I won’t take up much of your time. Briery tells me you’ve been helping me from afar, as a favor to Hadwin and...I suppose that brings me to my reason for calling you here despite the complications behind our...our last encounter.” She leaned on her hands, catching herself before she slumped forward on the bed. “It’s safe to assume that I won’t be released from this room until I no longer pose a danger to anyone, my brother included. And, well, it’s become common knowledge that I attacked him with the intent to kill, a few days ago. I don’t know how I’ll fare, seeing him again. Rowen’s so determined to see him dead and I’m not sure...if she’s influenced my thinking or if I’ve come to agree with her.” I’m not betraying you, Rowen, she whispered, in hopes that her sister could hear her thoughts, somehow, but I can’t help you unless I get close to Hadwin. 

“You’ve dealt with him plenty. For over a year, I take it? When we last spoke, you admitted that while he saved your life, twice, and even revealed to you a softer, more caring side, you wouldn’t view him as a friend, and you doubt his trustworthiness. Still, you no longer condemn him as a one-note, self-absorbed bastard. Since then, has your opinion changed, any? For better or for worse? I want to know if it’s at all possible that I can trust him. If it’s safe to trust him. Before, I was comforted in knowing that he would do anything for Rowen. He actually infiltrated Mollengard’s ranks to find her, something I’d never be brave or foolish enough to do. But now, I question his motives. Is he keeping away to survive, or does he simply not care about her, anymore? I thought...based on your most recent experiences with him, maybe you’d be able to weigh in? Eventually, I’ll have to talk to him, but I’m taking this step by step so I’m my most rational when I see him, next.” ‘Most rational,’ of course, was a euphemism for, ‘Not throttling him to death,’ a subtle difference in phrasing likely not lost on either Elespeth or Briery.

It was strange enough that Bronwyn had summoned Elespeth at all; that she was willing to be in the same room as her, let alone ask her about Hadwin, of all people, left the former knight particularly flummoxed. But as she had openly offered to be of help to Briery (and, of course, to Rowen as a favour to her brother), she could only venture to do her best to try and explain. “I’m fine, Rowen. And this isn’t an inconvenience. I offered to help out… well, to help you and Briery, of my own volition. And you are not an unwelcome sight. I’m not sure what thoughts and sentiments you harbour about me, to be honest, but I… I have nothing against you.” A soft sigh escaped her lungs. “I never have. In fact, despite your aversion to me, I have respect for you. But you didn’t call me here to talk about that, did you? Do you mind telling me what this is really about? What is it about Hadwin you think I can tell you that you don’t already know? I am in no hurry, but I am curious.”

As per her request, Bronwyn proceeded to explain her hesitation in trusting her brother, touching on why she had chosen to trust him in the past, as well as her current hang-ups, some of which were influenced by Rowen (and surely, to some extent, Locque). None of it really came as any surprise to her, considering the altercation that had occurred between them the last time she’d seen them together. Bronwyn had also reportedly lunged at Hadwin when he’d met up with Nia to retrieve her… so she had no problem believing that this woman would not be released in total freedom until she was able to convince everyone around her that she would in, in fact, be a danger to anyone, Hadwin in particular. But Elespeth wasn’t sure she had the answers for her, for all she had so much to say that she didn’t quite know how to begin.

“Look, Bronwyn; I am no expert on your brother, and I won’t pretend to be. But, if an account of our history and our current standing is what you want so that you can try and make up your mind about him… then I’ll do my best.” Elespeth breathed slowly through her nose and folded her arms tightly across her chest. “The short of it? I trust him, Bronwyn. It took about a year and a half, but your brother has demonstrated to me that he is indeed worthy of trust. I’m not sure that I can convince you as much, since you seem to have already made up your mind about him… but I will do my best to explain.”

Taking a seat on the chair at the desk, the ex-Atvanian folded her hands on her lap and sat back. “I disliked Hadwin when I first met him, but if I am being honest, I didn’t like much of anyone or anything. Alster was gone, first with Lilica to try and uncover Galeyn, and then to Eyraille to lend assistance to Vega, who at the time was pregnant with her twins. It was several months before we reunited, and I was convinced I really didn’t have anyone in Stella D’Mare that I could confide in. Hadwin was brash and reckless and completely unapologetic… and therefore, a perfect scapegoat for my anger and frustration. I honestly didn’t so much as give him a chance to make any other sort of impression, because I decided right away that he wasn’t worth my time. Even after he helped me, time and again. After how he managed to look out for Teselin where I failed to; even after he spoke to my credit when I was named a Rigas with Stella D’Mare’s blessing.”

The back of her neck began to feel hot. What was it about Hadwin that always seemed to elicit some sort of response, other than completely neutral? When she wasn’t furious with him, when she wasn’t embarrassed for her own sake as a result of his antics, and when she wasn’t relieved to have his help when no one else would support her most ludicrous ideas… apparently, she had it in her to defend him! Now this was not something she had ever anticipated she would find herself doing, but nonetheless, she felt strongly about the words that came out. “Look, he can be self-serving to an extent, and an asshole no matter the situation. But aren’t we all self-serving, if the situation is right? He saved my life when I was crippled from abusing a Mollengardian substance and nearly dead of exposure. He saved my life again when I couldn’t reconcile what I’d done, and had attempted… I was going to kill myself. And if he hadn’t stepped it, and taken the glass from my hand, I would have.” She could practically feel Briery wince beside her, and in truth, it still hurt to confess her lowest moments. “Let’s argue for a minute that he did all of that to get in good with Alster. That he boasted my praises during that ceremony, and then saved the wife of someone who was at the time one of the most influential people of Stella D’Mare. It could earn him a valuable favour from a powerful caster. Sure, let’s assume that, for a second. But at that point, he was already in Alster’s good graces--so then what motivation would he have to help me through an identity crisis that very nearly tore me and my husband apart? Why take the time to help us reconnect, when he could already hold it over Alster’s head that he’d saved my life?”

It was a question that she couldn’t answer. That she’d wondered, time and again, until at last she’d realized… it was something that a friend would do. A friend who cared. And sometimes, caring for someone came unconditionally. “When I recovered and began to develop… magic--around the same time you decided you never wanted to talk to me or see me again--I struggled with my image. With my identity. I’m a former knight; it’s always been my place and my calling. Not a… mage. And yet, here I am. I can channel celestial energy with my sword. I didn’t know who I was, or if it meant there was a part of me that I should throw away, and at the same time you pushed me away, I pushed away Alster. But Hadwin wouldn’t see that happen. So he… helped us. He didn’t have to, but he did.

“How he helped us… isn’t important.” The heat at the back of her neck crept into her cheeks. “But it doesn’t stop there, Bronwyn. It didn’t stop when he saved me. When he ventured off with Teselin first to save Sigrid, but ended up saving Briery, instead. It didn’t stop when he coordinated his skills with me to help me get Alster back, when he was stuck in the etherrealms… that’s a long story. But the gist of all of this should be clear. If you are asking me if I trust your brother, then the answer is yes--I do. Because for all he’s a shameless bastard, he helps people. He can be selfless, and all manner of relationships matter to him. He has backed me when I needed it, and so I will back him… to the best of my ability. I’m not sure how much help I will be when Alster and I relocate to the farmlands. It isn’t safe for us to be here. But I digress. Here’s the thing, Bronwyn.”

Elespeth unfolded her hands and grasped the arms of the chair, pushing herself into a straighter, more upright position. “Here’s the thing, Bronwyn. Pardon my language, but Galeyn is going through a fucking Nightmare right now. We’re about to relinquish control to a sorceress with a more questionable moral framework, so I’m sorry if this seems like I am invalidating your concerns… but you have much more dangerous enemies to fear than your brother. You want to know what I think? I think he cares for you. I think he cares for your sister, but the thing is, he also cares for other people. He cares for Briery and the Missing Links. He cares for Teselin. And if there is a way that he can get through the Rowen, he will. But I guarantee, he will not let her lay a hand on anyone else he cares for. He will not let her hurt the people in his life who matter. That does not mean she doesn’t matter to him… But it does mean she isn’t the only one who matters. He will not turn his back on everyone else for Rowen’s sake, just because she can’t sate her bloodlust. And if that, Bronwyn… if that makes him untrustworthy to you…” Elespeth pressed a hard, sharp sigh from her lungs. The conversation had gotten her more worked up than she was comfortable with. “Then I strongly suggest you reevaluate where you stand, and take a good, long look at the bigger picture. Because if you would see more people fall just because your little sister wants them to--one of whom would probably be this woman here, who has offered to look out for you, since Rowen knows she matters to Hadwin--then I’m sorry if I offend, I would say Hadwin is, frankly, the most trustworthy of the Kavanaghs.”

At last, she rose from her seat, having had enough of this conversation. She was tired, and anxious, and the way Bronwyn had treated her when they’d last spoken… it did not leave her with the desire to argue with the woman. Not when her word was probably worth dirt to her. “You should take care, who you choose to trust. Of course someone with your… Sight should take good care, in that respect. But if you really want my opinion, Bronwyn, then you are suspecting the wrong person.” Moving toward the door, the former knight paused with her hand on the handle. “By the way--wasn’t it Rowen who discarded you, just now? And wasn’t it Hadwin who took you back? He could have refused; he could have told Nia it didn’t matter, what happened to you. But he didn’t… he didn’t.”

It was with those words and thoughts that Elespeth at last left her, pulling open the door and then promptly closing it behind her.

Lilica hadn’t slept the night before, and it was just before dawn that she’d dressed and ventured into the council room to think. Any hour, any minute, Locque would be arriving, with Nia and Rowen in tow, no doubt. Today was the day that she let her kingdom down. Today was the day that she surrendered, in full, to the sorceress that wanted complete and total control over Galeyn… and she intended to hand it to her, willingly.

Alster and Elespeth had left the night before, bound for the farmlands. Isidor shut himself away in his room and frankly hadn’t been seen or heard from for days. Vega and Haraldur had organized double the Forbanne guards to look out for their children and the nurses who tended them when they were occupied. Who even knew what the hell Hadwin was up to, and Teselin had already checked in on her earlier than morning, only to be sent away. The same went for Chara, when she joined her at the long table at sunrise.

“Chara… you need to go, for now.” She’d said, quietly, slowly, her eyes fixed on the table without really seeing it. “I’ve arranged to meet with the witch, alone. Today, she gets what she wants… but we aren’t going to win with sharp words and threats. We are going to win with patience and biding our time. I need you to trust me, on this.” Tearing her dark eyes away from the table, she turned to Chara and took one of her hands. “You need to trust me, right now. I’m going to be alright. Every guard on this palace is on alert, and Locque doesn’t need me dead to seize power. Otherwise, I’d be dead already. I am going to talk to her, discuss her terms, what she plans… and we will reconvene later. Somewhere else, outside of this palace. She can’t know,” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “that we are not actually giving up.”

It took a few more minutes of reassurance, but at last, Chara left her alone in the council chamber, where she awaited news of the sorceress’s arrival. She waited, and waited, but none came. As it turned out, Locque hadn’t intended to announce her presence to the world, just yet. And when she decided to speak with Lilica, she manifested in the center of the room, soundlessly, like particles all coming together in mid air.

Lilica’s heart raced. This was her--the witch everyone feared. And yet, she seemed so… plain. But she knew better than to misjudge. “You’re not fond of doors.” It was the first thing she could think to say, to break the deafening silence as Locque took a seat from several paces away.

“I am not fond of unwanted attention.” The sorceress amended, her eyes fixed intently on Lilica’s face. “You do resemble your father. For all he hated me, were it not for my interference a century ago… you would not have been conceived.”

“Are you expecting me to thank you for my existence?” 

“Of course not. I wouldn’t be so naive.” A hint of a smile curled on Locque’s lips. “You seem on edge. Please allow me to clarify my intentions, Lilica. Your arrangements don’t need to change. Keep your chambers and your routines, no one is to be relocated. I am not here to overthrow you. Rather, I am hoping we might work together.”

Lilica’s confusion was palpable. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“I thought as much. If you’ll have it, I am happy to explain.”

Sometime later, a handful of hours, to be exact, Lilica took her leave of the council chambers, simultaneously pale and flushed, and immediately made for her bedroom, where she ran into Chara halfway. She smiled, but it was strained, and there was clearly much, much more that she wanted to say… but it was not safe to say, here. Locque had ears everywhere: but they had already decided as much, and had prepared for discussion within the palace to be at its most discreet.“She wants a partnership.” She said outright, trying to sound relieved, but it was clear that she was far from it. “Not to overthrow me, but to work with me, at least for the time being. Until I am comfortable relinquishing full control to her; and until she is comfortable with that power. We worried for nothing. It will all be fine.” She is hiding behind me. So that I can take the fall if something goes wrong, and so that the kingdom will blame their old Queen--not their new one, her eyes seemed to say as they bore into Chara’s. “Alster and Elespeth fled for nothing. They are perfectly welcome here. In fact, I think we should take it upon ourselves to inform them, tonight.”

“Taking the transition better than I thought, Lilica.” The two women turned to the source of the voice--Vitali, who made his way around the corner, looking particularly… relaxed. Accomplished. And entirely suspicious.

Every muscle in Lilica’s body was tense. Staying her anger, her fear, was proving more difficult than she’d thought. “Not as well as you are, Vitali.”

“Don’t be sore, sister. I am being genuine when I say, this is not at all personal. Nothing against you.” The necromancer shrugged his shoulders and smiled, the probable malevolence in his eyes hidden by his blindfold. “I’ve said before, I simply always play the winning side.”

“Side? Your sorceress is interested in working with me, Vitali. Not against me.”

Her brother paused, considering her words, and then patted her condescendingly on the shoulder. “Of course she is. Do you really think I would willingly work with someone who meant ill will toward my own flesh and blood? Relax, Lilica. You’re a smart woman. You always seem to know just the right decision to make, at the right time.”

Lilica couldn’t hide the fire in his eyes as she stared at Vitali’s retreating back, and when she finally turned back to Chara, the message was clear: Yes, he betrayed us. And why are we surprised? “Alster took a resonance stone with him. Come on; we can tell him to prepare for a quick visit, tonight. I think he’ll be happy to hear the news.”

Without another word, she took Chara by the hand, and led her back to their shared chambers, its marble floor forever marred from her once errant magic. The resonance stone in question was on one of the nightstands, sure enough, but she didn’t make for it right away. Instead, she released Chara’s hand, but only long enough to take her face in her hands and press a kiss to her mouth. A hungry kiss, a desperate one, that was loaded with far more than just affection or desire. Her lips trailed from her mouth to her jaw, and then to her ear, where she whispered, low and soft, “Tonight. We need to talk--all of us, away from the palace. It isn’t safe, here.”

The long-dreaded day had finally arrived for the denizens of Galeyn and Chara, like Lilica, found no respite in slumber. She awoke carrying the same frenetic energy she had taken to bed the night before, and nothing about hanging between consciousness and rest reprieved the tenterhooks gripping her in suspension. All night long, she dangled over a bottomless precipice, holding her breath so that the tenuous clips keeping her aloft would not snap and send her plummeting into the chasm. For, if she misplaced a shudder or shifted in the slightest, Lilica, who in this nightmare clung to her arms for dear life, untethered from any harness or protection to prevent her descent, would surely fall, first. What else could Chara do but secure her tightly? If she let her guard down for a minute and blinked, she would let go, release Lilica, and watch her vanish forever, into the sorceress’s abysmal maw. Gone, gone, gone…

Chara jerked to full consciousness, jolting bolt upright in bed. A dream. Or was it? One quick look at Lilica’s side of their shared bed revealed crumpled sheets, but no body. While it was not unusual for one to begin their morning before the other even stirred, in the aftermath of her disconcerting dream, anything short of seeing her partner in the flesh was simply unacceptable. 

In a scramble, she hopped to her feet and hurried through her morning routine, applying her most austere face-pigments—dark lipstick, sharp cheekbones, kohl-lined eyes pinioned to precision—bunching her hair into a tidy updo, and donning a red, form-fitting gown, a pre-chosen ensemble selected for their encounter with Locque. No one knew what to expect today, on the agreed-upon date of surrender, but the palace was rightly implementing extreme measures. Under the guise of welcoming their new monarch, an honor-guard comprised of Forbanne and the palace’s finest lined the grand entryway. Remembering, from Alster’s briefing, Locque’s probable aversion to the Dawn Guard, she and Lilica ordered the majority of Roen’s forces to remain inconspicuous, but not hidden—in case the volatile sorceress expected an ambuscade.

As for Chara, she planned to rendezvous with Lilica in the council chambers to take her rightful place as her royal advisor: always at her side. She rushed down the hallway, her strides purposeful and bounding, one level removed from running. When she burst through the council-room doors, she was beyond relieved to see Lilica, alone and unscathed, and calmly resting in her chair. Chara’s advance to the seat with her name on it stopped short, however, at the Galeyn queen’s announcement to leave.

“You need me to go?!” Her eyebrows shot upward in incredulity. “What are you on about, Lilica? I am your advisor. My place is here. Are you implying you deliberately excluded me from meeting with the witch? You say to trust you, but you cannot trust my ability to navigate the necessary social nuances without resorting to aggression?” She fisted her hands on the table, struggling not to expose the outer fringes of the aforementioned ‘aggression.’ “I will not utter a word out of turn. I shall stopper my tongue if it means my allowance to stay.” The corners of her sharp-lined eyes softened. “Please, Lilica. Do not make me beg. If I were to loosen my grip and release you…” trailing off, she shook her head to banish the stubborn aftereffects of her dream. “I do not want you to face her on your own.”

But Lilica had made up her mind, and no further argument on Chara’s part would persuade her otherwise. Defeated, she retreated from the table, transferring the fists to her sides. “I do hope you are careful. Promise you will tread around this woman with caution. You have no offensive magic with which to defend yourself, should you displease her. We cannot assume this unstable woman will operate logically, and we know how solid her ‘word’ is: agreeing to accept Alster’s surrender and tossing him into the ether-realms not one breath later. If you will not permit anyone to be in the room with you, then you must contend with my decision to post Forbanne guards outside these doors, because it is non-negotiable. If they hear a sliver of discord inside, they are given clearance to enter, and that’s final.” Spinning on her heels, she marched from the table and punched the doors open, a gesture to punctuate just how much the rejection aggravated her...and frightened her. 

Hours of whiling away in the Night Garden and busying her restless legs yielded no relief from the excruciating wait. Periodically (translation: every ten minutes), she’d return to the council-chambers and entreated the Forbanne guards to provide an update. Though they reported that no woman had ever entered the chambers, they could confirm, by the muffled voices inside, that Queen Lilica was distinctly conversing with someone else. 

En route to her umpteenth check-up, she encountered none other than Lilica, herself, who was looking rather...unreadable. Her words radiated good news, but her eyes crinkled under some invisible strain, betraying the relief in her tone. At first, Chara didn’t understand the underlying message, convinced that Locque had placed her under thrall, like Sigrid. But the more she watched her partner’s non-verbal cues, the more she grasped the truth. Considering how, in no universe, she would ever respond to such information affirmatively, Chara contributed to their guise by questioning her decision in huffs of loud disapproval. “Frankly, I don’t see how this is cause for celebration, but I am no diplomat, and I’ve no patience for compromises. Yes, let’s visit Alster and Elespeth, so he can better explain to me exactly how beneficial this agreement is to us.” 

Before they could relocate to their chambers, an uninvited guest slithered himself into their company. “Vitali.” She had no trouble divining his expression beneath the blindfold when his voice painted for them a picture of smugness at the height of its arrogance. It was fortunate she no longer possessed her original magic, for she wouldn’t hesitate to blast a ream of light into the crevices where his protective blindfold couldn’t reach...and snap the pendant from his neck, for good measure. Alas, she followed Lilica’s model and projected calm...and flagrant dismissal. 

“Oh, is that all, then?” she said loftily. “How quaint of you to look at life as a game of chess. Run along, now,” she made a lazy shooing motion with her fingertips, as though she couldn’t be bothered to put any effort into her gesture. “Play your game. I do hope you have fun. As with all games, enjoyment is paramount; winning is secondary. Otherwise, one could not define it as ‘play.’ And we are all here to play, but not for sport or competition. Do go and find a cooperative romp for us to partake in, won’t you?” 

Hand in hand, they retreated to their chambers. No sooner did Chara close the door than Lilica planted her lips against her mouth in a devouring kiss. She returned it with gusto, resting her hands on the other woman’s hips and hugging her so close, they nearly melded as one person—a perfect formation for whispers to go undetected by prying ears. 

“I hear you,” she affirmed, peppering her words in between caressing Lilica’s jawline with her lips. “Tonight. I’ll send them a message through the resonance stone. Promptly. ...Semi-promptly.” She stole a few more kisses. “While I have you...I’m loath to release you, this time.”

Upon their evening arrival at the farmhouse, armed with enough provisions to last for months, or until the fields yielded fresh fruit and vegetables, Alster wasted no time preparing the site for warding. Since interacting with Locque in the ether-realms, he gained the unique advantage of recognizing her distinct energy patterns and when they lingered nearby. The wards in question were nothing fancy; a collection of nondescript rocks he enchanted and linked to his memory of Locque’s essence, spelled to ring a warning in his mind whenever she, either in the flesh or as a spirit, encroached on their territory. In his thoroughness, he also warded against Sigrid by way of Gaolithe, a sword that ejected a very noticeable signature, and against Rowen by previously smearing some of Hadwin’s blood (which he willingly donated) over the rocks. For Nia, whose blood he couldn’t obtain, and who didn’t exude a magical signature, he concentrated on the fabric of her runes which he had contacted upon their mutual handshake, a conduit that radiated a different aural composition than an untampered human. Through analyzing her strange human aura, its type similar to Isidor’s and, he assumed, to all Master Alchemists, he was able to weave a weak but hopefully effective net that would alert him to her presence. Finally, to complete his night-long project, for it had taken the evening and well into the morning, he designed an illusory shroud to surround the perimeter of the house and grounds, activated only by the discretion of its creator, and used to conceal any suspicious activities, both audio and visual, from leaking out to undesirable eyes. Doubling as a sound barrier, any conversation heard by an outside party, an uninvited guest, or a remote eavesdropper, would translate as either mundane, boring, everyday drivel, indistinct garbles, or as an obscure language. Owing to its sheer complexity, the final group of enchantments cost him sleepless hours of intense focus and spellcasting, a feat his frail, recovering body did not appreciate. By implanting these spells into the rocks as enchantments, it lifted the physical strain from the mage in the long-term and preserved both his concentration and stamina for other, more pertinent tasks. And, should Locque see through his illusions and wards, always a possibility, considering the scope of her power, a detail he would never underestimate again, he’d simply explain that he, too, valued his privacy.

Pleased with his work, he headed for the bed in the curtained-off backroom, apologizing to Elespeth for abandoning her to the more laborious, thankless chores of unpacking and tidying up their rustic living quarters, but promising to help after receiving a few hours of rest. But his much-welcomed--and needed--slumber was interrupted by a loud buzzing on the nightstand. Groggily, he rose up from his sprawled position to answer the message. 

“Elespeth,” he stumbled out of the room prematurely, hugging the walls when his legs, still not accustomed to standing, threatened to buckle beneath him. To combat the threat of keeling over, he transferred to the nearest chair and sat upon its inviting cushions--only to discover it was Vitali’s favored chair. He shifted in the seat, trying and failing to induce discomfort as an excuse to stand and relocate to another chair, but to no avail. “Of course you choose the most comfortable spot in the house for yourself,” he grumbled under his breath to the remnants of Vitali’s residual energy, which flitted about the room like little smug ghosts wearing matching, matter-of-fact smirks. 

Once settled, he called again for Elespeth’s attention. “El--I just spoke with Chara. She and Lilica are paying us a visit, tonight. She said they wanted to hear our opinions about Locque’s current ruling and the possible ‘benefits’ it may grant for the kingdom. Knowing Chara’s general disagreeableness about any ordinance she herself did not create or oversee...well, whatever happened today, I doubt the sorceress granted anyone a boon. The palace is now compromised. Any messages that we receive from here on out will be heavily filtered by our informants on the inside.”

Too anxious to return to sleep, Alster spent the remainder of the day assisting Elespeth in general house upkeep and in preparing a supper of rice and dried vegetable stew, which they spiced up with some of the (milder) ingredients Tivia left behind in the pantry. After supper, they brewed some hot water on the kettle in anticipation of Chara and Lilica’s arrival. The sounds of clattering hooves and screeching wheels outside, followed by a prompt knocking on the door, notified the Rigas couple of their expected visitors. 

On entering the tiny farmhouse, Chara shut the door behind Lilica, shrugged out of her plush overcoat, and looked between Alster and Elespeth, her eyes dancing in desperation to unload on them the events of the day.

“The farmhouse is warded and I don’t sense Locque’s presence. You’re safe to talk,” Alster said, granting Chara the reassurance she was waiting to hear. 

Sighing loud and heavy, Chara plopped on a chair in the kitchen and gladly took a cup of tea from her cousin’s outstretched hand. “Lilica will have to detail her meeting with the witch, but the short of it is that Locque expresses interest in a ‘cooperative’ rule. Lilica will maintain her title and position for the time being until she feels confident in ceding the throne to Locque, and until Locque is confident in accepting the throne. Presumably, we believe Locque’s intent is to scapegoat Lilica as a means of control. Should any of us overstep our boundaries or act against her, or if she does something untoward, Lilica will receive the brunt of the blame. If we’re to oppose her, we must proceed carefully and with caution. She cannot know of our open dissent. We must assume that any inter-palace correspondence will be strictly monitored by Locque or her riffraff retinue. To prevent inciting suspicion, we must limit our farmhouse meetings to a minimum capacity. There are precious few excuses we are able to make. Friendly visits or provisions delivery--they will only suffice for so long. So, Alster,” she curled her fingers around the untouched cup of tea, “if it is necessary, can you arrange a multi-link connection through our dreams? You’ve handled this, once before, between Lilica and me.”

Alster took a seat opposite Chara, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling in consideration and thought. “It would take a fair amount of coordination and ideal sleeping conditions, but if said conditions are met, then I daresay I could arrange such a meeting. In the Night Garden, you are not without an abundance of herbs for improving sleep and inducing dreams. Take whatever is helpful before you retire to bed.” He nodded over his shoulder at Elespeth. “Between El and me, our blood bond improves and increases the chances of sharing our dreams. Often, we appear in the sanctum that we built, together. If we can mutually agree upon a sanctum’s design, I’ll create the appropriate dreamscape in my mind. Then, you need only to meditate upon the scene as you drift to slumber, and if you are successful, I’ll be able to summon you to the sanctum.”

“Excellent. Well,” she took a dainty sip of tea, “we are all quite intimately acquainted with the council-chambers by now. Why not design the sanctum in its likeness?”

Alster scratched the side of his head, his mouth stretching into a downturn of doubt. “Perhaps we should try devising a sanctum and derive it from something a bit more iconic? A picture you can reliably meditate upon, for instance?”

“Please, Alster,” Chara groaned, “I haven’t the fortitude to endure your circumlocution. If you have an idea, spit it out already.”

“As you wish,” he stared down at his cup. “I suggest we meditate upon the sentinel tree. We all bear some affinity to it. Lilica, as monarch, you are the Garden’s steward; it follows your commands. Chara, your magic is a marriage of celestial and Night Garden energies. I’ve done some energy-work through the leylines, and El, it maintained your beating heart and prevented your condition from worsening. Eventually, we might be able to include Haraldur, who is in direct communication with the tree, and Vega, but their schedules vary and are contingent upon their children.” He tapped the handle of his cup with a steel digit; it emitted a sweet chime, a tiny bell tolling the hour. “Choosing the tree as our sanctum has additional benefits. As a sacred place, even my mind’s poor imitation of it bears a powerful contact to its leyline. Simply borrowing its image will be enough to strengthen our connections to each other and increase our chances of success.”

