“Miracles? Nah, I don’t expect miracles. I don’t think our new monarch does, either. Obviously, whatever help you can offer,” she gave the young summoner a playful squeeze on the shoulder, “is enough. Hell, I don’t know the first thing about helping someone reconnect with something they’ve lost. But you sorta seem the type that’s already done some soul searching. And you can reach the same vibrations that Locque can. It won’t happen overnight, no one expects it to. And hey, don’t worry about a certain jealous, psychotic wolf girl. I’ll explain my part in all of this--well, not the part where I helped you avoid the shit out of her, but that it was my idea, and not yours. After all, it’s not like she can really lay a finger on me, or else she’ll suffer Locque’s wrath.”
Teselin nodded, both at Hadwin’s advice and at Nia’s reassurances, but truth be told, the young summoner really didn’t know what she was getting herself into. Neither with Locque nor with Rowen, and if it had been up to her, she might have declined both. But Locque… maybe there really was something she could do for her. And if there was a chance of that change, in turn, affecting Rowen for the better, then it was worth the attempts. “I know. I’ll be careful. I won’t bite off more than I can chew, and I won’t… avoid Rowen, completely. Maybe there is a slight chance that she actually wants help. I won’t turn her away for that; I’ll just make sure that the majority of my time is spent with Locque, instead. Don’t worry about me. I think Nia is right; this really could all work out for the best, I believe it. Just… promise you won’t put yourself in danger, Hadwin.” She looked worriedly at the faoladh, who had made it clear he had no qualms about crashing the party if Rowen somehow got out of hand. “You know that the entire reason she likely approached me is so that she can get closer to you… to harm you. Don’t let that happen, or all of this will be for nothing.”
“You got this, hon. Just do what you can. The fact that you’re trying is all that matters in the end; no one can fault you if you don’t come out victorious. And don’t worry--your wolfy friend there and I both have your back. I think, between the two of us, we can keep little Rowen in line.” The Master Alchemist removed her hand from Teselin’s shoulder to take another sip of her ale. For some odd reason, Hadwin seemed reluctant to let the topic of Ari drop. She furrowed her brow in slight confusion