“Then it is settled.” Chara tipped her cup towards Alster and the others, as a toast. “Every night before we slumber, we shall meditate upon the sentinel tree and resume our business in the dream-realms. Meanwhile, we’ll continue to come to the farmlands for periodic visits. Locque does not restrict our freedom of movement--as of now. Oh,” she lowered her cup to the table, “lest I forget; it has been revealed that Vitali is in cahoots with Locque. For how long, I cannot express. I know this is not a surprising development, but,” her legs twisted and writhed beneath the chair, “dammit all if I don’t want to slit that duplicitous bastard’s throat.”

For all the lack of sleep she’d gotten over the past handful of days, paired with the excess nervous energy that had been building up until it peaked at this very point, Lilica was happy to fall into Chara’s arms and stay there, following her first real encounter with the witch of Galeyn. Frankly, it had been some time since they two of them had found a moment to enjoy one another’s company behind closed doors, and while this was likely far from the best time, expelling those trying thoughts by way of finding blissful distraction in Chara’s body and company took the place of her desire to scream profanity into a pillow. Although the current Galeynian Queen had exuded a calm and collected manner in the presence of both her allies and her subjects, frustration and fear had been building inside for months, now. It was only a matter of time before something drastic happened--perhaps another resurgence of her once toxic magic that forever marred the marble floors of her palace, or worse, the possibility of lashing out at Locque and telling her exactly what was on her mind. This lingering distraction, which indeed lasted more than a few minutes and ended with their hair all a mess and their clothes discarded on the floor, left the both of them adequately exhausted, such that Lilica even managed a brief hour of semi-restful sleep.

True to her word, Chara was sure to alert Alster via resonance stone to prepare for their visit that evening. It wasn’t a matter of if he could take time for their visit; it was a must, and who better but the Queen’s headstrong advisor to inform him that he really had no choice in the matter? So later that evening, they had a carriage prepared to depart at dusk. But as much as Lilica was loath to set her eyes upon the sorceress again, it would not bode well for them to take off at nightfall without explaining. Or, rather, providing some sort of explanation as to their departure, to allay and suspicions. After some searching (and smoothing her clothes and hair to make her earlier ventures in the sheets a little less obvious), she found Locque yet again in the council chambers. It made her wonder if the woman had ever left.

Locque wasn’t alone in the room with its vast, oaken table. Another woman stood at her side, long brunette hair half tied back and woven into a braid that resembled a rose. It only took Lilica a beat to realize the identity of the witch’s company. “You are Anetania Ardane.” She spoke directly to the Master Alchemist, who made no move to correct her; aside from Rowen Kavanagh (who was much smaller in stature, reportedly), or the Dawn Warrior that she could recognize on sight, there was no other alternative that she was aware of.

The Master Alchemist grinned from ear to ear, and angled her head in a humble ‘Who, me?’ form of gesture. “Please, that’s such a mouthful. Only my mother ever called me by my full name; well, and Locque, here, seems to see fit that a moniker won’t suffice. But, you can just call me Nia. No more, no less. And you…” She moved further along the table, to clear a bit of distance between herself and the Galeynian monarch. “You are Queen Lilica. Your Majesty, it really is an honour.” She held out a hand across the table, but doubled back when she realized she was being ridiculous. “No--no, Queens don’t shake. Please forgive me. For all I grew up very close to nobility, I didn’t get much of an opportunity to attend many formal events, or encounter the nobility themselves. I’m kind of an idiot when it comes to that. Nonetheless--it is a pleasure to finally meet you!”

There weren’t enough words for Lilica to express just how much she did not return the sentiment. But now was neither the time nor the place to tell either of them exactly what was on her mind. “Please forgive me if I am interrupting.” She went on, completely ignoring Nia, otherwise, and settled her dark gaze on Locque. “Chara and I are departing for the farmlands to inform Alster and Elespeth Rigas of what you and I spoke of, earlier. They, among all of us, were under the impression that you would be overseeing this kingdom alone. As that will not be the case, I think it is important for them to know the details. I only thought to inform you in case our abrupt departure this evening left you confused, or… thinking that we have started off on the wrong foot.”

It was impossible to read the majority of the sorceress’s facial expressions, Lilica had come to realize. Whether or not she was at all suspicious of her declaration to take off to the farmlands wasn’t obvious, and despite that her response was probably meant to come across as reassuring, it was far from it. “Of course, Lilica. I am sorry that Alster Rigas and his wife saw fit to remove themselves from their otherwise comfortable dwelling. My Master Alchemist, here, negotiated a ceasefire between the two of us, after all. Do tell him that he is more than welcome to return whenever he sees fit--at no risk of violence. Not on my part.”

“I cannot foresee him making that decision, unfortunately”. Lilica shook her head slowly. “What you did… it could have killed him. When he had sought you out to offer his own surrender.”

“I will admit… I overreacted, quite badly, in that instance. Of course, I have my doubts that offering an apology at this point in time will suffice.”

“I’m afraid you’re right. Locque,” real sadness slipped into the dark mage’s voice as she sighed quietly. “This kingdom has been living in fear of you for at least a year, now. Ever since it came back into being, people have needlessly died. However good your intentions might be now, in the aftermath… I cannot guarantee that they will be so inclined to simply forgive and forget. Of course they will accept you, but… that is only because you have not given them a choice.

The sorceress didn’t reply right away. She settled her gaze intently on Lilica. If she was looking for deceit, or anything of the sort, she wouldn’t find it, and she knew it: there was nothing untrue about the Tenebris monarch’s outlook. “I understand that. Anetania and I have discussed the situation at length. But this is in part why I am hoping you will partner with me for a time, Lilica. The kingdom has your trust: you are their late king’s daughter. They may not be at ease with me, but they are with you.” A touch of a smile curled at the corners of her mouth. It looked… unnatural on her. “If you can show them that this transition is not for them to fear… then I am confident we can encourage it to manifest smoothly.”

“With respect, Locque… if you are to rule these people, then that is something you must show them. Not me.” Lilica clasped her hands in front of her. “But if having me closeby will help you to do that, then of course you have my cooperation. I’ll inform Alster of your reassurances, but… I wouldn’t expect him to change his mind.”

And that was all she had to say. With no intention to make smalltalk with Locque, Lilica turned to leave, but was cut short by the Master Alchemist’s obnoxious voice. “Oh, Lil… Your Majesty… damnit, what should I call you? I don’t want to step on anyone’s feet or anything, but I did notice there’s an abundance of empty rooms in this fine establishment. Does it matter to you where I shack up?”

Lilica shook her head and forced her shoulders to relax. “It makes no difference to me where you choose to sleep. Although… it does make a difference to our other Master Alchemist. Isidor. He is a very private man, and I’m afraid there is no easy way to say this, but he would prefer that you keep your distance as much as possible. His chamber is located in the far east wing, but if it is all the same to you, you’ll find vacancies in the west wing.”

With a parting nod, Lilica quietly took her leave of the councilroom, resisting the urge to bolt, if only to put distance between her and the sorceress as soon as possible. Nia was left standing with a look of mild concern and confusion, and a little bit of frustration. “Wow. For someone who has never even met me, the guy is awfully adamant to hate me.” She mentioned, and shook her head. “Well, it is what it is. Can’t expect everyone to love us right away. Maybe he’ll come around. Is there anything you need, my new Galeynian Queen? If not… I’m going to go snag the room with the biggest damn bed I can find. After years of sleeping in cramped, aching spaces, my body deserves to sprawl like a starfish!”

The carriage ride, however swift it might have been with the Night Steeds, was quiet and uncomfortable on the way to the farmhouse. As much as Lilica had loads to get off her mind, it didn’t feel safe to speak, though Chara assured her that Alster would likely have warded the farmhouse to the best of his abilities from a certain witch’s prying ears. Gone was that brief reprieve of bliss she’d found with Chara earlier that morning, replaced as it was by dread and hopelessness. But if she knew Alster at all, then she would not have to keep these feelings to herself for long. Between them, surely they could find a way to communicate semi-regularly without the need to make frequent trips to the borders of the kingdom. Sooner or later, Locque would begin to find that suspicious.

When at last they arrived, Chara only knocked once before inviting the both of them in, seeing no reason for politesse when Alster and Elespeth were already aware of their impending arrival, and likely had a clue or two as to what needed to be discussed. No sooner did Alster mention that the farmhouse was, indeed, a safe place to speak, that she sighed as if she’d been holding onto that breath all day long. “It is as Chara says,” she confirmed, glad that the Rigas woman was able to preface what had transpired that day. She wasn’t sure she had the energy to go into all of the details. “She is interested in a ‘partnership’--according to her own words. But it is not of any concern for our benefit. Frankly, she doesn’t know what the hell she is doing… and laughably, she assumes that I do. She wants me to help her segue into the throne in a manner that will upset the people of Galeyn the least. I think she sees fit to keep me close instead of at arm’s length so that she can have a continual read on my behaviour… which brings me to my suggestion.”

Taking a seat at the table, the dark-haired woman’s shoulders sagged. “She knows to keep her enemies closer than her friends. And for that… whatever we plan to take her down, I think it would be safest to leave me out of future discussions. I don’t know the extent of her power, or how far she can reach, but if I know something pertinent to her downfall, there is a chance that she will find out. Keeping me apprised will only put the lot of you at risk, so…” Looking up from the table, her dark eyes sought those of everyone in the room. “However you plan to correspond in the future, I think it would be best if I am not part of it. Not until the day comes that you have formulated a plan and are ready to take her down. Likewise, I will do my own brainstorming, and since I will likely remain closer to her than anyone else, I will do my best to keep you apprised of whatever I happen to learn.”

“But, Lilica… if you aren’t aware of what we plan, there is the chance that you might get caught up in it all. That you might get hurt in the crossfire.” Elespeth pointed out, her brow furrowed with concern. “It may be just as unsafe if you don’t know what we are planning. It’s crucial that you be in the know.”

“Then let me know at the last possible moment. Tell me what you must, but… the less that I know, the less danger we will all be in. I know this is not ideal, but it is the safest way to approach this situation. Oh, and Alster… the sorceress did mention that you are welcome to dwell within the palace. I told her that it is unlikely you’d be willing to relocate back, but if at any point you need to be closer to her to learn more, your safety is guaranteed--if her words mean anything at all. And, at that… Chara is, unfortunately, telling the truth.”

The Tenebris monarch sighed and curled her fingers into tight fists at her side. “Vitali has been fucking playing us all along. I don’t know how long he has been cooperating with Locque, or if he has even been doing anything for her, but he made it very clear where he stands. To save his own ass, of course. I’m… such a fucking idiot.” Against her better judgment, Lilica slammed one of her fists into the table, chest heaving with anger she hadn’t felt safe to express until now. “We never should have let him back into the damned palace. We never should have helped him! I knew it. I knew that he would take the cowardly route and ally himself with the most powerful ally, in the end. Why in all hell did I think, even for a second, that he could really change? Why did I believe any of the bullshit he spouted?”

Her fist met with the table again, hard enough to rouse concern in Elespeth, who moved from where she stood next to Alster to fetch a cloth. “It wasn’t just you. We were all fooled, Lilica--he played all of us. And I do believe that sooner or later, he will get what is coming to him. So save your rage for him… not your hand.” She covered the dark mage’s knuckles, which were slightly scraped and bloodied, with the clean cloth. 

As if only now realizing the consequences of her fist meeting the table, Lilica sat back in her seat and deflated. “I’m sorry. That I can’t be of more help, and that I don’t know what to do. Not yet. But I will play Locque by her own game. If she intends to keep me close, then I will use that to my advantage.”

“If you cannot meet us in your dreams, Lilica… then consider speaking with Isidor. Pass on to him what you know. He has established an alchemical means of communicating with Alster--and in another language, at that.” She motioned to the twin glyph sitting upon a table behind them. “It should go undetected by Locque. And considering how seldom he sleeps… I imagine it may be the only way to relay any information to him on our part, as well. As for Haraldur and Vega, we will do what we can to include them, given their children allow them favourable sleeping habits at some point in time. And… Hadwin and Teselin…”

“They can’t know. At least… not Teselin.” The Queen--former Queen? Half-Queen?--insisted, looking up from her lap. “Not until the girl realizes for herself that there is no redeeming that sorceress. Hadwin will go along with whatever she desires, for fear of upsetting her, otherwise. For now, we will have to leave it to her to come to conclusions on her own. And if her antics end up putting her in danger… then I don’t know that anything can be done, for her. Not without putting everyone else at risk.”

“Lilica.” Chara enunciated her name as would a parent scolding a misbehaving child, a tone counter to her desirous purr from their earlier tussle in the bedsheets. “I do hope your decision to keep ignorant of our plans for Locque’s defeat does not imply your willingness to dismiss my post as advisor and go at this misadventure alone. To you, I am second in import, lest we forget. If you are to spend the bulk of your time training Locque to supplant you, then it is only natural that I am close behind. So that my words are not mistaken, what I mean is in the same room.” A surge of intensity overtook her bearing as she glared cold fire at Lilica. “You will not shunt me aside, again.”

Mindful of their lover’s quarrel, or the beginnings of one, Alster, in a bid to capture their attention, set his cup of tea with a noisy clatter upon the table. Fortunately, they redirected their focus to him. “Whatever you choose, Chara, it may behoove you to take the same precautions as Lilica to ensure Locque won’t discover our plans. If she doesn’t suspect foul-play from Lilica, the next person she’ll prise for information...is you. It is better you remain uninformed, as well. As for involving Teselin and Hadwin...I agree with Lilica.” He nodded to the Galeynian Queen. The only Galeynian Queen he would recognize. “Teselin has declared that she will oppose our attempts to violently overthrow the sorceress. While Hadwin doesn’t necessarily prescribe to Teselin’s ideologies and knows how to keep a secret, even from her,” he based this assertion on the fact that the promiscuous faoladh hadn’t yet revealed to everyone within yelling radius about his and Elespeth’s scandalous menage a trois, “I expect he will have his hands full with Rowen Kavanagh. Which brings me to another concern we haven’t discussed. If Rowen can detect darkness in others—‘ill-will,’ as Hadwin puts it—seeing as we mean ill-will to her and to Locque, wouldn’t it stand to reason that she will detect our collective deceit and inform the witch about us?”

“This...is very true,” Chara sighed the intensity off her face. “It does not matter how clandestine we are in approaching our takeover if Rowen whispers her insights into Locque’s ear. I daresay this conversation will incriminate you and Elespeth if that murderous she-wolf is to meet my or Lilica’s gaze.”

“It goes without saying, but the fewer encounters and interactions you have with Rowen, the better. As it stands, Elespeth and I are currently safer in the farmlands, as proximity to the she-wolf will most assuredly reveal my hostile attitudes towards the sorceress. So, until she is no longer an issue, we cannot join you at the palace. It seems to me,” Alster brought the teacup to his lips, “that before we are able to devise the details of Locque’s downfall, we must first subdue Rowen Kavanagh. Unfortunately, the only person able to do that without voiding our truce...is her brother.”

“So again, we must rely on the mongrel to do the right thing,” Chara furiously beat her fingernails on the table. “So how do we proceed? Do we sit and hold our breaths, waiting for the unlikely chance that Hadwin kills his own sister? Because, to me, nothing short of stilling her heartbeat is likely to stop that little twit. And with the foul necromancer licking Locque’s boots, he could simply revive her!” 

“It looks like we are restricted to observation; you’re not wrong. For now, keep us abreast of the palace goings-on through Isidor’s glyph slate. As for Vitali,” he glanced at Lilica’s makeshift bandaged hand, a victim of her completely warranted rage, “please observe him, too.”

“How can you be so calm and dismissive about him, Alster?!” In a reflection of Lilica, Chara drove her hand into the table; not enough to draw blood, but enough to knock over her half-full cup of tea, spilling its contents over the table’s well-worn wood surface and impelling Alster to also produce a cloth. As he lapped up the puddle, Chara, undeterred, went on. “We should have listened to Haraldur. He was adamant against allowing Vitali into the palace, and for good reason! Stars, even Hadwin offered his suspicions over the smug bastard’s wolf-scratch! Meanwhile, you,” she pointed an accusing finger at Alster, “fought with a trusted comrade so you could sing Vitali’s praises! Bear in mind, we went ahead with resolving his curse on your insistence. Tell me, you don’t shoulder any responsibility? Not an ounce of the guilt you love to bandy about when something does not go as you intended?” 

Alster did not rise to Chara’s bait. Calmly, he soaked up the tea-puddle and calmly, he met his cousin’s stinging gaze, unaffected. “I always feel responsible, and guilty, but that is beside the point. I do not presume to change your mind, but I will offer this detail. He swore a blood oath, to Isidor and, most importantly, to Tivia, vowing to act in our best interests. Blood oaths are always binding; not even a sorceress of Locque’s caliber can break one. Certainly, he is able to skew and interpret the vow in his favor, but a blood oath is less about words and more about intent. If he wasn’t sincere, the oath would not have worked.” Once satisfied, he removed the damp, tea-stained cloth from the table and placed it in a bucket reserved for dirty rags. “Tivia and Isidor reported a sensation; an unmistakable tingle, a clear indication of the ritual’s success. So, while it may seem apparent that Vitali is working for Locque, it does not mean he is loyal to her. Not that he’s particularly loyal to anyone, but I find it difficult that he would betray Tivia. I don’t entirely trust him,” he traced the scar on his left palm, a match to the one on Elespeth’s hand, “but I trust the oath, I trust Isidor, and I trust Tivia. Whatever he’s doing on Locque’s end, all might not be as it appears. At any rate, it doesn’t hurt to observe him while keeping an open mind.”

“Great, Alster. Just great.” Chara’s ire gave way to exasperation. “He recently repays a debt to you and you automatically believe he’s a man of his word. Leave it to the dodgy necromancer to dodge a cosmically undodgeable oath. Death voids the contract. For all we know, he could have died and revived himself to nullify the oath. Forgive me, Alster, but I do not agree with your counsel. But while we are on this headache-inducing subject,” she sat back on her chair, cushioning herself for whatever touched her judgment-addled cousin’s lips, next, “do you have any more ludicrous opinions to share?”

“Well, since you’re the one asking,” he returned coyly, in direct complement to Chara’s light haranguing, “have you considered Lord Canaveris’ proposal for an alliance?”

If she still had tea left to drink, she would have spit it out. “You’re referring to Aristide. The man who usurped your leadership by humiliating you in front of a crowd? The same man who destroyed the Rigas reputation? Him?”

“If we’re to give credit where it’s due, Chara, I ruined the Rigas reputation. On purpose.” Alster shriveled in his seat. “He merely incited the crowd. While I am not excusing him for lambasting my character in front of hundreds of people, he is a lesser evil than Locque. As his top priority is the safety of the D’Marians, he won’t jeopardize their lives in a reckless drive to expel the sorceress from the palace, but if given the opportunity to provide support, his contributions may prove valuable to us.” 

“Stop wasting your breath.” Chara rolled the empty tea-cup in her fingers. “He’s a miserable, slighted nobleman who specifically targeted you as punishment for my trampling over his dainty little heart a handful of years ago. Besides, earth mages, even ones of his prestige, are virtually useless in matters of subtlety and subterfuge--as expected of rock-smashers. You are far more suited and able a mage than the laughable Aristide Canaveris.”

“Chara.” He tilted his head to one side, frowning. “What exactly happened between you two? If you say he is punishing me based on a heartbreak, does that mean that you and him were—“

“--Oh heavens no!” She barked out a reply before Alster could finish his thought. “He is entirely at fault for misconstruing our barebones acquaintanceship as one of romantic potential and significance. If you’re looking for a detailed account of our history, there is absolutely nothing to recount—he was that forgettable. Let us speak of this no further, Alster. It’s of no importance.”

As far as Chara was concerned, the subject was closed. Despite her reassurances to convince the room of her past, uneventful associations with the Canaveris lord, the haste in which she dropped the topic called her honesty into question. Something else had happened. Judging by the brief flicker of regret shooting across her eyes, a shooting star of a micro expression and thus, easy to miss, whatever happened still bothered her till this day. Chara’s tendency to blame others to hide her own blameworthiness and perceived incompetence was made readily apparent in her harsh depictions of the current D’Marian head—and nobody had missed the multitude of choice words she reserved expressly for him. 

“Whether or not we accept him as an ally, he is also worth observing,” Alster said, chancing one more mention of Chara’s most contentious figure. “When I spoke with Locque’s Master Alchemist, she went on at length about her affinity for him. Apparently, they’ve been sharing drinks, and he’s shown her kindness. What is your take, Chara?” He maintained a gentle candor so as not to rule her. “Should we trust him, or has he decided to comply with the enemy, indefinitely? Please give me your honest opinion,” he beseeched, spreading his hands on the table like petals from a blooming flower. “No inflammatory remarks or volatile dismissals. I know you are deflecting—the past must be too painful for you to detail. But; surely, if he wasn’t a good fit as Stella D’Mare’s leader, you would have stepped in and publicity exposed him with whatever secret you’ve sworn to keep between you and him. But you didn’t.” He carefully probed her eyes, searching for the truth, but she directed her stubborn, disinterested gaze at the far wall in resistance. Her jaw clenched. “There must be a reason for your inaction, Chara. Do you truly think he is worthy of leading our people, or are you looking to scapegoat him for whatever wrongs occur under his rule? If he is such a laughingstock to you, why humor him in the worst way? Why entrust him with the D’Marians if you view him as incompetent?”

“I said we shall speak of this no further!” She snapped out of her chair; it fell behind her in a clatter of wood on wood. “That’s enough, Alster. It doesn’t matter what I think; you will do what you want, regardless of opinions.” She roughly turned to Lilica. “I’ll be waiting in the carriage.” And with a curt, ‘Good night,’ to Elespeth, Chara yanked her overcoat from the hanger and marched out the door. 

Alster flinched as she slammed it closed. The house vibrated in her wake. “I took my interrogation too far. I’m sorry, Lilica. When Chara becomes more...incendiary than usual, she lashes out at the people who cause her pain as a method to hide her sincere thoughts and feelings. After all this time, she still doesn’t like to be perceived as weak or vulnerable. I knew this and yet, I pushed her, regardless.” Standing up, he helped Lilica into her coat. “The palace has no outlet for you or for Chara. Nowhere for you to vent or escape. We don’t need to discuss business, but if ever you need to talk, please consider reaching me in dreams. I’m happy to listen. I would encourage Chara to do the same, but...she’s too proud.” His fingers rested on the still-quaking door latch. Swinging the door open, he swept aside to allow Lilica unobstructed passage. “Please look after her, if you can. This is going to be a contentious time for us all.” 

Meanwhile, the hotly-debated Aristide Canaveris, Lord of Stella D’Mare’s Arcanum district, whose populace all currently resided in Galeyn (save for the outliers who either fled to Andalari or defected to Braighdath), resolved to appear at the palace, a pro forma show of courtesy in recognition to the new monarch. One day prior, he contacted Nia via resonance stone to inquire about which time was the most permissible for gaining an audience with Locque. Not knowing what to expect, it surprised him to hear the news from Nia’s mouth; the sorceress hadn’t forced Lilica to abdicate the throne, and had instead proposed a joint partnership, effective immediately.

After agreeing to a time tomorrow afternoon, Ari bid his farewells and deactivated the resonance stone, indicating nothing about the offer she made him when last they spoke. Nor would he; openly referencing his condition, heedless of the prying ears who shared her space, was too unwise a decision to consider. 

The following day, Ari donned one of his best long coats—a spring green with silver brocade, decorated to resemble vines spiraling up a tree—and pulled his hair into a ponytail at the nape; shorter, looser tendrils of dark hair fringed and framed his face in a sheen too deliberate and well-maintained to present as messy or unkempt. Equipped with his blackwood cane, an assurance in case of a flare-up, he and Lazarus set off to the palace by carriage. 

After the hour-long ride from the village proper to the heart of Galeyn, they were met at the palace entrance by none other than Nia. 

“Ah, Miss Nia. A good afternoon to you,” he greeted, stepping out of the carriage to bow. Lazarus had sprung from his seat to align at Ari’s left side, as a deterrent against Nia wandering too close. “Pray tell, how are you finding your new accommodations? I imagine your bed far outclasses the likes of a hay pallet on the floor, which I can attest is not the most comfortable configuration for slumber. But I digress.” He gripped the cane in his right hand and glanced ahead at the open entranceway. Are you to accompany me to my destination? By all means, when you’re ready, please proceed.”

They traversed the long hallways, engaging in light chitchat and pleasantries until they arrived at the council chambers. Upon his egress, he almost didn’t notice the woman sitting at the head of the table, looking rather...plain. Not at all how he envisioned a powerful sorceress to appear. A slight-framed, dark brunette--Rowen Kavanagh--the blonde warrior who, by Locque’s orders, carried out the murder of a D’Marian family--Sigrid Sorenson--Lilica Tenebris, and Lady Chara had all surrounded the infamous Locque, either by standing near the walls or sitting in chairs. Ignoring the two blondes in the room, he faced the two women heralded as the monarchs in charge and lowered into a waist-deep bow. “Your Majesties; I thank you for accepting my request for an audience. Majesty Locque, allow me to formally introduce myself. I am Lord Aristide Canaveris of Stella D’Mare, obedient servant to the needs and happiness of my citizens. Since our armistice, the D’Marian village has been settling into a most peaceable routine. We are ever thankful that Galeyn has graciously welcomed us to their borders, and I am here to return the favor to you and yours.” 

He returned to his full height and positioned his cane forward, balancing his two hands on the gilt-silver handle. “In celebration of our truce, I cordially invite everyone to an event I am hosting at my villa, one week hence. Formal invitations are to follow, by envoy. I would be honored were you to attend, your Majesties. I daresay it has been far too long since we partook in merriment and lighthearted fripperies.”

Chara’s outburst should have been expected; at least, Lilica should have anticipated it, given her vehement reaction from being excluded from that initial meeting with Locque earlier that day. Feeling foolish for failing to consider the Rigas woman’s feelings on the matter (because, all jokes aside, it had entirely to do with her feelings), she rested her uninjured hand over the blonde woman’s knuckles. “You’re right, Chara. I shouldn’t shut you out--and I won’t. You’re too… we’re too close, in too many capacities. I couldn’t keep anything from you even if I wanted to, and that includes my involvement with Locque. But Alster has a point. If you are in… if you want to partake in my strategy to remain largely in the dark of plotting outside of the palace, then you, too, will have to remain ignorant. That does make me worry, though. The fewer who know, the fewer will be able to contribute to taking her down, but… if I am being entirely honest,” she sighed and her shoulders drooped again. “I’m honestly not sure I can get through this without you.”

“Alster also has another good point. Rowen Kavanagh.” Elespeth’s lips shifted downward in a frown at the mere mention of the name. “If it is as Hadwin says, and she sees into everyone’s shadow, then she will see your intentions for deceit even if you do not know of or have any plans to disrupt Locque’s rule. You could be found guilty just from thinking it.”

“And so to that, I will answer with honesty. Of course it is going to cross my mind that Locque should be dethroned; as of yet, she has not given me a reason to think otherwise.” Lilica calmly replied. “In fact, I told her as much, this morning. Part of the reason she wants to keep me close is so that I can act as facilitator to make the people of this kingdom trust her. The fact is, at this point she has veered so far from human that she doesn’t understand how to connect, let alone rule. Although, the joke’s on her. It’s not as though I know much about leadership in this regard, either.” She snorted and folded her arms. “I was half-expecting her to blast me out of existence the same way she did Alster, for telling her that it was up to her and her alone to garner trust--and that she shouldn’t expect it anytime soon, because people are too busy fearing for their lives to view her in a positive light. But… oddly enough, I think she appreciated the honesty. She might be inhuman, but she is not stupid. So if she tries to interrogate either of us for harbour ill-will against her, as you say,” she gestured to herself, and then Chara, “then we tell her the truth: that it goes without saying that we don’t trust her, since she hasn’t given us a reason to. That of course we wonder if this kingdom would far better without her. However, entertaining thoughts such as those is not the same as plotting to throw her out. Which is why I think it would be best if we are kept in the dark of anything the two of you, and whomever else plans to work with you, are planning. As for Teselin...”

Lilica sighed and stared at the teacup in front of her that she had yet to touch. As of the night before, she’d all but completely lost her appetite, and hadn’t had much more than a glass of water since that morning. “We will have to be careful. Not only to keep her from catching wind of plans that might not sit well within her idealistic moral framework, but nonetheless, she is and has been an ally for quite some time--on top of being Isidor’s and Vitali’s sister. But we’ve seen where her desperate idealism has gotten her, before, and it is still within our duty to look out for her… as I am sure she would do the same for us. She might be terribly misled by her own ideals, but she is not stupid. And…” She paused, considering her words, and their merit, before going on. “Regardless of where she stands, I know she does not want to see us hurt. We have to believe that if Locque loses her composure and more blood is spilled, Teselin will have to see the futility of her wish to erase any and all evil from that sorceress’s soul.”

From the other end of the table, Elespeth worked her jaw and briefly met Chara’s gaze. “If my time getting to know her in Stella D’Mare means anything, then it would have to be a pretty drastic fuck-up for Teselin to lose faith in her decision. And by drastic, I mean it would have to affect someone very close to her. Someone like Hadwin. For now, you’ll just have to keep her in your peripheral vision, and keep us apprised, so that future plans can be formulated to avoid having her get burned in the crossfire. In short,” she leaned away from the table and ventured toward one of the counters, where a decanter of water sat. “Frankly, I am not worried about Rowen at all. We can ward against her, in this house, and it would be within Locque’s interests to keep her in line. Teselin should be monitored. And this ‘Nia’...” Her mouth turned sour as she poured a glass with the clear water from a nearby ravine, and handed it to Lilica. She looked like she could use something in her body. “I don’t trust her for a second. And neither should you, Lilica, since she’s made it very clear that she will make Locque’s every wish come true so long as it serves her purposes. Not so unlike a certain necromancer…”

“I know. And, Alster, I have thought the same thing.” Graciously accepting the cup of water from Elespeth, she took a sip, if for no other reason than to be polite. “He has made a blood oath--several, in fact. Before allowing him to tag along in search of Galeyn, he swore an oath that he would not lead me astray or bring any of us harm. Twofold, now, he has bound himself to Tivia. And now, also, Isidor. While I’m aware that the potency of a blood oath does have a tendency to fade over time, it would take decades before he could even begin to go against what he’s promised to do--or not to do. Still…” She sighed and gripped the cup, her bloodied knuckles still aching from their impact with the table. “What if, in his warped and self-centered mind, he has come to the conclusion that betraying us to work for Locque is the best option for all of our sakes? If I have learned anything about the Kristevas, now after being acquainted with his sister and brother, it is that they are profoundly talented at convincing themselves that bad ideas are, in fact, good. And good luck changing their minds. Even if he thinks that what he is doing will not be harmful in the long run, it does not make it a good idea, and does not mean we should trust him. Frankly, at this point, I don’t think I’ll ever trust him again.”

“Could Chara be on to something? Lilica, is Vitali able to die and then… resurrect himself? How much are you aware of his capabilities?” Elespeth asked, both startled and sickened by the idea.

Unfortunately, the heir to the Galeynian throne did not have an answer, which was obvious by the lost look on her exhausted face before she opened her mouth to speak. “Honestly… who knows? He’s already cheated death by living a life long enough to rival that of Locque’s. Anything is possible. I’m not sure how he’d achieve that without Tivia’s knowledge, considering how long they lived together, and I can’t see how it would be feasible while he had Forbanne guards on his heels for so long… but if anyone can make that work, then it is him. We’ll continue to observe him. And suspect him.”

And speaking of suspect individuals, the prospect of allying with Aristide Canaveris had all but completely slipped Lilica’s mind. Aside from the fact he had visibly upset Chara (and Elespeth, for that matter), the man had been utterly forgettable to her. But the same could not be said for Chara, it seemed. “I certainly don’t consider the man a danger, in any respect, but I have to agree with Chara: I am doubtful that there is much, if anything, he can contribute to our cause. He has already made his own intentions very clear.”

“It is because he is looking out for the D’Marians that any ‘alliance’ he proposes would probably be nothing short of utter bullshit.” The former knight couldn’t help but add, grumbling under her breath. “He won’t risk stepping on Locque’s toes if it means another D’Marian might die. I’m in agreement with Lilica and Chara. He’s not a threat, but he’s also made it clear he’s not a friend. If he chooses not to oppose Locque because he is intent on seeing to the safety of the D’Marians, then he really has nothing to offer. And--you say he’s been cavorting with the Master Alchemist? Pfft, to hell with him.” She made a dismissive gesture. “Of course, how you plan to proceed, Lilica and Chara, is entirely up to you, but if he’s too busy making friends kissing Locque’s feet and making friends with one of her minions, then I can’t see him being of any use to you.”

But no one in the room really knew Aristide quite as well as Chara, so it did not seem untoward that Alster would seek her opinion--her true opinion--on the man and where he stood. Considering how the Rigas woman came very close to flipping his dining table out of pure spite during their last encounter, however, Lilica did begin to fear that Alster’s probing was going a little too far. She could see the heat rising in Chara’s cheeks with every questions he posed, and before she thought to shoot him a warning glance, Chara stormed out the door. “I don’t think it could have been avoided. I know her; she avoids talking on subjects that make her feel vulnerable.” Lilica sighed as she stood from the table. “Honestly, I don’t know her history with that man, but it might be high time that she talk to someone about it. We can’t afford to have triggers: Locque will see them. She will use them against us. Thank you, though. Both of you. I’m sorry I don’t bring brighter news.”

“We honestly didn’t expect it, Lilica. And, before you return to the palace… seek out the Night Garden to heal your hand.” Elespeth suggested, as she held the door open for her. “Don’t give Locque reason to suspect anything.”

The chthonic caster nodded, meeting Alster’s eyes before stepping over the doorframe. “I’ll look after her… we’ve got each other. Locque can’t be focused on us, every waking minute, if she actually means to try and rule a kingdom.”

With a parting nod, she joined a sullen Chara in the carriage, shutting the door and securing it, before reaching across her seat to take one of the blonde woman’s hands in her own. “What happened?” Though beseeching, her voice was not demanding. It was laced with concern. “I don’t care about the details you promised him you wouldn’t share with the world. But if you have triggering secrets, Chara, then the more they weigh on your mind, the more Locque is apt to exploit them. What… what happened between you and that man? I’m not asking so that I can find my own footing in judgement. My past is bloodstained and I haven’t the right to pass judgement on your behalf. I just… I want to understand. Why it still hurts you.”

Nia was ready and waiting for Atistide’s arrival on the following day. Realizing he was surprised to hear that Locque had not completely overtaken the throne and the kingdom, it stood to reason that there would be some confusion, and he wished to see for himself exactly what this new rulership would look like. So after passing the notice off to Locque, and getting a very, very pleasant rest in a real bed that was big enough to comfortably sleep at least three people, she figured there was likely no better person to greet the earth mage. He hadn’t come alone, of course; Lazarus was the first to step out of the cabin, and frankly, the Master Alchemist was left wondering how exactly there had been enough room for the massive man and his master. “Looking good, Ari! I see you really saved your best for our new demi-ruler. But really, at this point, just Nia is fine.” She teased, finding it a little overzealous that the massive golem saw fit to keep her at arm’s length, but it wasn’t worth arguing. “I’m just the messenger, after all. Save the honourifics for the people inside who are actually somebodies. But I do hope your trip was pleasant! The carriage was big enough, I presume?” She arched an eyebrow at Lazarus in particular, but didn’t pry. “Yeah, you can bet I had the best sleep I can remember in about a decade. Didn’t want to leave that bed! Probably wouldn’t have if you hadn’t planned on making an appearance. So I guess I owe it to you to not let myself get too comfortable.”

She grinned playfully and gestured over her shoulder. “Lots of people here are still kind of on edge, so I figured it’d be best if you were escorted by someone in good humour. Come on; your audience awaits you.”

Leading the way, Nia traversed the long corridors, all the way to the council chamber, where she threw open the doors without care. “As promised, our guest has arrived! The well-dressed one is fully capable of presenting himself; the hulking one is Lazarus.” She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly and stepped aside for the Canaveris lord to step forward. “Take it away, Ari!”

The small gathering listened to the generous D’Marian’s introduction, and further, his proposal to host a celebration in light of this occasion. For a moment afterwards, silence followed. Even Nia was a little taken by surprise, and briefly, feared that it would not be well-received. Finally, Locque gave her reply, after a brief consideration. “Lord Canaveris. I appreciate your enthusiasm for this time of drastic change, and for your cooperation thus far. You’ll have to forgive that I am not one so fascinated with social gatherings of the like… although, I do encourage this gesture of solidarity, and I hope that all else whom you see fit to invite will attend.”

“If I may be so bold, Locque, we will still be walking tentative waters as far as morale goes in this kingdom in a week’s time.” Lilica interjected, appearing far more composed than she actually felt. Having not only an enthralled Sigrid standing several feet away from her, but being in the same room as Rowen Kavanagh, the one responsible for so many deaths and near deaths… it was a wonder she was even able to breathe. “If you do not wish to attend, neither should I.”

“Nonsense, Lilica. One of the two of us should do Lord Canaveris the honour of attending.” The sorceress brushed off her concern without so much as blinking. She nodded to their guest in question. “I have no doubt your invitations will be well-received, Lord Canaveris. It is most generous on your part to open your home in such a way. Now,” she shifted one leg, and folded it over the other. “Is there anything else that I can do for you, at this time?”

The undertones were very subtle, but they were there: unless he had anything more to say aside from announcing his well-intended soiree, this meeting was over. Fortunately, Nia read the room to save him from guessing. “Well, since he made the trip all the way from the D’Marian settlement, and nightfall isn’t for several hours, the least we can do is show him around the palace, yes? Fortunately, after a lot of late night exploring, I think I can finally find my way around the place. Shall we, Ari?”

Opening the door for him and his manservant, the Master Alchemist flashed her most winning smile to the panel of solemn faces in the council chambers before closing the door quietly, albeit firmly, behind her. And at that, she let out a long sigh. “Sorry. Tough crowd, am I right? Don’t take it personally. Our newest monarch had just largely forgotten what it means to be human. I’m working on her, but it’ll take some time. But, hey, a week is a long time to put a bug in her ear and convince her otherwise. I’ll do my best to see to it that she shows up--you have my word.” She rested a hand over her chest to indicate a promise. “She’s probably worried everything’ll fall apart if she steps out of this grand palace. Maybe I can convince her to actually partake in a little fun if I stick around this place and hold down the fort. Gimme a few days and I’ll figure something out! But anyway.”

She spun on her heel and clasped her hands in front of her. “Can’t say the decor, here, is as exquisite as yours, but the place has a few gems, if you’re at all interested in a tour. Otherwise, I’d highly recommend taking a glimpse of the Night Garden. Have you ever actually been inside it? Pretty damn mind-blowing, if you ask me!”

Chara didn’t acknowledge Lilica’s return; not right away. Staring out the pitch-black window, she huddled into the layers of her overcoat to combat the residual chill her companion had wafted into the carriage through the open door. Once she pulled on the latch, gratefully replacing the barrier between cold and comfortable, Chara at last looked over her shoulder, eyes lowering in notice of previously-injured knuckles, now unmarred and lacking in dribbles of smeared blood. 

“I see that Alster healed your scrapes,” she ran her fingers along the back of Lilica’s hand. “Good. No need to hide your injury or rush to the Night Garden before anyone could wonder what burst of anger impelled you to bash your hand into a hard surface. How very characteristic of me, Lilica.” She was about to lapse into thoughtful silence just then, but the rightful Queen of Galeyn broached the subject she most dreaded would be broached, considering the furor that fueled her dramatic exit from the farmhouse. 

“I doubt Locque would find anything worth exploiting,” she mumbled, avoiding Lilica’s concern to affix her unfocused gaze, again, at the black window. “It really is nothing, Lilica. Alster was probing to elicit an emotional response in me. One not so steeped in anger. But he was wrong in his approach because I bear nothing but anger. Can we not leave the subject to die?” 

Apparently not. But Lilica was the one to ask, and her ask came from a place of genuineness, not out of pure curiosity or, least of all, judgment. Besides, Chara owed it to repay trust for trust. Lilica could have advocated against involving her advisor amid Locque’s court but instead, she admitted her wrongs and welcomed Chara’s counsel. They would continue to fight, side by side. Inseparable, as a team. It only stood to reason that, as recompense, she revealed a particularly dark period in her life, a period which grew exponentially more relevant as Aristide’s influence and renown continued to stack to a great and unavoidable height. 

“Very well,” she resigned, readjusting the coat upon her shoulders, concealing the reflexive shivers that caused them to tremble. “I shall tell you, but it will shift your outlook of me, significantly. Over fifty years ago, following Alster’s exile from the city, I...I became very angry. Angry at Alster for reawakening the Serpent and besmirching our reputation—I see this aspect of our relationship hasn’t changed,” she added, drily, “but I was particularly angry at myself for unintentionally contributing to the disaster. You must know of my state of mind when I first met Aristide. Not to excuse my behavior, but to understand; I was at one of my lowest points when he came along.” 

“He’d fallen into the ocean and I happened to be the sole individual who witnessed the waves push him into the water. I am a strong swimmer, so I ran in and yanked him out of the current. In doing so, I discovered his secret, the reason why he nearly drowned. Through my impromptu rescue, he became smitten with me, and trusted I would keep his secret without needing to involve his family, enact a blood oath, or draw up our agreement in writing. I suppose this is why he is such a stickler for contracts, now...but I digress.” She removed her hand from Lilica’s and transferred it to her lap, where it automatically sought its counterpart. They squeezed together as though to soothe each other, in preparation for the worst part of Chara’s account.

“In exchange for saving his life and upholding the secret, he promised to pay his debts to me in whichever way I saw fit, leaving to my discretion when I would become satisfied to release him of his indentured servitude. I was young, but he was even younger. The Canaveris family’s longevity is at half the rate of the Rigases, so when I was forty-eight, or the equivalent of twelve in maturity, he was only sixteen, or the equivalent of eight-years-old. Knowing his age relative to mine, I almost declined to engage in this child’s whims and walked away, asking for nothing in return. But, in nursing the loss of Alster, I so desperately wanted someone to need me, so I took full advantage of his naive proposition...and,” she held her breath and released it on a stagger, wavering her words like the ocean waves, “I strung him along for over thirty years. In those decades of his voluntary servitude, I treated him no better than a dog, hurtling abuses in his face, ordering him into humiliating tasks for my own sick entertainment, and,” she brought the back of her hand to her mouth, fighting back the disgust, “sometimes, I hurt him. Physically. As his age surpassed mine and I feared he would grow wise and break free of my company, I constantly threatened to reveal his secret to the Rigases and to the city, forcing him to remain loyally at my side. As a means of control, I would admit that I loved him, and...and he believed me. The idiot always believed me.”

“Once I realized what horrors I’d wrought on this man, thirty years had passed. Out of disgust over what I’d become, I...l let him go by walking out of his life. Never did I communicate to him the end of his servitude. He never received closure. I simply...ceased contacting him. I destroyed the resonance stone he gave me, along with every gift he made, and pretended he did not exist. Little did I know, he would emerge twenty years later, challenging the Rigas right to rule and succeeding in rallying the people against us and against Alster. To answer Alster’s question, I suppose I allowed Aristide to run unopposed because...I never again want to place myself in the position of his oppressor. So I chose not to challenge him and...again,” she picked at her nails, slicing through the cuticles and tearing off the edges in small chunks, “I unintentionally contributed to the Rigas’s downfall. At the dinner party, I saw he still possessed an unhealthy connection to me and I resolved to destroy it, aggressively, however much I was holding back bile with every noisome word I lobbed. Every questionable action I’ve taken in regards to Aristide Canaveris...is an attempt, albeit a poor attempt, to set him free. But it’s difficult not to revert to my worst self when he’s near.” Feeling moisture cling to her bottom lids, she heeled her palms into her eyes, banishing tears before they could fall. “It sickens me, how much the past continues to influence my inexcusable crimes against another human being. I could have ruined him. I could have destroyed him.”  

“Though you say you cannot judge, Lilica, I daresay you can judge. As the victim of abuse, you are sharing your life with a notorious abuser. I never wanted you to know; I never wanted Alster to know, the true lengths of my depravity. But now you know...and you can’t unlearn what I’ve done. The anger I feel isn’t towards him.” The tears flowed freely, but she blocked them from Lilica’s observation. Her fingers clawed, introducing scratches to her face. “It’s towards myself.” 

Ari was no fool to believe his invitation would appeal to a woman of Locque’s...sensibilities. Often, people had accused him of frivolous behavior, elevating parties over politics and pomp over practicality. While he would not deny his preferences to host soirees for noblemen, royalty, dignitaries, and common folk alike, for he thrived in festive environments of his creation, he also threw such get-togethers as a method of information-gathering. As the facilitator, he controlled the venue, the food, and the arrangements, promising top-notch fineries to garner satisfaction and comfort from his honored guests. Sated guests meant looser lips and looser lips sometimes, not always, but sometimes, spilled a secret or two. Seeing as he would have a slim to abysmal chance of encouraging Locque and Lilica’s court to engage in conversation, whether it be idle prattle or matters of a more revealing variety--and really, Nia’s tendency towards garrulousness filled that niche in their place--another purpose of opting to celebrate during a tense, kingdom-wide transition was to showcase the frivolous, vapid aspects of his social persona. If Locque regarded him as some foppish nobleman in a natty coat, who pontificated on the grandeur of an unnecessary and excessive gala, then she’d easily overlook him as a fine bauble or flashy accessory: pretty to look at, but holding nothing of significant value. He needn’t have requested an audience with the fledgling demi-queen just to demonstrate his vainglorious pursuits in person, not when she certainly hadn’t given him one thought since he supplanted Alster Rigas as D’Marian leader. But he hadn’t made an appearance expressly for Locque. Extending his congratulations was but a formality; an expression of good tidings and future relations, from one usurper to another. It was Lilica who he strived to reach, the most desired guest. As for Locque--he wasn’t banking on her RSVP, and it mattered not to him if she deigned to show. But if she did, the handful of D’Marian guests he chose to fill the space were close allies of the Canaveris family and would not reveal their personal feelings about the divisive ruler-in-training. 

“Ah, if you are wondering about morale, Majesty Lilica, we are all, if I may be so bold to use an intensifier, in dire need of a pick-me-up,” Ari supplied. “However, if it pleases you--and Majesty Locque--I am more than willing to postpone the event an additional week or two. As I am hosting this gala in celebration of the new regime, it would be indecorous of me not to offer suitable alternatives around the busy schedules of my guests of honor. I leave to your able discretion whichever date you so choose. At any rate,” he thumped his cane on the marble-tiled floor, the same grade extracted from the quarries during the construction of the D’Marian village, “whether you attend or decline, I look forward to working with your Majesties, in the future. We are all of us fledgling rulers. If for no other reason than our prime commonality, we should look out for each other. After all, we inhabit the same kingdom and bear a responsibility to its stewardship and success. Let us make our rule a rousing one, shall we?” 

To signify his conclusive statements, he half-turned towards the door. “There is nothing more I see fit to discuss, Majesty Locque. I am merely here to wish you well on your formative days as co-Queen, a spot of congratulatory news to tide you on your first official day. I find it imperative to begin business on a positive note, before the vicissitudes of rulership sweep in and exhaust you with their inexorable tidal undertows. In future meetings, we shall discuss matters of import, but for now, please enjoy the high that comes with the position. Your Majesties,” with a parting bow, Ari, followed by Lazarus, made for the door and joined Nia in the hallway. 

“On the contrary. I believe it went well, Miss...ah, Nia,” he said, omitting the fact that, in regards to the socially-bankrupt Locque, he had set his expectations abominably low. “I cannot blame their less-than ebullient responses, seeing as I took them off guard with what they likely perceived as a tonally-inappropriate solicitation. Your lady is kind to humor me, so. I was hoping you would humor me, as well.” As they ambled in the hallway, heading for the Night Garden, he tilted his head at the Master Alchemist. “Much as I’d appreciate their attendance, my invitation is not restricted to the twin Queens of Galeyn. Nia, for your tireless contributions towards peace, you are most welcome to attend. My humble soirée is in recognition of everyone who has contributed to the cessation of hostilities—that especially includes you.” However factitious his statements in the council-chambers, he did not extend his fawning, obsequious behavior beyond Locque’s purview. Truly, he wanted Nia to make an appearance at his villa, remembering how her unexpected presence soothed the aftermath of a disastrous dinner party. Should Lilica show, Chara would follow, and in anticipation for another outburst, Ari prepared to populate his surroundings with agreeable people. Nia, despite her associations, represented the most stable and reliable third of Locque’s triumvirate, a desirable candidate to have on hand, in case of trouble. Logistics aside, he also could not deny the general pleasantness of her company. 

“Please consider attending. If you are in need of a gown or accompanying accessories, I will happily provide you with the accoutrements you desire. Now,” changing the subject, he directed his attention to the minimalistically-furnished palace hallways, “I have traveled these corridors once before. Not at length, but I’ve no complaint to issue about the decor. I understand the intent. The palace is but walls and enclosures; it cannot and shall not outshine the very heart of Galeyn and does not dare attempt to replicate the natural wonder of the Night Garden, but act as its complement; white and emptiness makes one better appreciate color and depth, as I imagine is the effect when the uninitiated steps into the Garden for the first time, and which I am about to do.” 

Once they entered the Garden entrance, the white walls bled away, replaced by verdure: stalks of green and gold, trees with foliage of impossible colors, bushes sporting iridescent, butterfly wings for petals, mushrooms the size of a fully-grown man, a massive tree whose protruding roots created limpid pools and trickling waterfalls—the very sight was enough for one to question if they’d wandered into a faerie grove. It demanded his meticulous attention, his awe, his silence. And for the next handful of minutes of traveling the garden paths, he did remain silent, out of respect and appreciation of its sheer pulchritude. 

“The entirety of this Garden demands to be painted, but I am afraid I would fall woefully short in doing it justice,” Ari, finally breaking his temporary quietude, hadn’t recovered his voice to a volume above a serene hush, not wanting to break the spell that had so enchanted him. “You’ve seen some of my pieces, before. Though I specialize in sculpting, I do create a few paintings from time to time. I was inspired by the Galeynians’ accounts of the Night Garden’s otherworldly beauty and attempted to recreate from their memory. Alas, even if I spent all day with an easel and pallet, my canvas would remain as blank as the palace’s white walls. It is a true testament to the magic of this place; no one can capture its majesty. As humans, we are too underdeveloped in mind to absorb our surroundings in their entirety. We haven’t the senses to fathom them beyond our limited scope of sight and basic spectrum of colors. But,” he tore away from gazing upon one particular overhang of weeping branches, their blue, bulb-like flowers actually fashioned to resemble teardrops, “oh, look at me, palavering on. My apologies, Nia. I do not wish to overstay my welcome, but now that you’ve introduced me to the Night Garden, it may be a struggle getting me to leave. Do continue to lead the way, lest I wander off on my own. Though,” he stroked the small patch of hair beneath his chin, “has this Garden any orchards? I should have asked this of the Majesties, but I did not wish to disturb them with an extended conversation concerning my frivolous hobbies and such, but if there is any citrus, would it be possible to procure some? If so, I could make some cello-drinks for the upcoming festivities. They are a specialty of Stella D’Mare and I would love to present a glass to my honored guests.”

As Chara indulged her by opening up about a topic that very clearly caused her a good deal of distress, Lilica said nothing and lent a thoughtful ear as the Rigas woman laid bare the gorey details of what had been her relationship with Aristide Canaveris. It all made such crystal clear sense, now! His behaviour when they had met with him at his villa, the sculpture portraits that all resembled Chara far too much for it to be mere coincidence, and the blonde woman’s abrupt change in mood whenever Aristide was brought up as a topic of conversation. All this time, Lilica has assumed that Aristide was a sore spot for Chara because their past relationship hadn’t ended well; that she’d wanted to discard him, while he still held firm. But she realized now that it was far more than that. It was more than simply being annoyed by a man who still held fast to past feelings or resenting him for being so foolish. Chara had openly hurt him, in multiple ways, and… and she had to live with that. She had to live, knowing what she had done to him, and how it affected him. And that was the source of her anger. Not at Aristide, but at herself, unable to reconcile what she had done.

“Remember who you’re talking to, Chara. I can’t deny that, if what you’re saying is true, then yes. What you did was wrong… and it was cruel. But, remember who you are talking to.” Reaching across the seat, Lilica took the hands clawing at Chara’s face and held them firmly in her own. “Remember my beginnings? What I did to my own parents--or the people who meant to raise me? You can try to justify it however you want: that yes, I was a victim of abuse. Maybe they deserved it, maybe they didn’t. But the fact remains that I killed them, Chara, and I had no remorse for it. And furthermore, the feeling that came from ridding myself of them… I was high on it. So it taught me to do just the same thing to anyone who ever made me feel inadequate or unwanted, again. I learned from that experience. But not in a positive way. Not at all…”

The Galeynian monarch sighed through her nose and stroked the back of Chara’s knuckles. “I know the burden you carry, because I live it, too. Maybe not in the same way, or under the same circumstances, but I cannot say that what happened with my parents was an isolated incident. It just taught me that it was so much easier to get what I wanted and to survive by yielding to darkness. Even if, by some off chance, they deserved it, the people that followed their fate… they did not. But that didn’t stop me, because I didn’t care. So… no.”

Lilica released Chara’s hands at last, but only when she had her attention and full eye contact. Nothing about her expression suggested that she took this topic lightly, or that she meant to coddle the Rigas woman. On the contrary, her dark eyes reflected the seriousness of the crime--of both of their crimes. “I cannot judge, for multiple reasons. Because not only am I guilty of far worse, but because you are no longer that woman, anymore. You said it yourself, you were little more than a youth when you decided to lead Aristide on for your own gains. And that might not make it right; that might not excuse it, but it does provide some context, doesn’t it?” She searched Chara’s eyes for understanding, some suggestion that she could let go of the anger she felt toward herself for her cruel misdeeds a half a century ago, but she saw little else but despair and resignation. What did she expect, however, when the Rigas woman had been carrying this burden for so long? “The fact is, if we hold ourselves accountable to every poor decision we made in the past instead of striving to see how we have grown from it, and how we’ve made better decisions down the road, then we are willingly being held hostage by our own shadows. And I think you’ve come further from that than you are willing to give yourself credit for.”

Sitting back with her head against the upright cushions of the comfortable, albeit modest carriage, Lilica watched the passing scenery from out the window, everything little more than a dark blur against the dusk skyline. For the first time, she wasn’t so eager to return to the palace, and was half-tempted to ask the driver to slow the Night Steeds to a steady trot. “I know I solicited this information from you, and you aren’t seeking my opinion or advice. But I think… I think that you should talk to Aristide. Apologize to him. Not only for him; I’m not sure he would willingly accept an apology, although he doesn’t seem unreasonable. I mean for you, Chara. To acknowledge that dark time that still haunts you so that it can no longer hold power over you. I don’t mean anytime soon, as I’m not convinced that that is possible, what with everything else going on, but… Aristide is the D’Marian leader, as of now.” Tearing her gaze away from the hypnotic movement of the landscape out the window, she returned her attention to Chara’s face, solemn and lit rather eerily by the witchlights in the corner of the cabin. “And you are a D’Marian. Time and again he will be making appearances in your life that may or may not affect you, and if his face is going to be a haunting reminder of something that you’d rather forget, then now is the time to find that courage to confront it. It is daunting, and I won’t pretend that it will be at all easy or pleasant, but… don’t you think it might be necessary?”

Chara didn’t reply right away, which was indication enough that as much as she was loath to admit it, Lilica’s suggestion was neither unreasonable nor impossible. To clarify, and the alleviate the pressure such a suggestion must have caused the Rigas woman to feel, she added, “I killed my parents. And I killed countless others after them, because… it was easy. And it was the only way I knew to get ahead in life. Those decisions still haunt me. At one point, the almost killed me, except… I messed up the spell. And instead, I was able to forget about it for another lifetime, in a place that doesn’t exist.” She studied her hand, the palm which still bore faint scars of her more recent attempt at that enchantment, just over a year ago. “I ran away from my shame and from my evil, but it’s still there. The Night Garden might have subdued that darkness in me, for now, but it hasn’t gone anywhere. You cannot eliminate an entire side of one coin--as is the case with Alster, as well, who had to learn to live with both his celestial and chthonic abilities. But I don’t think there will ever be any reconciling, on my part, because everyone my dark magic touched in the past… they are gone, Chara. All of them, dead. And I want to tell them I’m sorry. I want to sit in front of them, each and every one, and explain why I had done it, why I’d stolen their lives, and that regardless, it is no excuse for such an evil. I just want to tell them that I was a monster and… and that I’m sorry. Yet, short of cooperating with my traitor of a brother to call upon their long-departed spirits, I don’t have that opportunity anymore. It is too late to clear the air when they’ve all stopped breathing. But… not for you. Not yet.”

The Galeynian Queen rested one of her hands on Chara’s knees and offered a reassuring smile. “You still have a chance to rend control from those shadows and move past the person you used to be. Acknowledge who she was, and what she did, while simultaneously acknowledging that she is gone--and now, you are here. And whenever you feel ready to try… you know I’ll have your back. All the way.”

“Humour you in what? Personally, I think it’s a great idea, and a huge morale booster. You don’t need my vote of confidence. A party is exactly what this sad place and its sad people needs--there’s nothing to ‘humour’!” Nia smiled enthusiastically. “And I know well that you’d go all out and show everyone a damn good time, what with your natural tendency toward being a host, and all. No need to postpone because one of our Queen’s is wary and overwhelmed and the other one is… a little socially dumbfounded--between you and me, of course. Just give me a few days. Can’t guarantee I can get through to Lilica, but… Locque does trust me.”

Nothing at all about suggesting a soiree took Nia off guard, as big a surprise as it had been. But when Ari clarified that it was not just about finding a way to Lilica and Locque’s good sides, and that he intended to include her… she nearly faltered in her step, as she escorted him out of the palace and toward the covered Night Garden. “You want me to attend? But… whatever for, Ari? Come on, a party of the likes that you can throw is for somebodies. You know, the royalty and key players and whatnot. Unfortunately, I haven’t been a somebody for a long time. And I have the sad lack of appropriate attire to show for it.” She gestured to the fitted leathers that clung to her body beneath her cloak. Practical and comfortable, but not exactly what would be considered fashionable, compared to the vibrant fabrics that the Canaveris lord sported. 

That wasn’t enough of an excuse to discourage Ari, however, as he promptly offered a solution to that very problem, and it solicited some colour to gather in her cheeks. “Come, now--someone of your calibre doesn’t concern themselves with providing the right attire so that the riff-raff can attend. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m proud riff-raff, but… wouldn’t that throw off the vibe of your get-together. I’m more of a ‘come-by-at-an-ungodly-hour-after-the-party-is-over type’… as I’m sure you already know.” The Master Alchemist chuckled to hide her nerves, and cleared her throat. “But, if Locque doesn’t have me up to anything too trying, then...who knows? Maybe showing up toward the end when all of the most ‘important’ people have retired wouldn’t be so impossible. Not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m noooot exactly the most popular entity, around here. I wouldn’t want my presence to prevent your key guests from having a good time. But--will you look at that. Here we are!”

Stepping aside, Nia spread her arms to indicate they’d reached the entrance of the Night Garden and its plethora of plants of all colours and impossible structures. The Master Alchemist clasped her hands behind her back and followed the Canaveris lord and his gigantic manservant into the captivating garden, that was a kingdom in and of itself. Of course, Nia had taken the time to briefly explore it herself, earlier in the day. Given that Galeyn had only just accepted Locque as its second Queen with the past forty-eight hours, her knowledge of the Garden was of course limited, and if she were being honest, she likely wasn’t the most qualified to show Ari the best of what the place had to offer. Yet, that didn’t seem to mean much to the sculptor. No sooner did he set foot among the mushrooms taller than him, and the flowers that tingled like bells when you passed them in a breeze, that the Canaveris lord seemed to forget entirely about her and about Lazarus. At first, it gave her pause for concern. For someone who loved to talk, and who rather had a way with words, this was the first time she had ever witnessed Ari at a complete loss for them. Was something the matter? Perhaps he wasn’t as enamored of the odd foliage: the petals that looked as though they should smell sweet, yet ended up pungent if you brought your nose too close to it, or the sticky substances that transferred from some leaves onto your clothes if you ventured near them. 

It wasn’t until he spoke again that Nia realized his silence had been, on the contrary, been intentional. There were times when words weren’t necessary; and this was one of those times. Nia let out a quiet sigh of relief upon the realization that he wasn’t sorely disappointed. “For real, now? You can sculpt and you can paint? Come on, spare some talent for the rest of us!” The Master Alchemist teased him, but promptly lowered her voice to the quiet hush that he had chosen to adopt. “Aw, Ari--you’re cute. Getting all starry-eyed over the Garden.” She couldn’t help but playfully nudge him with her elbow. “If I’d thought you’d be this enamored of it, I’d have suggested we make a day of exploring it, considering its size.”

That brief point of contact did not appear to sit well with Lazarus, however, who appeared keen on putting distance between them again. Nia held her hands up in surrender. “Seriously, not trying to be patronizing. It’s kind of refreshing to see someone who can appreciate beauty for what it is, when the rest of this kingdom is drowning in anxiety. If you ask me, the world needs more romantics like you. Heck, even when I set eyes on this place just the other day, I didn’t take nearly as much time to appreciate it as you!” Her smile was, as per usual, genuine. “But anyway--no one’s kicking you out any time soon, and you’ve still got a while before the Night Steeds can run under the cover of darkness. And I’m not much of a tour guide. Although,” she tapped her chin thoughtfully and looked skyward. “I think I might have seen something that will be of interest to you in that regard. If memory serves--it’s this way.”

Turning on her heel, Nia led the two westward through the garden, toward foliage that was qualitatively less dense and allowed for more dappling of sunlight. There, the trees not only sported leaves and blossoms, but also, wouldn’t you know it, fruit! “Aha! I knew I saw something like this the other day. Great thing about this place is that it maintains a temperate climate despite that we’re all still freezing our butts off outside of it.” She smiled, and perused the copse of trees, many which bore small, albeit ripe, fruits. “Now, if I’m being honest… I’m not sure if anything here is specifically citrus. I mean, if you look at this, it looks like a peach and a lemon had a baby.” She picked one of the questionable fruits from its stem and took a curious bite. The uncertain curve of her lips suggested it tasted just as ambiguous as it looked. “I mean… it tastes like citrus? You can give it a try, but there are species of plants here that I’m damn sure only exist here in the Night Garden. It might not be exactly what you’re looking for, but you won’t find it anywhere else. Here.” She picked another pink, lemon-shaped fruit and handed it to Ari. “Give it a try. If you think it’ll work, then I don’t see why you can’t take what you need. The Garden certainly produces enough of its species' of plants!”

In highlighting her history of violence, Chara found it inevitable that Lilica would draw parallels between their disparate but similar stories. She wasn’t ignorant to the fact that the heir of Galeyn once possessed toxic magic and the capacity to kill innocents without remorse. Perhaps she was attracted, initially, to Lilica because of her inability to tout moral superiority over Chara’s head, a trait the control-hungry Rigas appreciated. Like Alster before her, Chara flocked to the sinners and the broken, knowing her soul suffered too much damage to accept the wholesome and pure as objects of affection. Her preferences spanned from wretched to entirely hopeless, prime complements to the misery she exuded daily. To the Aristides of the world, the idealistic aesthetics and romantics whose unparalleled naivete shunned the darkness in others, she would ruin them, and she had; though, it surprised her how the sweet boy developed as only marginally conniving as a result of her various abuses. One could argue that her cruel dismissal of Alster created the catalyst and the perfect conditions for his awakening of the Serpent; ergo, she ruined him, as well. But Lilica came pre-ruined, and there was little Chara could do to worsen the dark mage and her chthonic magic’s appetite for destruction. What arose as most shocking, was how she contributed to the opposite effect. Somehow, despite documented proof of her propensity to trammel promising lives into the dirt, Lilica fell in love with the dirt--and frankly, it flummoxed Chara, how it happened. Even now, she wrestled to understand why anyone would love her, unless they were too broken to see the difference between a healthy relationship and a malevolent one.  

“Lilica--” her hands lay open and useless in the dark mage’s grip, “do I abuse you? Am I abusive? Sometimes, I wonder…” she slipped away from Lilica, hugging her body against the window, allowing a sliver of dead space between them. “You’ve changed. In a few short years, you’ve made enormous strides to combat the monster within, whereas I...I’m afraid I’ve made precious few developments in addressing my own monster. Can you confidently state that I am not the same woman? You saw how I threw accusations at Alster just before; how I blamed Elespeth for losing him to the ether-realms a few weeks ago. The bitter remarks I hurled at Aristide during his dinner party. You cannot deny that I lob harsh complaints at you, at an alarming frequency. What if...cruelty is in my nature, and I cannot change? What if the coin is fused to the table, light-side down, and no force of magic or blacksmith’s tools can pry it free? My darkness may not be as profound, and it may not have a body count to rival yours, but...it negatively impacts the people who cross my path--including you. Is my narcissism too pronounced to realize the harm I’m inflicting on you? Please tell me,” her tearful eyes searched for Lilica’s under the dim witch-lights, “if you find me unreasonable. If you find me...abusive.”

Already overwhelmed by the subject and teetering close to a breakdown, Chara closed her eyes and concentrated on the clopping of hooves upon the dirt road, the strain and squeak of wheels, the forceful wooden shifting of the carriage as it careened through the Galeynian countryside in a rush of wind. She focused on the wild, jolting vibrations beneath her feet, her erratic breathing, her frenzied heartbeat drumming unsyncopated rhythms too scattered to follow. But her attempts at inducing calm yielded unhelpful results. Nothing short of screaming aloud would suffice...but there was nowhere to scream. And nowhere to go. 

Unable to navigate free of a relentlessly difficult topic, she settled for an easier sliver of discussion, something she found fit to digest—better, at least, than explorations of her damnable character. “An apology would hardly suffice after perpetrating thirty years of abuse. I effectively controlled half of his life. He would not believe its sincerity. I cannot divine how...it would do me much good, either. Not when merely sharing the same quarters with the man corrodes my every attempt at clemency. Around him, I only know how to harm. I’ll twist the apology in half and repurpose it into a threat. No, I...it is not wise to offer him an apology. I’ve messed him up so much, I fear he would misinterpret it to mean something else, nevermind how I would end up voicing it. For now, it’s better that he sees me as irredeemable and that I see him as worthless. As you’ve said,” she stared down at her torn nails, “sometimes, it’s easier to wield the darkness. In our current, desperate straits, we may have to summon our worst, for, it is possible that to do so will help us defeat Locque.”

As luck would have it, the following day—her first day joining Locque’s ragtag council of murderous and murder-adjacent misfits—who should request the first audience with their newly-formed partnership but Lord Aristide Canaveris? Leave it to him to wax poetic on the necessity of parties and positivity; the man was as green as the ridiculous coat he sported. D’Marian affairs hadn’t yet sucked the life-giving nectar from his springtime aplomb, and it showed. 

Fortunately, the Canaveris lord took great pains not to acknowledge her beyond her position as a collective. In his eyes, she’d been demoted from ‘Lady Chara,’ to a chair in the room, an occupant served by any blank-faced D’Marian or Galeyn. Like her, he simply bore no energy to entertain her unpleasantness and his intentional neglect sat with Chara just fine. He kept their animosity civil by refusing to address it at all. If nothing else, she would give him credit for his discretion and professionalism—and his flagrant shamelessness in proposing a celebration during such a tepid transitional point. ...What was he planning? 

Remembering who shared the room with her, Chara ceased positing about the motivations behind Aristide’s grand gesture. Rowen Kavanagh, lounging in a chair to Locque’s right-side, propped her feet on the table in true Hadwin fashion and appeared bored, her eyes fixated on a blurry scuff mark marring the floor in streaks of black. Despite her disinterest, she occasionally looked up from her unfocused staredown to cast cursory glances at Lilica, Aristide, and Chara, telltale signs that indicated the probing of her Sight. As a form of protection, the Queen’s advisor filled her mind with overpowering dark thoughts, intending to smother and shield the faoladh from incriminating information. Considering the heavy subject matter from yesterday, it wasn’t difficult to flood her consciousness with memories of Aristide—though it proved difficult to maintain a neutral expression and not one trounced by ragged breaths and a pain-twisted brow. Lilica was correct on a few fronts; if for no other reason than to bar Rowen Kavanagh from the juiciest details raging inside her head, it was necessary to reminisce upon her horrid treatment of the fledgling D’Marian Lord beforehand, in a safe space, lest the pixie-like mongrel wrench it from her unprepared. She was delusional to believe the secrets of her destructive past wouldn’t come to light, but at the very least, she was better able to steel herself for whatever vibrated off Rowen’s lips. 

Sure enough, after Aristide’s departure, the small faoladh made her opinion known. “I don’t trust him,” she announced in her loudest cadence, which, for the soft-spoken Kavanagh sibling, reached little above a whisper. “He’s not being upfront with you, or sincere.”

“Of course he isn’t,” Chara said, jumping on the opportunity to discredit Rowen’s analysis. “The man radiates obsequiousness. He has perfected the servile act over the years; I know him well. But have you ever heard of a sincere politician? It goes without saying that he desires your favor and will say whatever is necessary to obtain it,” she hesitated to pluralize her next statement, “your Majesties.” 

“No,” Rowen’s red-brown eyes flicked lazily to Chara, then to her queen. “That’s not all. He distrusts you, Locque. Even after you saved his wretched town from the Serpent, he harbors no confidence over your rule. He’d rather see you dethroned,” she waved a hand to Chara and Lilica. “And they’re planning to dethrone you.”

“I do not deny it,” she challenged Rowen’s gaze with eyes of blue fire. “We’re cooperating because you’ve left us little choice. But if I may be so bold as to say—you’ve given us no reason to trust you. Especially you, Rowen Kavanagh. Go ahead and prove us wrong and perhaps we shall cease plotting for your demise. But if you are ready to condemn us over a half-formed idea, then I should consider the same of you; your depth of mistrust has a death toll. Need I remind you, cooperation is key. On both sides.” She dared to address Locque directly. “You need us, but we also need you. Above all, we are interested in peace. If you are also interested in peace, then we have an understanding, but to understand is not the same as to trust. It will take some time to expunge the stirrings of rebellion from our hearts, but if you are serious about kingdom-wide stability and prosperity for all citizens, then I do not see why we cannot develop a working relationship. This process will not take overnight, but I promise you, we shall get there.”

“You don’t want peace.” Rowen dropped her feet from the table, slamming the soles of her boots on the floor. “You want discord. I’ve seen what you’ve done to that man—Lord Canaveris. A woman who clamors for peace wouldn’t treat a so-called ally like a whipping boy for so many years. He was your slave, and you enjoyed it. You reveled in squeezing out his spirit with your mind games and kicking his ribs for the pleasure of hearing them break. And you,” she turned on Lilica, “don’t get me started on your crimes against humanity. They’re so numerous, to recount them would cost us an entire day to review. You’re agents of chaos, and I don’t believe for a second that you want an undisputed rule.”

Chara nodded knowingly. Thank you for being so predictable, Rowen Kavanagh. “And yet, here he is, unflinchingly working alongside the people, myself included, who have wronged him. I admit my hand in tormenting Lord Canaveris, as certain as Majesty Lilica would admit her wrongful and most vile deeds. But let us not be hypocrites. We do not profess to be innocent, but you cannot take the moral high ground. Neither of you. You’ve killed far too many of my people to lecture us on trust and decency. So please, Rowen, let us dispense of this childish act of pointing fingers and settle on business matters like adults.” Before Rowen, eyes burning, could open her mouth to argue, Chara resumed her speech, pretending not to see her. “First off, regarding Lord Canaveris and his froufrou celebration, if your Majesties do not wish to attend, then I will go in your stead, as a sign of good faith. I must stress the importance of maintaining strong ties with the D’Marians. Speaking as a D’Marian and their former leader, I can say that to placate them early on means less trouble down the road. We have a tendency to loudly express our opinions and revolt when we are displeased by the system of governance. Seeing as we are a community of powerful magic-users, revolts can become...messy. Show them you care about their well-being, Majesties, and they will have no scruple against you.” 

Not expecting Nia’s ‘cute’ comment and resulting elbow nudge, a faint blush colored Ari’s brown cheeks a ruddy, clay color. Lazarus, attuned to his master, insinuated his foot between the two, wordlessly enforcing the importance of physical distance. “Ah, Laz, no need to be so stringent; I do not mind a tap,” Ari reassured the hulking man, who, with hesitation, sidestepped out of their direct vicinity. Nia did not do it out of malignance, he convinced himself, gently cradling the area of contact while trying to banish the memory of Chara jabbing a pointed boot into his ribs, or the sickening cracks they emitted as they succumbed to her foot’s persuasion. To deter suspicion, she had sent for a healer, who stitched together his ugly fractures, and no one in the Canaveris estate, save for Lazarus, who shared a psychic link with the young master, was privy to the knowledge. 

“Mind you, Nia, painting is not my forte, but as I honed my artistic pursuits, I sampled every medium before choosing my focus. As I believe each avenue explored strengthens the skills of the artist, I never abandoned those mediums. For perspective, sometimes it is helpful to sketch or paint the design of my sculpture before imagining it in three dimensions. But, ah,” he smiled his appreciation, “I thank you for valuing an aesthetic eye. No offense taken. I suppose I am captivated by the Garden because it refreshes my senses. As one would breathe in the ocean brine to reinvigorate their olfactory function, I view the Garden as a much-needed purge of the miasma that has weighed on me since losing Stella D’Mare...and my eldest brother.” The smile waned around the edges. “Tease me however you like, Nia, but I am not so homebound as to understate the allure of nature.” 

As proof of ‘no harm done’ with regards to her jocular words, he enthusiastically followed the Master Alchemist through the tangle of overhead trees, overhanging flowers, and climbing vines to a deliberately-manicured section of the Garden. Groves which featured mysterious, lemon-shaped, orange-colored fruits proliferated in evenly-spaced rows, practically undulating under their weight with bounteous harvests. At Nia’s sampling and ensuing assessment of the odd fruit, Ari, in curiosity, accepted the not-lemon, not-peach, and carved out a small bite. With slow chews, he moved the sliver around his mouth as he identified and created its flavor profile. “Limoncellos and Arancellos require a rind for soaking into a syrupy liqueur. This has no rind and its mouthfeel certainly resembles a peach, but the taste is distinctly sour and tangy with an after-hint of sweet. If I am honest,” he scrutinized the fruit in one gloved hand, “I don’t believe I could replicate a cello with a fruit of this nature; nonetheless, it deserves my attention. Thank you for sharing with me this peculiar fruit. With the permission of your Majesties, I shall carry a batch home and whip up something most grand to serve at my banquet. I do hope I will see you there, Nia.” Loath to waste the fruit, he took a second, bigger bite. The more he chewed, the more he began to devise a recipe for a palate cleanser, using the extracted juices of the fruit as a base. “If you are worried about how others will receive you, do keep in mind that your lady is not yet well-received. You are not alone in your anxieties. It is for this reason that I open my home to the rulers of Galeyn and their council. They cannot accept you if you never break your anonymity. The same is true of Majesty Locque. Without a form to account for, they will only associate you with shadows. Be that as it may, I do not fault you for choosing to show at a later hour. If you do, I shall be sure to save you a good share of the feast—and a proper gown. So lay your fears to rest, Nia. I happen to favor your caliber of riff-raff.”

“Abusive to… me?” Lilica was taken so off guard by Chara’s question that her stunned silence must have come across as a stark realization of perhaps exactly what Chara feared, if only for a moment. To reassure the suddenly very distressed Rigas woman, she hurried to formulate a reply. “No--no, absolutely not! Chara, I will openly admit that you are my first and only serious relationship, and that I haven’t any other experiences against which to judge it. But… you are right, in a respect. I’ve come far in the time I’ve known you. I’ve learned to diminish and break away from the darkness that has held me hostage. But in the same respect, I also know not to surround myself with people or things that would encourage it to take up its hold on me, again. And if you were one such influence… I wouldn’t feel for you the way that I do.”

It was strange, seeing the usually proud, self-assured Rigas woman reduced to such a wild state of uncertainty and self-loathing. Had Lilica really been so blind to Chara’s inner discord all this time, too swept up in her own troubles in the role of rulership that she had never asked for, that she had blatantly failed to notice this suffering? She thought she knew the haughty blonde so well, but either Chara was very well-practiced in keeping her vulnerabilities under wraps… or the Galeynian monarch was simply oblivious to the troubles that churned within the heart of someone whom she cared for, very much. “Yes, Chara. I know definitively that you are not the same woman. The woman who I met at Messino’s camp was bitter--so embittered with life and its circumstances and with herself that she couldn’t feel anything unless she succeeded in showing someone how worthless they were. I didn’t like that woman. But I think… the reason I did not like her is because I saw in her what I so wished to shed from my own identity. Because, Chara, I wasn’t much different. Certainly, I presented differently, and chose to withdraw as opposed to force my attitude on others simply because it was easier, but I was also poisoned by my own darkness. No matter how I sought to escape it, I failed, time and again, even to the point where the Sybaian healer could not help me. Can you even imagine? How utterly beyond hope someone must be that a healer who is capable of repairing you from the inside out couldn’t come near me because I was too toxic?”

Lilica reached for Chara’s hand again, weaving their fingers together. “I knew for sure that I saw change in you the day that you stepped in when I was about to give up. You didn’t have to; you could have kicked me while I was down. How easy it would have been; it could well have proven your point! That I was the scum of darkness, and nothing and no one could help me. But you didn’t. Instead, to took leave from your position of authority among the Rigases to take me back to Stella D’Mare because you recognized that I was about to shatter.” A wistful smile spread across her mouth, recalling that brief reprieve from the war that had led them to their first kiss. Had led Lilica to understand that she had actually fallen in love. “Would someone who has continued their role as an abuser do something so selfless? You expected nothing of me in the days that followed. Did not guilt me into being at your beck and call. You tolerated my reclusivity and gradually led me out of the darkness of my own mind. Chara, you didn’t even give up on me when I pushed you away. When I thought that my sacrifice was paramount to weakening the Serpent enough for it to be taken down, and was ready and willing to abandon you, you forgave me for that. You forgave me for leaving you for the better part of a year, on some fool’s errand to find a kingdom that may or may not exist, based on what a man claiming to be my father had told me in a dream. So no, Chara.” With her free hand, she touched the other woman’s chin, guiding her to meet her eyes. “You coin is not fused to the table. Perhaps it has a tendency to flip, from time to time, but that is true for everyone. There is no dark without light for context. But if I am being honest, then I would say you tend towards light. Because those who dwell in darkness are too accustomed to its shadows to recognize that they do not tend toward the light.”

To hear Chara give up so early on the potential benefits of an apology was something the Galeynian Queen had expected. It only made sense that, in such a state as she found herself, she was already half convinced that there was no path to the redemption she was so convinced that she required. But Lilica wasn’t about to give up. “You may be right. An apology may not solve anything. He may not believe you, he may not accept it, or your words may mean nothing to him, no matter how sincere they are. But I mean what I said… it doesn’t have to be for him. It should be for you. Because even if in the end, it doesn’t matter, then you’ve done the only thing left for you to do. Acknowledge what you’ve done, acknowledge that he was wrongfully affected by your actions, and that while you cannot take it back, you have remorse. That’s the difference between a monster and someone who has made a series of mistakes, Chara.” Reaching forward, she tucked a loose tress of golden hair behind the Rigas woman’s ear. “Because if that is not, in fact, the case… then we are both of us monsters. And I’m happy to be a monster, with you.”

She wasn’t sure exactly if her words had gotten through to Chara, at all. Lilica was no stranger to the difficulty of being convinced otherwise when one was already assured that they were little more than a monster, and no amount of soothing words or alternative perspectives would cut through the adamant that was Chara Rigas’s mind. As if to add insult to injury, who should show up the next day, but the very object of her lover’s anxiety and insecurity. Frankly, Lilica couldn’t have seen that ‘meeting’ over and done with soon enough, and as much as she was loathe to sit beside Locque as a not quite ‘equal’, she couldn’t have been more relieved when the sorceress made it very clear that Aristide had been heard, and that she had no interesting in continuing to sit there just so he could hear himself talk. Even after his departures, she was so wrapped up in concern for the Rigas woman (who had contained herself very well) that she had almost completely forgotten the stoic face of Sigrid Sorenson in the background, and the all more prying eyes of Rowen Kavanagh… who had her own thoughts on the matter.

Aristide did not strike Lilica as a threat--either to her, or to Locque, and she was prepared to reassure them that while he was something of a buffoon, he was relatively harmless. But before she could open her mouth, Chara spoke up--and boldly countered the Kavanagh girl, which only served to open up the floodgates of accusation. Chara--what are you doing?! She wanted to scream, and her hands tightened on the arms of her chair. Locque was more apt to listen to her little wolf pet than either of them, and true to what Hadwin had warned them about, Rowen saw right through Chara. Right through to her guilt, which was understandably mulling at the surface of her mind given that just moments ago, she had been face to face with Aristide.

And yet… Chara took her narrative, and she used it. Denied nothing, and somehow, by some damned clever means of having once been a leader, herself, she spun the narrative in her favour--in their favour. Calling out the bullshit while rerouting the conversation down a path that detracted from Rowen’s suspicions, and reframed what was most important: a path that led the people of Glayen to accepting a room full of entirely guilty individuals, all with dark pasts of their own. Except for Sigrid: it was her present that was wrapped in shadows.

“You raise a good point, Chara Rigas.” Locque mused after a moment of thought. “Both of you do. Rowen does not speak untruths, and it has not escaped me that I am sure thoughts of mutiny have crossed your minds more than once.” She glanced in Lilica and Chara’s direction, and folded her hands in front of her on the table. “However, you are, in fact, well founded in your suspicions. And that trust you speak of goes both ways. I am not asking you to blindly invest faith in me--that would be foolish. However, save for your agreeable surrender, neither have you given me reason to suspect that I shouldn’t sleep in this palace with the Dawn warrior guarding my life, each night. So…”

The sorceress unfolded her hands and laid them flat upon the table; a sign that she had come to a decision. “I have no interest in the trite affairs of the D’Marians or Aristide Canaveris. Instead, this will be an opportunity for you stand to your words, Chara Rigas. If you do want peace, and have vested interest in working with and not against me, then attend Lord Canaveris’s frivolous soiree, by all means. Test the waters, and upon your return, I would be interested in knowing what you found. How the masses are feeling, and what they expect. I am not opposed to taking their needs and concerns into consideration. After all, sharing a throne as I do, that will become my responsibility in part. Of course, I do expect honesty from you, but I’m sure I needn’t remind you that I will know if you harbour deceit. Or rather,” she lifted one hand and rested it upon the young faoladh’s shoulder, “Rowen, will. That is not a threat; merely a promise. So that you understand what is expected of you, and you know what to expect.”

It didn’t escape Nia’s attention, the way he cradled his ribs following her intentionally gentle nudge. Was he sore? Shouldering a flare-up? Or was it something else? Whatever the reason (for she had just barely tapped the guy!), it wasn’t for her using force of any kind. And if he deigned it important to tell her, then he would. Otherwise, she saw no reason to pry. “Oh… yeah. Tha actually makes a lot of sense.” The Master Alchemist observed, after listening intently to his predisposition for all pursuits when it came to art, and one of the reasons he kept himself so busy. “I kinda wondered how you all got the D’Marian settlement up and running so damned fast! I mean, there are still areas under construction, but considering you’ve been here for--what, a year? That’s damn impressive. I often heard that’s something that people do to cope with loss: of a home, a loved one, what have you. Keep busy, express it in other ways. I guess you artists already have that down pat, huh? Everything you feel, you can make it physical. In a painting or statue or music. Hell, even that acrobat lady puts her feelings into those spectacular shows.”

Her ever-present smile faded at the very corners after a brief paused, when she ventured to ask, “Were you close to him? Your brother, I mean. I always wonder how other people deal with the loss of their family members. In my family--I dunno. I guess death was just a given. You’re more likely to die than survive, and talking about death was a huge taboo. Some bullshit about tempting unwanted fate if you acknowledged it. Master Alchemist families tend to be superstitious like that.” Nia ducked under the branch of a tree, whose bark was as vibrant and green as the massive, hand-sized leaves that fanned out around it like a shelter to anything that sought to live beneath its embrace. “No funerals or anything. Someone dies, and you deal with it, but… that’s that. No gravestones or memorials. Their belongings are purged with their life; and we go on as if they never existed. Because focusing on the future, what we have left, is more conducive than mourning the past and what was lost. That’s what my mother said, anyway. Honestly, maybe this makes me an awful person, but I didn’t really think much of it when my own older brother died. He was kind of a jerk; we never got along, so I didn’t have much of a reason to miss him. Same went for my father, several years down the road. But when we lost my older sister… Celene was different. She was the eldest child; the star and bright future of the family. She wasn’t supposed to die. Several years later, it’s still hella surreal to me, because it had never been a possibility. She was going to come back from the job she’d taken, resume her place as my mother’s pride and joy, and let me do her make-up for all of the special events that she’d attend. But she just… didn’t. Didn’t return; neither dead nor alive. Our mother saw her body, and that was it. Celene was gone, and had never been. And yet… she had been. She was my sister. She made me a necklace. I couldn’t pretend like she’d never existed. I caught our mother weeping, that night, the first I’d ever seen her do it, but… that was it.”

The Master Alchemist reached up to touch the oxidized steel-star at her throat. It was seldom ever a conscious action; and it often occurred when her sister came to mind. “So Celene was gone, and the next morning, we wake up and it is suddenly as if my little sister, Palla, had been the center of my mother’s universe all along. But Palla had never been a girl with a particularly strong disposition, and despite that I knew it--that we all knew it--Felyse still pushed her. Pushed her until she was gone, too, and finally, there was no one left but me. And the proud Felyse Ardane was forced to invest everything she had left in the only child she had never wanted--the mistake that she hadn’t been able to abort. The irony, right? Supposedly, I brought bad luck to the family as the third child that threw off the palace. Palla was supposed to restore the balance and be the one that saved us, but destiny obviously had other plans.” She snorted and kicked at a wad of dirt.

“But… damn, I’m sorry, Ari. Didn’t mean to go off on such a morose tangent like that.” She was quick to apologize, the faux pas registering on her face when she looked up. “I guess, hearing about you ‘normal’ folks and your coping methods, I just have a tendency to wonder what it would have been like if I hadn’t come from such a fucked-up family. It can’t be good on my character that I never cried even once for any of my three siblings. I wasn’t allowed; at this point, I don’t think I’d even know how to. Never had to deal with grief because I wasn’t allowed to have it. So you’ll have to forgive me if I came across as insensitive; I didn’t mean to. Anyway, it’s not like you need an excuse to appreciate the Night Garden. There’s nothing like this place on the entirety of this living plane, after all. Now, let’s go get you that fruit--I think it’s just up this way!”

As promised, she introduced Ari to the strange fruit that was neither much of a peach, nor a lemon, but a strange hybrid between the two. Evidently, it wasn’t quite what Ari was looking for, and Nia snapped her fingers in disappointment. “Well, damn. Can’t say I didn’t try. Don’t know if you’ll find any bonafide citrus, here, but… if I may be so bold, why serve a drink characteristic of Stella D’Mare when you’re here, in Galeyn? You’ll have your home back, some day, but for now… why not make for a fresh start? You’re a creative guy. You don’t need lemons and your ‘Limoncellos’. Make something that is as magical as the Garden you got the fruit from, hm? If your drink crafting skills are anywhere near your sculpting skills,” she winked playfully, “then I think you’ll be set. Whatever you serve, your guests won’t be disappointed.”

Nia had assumed that the Canaveris lord had only invited her out of a sense of obligation and politeness. Just a kind gesture from a kind man who didn’t really want or need her at his soiree, but who also didn’t want her to feel left out. But, again, he brought it up--that he hoped she would attend. And, in terms of his logic, she really couldn’t deny that his reasons for her appearance as his grand event weren’t without their merit. “Well, damn. You’ve got me there.” She chuckled, taking another bite of the not-lemon, not-peach. The more she ate of it, the more the taste was beginning to really grow on her. “I know, I know; I can’t keep my nose down forever. But I’ve already made some friends in my anonymity. Kinda not so keen on screwing that up, when they find out who I work for, but… guess it’s inevitable, huh? It’s what I signed up for.” As much as she wanted to forget about her conversation with Alster Rigas, she couldn’t help but admit that he was right. If Locque was not well received… neither would she be. And that was a chance that she had to take.

“You’ve got a way with being convincing, Ari. I don’t know why, but somehow, you manage to make it kinda difficult to say ‘no’. So… I’ll think about it. Don’t hold your breath or anything, but I’ll admit, a party does sound like a lot of fun.” Finishing off her fruit, she licked her fingertips, surprised not to find a pit at the center. “For now, I’ll see if I can scrounge up some help to fill you a basket with these juicy orbs of nectar. Shouldn’t be any problem at all. But feel free to explore the Garden at your leisure; no one’s going to kick you out. And if they try… well, I can’t stand up to the Forbanne warriors. But I have no doubt big ‘ol Lazarus, here, can give them a run for their money!”

With no further retort or argument, Chara settled the matter through a voiced, “Duly noted, your Majesty,” and an agreeable nod, concealing the relief that threatened to replace the necessary splinters of tension alerting her every synapse to remain attentive and on guard. Speaking her mind presented a risk, and doing so certainly won no favor over Rowen, who spent the remainder of the meeting casting wrathful glares at the wall and saying nothing. Short of falling to the ground, dead, appealing to the murder-happy faoladh seemed as likely as Locque abandoning Galeyn and departing from the palace with good tidings and well wishes. The fey-wolf had made up her mind to despise and distrust any being outside of Locque, a steadfast trait that had aided Chara in opening up a candid dialogue between the insurrectionists in power. Therefore, if it mattered not how she presented: as benign, as unobtrusive, as acquiescent, then she had no strategic reason to present as saintly and ever-patient. Whether Chara waxed sincere or farcical, Rowen would always cry foul and accuse her, and Lilica, of cavorting with the darkness. Should she feel so inclined, the little bitch could make a case for their every imperfection and minor infraction, be it oversleeping (laziness was a vice), or overindulging in one’s appearance (vanity was the gateway to sin). Surely, for one so unreasonable as Rowen Kavanagh, it would be quite easy to dismantle her Sight advantage by shrugging away her condemnations as unproductive nitpicking and countering with cold logic, its ironclad rhetoric incapable of emotional manipulation. 

Yet, the young faoladh was volatile and prone to petty vengeances. Under the truce, she swore not to kill or to harm—save for her sod of a brother—but if pushed, she could still ruin reputations. And though Chara Rigas readily admitted her culpability in the devastation of Aristide Canaveris, she was not so confident in answering to the community’s scrutiny, if such damning information was brought to the public’s attention. Worse, should she spread the news of Lilica’s former reign of ruination, she could very well alienate their Galeynian supporters, who, out of confusion, would flock to Locque as the lesser evil. Ergo, the witch’s “promise” seemed more sinister than probing her lackey for proof of their deceit. Above the promise, a very active threat hung over their heads: misstep, and the people will know everything you don’t want them to know. And they’ll turn against you. 

Following the meeting, Chara and Lilica returned to their chambers. The second the door clicked closed and locked away the bounding terrors awaiting them outside, the Rigas advisor bridged the distance between them and embraced the dark mage, and through her long, tender gesture, she intuited what she wished to say aloud, but could not. I’m sorry for worrying you. For risking our lives. We made it through our first official day. There are many more to come...but we shall prevail. 

Pulling away from the hug, Chara chewed the desperation out of her firmed jaw and loosened her lips with a sigh. “About Aristide’s party...I’ve agreed to go out of obligation, but Lilica...I have my doubts about attending alone. I do not trust approaching him, in fear for how I may act. However,” she bit her lip in hesitation. He might tell us something of import, and we cannot let the opportunity slide, however it may compromise us. “...you are needed here at the palace. I will just have to face him, and that is that. I know you will support me from afar, and...it is enough. If you are so convinced I have changed, and I have never abused you, then I shall take your rallying energies with me to this banquet and hope its soothing balm will prevent me from...from retreading a bad habit.” She landed a yearning kiss on Lilica’s lips. “While I cannot fully believe in your counsel from last night, I do believe in its sincerity. So thank you...for seeing me as someone capable of loving inviolably.” 

Ari hadn’t meant to concentrate on his brother’s passing. In his narrative, Casimiro served as a footnote, a brief aside to explain his preoccupations with creating, campaigning, and constructing vast sections of the D’Marian settlement. But, realizing Nia had once expressed the loss of her family, his grazed mention of a deceased sibling must have generated bitter and unwarranted memories. Too late to retract his faux pas or navigate the subject to more polite conversation, he instead lent an ear to Nia’s gruesome family dynamic, schooling his face to absorb the shock of her account. From his limited knowledge of Master Alchemists, specialists of organic and inorganic matter notwithstanding, he hadn’t gathered enough information on their origins, or, specifically, on how one was conceived. For children of the forbidden art to train under the likelihood of death and considered by their birth-givers as too disposable to mourn, struck him as unfathomably tragic. Unfortunately, the practice was not uncommon within the mage community, as well. Perhaps not as barbaric; few had died in pursuit of their blood-borne gifts. Among noble families of magical pedigree, children of innate talent were prioritized over the unremarkable and sparse. The prestige and longevity of a noble family depended on producing top-grade mages. For relevancy and status, every—sometimes illicit—pain was taken to circumvent the baneful possibility of bearing a fruitless child. 

The Canaverises, for all their progress, could not prove their innocence in tampering with their progeny to create valued heirs. While they did not discard the runts, or the unsuccessfully inoculated, who were not shunned but welcomed as artisans or laborers, whosoever demonstrated power reaped the most privileges. Ari, due to the peculiarity of his condition, enjoyed a strange middle status. Vested of the magic the Canaverises desired, he trained under the tutelage of many teachers, but out of fear of damaging flare-ups caused by magic-related stresses, his parents encouraged gentler vocations better suited for the minimally-gifted. As his brother rose the ranks to earn his seat as Family Head, Ari meanwhile married magic and artisanship into a refined pastiche, an interdisciplinary practice noticed and recognized by even the most discerning of his peers. His contributions were not without public appeal, and he’d even helmed a few city projects: fountains, forums, and seaside villas fronted by his intricate designs and sculpt-work, expedited and polished through magic. It was through this dogged skill, his late brother’s glowing endorsement, and pinpoint persuasion that convinced the family to vote him in as Head, despite his stone-skinned malady. 

None of his achievements would have been possible, had he grown under a Master Alchemist’s strict hand. Nevermind the arduous training regimen involved, but he imagined his harsh taskmasters would frown upon his dabbling interests in art and organizing galas for the wealthy and influential—hobbies hardly seen as essential. It was difficult enough placating Chara’s volatility; merely partaking in the daily minutiae of a Master Alchemist in-training would likely kill the effete Canaveris Lord. How Nia turned out to become a loose, fun-loving soul, he attributed to her latter years as a fugitive, considering her solemn profession left little in the way of levity or self-expression. 

“That is quite the sordid tale, Nia, and I am afraid I cannot offer much aside from my condolences and a few musings regarding my brother,” Ari said, weaving through the narrow garden path, mindful of trampling over sprouts and seedlings underfoot. Lazarus followed his master’s footing and also skirted any nascent plants that overtook the path. “Casimiro took his duties to the family seriously. Though a busy man at all angles, he always found a moment to spare for me. He served as my closest confidant and protector when I needed one.” After many years of secrecy, Ari finally appealed to Casimiro about his dalliances with Chara Rigas, never revealing her name, but providing him with enough details to condemn the family for the slights his youngest brother had suffered. What followed was a decades’ long campaign to smear the Rigas name, one in which he unearthed after generations of silence between the warring families, and which Ari had reigned victorious. “We did not discuss our emotions much, but through his unerring support, he helped me slowly recover from the injustices done by the woman who reaved my heart and gutted it whole. He died in a massacre. Burned alive by Andalari’s forces,” because he dared to stand against tyranny, he thought the omitted rest of his sentence. To honor him, and to honor the sacrifices of D’Marians who died to gain freedom from their oppressors, I will continue to fight under his banner...to end Locque’s reign. My apologies in advance, Nia. If only you hadn’t pledged your affiliations to her...

“Following Casimiro’s death, I lobbied for the vacant position as Canaveris Head—not out of any strong desire to lead, but to keep his memory and his visions for the future alive. To satisfy the goals he was unable to accomplish in life—through me.” He emerged from the underbrush, shaking off the stray leaves that clung to his coat with a hand of hesitation; for how they alighted along the embroidered vines, they appeared to have manifested from the stitched fabric, and the possibility of a living coat, to him, came across as rather enchanting. “In response to your inquiry—though I hardly consider the Canaverises a ‘normal’ family—we mourn our dead by memorializing them in stone. For each deceased Canaveris, we erect a statue, a marker to represent their legacy...so we may never forget. I have created many effigies for our fallen kin—and beyond; as well you know, I am in midst of capturing the acrobat Cwenha’s countenance with hammer and chisel. Children are in particular a trial to actualize into solid form. My brother and his wife lost two infants and the experience left me quite sober, but sculpting Casimiro’s likeness was by leagues my most difficult undertaking. Nonetheless, I disallowed anyone else to craft it in my place. With each passing day, I feared I would forget his likeness: the curvature of his nose, or the hawk’s gleam of his eyes. I could not tarry, lest the picture escape and reduce my accuracy to paintings. Footprints. Echoes. A pale replacement to the fondness of a well-remembered dream.” 

He closed his own eyes, replicating the image of his brother in his faulty memory, but seeing only the monument of stone, presiding over the villa’s main chamber. “I managed to complete and unveil the statue...a mere three months ago, concurrent with the numerous other projects I directed among the D’Marian settlement. Because his statue required the ground-up construction of a village to finish, I’d like to believe that Casimiro’s spirit is infused within its buildings and squares. He guided my hand, stalling his own monument to see to it that I focused firstly on providing a home for our displaced people. Therefore, I cannot feel shame in delaying his piece. This is, I am certain, what he desired; a home worth the labor. A home made for D’Marians and by D’Marians.”L

Having since opened his eyes to the warming sunlight, he set his gaze towards the sunset-colored fruits bobbing in the balmy breeze. “Evidently, Nia, I am equally as capable of spinning tangents. Do forgive me. We have vastly contrasting experiences regarding the deaths of loved ones. Seeing as the process of becoming a Master Alchemist professes a high mortality rate, it is understandable not to linger on the unfortunate consequences of failure. However, it seems unavoidable not to respond when you’ve forged a special connection with your kin, and she has deceased.” He nodded to the star-shaped pendant she frequently slotted between her fingers. “It is impossible to determine a correct protocol to death, or to tragedy. What’s more, it is impossible, even presumptuous, to assume that we are above feeling its scorpion sting when it strikes unexpectantly and takes from us our most valued relations. For that, I see no shame in memorializing your sister, howsoever you choose to display it--be it a necklace, a statue, or a bouquet of recollections. Whether you shed tears, whether you dismiss the remainder of your family, is inconsequential relative to what holds true for you and your existence. Others may accuse you of insensitivity or a lack of character, a lack of remorse, but they do not influence how you feel, or the life you’ve lived. You are a survivor, Nia, and you possess the alacrity to pair your survival with your peers and to understand how it deviates from the collective perception of ‘normal.’ It takes a great deal of wisdom to evaluate and question the core tenets indoctrinated by your upbringing, and to carry on despite them. We do not control how we are raised, but we can control how we grow from the pain and losses of our youth.” 

Lazarus, in digesting Ari’s encouraging speech to their established “adversary,” raised a perplexed brow, confused by the attempts to bolster Nia by validating her life experiences. In response, the Canaveris Lord handed the hulking man an unidentifiable fruit and bid him take a bite. Laz, he addressed the golem via their psychic link, I am polite and I am civil. That is all. There is nothing unbecoming about my current behavior. 

Choosing not to reply, Lazarus crunched into the fruit, nearly depleting it in one giant bite. “Ah, it appears that Laz enjoys this oddity of a fruit,” Ari transitioned into a pleased smile before finishing his share of the fruit. “It is settled, then. While I am invested in preserving Stella D’Mare’s culture, culture is not a fixed object, for we are doubtless influenced by our new geographic locale. As we are celebrating a coalition of two great realms and not one, it is best to combine our strengths in an amalgam of plenty. Now you must attend to imbibe on the literal fruit of my labors. If you do wish to value your anonymity for a mite longer, you will find that my guests are largely nobility and likely no one you have encountered. They will spread word of you, yes, but as we live in a relatively small and tight-knit kingdom--well, I’ve no doubt the palace staff is passing along your name as we speak. You might as well make a statement while it is still available to you; to strive for fame and not infamy...if possible. But ah,” he crossed one dissenting hand across his chest, “you need not fill us a basket. We are quite capable of the task. The basket alone will suffice. As you can see,” he gestured to Lazarus, “my tall comrade can de-fruit a tree, handily.” 

Nia wasn’t sure where that divulgence had come from, suddenly opening up about the losses she had endured so long ago. In all honesty, it wasn’t something that was frequently on her mind. True to her upbringing as a Master Alchemist, ruminating on loss and events of the past that could not be changed seldom to never occupied her mind, as perhaps just a little bit of those superstitions had become ingrained in her psyche, and at this point in her adult life, it was hard to shake them. However, in her time since Ilandria and the fall of her family and Master Alchemy at large, the young woman had come into contact with enough people to realize that the Ardane approach to death and loss was not characteristic of the rest of the world, and was, in fact, very abnormal compared to the average mortal being. People held funerals, memorials for their dead. Contrary to her family, the average person sought not to forget their dearly departed, for while a body was finite, memory, if nurtured, was immortal. She had witnessed it all, from a distance: services, gatherings, tears, offerings. New life planted in the ground. Grave markers, flowers, and--such as in Ari’s case--statuesque representations of the lost. No, contrary to Master Alchemists, the rest of the world acknowledged death and dealt with it. They gave it a name and crafted rituals around it.

And it was for this reason that, up until just now, Nia had never elaborated to a single soul on how she, herself, had experienced loss in such a twisted way. Ari had not asked her; mention of his brother’s passing had been an afterthought. But something… something about the tranquility of the Night Garden, which was known to nurture life and to stave off death, and being in the company of someone who really knew how to listen, made itself an opportunity to get those words off her chest after so many long years. She had jumped on the opportunity without really thinking of it, and in all truth, it left her feeling a little bit ashamed and embarrassed… but not as much as she could have been. Because, to her surprise, the Canaveris lord left her feeling oddly validated in his own account of death and philosophy surrounding it. “Sounds like you had some real good ties with your brother, Ari. If he was anything at all like you, I can only assume he was quite the formidable person.” Nia commented, after listening, in turn, to Ari describe his relationship with his brother, and the ways in which his passing had left him. What it had inspired him to do. “I’m glad to hear you had that--someone to have your back when you suffered at the hands of that woman. And, I know I’ve said it before, but I’m sorry that you ultimately lost him… and in such an awful way. It’s not fair, is it? In a world where there are so many who are arguably wholly undeserving to tread this plain, and yet, they still do. While others who do deserve it are lost to us all too quickly…”

As if becoming conscious of her nervous habit for the first time, Nia promptly dropped the steel star and let it settle between her collarbones. “I’ve never really told anyone this before,” she confessed after a beat, still struggling to understand how and why she had decided to divulge it to Ari, of all people. Why would he care who or what she had lost? It didn’t make any sense. But then, she hadn’t realized just how badly she’d wanted to say those words aloud, to weigh them with her own voice and hear them with her own ears, until they were out and spoken. Somehow, it made her heart and her mind feel a little bit lighter. “I’ve gotta admit, I did buy into it for a while. A part of me still does--all that superstition around tempting death by talking about it. It’s hard to shake something like that when the idea is thrown at you time and again throughout your upbringing. But, more than that… I dunno. I guess, as a Master Alchemist and all of the horrible, damnable things that it requires to become one and earn the runes, I figure most people have enough of a reason to despise me. So why give them even more reason by adding that we don’t acknowledge our own dead? Not like I need more excuses for people to come at me.” She chuckled, as if her position of having been hunted for the past decade was actually something laughable. Hell, if you couldn’t laugh about it, then you’d only be crying about it! And she didn’t have the luxury of feeling that sorry for herself. Perhaps it was both her best attribute and greatest vice: compartmentalizing tragedy in ways that forbade it from affecting her. “You’ve got to admit, it’s a little messed up to act like a lost loved one never existed. But… for whatever reason, you don’t seem particularly fazed by that.”

She looked up from the ground, her eyes instead fixing on the vibrant green of Ari’s coat, and remained uncharacteristically silent for just a moment, as if considering a brand new thought that she had unearthed from the recesses of her mind. “...the way you put it, I think… maybe I have commemorated them. My sisters, at least. I didn’t mean to, but you’ve got me thinking that I guess I rebelled just a little when my mother insisted the dead should be forgotten. I kept the necklace that she told me to throw away. When I escaped Ilandria, I stopped going by Anetania. Palla was never able to say my name correctly when she was young; too much of a mouthful. I was always ‘Nia’ to her. Now I’m Nia to everyone else, too.” A thoughtful look passed through her brown eyes. All this time, and she hadn’t realized that she had kept memories of the dead with her--well, at least of those she chose to remember. Did this mean she wasn’t as despicable a human being as she’d previously thought? It wasn’t a grave marker, a memorial plane, or a statue. Not a poem written to commemorate their lives, or a painting. They were just memories; her shortened name, the eyesore of a necklace that she never took off. These were what was left of Celene and Palla--two people who had existed, and who had been taken from this world long, long before they should have been.

Funny, how Ari had seen that so clearly… and how she had been carrying around these commemorative little pieces for over a decade, without really thinking about what they stood for. Talk about having an eye for detail! Shaking her head with that lazy smile returning, Nia clasped her hands in front of her as they approached the unique fruit-bearing tree. “I don’t know if you’re just being nice because it’s your nature, Ari. Kinda hard to tell for me, if I’m being honest. But regardless… thanks. Y’know, for not being one to judge. Truth be told, you have plenty of reason to, and I wouldn’t blame you for thinking less of me. I don’t know what it is about you, but… your company is kinda validating. So, for what it’s worth--thanks. I don’t think there are many people who would try to rationalize things the way that you do. And, really, you have no real reason to validate me. It’s so much easier to write people off as good and evil, right and wrong. Rest assured, though,” she stopped at the bottom of the tree, and looked up into its branches. “I don’t need your condolences. It all happened a really long time ago, and hey, I’m in a way better place and position, now. Even have a real bed to sleep in.” She chuckled. A decade ago, she’d never thought she’d consider something as simple as a bed a luxury!

“But… ok. You’ve got me with all your persuasion. I’ll go to your little shindig, gown and all, if that’ll make you happy. But you’re gonna have to lower your expectations a little, because besides the gown and whatever I can figure out to do with my hair, I am absolute crap at trying to enhance myself with make-up of any sort. So what you see now is what you’re gonna get--minus the informal leather, I guess.” She picked at a spot on her shoulder where the leather was beginning to crack, with wear and tear and exposure to the elements. “Weird, ‘cause I would always do a damn good job of Celene’s make-up. But for whatever unfortunate reason, I don’t know what to do with my own face. Might as well ask me to apply rouge with my eyes closed, because the results will be about the same. Then again, you already know me a bit, so… I’m sure your moderate expectations for my sense of formality are exactly where they should be.”

Taking a step away from the Canaveris lord and his gigantic manservant, Nia offered an informal bow. “Give me just a few minutes, and I’ll have that basket for you. If you do need some help picking your fill, then by all means, let me know! But...” She pointedly eyed Lazarus up and down. “I think you’ve got exactly who you need, here. And I’m not sure he would appreciate my help. Between you and me,” she cupped her hand to her mouth, as if to be discreet--although given that the golem was right there, it was obviously a farce, “I don’t think he likes me very much!”

Something about what Ari said stayed with Nia, in the days that followed, though. He was right: one way or another, her anonymity would be lost, and everyone within the small kingdom would know her name and her face and trace it all back to Locque. So she had a choice: to either let her name and what thoughts it brought to mind drift along without any input on her part, or she could set an example for the new Queen she worked for and have some say into just what her name and face meant to others. Ari was right, and frankly, it was just what she had been telling Locque for the past month: that the sorceress, sooner than later, had to make her presence known, and to own it. Not to rely on her to be the messenger or to facilitate each and every negotiation. So, too, could she not expect others to like and respect her without giving them a reason. Now was the time--and that party might just be the perfect opportunity. 

Just a couple of days before the Canaveris lord planned to generously host his soiree, the Master Alchemist decided to start this networking directly within the palace, itself, and knocked on the door of Chara and Lilica’s chamber early in the evening.

It was the dark-haired Tenebris monarch who answered the door--and not without obvious surprise on her pale face. Along with what looked to be a conflicting sentiments that teetered between opening the door wider and slamming it in her face. Before the latter could occur, Nia put her hands up in pre-surrender. “Hey--relax! I know we haven’t really had much of an introduction or anything, so I thought… Maybe, we could be on more of a first name basis, you know? I mean, if I’m not interrupting anything. If I am, then by all means, let me know and I’ll try again at a better time!”

Lilica didn’t need to turn around to know that Chara was about to tell Nia where to go and how to get there. Before she could say anything, the Galeynian Queen pushed the door wider. “You’re not interrupting, Nia. Come in, if you want. Is there something we can do for you?”

Nia knew the difference between an invitation and a tolerance for company. When she set foot inside, she didn’t go far. “Listen, I know we’re not best friends and all. But we’re working together now, so we might as well be on better terms, right? I’ve got nothing against you all. On the contrary, I think there’s more value in getting along. So I thought,” she leaned against the doorframe and smiled. “Why don’t we all, the three of us, share a carriage to Ari’s grand party in a couple of days? Moreover--I could help you get ready. I’m actually quite skilled when it comes to make-up. Well, on other peoples’ faces.”

“You… you’re suggesting we attend, together.” Lilica had to say it aloud just to believe what she’d heard just heard. This wasn’t a joke; Nia was serious. The dark mage took a long breath before going on. “I don’t mean to disappoint you, Nia, but I won’t be attending the event. As much as I acknowledge Lord Canaveris’s gesture of solidarity, I think it is best if I stay behind to continue to sort out the chaos of this transition. Chara, however,” she gestured to the blonde woman to her left, “will be attending in my stead. Although she is already fully capable of applying her own make-up, I don’t see a reason why you can’t attend in the same carriage.”

“Really?” Nia, to Lilica’s surprise, looked… well, surprised. The Master Alchemist visibly relaxed her shoulders and sighed. “Well… this was a lot easier than I thought it would be. Seriously, I’ve been putting off trying to talk to both of you for days because I wasn’t sure you’d give me the time of day. Gotta say, I really appreciate that you didn’t slam that door in my face. Are you sure you won’t reconsider, though? That neither of the monarchs are going is kind of a slap in the face to all the work Ari is putting in.”

Lilica smiled almost convincingly enough for it not to look forced. “I’m sure Lord Canaveris will understand. There is still a lot to sort out here, and I am fortunate that Chara is able to attend as a representative on my behalf. Just as Locque is fortunate to have you there on her behalf. Nia… I want to apologize if I made a negative first impression. Our goals are similar; I don’t desire discord within this palace. So…” She offered a slow nod. “Thank you. For stepping up and taking this initiative.”

“Damn… I must really be an overthinker. Because this?” Nia couldn’t help but laugh. “This was not what I was expecting. Li--I’m sorry. Your Majesty. Thank you for making this so infinitely easier. I told Locque it was just a matter of time and patience! Anywho,” She pushed away from the doorframe and straightened her posture. “I won’t take up any more of your valuable time. And Lady Chara?” She arched an eyebrow and smiled in her direction. “Maybe you can give me a few tips on how the hell I’m supposed to apply rouge. I can never get it right on myself. Until then!”

When she left, and Lilica closed the door behind her, she held her breath, and held up a finger before Chara could speak. She waited several beats, until she could hear Chara’s footsteps retreating, before she said anything more. “...please don’t hate me.” She whispered, moving in close to murmur in Chara’s ear as she wrapped her arms around her waist. “I’m sorry. But I can’t go… and I think Alster was right. Keep an eye on Locque’s Master Alchemist. She likes to talk. We can use that to our advantage. Do this for me, and I swear… I will make it up to you, any way that you want.”

Like Nia, Ari baffled on why he shared so much personal information concerning his brother’s death when he was never keen on discussing the tragedy with anyone, save, perhaps, for Lazarus. Despite the Canaveris tradition of immortalizing the dead through sculpture, a healthy and productive expression of grief, other forms of grief, such as vocally mourning the deceased, were generally undervalued. If one could not transform pain into the tangible, a concrete culmination of the departed and their works, their accomplishments, then the bereaved was wasting precious energy not on creating, but on sulking, an ineffective means to honor the dead, according to family-wide opinion. Passive grief did not produce art, or an annex to the estate, a fountain, a library bearing the beloved’s name in gilt-lettering, or, at minimum, a statue to mark their grave-site. Passive grief halted progress; it indisposed the affected, rendering some inconsolable and unwilling to move forward. To the Canaverises, death didn’t need a voice; it needed to be seen and touched, full-bodied and anchored to the ground, but not necessarily explored through the abstract and intangible. Helpless was the individual who chose not to extrapolate their woes into a solid medium, for they would find little support among the majority who believed the only way to appease the spirit, and to soothe the mourner, was to erect a monument. To deny this ritual was to refuse the spirit’s release from the earthly plane, entrapping them within the mind of the bereaved and inflicting prolonged suffering and emotional distress on both parties. Never hold the dead hostage, read a popular family adage. For they will scorn the cage, and scorn its jailer. Set them free and you shall set yourself free. 

Ari learned, early on, not to speak of pain but to channel it into methods approved for healing. As with many of the Canaveris practices, these healing methods always bore a physical component. It explained why he filled a room with statues of Chara Rigas, and why it later became vital to destroy them. The many busts and statuettes of Chara’s similitude absorbed his anguish and mummified, thus muffling, the associated memories. Whenever he felt the urge to revisit a particularly aching event from the past, he simply chiseled another stone being into creation and sat back as he felt the anxieties drain from his consciousness and embed themselves beneath the stone. In destroying the sculptures, he shattered the mummified corpses which had preserved the stages of his restless, hurting mind. It was a macabre collection of his emotional conquests, and it no longer served him to display. The resulting purge had rejuvenated him like an all-powerful panacea, helping him to start afresh, with a clean slate.

Though he prescribed to the idea of creating as a form of productive grieving, he realized that not everyone possessed the capability to make something out of nothing. Plenty of people had no outlet to help them in sieving through the ashes that threatened to bury their hearts and smother the pulse. But while he was fortunate to have a trade to fall back on, why, then, did he still require detailing his grief? Why had it continued to affect him, even after completing his brother’s statue? And why did it feel...so soothing to share his feelings to Nia, a relative stranger who served as envoy to his enemy? Why was it that the issues frowned upon to broach with his family, he could do so easily with her? And why hadn’t he found any shame in it? Why did he feel...strangely buoyant from the exchange? So lifted and uplifted? It hadn’t even taken a sculpture to achieve!

“I must extend my thanks to you, as well, Nia. We Canaverises are not encouraged to express, at length, our grievances if we cannot convert them into some corporeal construct. There is a long-standing superstition that to loudly wail our sorrows imprisons our loved ones onto this plane and prevents them from finding peace. The same goes for nursing negativity. If we do not create a receptacle in which to store the blackest of our despairs, then we risk foundering from the shades we nurtured and fed into maturation.” Such was the reason behind his family’s dismissal of his stone-skinned malady. The more he drew attention to the curse, the more he damned himself to suffer its ill effects. 

“But, as I’ve alluded to earlier, it can be impossible to determine how one will respond to the passing of kin. What if you cannot rid of the heft of loss, even after you’ve memorialized the dead in stone? Sometimes,” in hesitating to challenge the Canaveris way of life, he did so with the utmost caution, softening his cadence to render his mild criticisms from his ancestors, watching from on high, inaudible, “age-old practices may not always suffice. Sometimes, a sympathetic ear can be a godsend, an aid in reframing how one approaches death. Nonetheless, and this sentiment is coming from my own moral schema, inculcated and nourished since birth, it cheers me to see how you honor your late sisters, Nia. Whether it be an unconscious act on your part or not, the rebellion of which you speak has afforded you an avenue for fond remembrance, and if, indeed, it is so fond, then I daresay it is neither a mistake, or a sin, to treasure. Also, I will fully admit, it is a ‘little messed up,’ to use your parlance, not to allow oneself to miss the dead, insofar as one mentions missing them in open conversation. Do not tell my family I feel so,” he whispered in conspiratorial tones. “Nonetheless, I believe it is up to us, the newer generation, to challenge the precepts and traditions put into place by our forebearers. Otherwise, we shall never see growth and change for the betterment of society.”

He craned his neck, observing the turgid tree in its unconstrained spread of foliage and multitudinous fruits, as a distraction to delay a reply. In terms of displaying niceties for the sake of politesse, or out of a genuine need to connect, he could give no definitive answer—not when the vacillations of his inner scale failed to achieve a balance. In a bid to extol positive relations towards the Master Alchemist, had he overcompensated, to the point of saturation? Perhaps Lazarus’s concerns were warranted. Truly, had he intended only civility and nothing more, would he have extended the energy to reassure Nia of her reflections on death? 

“All opinions are valid, Nia,” he ended up saying, after a length pause. “I would be quite poorly of a leader if I refused to acknowledge the range of concerns brought on by my citizens. Though you are not my subject, as an ally, you, too, are deserving of my counsel, though I do hope I have not overstepped my bounds. I will harbor no offense if you tell me otherwise.” Fortunately, she expressed no insult in listening to his unsolicited advice, and his mouth spread into a grateful smile. “Very good, then. Anyway, I am most honored to hear of your attendance.” He gave the Master Alchemist a calculated once-over. “You look to be about my sister-in-law’s size. Expect a gown to arrive at your chambers in the coming days. However you choose to present, appearance-wise, is up to your discretion, but I am certain you will look lovely, bare-faced or not. As for Lazarus,” he playfully thwacked the hulking golem’s shins with the butt of his cane, “he will be on his best behavior, you have my word.”

Several days after Aristide arranged for his jubilee, as scheduled, Chara and Lilica’s evening rituals were disrupted by an ardent knock on their door. Well used to the fervor of Hadwin Kavanagh and his boisterous greeting habits, the suddenness hadn’t disturbed Chara out of relaxation more than it annoyed her. But as Lilica opened the door to welcome their unexpected guest, the Rigas advisor cast one furtive glance at the Master Alchemist fidgeting in the hallway and wished it had been the irascible faoladh, instead. 

Not above slamming the door in her face--and she would have, if Lilica failed to reach the latch in time--Chara, in resignation, alighted beside her partner, crossing her arms over her chest and regarding Nia with a cool, practiced disinterest. So as not to undermine Lilica’s efforts at diplomacy, she remained largely closed-mouthed throughout the entire exchange. In contrast to the forced smiles of her counterpart, Chara, whose countenance hadn’t the ability to exude any other expression but a scowl, didn’t attempt to hide behind a pleasant demeanor. She was thankful, at least, for her reputation, as no one expected the former Rigas Head and Galeynian advisor to emanate a sunshiny radiance--unless they were looking to burn. 

Apparently, it wasn’t enough to secure Lilica’s tolerance. Nia’s insipid brown eyes landed on Chara and her rattling, oafish mouth suggested, in all seriousness, that they gather clannishly in a room and do each other’s makeup like a gaggle of giggling, prepubescent sisters. The very prospect of entertaining the woman’s vapid fantasies curdled her stomach, and the taste of spoiled milk teased her tongue. She grunted a reply, neither a yes or a no, but a confirmation that the language Nia spoke was heard and understood by the recipient. As the woman bade them a good night, Chara withheld any reciprocal farewell and watched, mutely, as she disappeared down the hallway.

“I ought to punt you into the wall for volunteering me like that,” she grumbled at Lilica, a violent retort, lacking any intent. “I assumed you would decline the invitation, but forcing me to babysit the Master Alchemist is a big ask, Lilica. What does she hope to gain by tagging along with me in the carriage? Recognition? A bosom friend? I’ll do this because you’ve left me no choice--and because I’m not blind to the benefits of putting this woman into a false sense of security. But,” she spun out of Lilica’s arms to lodge a finger against her chest, “keep in mind, I am not the person for this job. You are. Alster is. Heavens, the mongrel is better suited for schmoozing than me! I’ll promise to be civil to her, Lilica, and she will ride in my carriage...but that is all I am able to do. And, in exchange for the headache I’ll no doubt receive from suffering this capital A annoyance and her endless rhetoric,” she yanked the Galeynian Queen close and threw her into an aggressive hug, “you had better do whatever I want,“ she hissed, hot breath tickling sensuously into her captive’s ear.

As promised, on the day of Aristide’s gala and in preparation for suffering Nia’s company while pretending to be less bothered by it than she let on, Chara donned a royal blue gown tailor-made to hug her bodice and accentuate the curves of her generous bust and hourglass figure. The hem of her skirt flared into a bell shape, brushing against the tips of her silver-beaded shoes. On her head, a decorative diadem flashed like icicles in direct sunlight. Intricate braids wrapped around the diadem, serpentine blonde vines greedily guarding the most valued treasure in their horde. Over her eyes, she had drawn black kohl into thin, precise strokes, winging the tips to elongate the lash lines. Glimmering silver eyelids, burnished rouge on each appled cheek, and her characteristic blood-red lipstick completed the look. Equipped with a handbag of formidable size and a fur-lined cloak, she blew Lilica a kiss before heading out on the dreadful trek to Nia’s chambers. On arrival, she delivered three smart knocks to the door, secretly hoping to receive no answer or welcome, in which case, she’d go on her merry way and relish the single-occupancy carriage ride to the D’Marian settlement. Alas, the door opened, dashing her dreams before they had the chance to blossom into realities. 

“Nia,” she said, dipping into a curt nod. “I’ve opted to ready myself early so that I may lend my assistance, wherever needed.” She tapped on the handbag hanging over her hip. “I’ve brought a few essentials from my collection. Let me see what I can do.” Stepping inside, she placed her handbag on a chair and unpacked little jars of paints and tiny brushes, arranging them on the counter in organized rows. “I see you have found yourself a suitable gown,” she gestured to a rather stunning piece draped atop the bed, a floral spectacle adorned with star-studded rhinestones of blue. “Good. I considered donating you some appropriate attire from my closet but I second-guessed our size compatibility. Does it fit you? Wherever did you acquire it? The design screams D’Marian. No one but the ostentatious city on the sea would conceive of such a thing.” She could not refrain from snorting aloud when Nia provided details on the gown’s origins. Alster was right. Aristide shared a rapport with the Master Alchemist, after all. 

“Lord Canaveris is a generous man,” she said in a neutral tone, betraying little of her personal feelings or past relationship with the fledgling D’Marian leader. “Well, given that the gown is an explosion of springtime flavor, a naked or pastel palette will serve you best. I’m sure we can also acquire some flowers from the Night Garden to weave into your hair. Well,” she clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, “take a seat when you are ready.”

“I know. I know, I’m asking a lot of you. I’m asking too much of you by asking you to attend this event at all.” Lilica sighed, raising her hands defensively. “If I could go with you… if it were safe, you know I would, in a heartbeat. To be honest, I don’t know what she wants. Maybe she thinks there is some off chance we can all be friends; or maybe she is doing her own digging. You don’t have to fawn over her, just… tolerate her, for a fraction of an evening. She likes to talk, so let her do the talking, and tune out anything that you do not find of import. Please, Chara? I need you… and I need you to do this for me.”

She had half-expected the stubborn blonde to disagree and un-volunteer herself for such a distasteful task, but to her relief, Chara also saw the value in keeping a close eye on Locque’s closest minion. Nia was such a ridiculously open person, they would be foolish not to learn what they could from her. There was some truth to the benefit of keeping your enemies closer than your friends. Lilica leaned into the embrace and looped her arms around Chara’s waist, close enough that she could murmur into her ear, “But, anything of import that you do learn… write the details down, and hide them somewhere safe. Because if you feel that what you have learned has jeopardized you… then you need to forget those details.”

Freeing one arm, she reached into a fold of her bodice, and pressed a folded packet of paper into her hand. “I requested it from Isidor. Hold a single tablet in your mouth until it dissolves; you’ll forget the details of any conversations you’ve had for the past hour or two.” She whispered. “Isidor took one to forget he’d given it to me, and I am going to take one to forget that I’ve given them to you. Locque and Rowen cannot incriminate us on treachery if we don’t ourselves remember it. At least, the memories will be too vague to make any sense of, unless you have the details recorded elsewhere. It isn’t ideal… but we have to be safe. So,” she pulled back just enough to plant a kiss on Chara’s mouth. “Want to help me forget?”

When a parcel had arrived at the palace specifically for Nia just the day before, she knew what it was right away, and did not hesitate to bring it back to her room to open it and examine its contents. Aristide certainly had come through for her, and fast enough to allow her enough time to figure out how to put the luxurious gown on before she was expected to wear it in a few days’ time. But as soon as she unwrapped the heavy, albeit delicate parcel from the papers it had been so lovingly wrapped in, and laid it at the foot of her bed, she did not dare to so much as touch it any further. The exquisite article of clothing, pale, pastel green with gold embroidery, had obviously been a labour of love for the seamstress who had crafted it. Ari had told her that the piece was merely a secondhand loan from his sister in law, but all the same, even if it wasn’t brand new, the Master Alchemist couldn’t help but feel… oddly paralyzed by the fine piece of couture. Intimidated by it, even, as if she feared that merely by touching it, the oil from her fingers would ruin the exquisite fabric. This piece was clearly made for a lady. Someone who knew how to carry herself in such a way that commanded respect. Not for someone who had spent a good portion of their life running away and sleeping on the floor.

For the next handful of days, the Master Alchemist avoided the gown, but when at last the evening arrived where her presence was expected at the Canaveris estate, she wasn’t able to ignore it any longer. Nia found herself staring at it, too afraid to try it on in the hours leading up to sunset. This was ridiculous: of everything she had faced since fleeing Ilandria, all of the danger she had been in, and everything leading up to Locque’s succession to the shared thrown, it was a stupid dress of all things that filled her with irrational anxiety! It hadn’t been made for her; it didn’t really belong on her body, and for reasons she could not fathom, the thought of sporting something that did not belong to her to a party that she really shouldn’t have any business attending filled her with dread.

This was the first time in a very, very long time since she had found herself preparing for an evening even--but it was the first time ever that she was meant to prepare herself for that event. Memories that hadn’t reached the surface of her mind for years suddenly pushed to the forefront of her consciousness. The room around her shifted from the simple, scarcely furnished chamber that she had claimed as her own, and transformed into the elaborately decorated bedroom that had once belonged to Celene. The dress sitting on the bed changed colours, changed form. And the person seated at the vanity was no longer her, but her older sister.

“Why are you so distracted?” Celene chided twelve-year-old Nia, who stood in front of her with a kohl-tipped brush in her hand, but made no move to use it. “Don’t make me late, Anetania--or we’ll both have to answer for it.”

“Your dress. It looks like stars. And the night sky.” The awestruck pre-teen marveled, her brown eyes wide with awe. “But when I look at it this way, it turns into the sun. I can’t stop looking at it.”

“Well, if you play your cards right, maybe it will be yours, when you actually have some height and breasts.”

“...mine? You’d give it to me?” The young Master Alchemist in training nearly dropped the brush from her fingers altogether. “But you can’t do that. Mother would never allow it. I’m not going to attend gallas.”

“It’s my dress. I can do whatever I want with it. And I don’t like wearing the same dress twice.” Celene shrugged, the curve of her lips pursing in a stubborn pout. “Mother will not have a say, forever.”

“But, surely, Palla should have it, instead? When she’s old enough to attend with you.”

“Anetania, just because Mother is convinced you are worthless does not mean that you should be convinced, as well.” Celene shook her head sadly, styled curls falling over her bare shoulders. “One day, I will represent the Ardane family as the Crown’s own Master Alchemist. I’ll be making the decisions, then. And you’re too valuable to discard; too resilient. Besides,” the corner of her lips curled into a grin. The very same grin that young Anetania would sport in later years. “I can’t trust anyone else to paint my face like you do. You know what I like.”

She wasn’t wrong, and that was precisely what inspired Anetania’s hope, in those days. That she would not always be the ‘curse’ on the family. Maybe to Felyse, but not to Celene. Celene would surpass their mother, and she would change her younger siblings’ world. She would change everything. 

She would have changed everything… she was supposed to have changed everything.

The Master Alchemist was startled out of her invasive memory by a knock at the door. Heart racing, Nia jumped up from her seat at the vanity, expecting someone who would inform her that Locque requested her presence. Perfect--that was just the excuse she needed to avoid attending. She had told Ari as much, that she might find herself occupied at the last minute, then she would sadly have to decline, and send word with Lady Chara that she regretted being unable to attend. When she opened the door, to find none other than Chara herself already fully prepared to attend Lord Canaveris’s grand, formal event, she couldn’t mask her surprise. “Lady Chara! Honestly… I wasn’t sure if I’d see you at all, tonight.” She commented somewhat nervously, but not without a smile. “Since it was Her Majesty Lilica’s idea to volunteer you, after all. Does she always assert herself in such a way? You’ve got your work cut out for you in a lover, it seems!”

Stepping aside, she let the regal Rigas woman inside. “Oh--right. Yes. The gown. Between you and me, I was sorta looking for an excuse not to have to attend; formal affairs aren’t… really my thing. I thought by telling Ari that I have absolutely nothing suitable that I’d be let off the hook. No such luck; the guy sends this up. And I’ll be damned, I haven’t tried it on yet, but it looks like it might fight. Talk about attention to detail!”

Realizing she was yammering on and wasting valuable time (and Chara’s patience, most likely), Nia closed the door and clasped her hands together. “Right! So… not gonna like, I’m not sure how this works. Make-up first? Dress? Does it matter?”

On the advice that it would be best not to risk getting pigments on the exquisite gown, Chara instructed her to sit down, opened her bag, and went to work. Nia wasn’t sure how long she had been holding her breath until she suddenly began to feel light-headed, and let the wind out of her lungs in a slow, steady exhale. “I’m not used to being on this end of things,” she admitted sheepishly as Chara swept a brush over her eyelids. “I always did my older sister’s make-up, but never attended any events, myself. You’d think I’d be able to do the same thing on my own face, but nope. It’s like night and day.”

When the Rigas woman finished, and moved on to do something with her hair, Nia made a point not to look into the vanity mirror, instead focusing her brown eyes on the colourful pots of pigments on the table. She couldn’t understand why; what was so frightening about looking up, and seeing herself with a more defined lash line and red lips and cheeks? She couldn’t answer that question for herself, but in the presence of someone who was not as of yet a friend… she couldn’t risk a visceral reaction, if one were to occur.

“Well… moment of truth, isn’t it? Guess we’ll see how good an eye Ari really has for sizing.” As soon as Chara declared that she was finished, and had pinned Nia’s hair off of her face and neck, the Master Alchemist turned to the gown that, as of now, remained untouched. “Looks kind of small, if you ask me… hate to discredit all of your hard work, if that’s the case, but it’s not like I can show up in something that doesn’t fit me, right?”

Whether fortunate or otherwise, after pulling off her leathers and stepping into the gown that looked too good to be worn on any human body… Ari had been dead on. The fit was perfect, right down to the length and the angles at which the rhinestones shimmered on her body. “Let me guess. Passable? No real opportunity to bail on this evening, huh?” While Chara didn’t exactly boast her beauty in the gown, Nia didn’t have to turn and look in the mirror to know that looked as good as it felt--in terms of fit, anyway. In terms of comfort, she swore she could feel every seam, every stitch, and every individual fiber of the fabric. It had little to do with her amplified awareness as a Master Alchemist and everything to do with not feeling… right.

When Chara asked why she hadn’t turned to behold the finished project in the mirror, Nia merely grinned and told her, “Consider it an act of trust. You had the power to make me look like crap, if you wanted to, but I’m going to trust that you didn’t. No need to consult a mirror to know you didn’t let me down. Shall we?”

She was doing a good job, she told herself. Despite the gnawing pit in her stomach which, for once, was not due to voracious hunger, Nia grabbed her traveling cloak and followed Chara out to the carriage that awaited them. The blonde woman said nothing as they climbed in, and nothing, still, as the carriage departed at impossible speed, now that night had fallen. The Master Alchemist thought she would be just fine with silence, but the carriage felt about as uncomfortable as the gown, and she had to catch herself several from pressing her necklace too firmly against her collarbones in case it left an obvious mark. Silence was doing nothing for her discomfort, and anyway, she had intended to reach out to Locque ‘opposition’, if only to extend an olive branch. Even if it meant extending that branch to the woman whom, she now realized upon seeing her up close… was the very same woman who had broken Ari’s heart.

But that was an elephant in the room that she in no way wanted to address, at this point in time.

“Hey. I appreciate what you did for me, tonight.” Looking away from the window, she fixed her gaze on Chara, who did not look back. “And, listen… I know you probably hate my guts. I don’t blame you; I’m working for the woman who fucked up your equilibrium and all. And I don’t expect you to like me. But I want you to know, I do give a damn about what you and Lilica want. And so far, I’ve been a pretty damn good negotiator when it comes to Locque. So,” she spread her hands in front of her. “If there is anything at all that you and Lilica want more of a say in, anything that’ll make you more comfortable--let me know. I’ll do my damndest to see your needs are met. I’m not much of a fighter, Lady Chara. Not in combat or arguments. I’m happiest when everyone is getting along, so if there is something I can do to make that happen--within reason, of course--don’t hesitate to ask, huh?”

In what felt like no time--particularly, no time to mentally prepare--the carriage arrived before the Canaveris estate. People were already coming in and out, milling about in the windows, a few marveling at Ari’s sculptures displayed in the small courtyard. She was certainly no stranger to this place; she’s visited Ari enough in the past, but… this was different. Vastly different, with so many people of statuses to which she would never compare. Suddenly, the carriage felt suffocating. And she wasn’t sure going inside, where the party was really happening, would do her much good. “You know, I’ve never gotten a good look at the sculptures outside of Ari’s little abode--I think I’ll go check them out! See you inside in a bit, hm?”

Before Chara had a chance to respond, Nia shoved open the door and hopped out of the carriage as if it were on fire.

During Chara’s make-up application process, in where she knelt beside the Master Alchemist to powder her face and contour the edges of her eyes with a kohl pencil, aiming deftly along the upper and lower eyelids, she observed a curiosity within Nia’s behavior. Normally, Locque’s outgoing lackey would be yammering on at length about some unimportant drivel such as her sleep quality or the delicious quiche she ate for breakfast, but now, the garrulous woman didn’t bookend their gussying-up period of silence with compensatory chatter to fill in the minutes’ long void. As was her standard, Nia didn’t shy from revealing her reasons for the reticence, or, at least, a surface-level reason: nerves. It became abundantly clear she was looking for every excuse not to attend, a tempting opportunity for Chara to exploit. Without keeping Nia under close observation, she would have one less worrying obstacle in gaining Aristide’s attention undetected. But, the Rigas advisor, possessed of a sadistic streak, warmed to the idea of watching the self-assured Master Alchemist squirm. If nothing else came to fruition that night, then Nia’s hangups about mingling amid the hoity-toity crowd of D’Marian nobles and dignitaries would provide much-needed entertainment--and a distraction from her own bout of nerves.

Following her week-ago confessions to Lilica on the carriage-ride home from the farmlands, thoughts of her destructive treatment of Aristide dominated her consciousness, exacerbated by both Rowen’s probing and the appearance of the man, himself. Attending the Canaveris Lord’s frivolous affair ranked last on her list of priorities, not only because of the potential waste of time and energy--and the possibility that Aristide would not chance approaching Chara to discuss his treasonous intentions--but because of the terror of facing him so soon after she’d reopened the wound on her memory. Should they require a separate room to speak, how would she handle the conversation, once alone? Would she fall back on her erroneous habits and scream insults into his ear, or strike him for the horrible sin of existing? And would her unsavory presence be enough to dissolve his attempts for an alliance and effectively alienate the potential for his support?

Lilica...I wish you were with me instead of this uncultured upstart…

After excusing herself temporarily to retrieve a headpiece of flowers for Nia to don, Chara returned, a crown of living gold-leaf buds clutched in her hand. “Fortunately, I’ve organized my share of events in the palace and am in regular contact with some aristans on-site who specialize in floral arrangements. The artisan who crafted this piece happily offered it—of course, I omitted your name, so she believes she’s gifted it to me. To honor her craftsmanship, let us wear it well, shall we?”

Chara spent the better part of an hour intricately fusing crown to crown, plaiting Nia’s mass of brown hair into an updo of vine-like constructions to complement the headpiece and the sinuous designs climbing up her gown’s bodice. When she finished her daunting task, Chara stepped back to evaluate the result. With the addition of the gown, Nia bloomed like a scion of spring, resplendent in green and gold, which reflected in her thematic makeup and braided nest of hair. Proud of her efforts, the Rigas advisor’s mouth soured into an embittered frown when the woman dismissed her hours of preparation work by refusing to glimpse into the mirror. She hid a clenched fist behind her back.

“Ah, well, that is your prerogative, then,” she said in a clipped tone. Striding to the vanity, she almost knocked the mirror aside as she scooped up the pots and jars of makeup and reintroduced them into her handbag. Draping the fur-lined cloak about her shoulders, she didn’t dignify Nia with a look, as though denying the mirror also denied Chara the care to waste another minute fussing on her appearance. “Shall we, then?” Not waiting for an answer, she slipped out the door and sauntered down the hallway in a dramatic swish of skirts.

When they arrived at the palace entranceway to board their carriage, an interloper stopped their advance short.

“Damn!” Hadwin Kavanagh, smoldering pipe firmly lodged in the corner of his mouth, stopped in his tracks to admire the duo’s evening finest. “Looking downright regal, Lady Chara, as always. But Nia,” he exploded into a grin, “gotta say, you’re flourishing in that gown. Like a bona fide Night Garden flower—not one of the weird ones that fart, mind. Chara spiffed you up, eh? Well hey, if you’re down for it, let’s have an after party. Not gonna lie, I’m a tad sore I wasn’t invited to Ari’s spectacular get-together, but if I could pick your brain over a drink, it’ll be like I was there all along!” Before he moseyed on along, he brushed against Nia’s shoulder, took her by the arm, and whispered in her ear, his breath swirling with pungent smoke. “Stella D’Mare’s a society of blowhards who wear their wealth on their sleeves. Pay attention long enough and you’ll see they’re all huffing hot air. It’s an amusing pastime, I’ll tell you. They judge for sport but they can’t touch you. They wouldn’t fucking dare. Not when you’re repping Majesty Locque. This shit’s just one big performance...but there’s food. Towers of it! But if you’re still feeling hairy...well, it’s nothing a smattering of booze can’t fix. So you’ve got this! ‘Sides, your grand host, Ari, won’t leave you in the lurch!” Slapping an encouraging hand on her back, he strode off, heading inside the open doors of the warm, inviting palace.

Hiding the eye roll generated from Hadwin’s encouraging words to Nia (what side was he on?!) Chara stepped into the carriage and proceeded to say nothing for the short ride’s duration. Naturally, the chatty Master Alchemist, even this version of her, assailed by fears so visible, it impelled Hadwin to pay them heed, could not abide by a silent ride and insisted on shattering the peace. Maintaining eye contact firmly with the window, despite catching nothing but vague blurs of darkness speeding past, Chara bobbed a nod of assent; though, given how their shared conveyance jostled and rocked, her head movement could be confused as involuntary. Nonetheless, she offered a reply, albeit a brief one. “Thank you, Nia,” she said in a stilted whisper. “I shall let you know whatever it is Lilica and I require.”

Not looking to extend the conversation, she lapsed back into silence and delivered all of her concentration on staring at the window. I told you I wasn’t any good at this, Lilica, she thought, imagining her faint reflection in the glass had manifested into the dark mage. I should have dragged the damn faoladh along.

The carriage lurched to a stop, signifying their arrival at the Canaveris villa. From outside, Chara could make out rows of small, hollowed-out soapstone sculptures, carved to resemble daffodils, crocuses, and hyacinths--all symbols of spring--lit from the inside in bursts of yellow, pink, and blue. Flanked on either side of the villa’s open doors, which allowed for a slight peak inside the open courtyard, petrified bougainvilleas, Stella D’Mare’s signature blossom, radiated in soft, purple splendor. In memory of a fonder time, Chara ran fingers through the air, as though to grasp a petal and tuck it under the silken waves of Lilica’s obsidian tresses. Blinking out of her reverie, she noticed the door to her opposite side had jerked open, filtering in the late winter chill, and Nia, citing some unconvincing excuse to view the vast sculpture garden, bounded out of the carriage as if she had been footed in the behind. She didn’t even attempt to stop the runaway guest from booking it across the lawn, skirts flying. At least now, she could rest easy in approaching Aristide without arousing suspicion in her flighty tagalong.

In contrast to Nia’s exeunt, Chara opened her door and sashayed outside, exuding practiced calm and finesse. Far from her first Canaveris-sponsored event, she easily blended with her D’Marian peers, many of whom recognized her on sight. Following the fall of the Rigas family, she, by default, represented not only the kingdom of Galeyn, but the sole member of her disenfranchised celestial kin. Thus, she attracted many eyes sparkling with curiosity and inquiry. They thirsted to sidle close and finesse their way into a dialogue concerning her opinions on her in-shambles family and her public defense of Lord Alster Rigas’ unpardonable actions, but, to avoid their “innocent” asks, she pretended not to notice the stares as she wended her way through Aristide’s spectacle of lights and overwrought displays. They served as grim reminders more than pretty baubles and pizzazz. Aristide and Chara had danced, once, under a swirl of fairy-lights, flitting from statue to statue as they soaked in rainbows of color. How it sickened her now to recall borderline intimate moments with a man she frequently shoved into the mud using the sole of her boot. As she traipsed upon the courtyard path, the airy string music emanating from inside clanged in strident, out-of-tune rhythms and the lambent stone lanterns glared harshly underfoot. The heady scents of fruity wine in clinked glasses turned her stomach, producing bile in her mouth. Clutching her waist, she continued through rooms crowded with statues and people; she knew not the differences between fabricated guests and constructs of flesh and bone. They blended. Everything blended, tightened, twisted. Oh, how her skin wrung and wrenched like a rag reprieved of its residual water, threatening to rupture at the seams, seeping blood and pus from infected wounds—from her infected self. It was a mistake to have come alone. A mistake, a mistake, a mistake…

“Lady Chara?”

She whirled around to find the subject of her anxieties regarding her in a head tilt of concern. As fitting for a nobleman of his glamour, Aristide Canaveris donned a spring-green silk coat printed in an array of purple, blue, and yellow wildflowers. To offset the busy pallet, he accented his outfit with a white cravat of a size that draped halfway down his torso. As he’d done on his visit to Galeyn’s palace, he styled his raven-hair into a ponytail, cinched at the nape. In one gloved hand, he carried a goblet filled with a nebulous, sunset-orange substance that smelled of tang and summertime.

Straightening from the hunch that had bowed her into a submissive keel, Chara batted a hand in the air to wave off whatever moment of weakness he caught her exhibiting. “Lord Canaveris,” she cleared her throat to dislodge the glass shards yearning to abrade and cast her greeting into an unpleasant timbre. “I am here on Majesty Lilica’s behalf. She sends her regards and her apologies for being unable to attend, but she is most preoccupied with matters at the palace, as you well understand.”

“Ah. I see,” he looked doubtfully at her, caution forming in his brown eyes, as though he were weighing his next words, and his next steps. “That is most regrettable.” He lowered his gaze to his goblet. Similarly, she lowered her gaze to the floor. An uncomfortable pause lingered between them. “Well,” he perked up, handing his goblet to Lazarus, who was always nearby; even if not presently visible, he appeared, as though forming from the very walls, “though you’ve visited my villa once before, I don’t believe I’ve given you a full tour. Oh!” He slapped his now free hand against his other palm, “I must show you my newest work in progress. Come to my workshop. I’m certain my guests will not miss me if I disappear for a few moments.”

Chara did not miss the sense of urgency furrowing a fine line between his brows as he made for the courtyard. Mutely, she followed, dodging the clusters of D’Marians who chatted gaily and sampled from silver platters of hors d'oeuvres. After crossing through the courtyard, he led her through a narrow corridor to the back of the villa, where a stone house, separate from the complex-proper, sat squat and unassuming, a blob of darkness sitting beneath a low promontory of rocks from the half-gutted hillside.

With the turn of a key, he led them inside the dark interior, touching an adjacent rock to shower the one-room workshop in cascades of light. As expected of a sculptor’s studio, the floor was covered in dust and detritus. Hunks of stone littered the space, half-realized figures frozen in poses. Faces hid in marble, arms climbed out of mountain crags, fingertips reached, legs emerged from clouds. At Aristide’s bench, chisels and hammers of varying sizes lay, coated in a fine layer of pulverized dust. In front of the bench, a white sheet concealed a massive centerpiece that measured at least nine feet tall, factoring in the pedestal Chara could discern from the narrow openings the sheet failed to cover.

“No new statues of me, I see,” Chara mused under her breath. “Unless you have one under this sheet.”

“You will be happy to know I destroyed them,” he said, a testiness clipping his otherwise polished tone. Chara raised a brow, surprised by both his reaction and the news. “What you will find beneath the sheet is a commission I’m currently working on—but it is not the reason I’ve brought you here. I had hoped to speak to Queen Lilica, but if you are here on her behalf, then—“

“—Wait,” she interjected, holding out her hand to halt his speech. “If this is about Locque, then whatever you say can be held against me and Lilica. Rowen can see our darkest intentions, our ill-will, deceit, and treachery.”

“Hm. Whatever are you talking about, Lady Chara? Why would I speak ill of our new Queen?” He twisted his expression into genuine perplexity. “No, I merely wanted to give a gift to Queen Lilica, but you will have to accept it in her stead.” From a dank corner under one of his work tables, he pulled out a small wooden box, tied and affixed with a red bow. He handed the hefty box to Chara. “Consider it a party favor. Now, do not spoil the surprise by opening it straight away. Wait until you are alone with Majesty Lilica, so that someone is around to document her expression. I do hope she likes it. If it is a burden for you to carry, Lady Chara, then I shall accompany you to your carriage. Did you arrive alone?”

“No,” Chara slid the box into her sizable handbag. She could not help but offer a smile of derision. “I delivered the Master Alchemist to you, and my, doesn’t she look the part of a princess? Between your exquisite dress and my styling prowess, she is quite a sight. Pity she ran away. If I didn’t know any better,” her smile widened, “I’d say she is avoiding you, Aristide.”

Nia was exactly a fish out of water the moment she stepped out of the carriage, and it was only after the fact that she realized what a dire mistake it had been. No amount of stifling could compare to the sudden awareness of her surroundings, which, for a place that was rather familiar to her, at this point, suddenly seemed devastatingly alien. The lovely courtyard, bedecked in true Canaveris fashion in what some people would likely consider to be ‘over the top’ or even gaudy for the excess of decor, was not teeming with guests as of yet. However, some mingled in the only marginally chilly air to do just as she had told Chara: to admire Aristide’s work, the busts that would, once springtime arrive, would be surrounded by flowers of every colour. The flowers that he had lovingly sculpted from clay, as well, as if to spite the life-leeching miasma of winter, a time when nothing would grow. But as much as she would have liked to appreciate it, the Master Alchemist was too desperate to find some sense of safety before making any attempt to mingle and pretend like she actually belonged there.

Immediately, she sought the back of the Canaveris villa, where few appeared to mingle. Although the solitude awarded her more breathing room, and her chest felt a little less tight, it seemed there was no escaping the tall, viewing windows along the main floor of Aristide’s not so humble abode. Considering how easily she could see insight, to the wide array of colourful guests wearing delighted smiles, holding dainty drinks in their hands, it only stood to reason that they could see her, as well, if they cared to look.

If they care to look. Nia inhaled slowly and exhaled to try and regain her bearings, pulling her traveling cloak more tightly around her shoulders. What makes you think anyone is going to care? It’s just like Hadwin said: these D’Marians are far too full of themselves to give you a second glance. Everyone is just here to brag and get drunk off of Ari’s wine. You’re overthinking this! But, damn… if only Hadwin was here, to echo that, himself. It really came as no surprise to her that Ari had not extended an invite to the faoladh, especially considering he had been so cavalier in making it known that the Canaveris lord’s secret was not as close to his chest as he might have hoped. But, oh, how it would have been so much easier to arrive with a friend! What had she been thinking, really, in assuming that traveling with Chara Rigas would be anything more than traveling? And would she really have wanted friendship with the woman who had all but eviscerated Ari’s heart? 

Nonetheless… company was company. And as soon as she had fled that carriage and left Chara to make her entry alone, so, too, had the Master Alchemist condemned herself to navigating this frightening new social situation all by herself. Typically, this would be a time when she would think to reach for a drink to calm down her raw nerves, but she couldn’t even do that without stepping inside, at which point she would probably only offend Ari by downing several decadent beverages far too quickly to appreciate them for the unique creations that they were. Sadly, this was not a time in which getting drunk for the sake of being drunk was acceptable… and all she had to rely on was her own resolve. Which, at the moment, wasn’t much.

Stop being ridiculous. You’re nobody, right? Exactly! No one really knows who you are. No one cares! The only way you’re going to stand out is if you make it painfully obvious that you deserve to stand out. The voice in her head she imagined in Celene’s familiar lilt. Right--that was it! What would Celene expect of her? What would she want her to do, in this situation? Not run and hide and crumble because she didn’t think she could handle it, for some reason that she couldn’t even fathom. How was this any different from all the reaching out she’d done before? Locque was the socially inept one--not her! And if she was to represent the other monarch, then it would look good on neither of them to hide in the shadows until everyone left. You’re an Ardane. Do you even understand what that means? Celene had told her over and over as a child. Know you’re worth, Anetania. Or others will delude you into thinking it is something that it is entirely not.

The first step was to smile, so that was precisely what Nia did. And she took another breath, before retracing her steps, and joining the handful of bodies that mingled at the entrance, chatting among themselves and admiring Ari’s work. This shouldn’t be daunting; mingling was something she was good at! Wearing an exquisite gown and a face full of make-up, along with a circlet that felt far heavier than she knew it actually was, should not change anything. “Real pieces of art, aren’t they?” Nia wore her most winning of smiles as she approached a rather minimalistic bust on a pedestal. Despite its miniscule size, and its lack of detail, somehow Ari had managed to make it into something exquisite. “Ari--er, Lord Canaveris is a talented man. And a generous one, at that. Can’t say I’ve ever been to a party so exquisite… and I haven’t even been inside, yet!” 

When her harmless comment was met with the confused gazes of a young couple, Nia clasped her hands in front of her. “Oh… I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt a moment, without even introducing myself.” She almost extended a hand for them to shake, but then thought better of it. While her hands still sported her fingerless gloves, not everyone was enamored of her profession, even if Ari found it to be respectable (although it surely wouldn’t be long before guests put the pieces together; it was no secret that the sorceress had a Master Alchemist working on her behest). And weren’t handshakes rather informal for a formal event, anyway? Catching herself just in time, she offered a brief nod, instead. “My name is Nia. I’m here as a representative of Locque. Sadly, the new monarch was not able to attend, this evening. Neither monarchs were, for that matter… a little sad, considering Lord Canaveris organized this party in solidarity, hm?”

The couple exchanged a worried glance, and the woman put a hand on the man’s arm. Curiously, she did not regard Nia with disdain: instead, it was fear that swam in her oceanic eyes. “We’ve done nothing to compromise this surrender,” she spoke quietly, evenly, as if to contain her terror. “Nothing to warrant your Lady’s wrath… will you tell her that? Whatever she wants, we are willing to comply.”

Well… this wasn’t what she had been expecting. Nia took a beat to absorb the terrified woman’s words, contemplating how to answer them, and what kind of answer these strangers wanted. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed this quiet conversation had caught the attention of bystanders. She tried not to think about it. “Hey… hey, now, I think you’re misunderstanding.” The Master Alchemist unfolded her hands and raised them halfway, in her own sort of surrender. “This is just a party, right? For fun and celebration and solidarity. If you think that I’m here for, for… Look, I’m not here to be some harbinger of judgment and doom. I know… I realize that we all got off to a rocky start. To say the least.” Given the frown those words elicited, it didn’t appear that Nia was winning these people over, as far as this conversation was going. She didn’t show it, but internally, she began to panic. “A lot… of terrible things have happened. I recognize this. But I want you to know--no, I want to assure you that all of that is over, now. Both monarchs hail from very different walks, obviously, but the one thing that they can both agree on is the desire for peace. Isn’t that what this celebration is about? A return to peaceful ways?”

“With all respect, Nia, we had peace before your sorceress shattered it.” The man of the couple did not raise his voice, although the anger, the fear, and the pain was all evident. “We’re not looking for a fight--so just tell us what your Lady wants. What do we need to do to be safe?”

“Nothing. I mean, exactly what you’re doing right now! I mean…” What was wrong with her? Where were those diplomatic words that had put out fires before they’d started? “You don’t need to hold your breath anymore. Ari secured your safety when he promised not to take up arms against Locque. She has what she wants--and she just wants peace, at this point. I realize you probably have no reason to believe me, but… I work with her closely. And I’m not here to scare anyone into ‘compliance’, or whatever you might think. I’m just… here to have fun. Like the rest of you. And to be real with people.”

“So can you promise us that, Nia?” The well-dressed man asked. His eyes were locked on her. So many eyes were locked on her, now. People who had been on their way inside had stopped to stare. Come on… don’t you all have something better to do?! “Can you promise that this is truly the end of the violence? The death?”

Yes! Yes, I can promise you that--that’s why I’m here! Was what she wanted to say. She had the words on her tongue, in fact, but… but she froze. So many eyes, so much judgment, fear, hope, doubt… 

She missed her opportunity, and soon, it was too late. The couple stepped away from her and moved toward the door. “Whatever blood your Lady is out for,” the man said, his lips pulled into a firm line, “please… please, tell her to leave the D’Marians out of it. We were never part of her grudge. We never should have been.”

All Nia could do was stand in stunned silence as the couple filed inside, followed by a handful of others who had been bystanders. She felt simultaneously freezing and overheated at once, her heart racing. How could this be literally as bad as she thought it might be? This had been a mistake; at least, arriving early, at the peak of guest attendance, had been a mistake. She was not going to blend into the crowd, tonight, and frankly… this couldn’t be good for Ari. What would his friends and attendees think of him, inviting such a polarizing presence? Maybe… maybe it was best to lay low, for the next few hours. Until the majority of guests had had their fill and retired for the night… Hells, she would probably be taking Hadwin up on that drink, later.

“Excuse me?” A small voice startled Nia out of her fugue. How long had she been standing there in stunned silence? She shifted her body to face a girl--probably around twelve or thirteen years old, dressed in a sweet, salmon-coloured gown, her copper hair curled and styled over one shoulder. “I’m sorry to startle you… your dress is lovely. I just wanted to say that.”

Her dress. That was it? This girl had no fear or accusation to lob at her; not like the adults. She had simply seen something pretty, and wanted to comment on it. And that small, innocent comment put the Master Alchemist completely at ease. She felt the tension drain from her shoulders, and her breath loosen in her throat. “I’m afraid I can’t take credit for it. I’ve got Lord Canaveris to thank. But it is pretty, isn’t it?” Nia smiled an easy smile. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Elida Farroway.” The girl said with a small curtsey. She curtsied! As if Nia was somebody who deserved a curtsey. “By the way--he prefers to be called Ari. He is indeed very generous.” Maybe Nia imagined it, but she thought she could see a flush spread across the girl’s youthful face.

“Right. I did know that about him. Hey, Elida, want to see a neat trick?” Nia knelt to pick what remained of a frostbitten rose: the poor thing had attempted to sprout too early, before the winter frost had lifted. Probably survived for a few days before its petals had withered. She couldn’t bring it back to life, but… she could do the next best thing. Pressing her opposite hand into the nutrient-rich soil, she drew what she could from the earth to replenish what the flower had lost. The spot beneath her hand was naught but powdery dust by the time the the flower in her hand had restored to its former glory. “Oh--look at that. It was a pink one. Matches your dress.” She handed the now revitalized flower to the young girl, who took it with wonder. The flower probably wouldn’t last longer than the evening, but it would hold out for a while.

“Are you an earth mage? Like the Canaverises?” Elida asked. “I don’t have magic. My family is very disappointed.”

Don’t I know what that feels like. “Want to know a secret, Elida? People will tell you they’re disappointed in you because they don’t want you to know your own worth.” So spoken by Celene, once. To a girl who wasn’t much different from Elida. “And your  worth isn’t tied to magic. I have no magic, either.”

“Really? Then how… how did you--”

“Elida! Don’t dally, we’re going inside.” A woman who Nia could only assume was Elida’s mother stood at the entrance, impatiently calling her daughter over. The girl glanced over her shoulder once and smiled apologetically at Nia.

“Thanks for the flower!” She whispered, before hurrying to her mother’s side, and disappearing into the foyet. And that was when Nia realized that if a girl half her age who felt just as inferior could walk inside with confidence… then, hell, so could she!

The Master Alchemist made sure to pace herself accordingly, waiting a few beats until the entryway was clear, and she wasn’t at risk of having to make awkward conversation with anyone that coloured her the same as Locque. She caught sight of Chara Rigas, far on the other side of the room, but what really caught her eyes was the brilliant, springtime green get-up sported by a certain generous Canaveris lord. Elida and her mother greeted Ari, the girl curtseying again, and… visibly blushing. Nia took care to stand back long enough for the Farroways to exchange their pleasantries, and only when Ari’s attention was free again did she dare to take a breath and step forward.

“Well, this is quite the turn out. More populated than I’d thought.” Nia commented in greeting, and once again, in Ari’s presence, it felt much easier to smile. “Good to see you, Ari. I honestly can’t say I’ve ever attended a party of this caliber… you’ll have to forgive me if I seem a little overwhelmed that you have the caliber of guests to match it.” She took note of Elida several paces away, who kept stealing glances at Ari when her mother wasn’t looking, and her smiled broadened. “Not all of them are intimidating. The girl in pink, over there, is a little sweetheart. And, don’t look now, but… I think she might have a bit of a crush on you, Ari.” She winked and would have nudged him, but remembered his aversion to touch. “Be good to that one. Her mother’s apparently disappointed that she doesn’t have magic. And that… rather hits waaaaay too close to home.”

Chara’s baiting comment elicited little reaction in Ari. Between dispensing of the statuettes and busts that haunted him with her multi-angled judgmental gazes and his recent, albeit drunken, conversation to Nia listing the multitudinous infractions she incurred against his character, her power over him had diminished into smolders. In response, he glanced at her coolly. “Lady Chara, I daresay Nia has exhibited more integrity towards me than you have throughout all our years of acquaintanceship combined. If she has made the effort to present at my villa, and she is, under your insistence, ‘avoiding me,’ it is my duty as host to ensure her comfort and wellness. So if you will excuse me, I must return to my public-facing duties. They will wonder where I’ve traipsed off to.” 

“Wait!” Before he could fully turn towards the door, Chara shot out her hand and reflexively grabbed him by the wrist. He stiffened in place, his entire body tensing. In realizing her mistake, she unfurled her grip and disengaged from their forced contact. Her arm dropped and swung uselessly to her side. “I did not mean to do that,” she muttered, the closest to an apology she dared to imply. “Neither grabbing you nor...spewing such off-color remarks. If I have overstepped, then I am fully deserving of your rancor. This is what I meant to say, Ari.” She fiddled with the strap of her decorative satchel. “Nia is not a friend. Do not make the same mistakes you made with me. Do not trust her. Whatever commitment she has made in ensuring the wholesale safety of D’Marians matters not if she cannot uphold her promises. If our current situation takes a turn for the worse, she will stand with Locque. Not you.”

“Oh? You are expressing concern for my safety?” Ari did not stir from his statuesque position by the door. “Convinced my associations will lead me to injury? How thoughtful of you to care when your spectacle at dinner led me to believe otherwise. Lady Chara,” he pressed on the door latch, releasing a click from the mechanism, “my alliances are political in nature. It is for this reason I exercise civility towards you at all, when I would rather…” he breathed noisily, dispelling the gruesome thought he almost let slide off his tongue. “You needn’t worry about my correspondences with Nia.” 

“She knows about your secret, doesn’t she? It explains why she speaks fondly of you. It explains the elaborate gown you’ve sent her!” Ari released the latch and stepped away from the door, hiding his reaction behind rote motions. “If so, I’m afraid you’ve already compromised yourself.” Chara adjusted her diadem to distract her frustrations from manifesting in aggressive hand gestures—as they sometimes precluded violence. “Don’t be a pawn. Don’t let her enslave and manipulate you into complying to her wishes!”

“As I have stated, Lady Chara,” he said, in a calm scrape of a voice, “you needn’t worry about or speculate over what she may do to me. You forget, she is not you. Now,” he interjected over Chara’s sputters of retort, “we cannot carry on like this right now. Someone is bound to get hurt. If we are honest, it will be me.” Flinging the door open, he swept aside and waved at the volatile creature to pass. “After you.”

As the duo went their separate ways—Chara, to deposit her bag in the carriage, Ari, to the room he designated as the great hall—two thoughts sprang into their minds simultaneously. For Chara, she resolved to watch Ari’s every interaction with Nia that evening, mistrustful of his decision-making process whenever his stone-skinned malady played a part. For Ari, he resolved to find Nia and protect her from Chara, in case she acted out of turn. 

Amid his search, Ari was stalled by the multiplicative arrival of guests, one family flooding in after another. Donning his best presentation face, he warmly welcomed them inside, taking their winter cloaks and greeting each person by name. 

“Miss Elida Farroway!!” He bowed in reverence to the young teenaged girl in her nascent pink gown and glowing pink cheeks. “My, you are looking as fresh as a spring rose. Apropos for the theme. Outside, we suffer the ravages of winter, but inside, we are at the height of spring. Oh?” The young girl, too shy to speak, twirled the stem of a small, crimped flower in her hands. “Is that a live rose I see? An exquisite complement to your complexion, Miss Farroway. Do consider wearing it in your hair. Wherever did you come across such a wonder? Has the Night Garden graced us with an early season?” Still too bashful to vocalize a response, she pointed over to the alleged individual who gifted her the curious blossom, revealing to him, at last, the elusive Nia Ardane. Chara hadn’t lied; resplendent in green and gold and crowned in gilt flowers, she resembled a faerie queen, the likes of which he’d encountered in dreams but could never replicate in stone or on canvas. In her current guise, she appeared unpaintable, unsculptable...and too alluring not to engage with his eyes, lest he look away and immediately forget her form. 

Excusing himself from the Farroway family, he approached the Master Alchemist and presented her a bow from the waist. “Nia. How good of you to come. If I had known you could spin flowers with your Alchemy, I would have enlisted your aid as a decorator. But that is beside the point. May I say, you are stunning, tonight,” he smiled, and its genuineness touched the corners of his brown eyes. “When I did not hear back from you about the gown, I had wondered if you disliked it, or it failed to fit you properly, but I see now that I can lay my worries to rest—about the latter, at least. Tell me; do you like it? I will take no offense if you do not. It is in keeping with the springtime theme that I chose it for you to wear.” He straightened to his full height and glanced over his shoulder at the guests in question about whom Nia referenced as contributing factors to her overwhelming malaise. “If you are second-guessing your place here, please note that this soirée only exists because of your Lady and you, a member of her coterie, My guests recognize your place, here. You are not out of place; rather, you are a guest of honor, and very much meant to be here, as per my request. Of course,” he rubbed the small patch of facial hair beneath his chin, “I also decided to tie in our yearly celebration of the equinox with this auspicious occasion—hence the proliferation of flora. Nonetheless, Nia, think nothing of what my esteemed D’Marian attendees will say about your appearance, tonight. We are a vocal crowd, but you will find we are unanimously in favor of peace and bear no interest in outward aggression. Should you feel uncomfortable with any individual or group of individuals, do not hesitate to inform me of their behavior and I will see to it that the situation is remedied.”

At Nia’s mention of the teenaged girl who he attended to, moments ago, he twisted his head and regarded her through his peripheral gaze, as per the Master Alchemist’s request not to stare. “Oh, yes. Miss Elida is of the Farroway family, well-respected earth mages whose specialization is in gem-craft. You say she possesses no magic? I imagine the Farroways would prefer not to draw attention to the absence of magic in their daughter. Alas, it sometimes skips a generation, and that is no failure or fault of the child. It saddens me to hear that they square their disappointment onto her shoulders when the disappointment should land on themselves for transferring the blame onto poor Miss Elida. Unfortunately, the obsession with cultivating magically-gifted kin is the core praxis in Stella D’Marian culture. I’ve heard-tell that the former Lord Rigas himself was conceived through complicated and borderline elicit methods, which nearly eliminated the reserve magic set aside and guaranteed to every child born of their blood. And yet, despite his unprecedented energy-output, he was still marked as a disappointment by his mother. When is it enough, I wonder? Throwing impossible expectations onto a child, seeing their child as only good as their magical birthright, are outdated and harmful sentiments for parents to harbor, but it proliferates like a disease on our society...and,” his voice dropped to a barely audible whisper, “the Canaverises are little better. But I speak out of turn. Anyway,” he cleared his throat and proceeded out of the corner of the room where he had found Nia dwelling, “let us buoy her spirit. If you say she is infatuated with me, I might as well leverage her infatuation for good effect.”

In several long strides, he arrived in Miss Elida’s vicinity, halfway across the grand hall. As per his suggestion, she had weaved the rose into her hair, a floating pink island amid dark waves of waterfall braids. As her mother chatted with a man to her left, the girl in salmon was admiring a statue, the largest in the room: a man stood, leg propped on a rock outcropping, surveying the sea beyond; a long mane of hair whipped behind him in an invisible wind and his noble visage, similar to Ari’s save for the pronounced hook of his nose, plied in furrowed concentration, one thick eyebrow perched above his eye, the other raised as though in pleasant surprise. The statue, marble flecked with gold mica, glimmered in the variegated gem-colors of the stone chandeliers overhead. 

“I see you’ve become acquainted with my brother, the late Casimiro Canaveris,” Ari remarked, jolting the girl out of her reverie. Upon realizing who had startled her, a rash-like flush attacked her face in one long striation. “Ah, forgive me, Miss Elida. I did not mean to disturb your meditations.” He gazed with fondness at the effigy of his brother. “It is many an artist’s most valued dream to render our audience captivated by our works, and if you are so enchanted, then I am no happier and fulfilled than I am, right now. And yes, that is how I define myself, primarily. Not as a leader, not as a mage, but as an artist. A sculptor. It is through this medium that I have been able to redefine magic. It is not an absolute, not energy or elemental manipulation, but an abstract, spanning many spectrums and mediums. I firmly believe magic can be found and expressed everywhere, even in the mundane. One does not need an innate talent when one can grow a talent and wield it just as ably as any mage. Do you not agree that creating form out of the formless is, by itself, magic? Especially as it has the ability to enchant?” He headed to a nearby fireplace, plucking an amethyst sculpture from the mantelpiece; a fledgling bird pumped its outstretched wings to bound off a tree limb in preparation for its first flight. Would it fly? Would it fall? Either way, it triumphed because it accepted the risks of failure, and leaped, regardless. “He handed it to Elida. “For you. As a reminder that you are, in fact, a magical being, capable of wondrous acts and feats. You only have to broaden your perspective of magic and search for what inspires you. Do this for me, Miss Elida, and inform me of your progress.” His lips stretched into an encouraging smile. “I cannot wait to see what you are capable of.”

With a bow, he took his leave of the Farroway girl and looked askance at Nia, who bore witness to their exchange. “Thank you for pointing me in her direction. May my words of support suffice, for now, but you can be certain I shall periodically check on her wellbeing.” At his return to the veritable center of the room, he stopped, waiting for Nia to join him. “As any good host should, allow me to acquaint you with the layout. This room is the grand hall, where the bulk of tonight’s activities will take place. For the next hour, attendants will be passing around refreshments on a regular cycle; we’ve many exquisite morsels for you to sample, should you feel so inclined. And,” he leaned in, to whisper conspiratorially near her ear, “if you desire more, let me know, and I can redirect you to the kitchens.” Resetting the volume of his voice, he continued. “After an hour, we shall clear some of the tables and open the floor for dancing, effective until our guests tire and retire for the evening. I would recommend you stay until close to the end, if you are at all partial to dessert. Mahra makes the most exquisite cream-tarts. Oh, and lest I forget,” he led her to a garland-laden table, where a display of miniature crystal goblets, filled with a bright orange substance, were arranged, backlit atop a glowing green slate-stone. He handed a goblet to Nia. “It is a limited batch. What you see is what we have. I would recommend trying a Night Garden lemon-peach beverage before they vanish. If you are driven to partake, that is. Perhaps you can even help me conceive of a proper name?”

Their conversation was cut short when a hand stretched out and plucked a goblet from the display stone. Chara Rigas tucked the stem daintily between her fingers and drew a sampling sip into her waiting lips. “Not bad, Ari. You’ve made quite the palatable fruit wine, I daresay.” Draining its contents with the second sip, she placed the empty goblet to the side and smacked her lips to blot out the wet, lingering residue. “I hope you don’t mind I keep you in close quarters, tonight. There are curious D’Marians who want me to make a statement about the Rigas fall to grace and ignore me when I insist I am here to represent Galeyn. Anyway, I should be referring them to you, seeing as you are a contributing cause to the unrest perpetrated against my family.”

“There will be no discussion of politics, either from the D’Marians or from you, Lady Chara,” Ari underlined in a stern and unyielding voice. 

“Duly noted. One more thing, before I close the subject for good. Through the very brief conversations I’ve had with your guests, it seems they are still convinced that Alster Rigas acted maliciously during your rally, despite your promise to reveal the true nature behind his staged Serpent summons. When do you plan to exonerate him?”

“I promised that I would, Lady Chara, and I will,” he spoke with a hush, conscientious of any eavesdroppers who possessed fine-tuned ears. And why was she dropping such delicate information around Nia, of all people? “But now is not the right time to praise my opponent for his well-intentioned, albeit questionable, tactics. To sing his good name, so soon after ascending as his replacement, will dampen my credibility, and threaten to stoke rebellion among the Rigases and their supporters. We’ve just achieved peace and this celebration is in the name of peace,” he went on, carefully. “Do not call for unrest so soon after we’ve obtained some stability in this village.” 

“Ah, yes. So you continue to subjugate the Rigases and punish them for their former leader’s perceived misdeeds. This, of course, is peace. Whatever you say, Ari. You’re the leader, and you know what is best for our people, Rigases included.” She shrugged. In respect to his wishes, she effectively disbanded the subject from further discussion, but the fierce glow in her eyes suggested he do something about it, and soon. Or else she would.

“Oh… that little trick?” She nodded in Elida’s direction, indicating the flower the pretty young girl had woven into her hair, and gently shook her head. “That’s just one of my many parlor stunts. Don’t get me wrong, I can’t make something out of nothing. The flower was already there, it was just very, very dead. And I can’t guarantee that it will last much longer than this evening, but… hey, it looks pretty now. And she seems to like it!” Nia realized too late that her sudden rambling was borne of a genuine reaction to Ari’s compliment… and that she had absolutely no idea how to take a compliment, or how to respond. It wasn’t the first time someone had favourably remarked on her appearance, but things were different, in the heat of the moment when you were in bed with someone. There was almost an obligation, at that point, but in a moment such as this, completely unsolicited… it almost left her stunned, and helpless to so much as murmur a simple ‘thank you’. So, as usual, she had resolved to simply talk around it.

“You’re not looking half-bad yourself, there--of course, that’s no real surprise. I can’t remember ever not seeing you in some state of finery. You know how to dress up, and dress well.” Speaking of dresses… The Master Alchemist looked down at the green and gold waves gently flowing from her waist. It was strange, as if she had no real idea who or what she was seeing, considering that she had never donned something so fine before tonight. Like an out of body experience--which only justified her decision not to look in the mirror, earlier. For fear of letting her thoughts escape her to such a degree that she could no longer control them, she looked up and plastered on a smile to cover up her nerves. “Sorry I didn’t get back to you about this fine piece of couture. If I’m being honest, I didn’t try it on until just tonight, when I had to get ready. I probably should have, in case it didn’t fit, but… It’s too damn pretty, Ari. I thought I’d wreck it if I touched it! I still feel like I’m putting its integrity at risk, wearing it out and about and around people. Wearing something pretty as opposed to durable isn’t something I’m used to. But I suppose all that matters is that you’re happy with the turn out. Of course, I think we both know I’m not at all deserving of praise for the effort I put into my appearance. I already told you I can’t even rouge my cheeks to save my life. Chara is to thank for that.”

Nia briefly nodded to the Rigas woman across the room. It looked as though she was watching them… which left a curiously unsettling feeling in the pit of Nia’s stomach. She quickly looked away. “Not sure she wanted to help me out; I think Queen Lilica rather strong-armed her into it. But, judging by your approval, it seems like she didn’t do a half bad job turning this shrub into a flower, huh?” Because she, for one, wouldn’t know; she hadn’t so much as glanced at her reflection in a window. If she did… she wasn’t sure she could smoothly recover in time from the shock of that out of body experience.

As the conversation turned to one Elida Farroway, Nia followed Ari’s gaze to the sweet, pink clad girl who looked as though she was doing her very best to keep her shoulders straight and her chin up, all under the weight of her own inferiority. It broke Nia’s heart, a little, because damnit if she hadn’t been that same little girl at thirteen-years-old. Except the disappointment she shouldered had nothing to do with her lack of skill or ability, and everything to do with her mere existence, and the curses it had brought upon her family. “I think, for some families, it is never enough. Not when their ideals are just plain not achievable.” She commented with a quiet sigh. “My family, as you already know, was no exception. I used to wonder what it might be like if none of us had been Master Alchemists. Just a normal family doing normal, mundane things. I think we’d all have been happier; we’d have gotten along better. We’d have been…” We would all still be alive, was the thought that immediately came to mind, and that Nia chose not to voice. She cleared her throat and worried the star pendant at her neck. No doubt, the tarnished steel clashed horribly with her otherwise beautiful attire, and did not at all complement the green and gold of her springtime gown, but no amount of convincing would have gotten her to remove it. Even Chara had passively (or rather, passive-aggressively) commented on how it was something of an eyesore, to which Nia hadn’t even responded. Removing it was non-negotiable.

The Master Alchemist watched with vested interest as the Canaveris lord approached the teenaged girl, who was busying herself with feigned interest in one of the statues, as an excuse to keep Ari in her peripheral vision. Her startled reaction, following by a deep flush that spread across her cheeks, did not come as a surprise. “Ari…!” She gasped, and knelt into a curtsey. “I was just… the statue, it is so… I thought…”

To her great relief, her generous host spared her rambling embarrassment by going off on his own tangent of this piece of art, and what it meant to him. He spoke of his passion for art, and how, by some means, he considered it in itself to be a sort of magic, and Elida listened. Because, in a way, what he was saying made sense. Perhaps not so much that her parents would agree, but hearing this from Lord Canaveris, himself… somehow, it held more weight. What did it matter what her mother thought, so long as the object of her girlish infatuation thought that she was worth her weight, just as she was? “You’re… giving this to me?” Elida reached out and took the beautiful little bird delicately in her hands. From the backlight of the flames in the fireplace, the little creature seemed to glow, as if it were alive and ready to take flight. “A-are you sure, Ari? It is lovely…”

The girl brought her hands to her chest and cradled the small, delicate statue, her cheeks alight with a flush, and her eyes a little bit brighter. “I promise I’ll find my magic, Ari.” She said in a whisper. “And when I do… I’ll show you, first.”

Nia, who had been bearing witness to the brief exchange, couldn’t help but smile warmly as the nervousness drained from the teenager’s face, replaced with something that looked distinctly like hope. Whatever he had said to that girl, it certainly set the mood for her evening… and most likely deepened whatever puppy love she had for the kind man. “Well, I don’t know what you just said to her, but it really made her day, by the looks of it.” The Master Alchemist commented warmly. “She’ll remember it, too. Because you said it to her, and those words are going to stick. Do me a huge favour and touch base with her whenever you have a chance, huh? Not saying lead her on, but something tells me she won’t be getting much encouragement from home. It’s going to have to come from elsewhere. So if you planted that seed of hope,” she grinned, stealing a glance at the girl who was marveling at the lovely little gift he had given her, “then it is up to you to watch it grow into something beautiful. You really are a good man, Ari. A shame I didn’t have someone like you to encourage me when I was growing up.”

At his offer to show her around (for she had only as of yet become familiar with scant few rooms of the Canaveris villa), Nia happily obliged, and couldn’t help but grin ear to ear when he mentioned food. While it had been some time since she’d put her skills as a Master Alchemist to use to such an extent that it stimulated a voracious appetite, she was never one to shy away from food. “You know me too well, Ari. If I manage to shake the burgeoning unrest in the pit of my stomach, I might take you up on sneaking me into the kitchens a little later. Those cream tarts do sound damn amazing, if they are anything like the leftovers I tasted after your somewhat ill-fated dinner party, some time ago.”

The Master Alchemist followed her kind host to a table upon which sat what appeared to be a wide collection of a certain brightly-coloured beverage. Upon closer inspection, it was not the beverages themselves that were glowing, but the slate itself that was glowing. Given the colour of the beverages, it didn’t take her long to deduce exactly what it was. “Oh! Well look at you. You did make something of that weird fruit in the Night Garden! Though I shouldn’t act so surprised. If anyone could make those lemon-peaches into a delectable drink, of course it would be the guy who sculpts and paints… and apparently knows how to mix spirits.” She reached for a small goblet, and picked it up from the table. A small sigh passed her lips. “I know better than to repeat my faux-pas from last time and drink this too fast, but I think I’m going to have to get just a little bit drunker than a cocktail if I’m going to actually enjoy this meeting. I wholeheartedly appreciate everything you’re doing to make me feel welcome, but you have to admit… it’s a little controversial that I’m here, at all.”

Bringing the goblet to her lips, she took a small sip, instead of knocking it back in a single gulp. The last thing she wanted was to offend her closest ally at his own party! “Not bad, Ari. What gave you the idea to edge the rims with salt? Not gonna lie, I thought it was a little weird, at first, but it works so well with the flavour of the fruit. I’d pat you on the back for a job well done, but,” she winked, “I’m getting better at being more conscious of your personal boundaries. So I guess my compliment will have to suffice. I’ll have to get back to you on that name, though; maybe if I get a few more of these little delights into me. You know there is some school of thought that suggests creativity flows more easily when you’re not so inhibited by your own brain?”

It came as a surprise to both Ari and Nia when a hand shot out uncomfortably close to the both of them to snatch up one of the delightful little goblets on the table. The Master Alchemist raised her eyebrows at what could have been perceived as a rude intrusion, but instead, she opted to put on a disarming smile. “Lady Chara! How have you been enjoying the evening? I had no idea that Ari put on such elaborate soirees. I can see now that I was right to trust your judgment about the headpiece.” She touched the golden leaves woven into her hair. “This wasn’t over the top at all; it’s exactly the aesthetic. Ari, you can thank Chara, here, for the fact that I at all look the part to attend one of your parties, tonight. She gets full credit for the make-up and most of the accessories. I certainly owe you one, Lady Rigas!”

Of course, Chara ignored her, and Nia wasn’t particularly surprised. Though whatever agenda the Rigas woman was toting, the Master Alchemist was particularly proud of her kind host for standing his ground, as he did. My, the difference between now and then… As if by destroying all of those statues bearing Chara’s features, Ari had truly freed himself from an ages-old captor, and he was now a free man to speak his mind. This discussion, however, transcended their past, and had its roots in something else entirely: that being Alster Rigas and his fall from grace, it seemed. Nia knew better than to get into the middle of anyone’s politics, particularly when she herself represented such a controversial political figure, but at the same time… it bothered her. How Chara still insisted on getting under Aristide’s skin, after already effectively breaking his heart. In a way, it almost seemed cruel, and while she did not want to make an enemy of the Rigas woman (for that would get her nowhere in establishing peace), neither did she wish for Chara’s boisterous presence to ruin Ari’s evening. Not when he had gone to such trouble to see to it that everyone else was having a good time!

“Hey… so, D’Marian affairs are really none of my business, but having spoke with Alster himself, and with my understanding of the situation, I don’t see how we can’t have our cake and eat it, too.” Nia spoke up, in her upbeat and sunny cadence, that smile never faltering. “Really, it’s no mystery or secret as to why Alster did what he did. I know it, you know it, most of the palace knows it. He summoned the giant snake to put the safety of the D’Marians to the test. A bold move, and really, the guy does deserve kudos for putting his neck on the line, however drastic his strategies might have been!” She took another sip of her beverage; a bigger one this time. “That said, he’s also chosen to withdraw under ‘conditional surrender’. He and his wife are living it up in the farmlands, if I’m not mistaken, because they don’t want to be part of what is happening here. Which is fair, but that also means that he can’t really effectively lead the people who are still here, right? But Ari, who has decided to stay, has taken up the mantle. Personally, I don’t see why both upstanding men can’t be celebrated.”

Nia finished her drink, which, as she’d predicted, was not nearly as strong as she needed it to be. Nerves still clutched at her to the point where she wasn’t sure she could even enjoy food, right now! “Why don’t we all just enjoy the evening? It’s as Ari said, this is to celebrate kingdomwide peace. And Lady Chara, since you and I are respectively representing our sadly absentee monarchs, perhaps it would be for the best if we lead by example, hm? Come on, let’s just have fun, tonight. Like Ari said, there’s no room for politics when everyone is here for the same reason: to have a good time. Didn’t you say there would be dancing later, Ari?” 

It was all she could do not to reach for another goblet. Just a little more to take the edge off those nerves, that fear that if she were to glance in a mirror, it wouldn’t be her face that she saw, but Celene’s. She had to focus on the here and now, not dwell on the past. If she just kept her head in the game, kept the conversation going, and didn’t think too hard on how much she did not belong among the revelers… she would be fine. “I don’t dance, myself; at least, I’ve never tried. It doesn’t look particularly hard. But I’ve always wondered what a gala full of dancing men and ladies in colourful garb would look like. Hey--maybe you should ask your little admirer for a dance, Ari.” She chuckled, searching for the pink-clad teen among the throngs of people, but failed to pick her out. “That would just make her evening, wouldn’t it? And what about you, Lady Chara?” She turned to the beautiful, albeit stern looking blonde woman. “Have your eye on anyone, here, or do you plan to sit it out, out of respect for Majesty Lilica? I’m sure she’d want you to enjoy yourself, regardless. Regardless of politics, you really turn heads. Bet you could ask anyone here, man or woman, and you wouldn’t find a refusal.”

Stop while you’re ahead, a voice at the back of her mind cautioned. She was talking too much, possibly making an awkward situation even worse, but if she stopped… if she stopped, then she’d suddenly remember where she was. What she was wearing. That she was a square peg in a round hole, and that the majority of Ari’s guests would be far happier in her absence… “Did it just get really warm in here?” Her smile turned shaky as she rubbed the back of her neck. “Must be all the people… Mind if I excuse myself a moment? I just need to find a window.” Somehow managing to hold that smile long enough to turn away in search of some source of air--which, in a room cluttered with bodies, was easier said than done. Hold it together, Nia! You’ve still got a night ahead of you.

“While kind of you to say, Nia, if we had met, say, twenty years ago, I doubt I would have appeared to you as some proprietor of wisdom, spinning cheerful encouragements and such. Presently, I am sixty-six years of age; at half the growing rate of an average male, that makes me about thirty-three. Maturity-wise, I would have been in my early twenties and, if I am frank, it was a particularly volatile period in my history, fraught with many setbacks the likes of which would make for very poor conversation amidst tonight’s jubilations.” Twenty-years ago marked the moment when Chara, tiring of Ari’s company, abandoned their relationship by destroying all forms of communication and vanishing from his narrative without even the faintest of farewells. Reeling from the rejection, he spiraled into fits of melancholia so profound, it ushered in a fallow period for his art. In the years that followed, nothing, save for the continuous sculpting and painting of Chara’s beatific face, would generate from his hands. From his fractured memories of that fractious time, many of his pieces appeared jagged and exaggerated, like shards. Sometimes, he literally used broken glass as the perfect medium to convey the Woman in the Mirror, as he often referenced her, a moniker to maintain her anonymity. 

In series after series, he used mirrors whenever he sculpted her, and in every series, he would smash the mirror to shambles, a representation of Chara’s many divisive and disharmonious facets and propensity to render the lives she handled into broken playthings, carelessly tossed to the ground. One such installation showed just that, featuring a creature made of disconnected mosaic, smiling cruelly, shattering a glass heart against a wall, watching as its dislodged pieces burrowed into the wood paneling and into the grout of the tiled floor. It was in this state his brother found him, poring and obsessing over his target to the detriment of his health. Actual blood pooled in hands; the blood was necessary, he insisted—to stain the glass and drive home the message: A heart does not rend clean. It bleeds and it bleeds and it doesn’t cease bleeding. Not until it finishes exsanguinating in full, dries, and desiccates. Of all the Canaverises, his parents included, Casimiro was the only one to break the casual taboo of vocalizing negativity by encouraging Ari to speak his pain in place of channeling it into projects, which he had so aggressively created for years, to little healing effect. Even now, whenever faced with a particularly fraught or stressful time, he oft revisited the crushing weight of memories claimed by Chara Rigas and converted the heartbreak and abuse into creative energy—as evidenced by his latest collection, now reduced to rubble.

“Did you not already have ‘someone like me,’ Nia? Forgive me for making wild assumptions and unsolicited judgments— sentiments on this matter stem from my late brother—but,” he lowered his gaze to her necklace, “you could have donned any neckpiece tonight. I am certain Lady Chara would have provided you with a wide selection of jewelry, seeing as she was so generous to do your makeup and hair, and to lend you that glittering circlet, but you chose your sister’s amulet. For one to memorialize a loved one’s memory, they first have to be loved, and from where I stand, she meant a lot to you. It is too precious a memento for you to part with, even for an evening. I hope I do not sound accusatory,” he edited, in case she interpreted his fixation on the necklace as a criticism of her ensemble, and not as an observation. “I mean no disrespect. No bauble can compare or replace a precious keepsake of a sibling’s love. Ah,” he adjusted the ruffles of his cravat and chuckled dismissively, “the evening is too young to be getting so maudlin. I have scarcely consumed a full goblet of my lemon-peach concoction and already I am growing light-headed with sentimentality. Please do not let my musings spoil your evening, Nia.”

Whether or not he spoiled her evening, a figure guaranteed to spoil merriment and happy tidings, should she feel inclined to assume the role, materialized in front of the librations table and hence, materialized in front of them. Chara Rigas, unapologetic, delved into baneful topics of discussion, her mouth widening in eager anticipation of his—and Nia’s—responses. As she looked to them both for answers, she swished around a second goblet in her hand, and waited. Although Ari had the power to oust difficult guests from his own villa, knowing Chara, she would hold the measure against him as a slight and, out of spite, fail to deliver his “gift” to Queen Lilica. Chara held no reservations whatsoever regarding the lengths to which her pettiness would go. However, much as she touted her disagreeableness and borderline malice, it was all a calculated misdirection. As Queen Lilica’s advisor and current representative, she would never stoop so low as to ruin her lover’s reputation—if Chara Rigas even cherished Lilica Tenebris at all, or was simply utilizing her as the newest in a line of playthings. Only...that didn’t seem to be the case. Through his limited interactions with the duo, their relationship seemed built on mutual respect. If the likes of Chara Rigas could love selflessly, then it served to believe in her capacity for compassion or possibly, forgiveness. 

Chara’s head tilted in a deliberate choice not to set her direct gaze on Nia, though she was addressing her. “The Rigases are complying with Canaveris rule only because supporting Alster presents ethical problems within the D’Marian community. He summoned the Serpent and deliberately chose to appear as an enemy to his people in a showy and most flagrant breach of trust. His actions left the Rigases little choice but to condemn him, viciously, lest they rile an angry mob, the same mob who Ari enabled with his poisonous Anti-Rigas twaddle to begin with and which he has the power to undo—but simply won’t. Without a statement, D’Marians and Rigases alike can only speculate about Alster’s intentions during the rally and are thus unable to take an official stance if they want to appease the people. Moreover, because of village-wide tensions, Alster is, presently, not welcome here, both by the Rigases or the D’Marian people. But,” she licked the salt off an untouched section of her goblet, “statements from both Ari and Alster can clear the Rigas name. Ari can disperse his mob and Alster can explain that he in actuality has chosen Ari as his successor. In this sense, yes, both men can be celebrated, and the Rigas reputation will be allowed to repair itself.” Her steely eyes transferred from Nia to Ari. “If you are worried about an insurrection or an uprising, at the cost of compromising your platform as a voice for D’Marians, all D’Marians, then you are not so upstanding and noble a leader as you so claimed, Lord Canaveris. It means you are thirsting for power, after all, and not, foremost, lobbying for the good of D’Marians.” She lowered her head, the angle intensified her fierce expression, “How would your lovely guests feel, knowing that your so-called care is superficial, a farce, and entirely conditional?”

At once, Ari rescinded his favorable analysis of Chara Rigas. In this instance, she was not looking for forgiveness, but a debate; for him to rise to the bait and lose his composure, as he’d done during the dinner party. 

She misjudged the control he wielded over his current situation, insofar as he was quite composed and unruffled. “If you are suggesting I speak with Lord Rigas, very well; I shall speak with Lord Rigas. I will plan a trip to the farmlands and ask if he wants to provide a statement to the D’Marians.” He selected a goblet for himself at the table and pressed a needful sip to his lips. “Believe what you wish to believe, Lady Chara; that I desire power over the people and plan to rule with impunity by disenfranchising my loudest detractors. I am in full and complete disagreement, but I will not deign to defend my position to you in an attempt to appease your boredom. If you are in desperate need of entertainment, I pray you find it elsewhere. There is no deficit of it here, in this room. I’ve made my stance quite clear, before.” His brows lowered into a warning glare. “No more talk of political matters tonight, Lady Chara.” 

“Very well, then,” Chara yawned, fully leaning into her role as a bored party-ruiner. “Though it remains to be seen if I can trust you to open a dialogue with your predecessor. You lied last time, Ari. How can I be certain you will tell no other falsehoods?”

Fortunately, Nia shifted the subject to something more thematically appropriate and Ari jumped on the opportunity to piggyback off of her example. “Ah, yes, Nia,” he said, ignoring Chara as she was wont to do whenever he displeased her. “There will be dancing, shortly. While I’m able to dance, I, too, am not a regular participant, unless the dance in question is no-contact in nature. For me, this eliminates most waltzes, which is a favorite among D’Marians. No doubt Miss Elida would fancy a dance. The majority of my honored guests are respectful of my proclivities against touch so it should be no trouble to slide in for a dance or two, given there is the space to do so.”

“Alternatively, I am not here to dance, Nia,” Chara stared at the Master Alchemist as though she were rightly mad to suggest such a thing. She drained her second goblet and deposited it on the table. “But do have fun at my behest. It would be a shame not to take advantage of the gown Ari has magnanimously lent you for this occasion.” As Locque’s advisor made excused herself, fooling neither Chara nor Ari with her painted-on smile and quasi-rushed steps of escape, the latter figure turned on his Rigas guest, showcasing his displeasure with a grim frown. 

“Chara,” in his annoyance, he dropped the honorific, “did you purposely broach this testy subject and act inhospitably in order to chase Nia out of the room?”

“Perhaps,” she crossed her arms over her chest in defiance. “The passive cruelty was a bit much, I’ll admit, but I knew a hostile environment would push her away. I meant what I said, before. You are too friendly with her. As preposterous as this sounds, Ari, I am trying to protect you.”

“If this is how you choose to protect me, you have a funny way of showing it. Nonetheless, and I will say this as kindly as possible; do not interfere.” He nearly slammed his empty goblet on the table, sending a chain reaction of glasses chiming as one united entity. “Your version of protection is twisted and I want no part of it. Do you understand?” 

To avoid his dour countenance, Chara roved her eyes towards the far end of the room, in the direction Nia fled. “Ari...I cannot trust you if you give me no reason to trust you. At the very least, show your commitment and speak to Alster.” When she turned her head to meet his gaze, her eyes squinted in a way that suggested her reasons for bidding Ari seek her cousin’s audience were not entirely D’Marian related.

Whilst Nia scrambled to find an ideal exit point, a lone figure watched, curiously. On silent feet, the shadow trailed after her, stalking closer and closer until their distances met. Hiding in her blind spot, the shadow reached out and tapped the Master Alchemist’s shoulder, fleeing their proximity as the floral-clad woman whipped around, startled by the brusque summons. 

“You’re quite out of your element here, aren’t you?” A girl, no more than the equivalent of nineteen year old, presented before Nia, bronze skin appearing a burnished red from light-emanating rocks shining overhead and her silken black hair capturing green highlights in its elaborate updo. Her gown, a twilight blue festooned with bright purple flowers, resembled the night-time iteration of Nia’s daylight springtime scene. “Not to worry, Miss Nia. As an esteemed guest, allow me to guide you to a quiet place. This way.” Before the Master Alchemist could reject the offer or respond, the girl took her by the hand and led her out the door, through the courtyard, and down a series of abandoned residential corridors, stopping only once they reached a door at the far end. Checking the latch, she smiled in approval as the mechanism clicked and the door swung open, giving way to a small but well-maintained guest room, complete with a bed, a dresser, a window, and splashes of custom artwork and sculptures lining the walls.

“Go on in! Don’t be shy!” She made a grandiose sweeping motion with her hands. “Uncle Ari will not mind if you use his guest room to recuperate.” She laid one hand over her chest. “Though I’ve attended many galas, I always make certain to locate a hideyhole or two, in the likely event where I must make a daring escape. When one has six younger brothers as I do, you learn early-on to map out the quickest route and vanish before they can even begin to track your whereabouts. They are like a wild pack of bloodhounds, those boys,” she huffed out an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, where are my manners?” She dipped into a curtsy. “My name is Sylvie Canaveris. I understand that you are Miss Nia Ardane. Rest assured,” her smile grew wide, “Uncle Ari instructed us to happily welcome and provide for our esteemed guests so do let me know if there is anything else you need! I can sneak you in some food. Do you want some food? Water? A beverage?” Her dark eyes glinted knowingly. “A nap, perhaps?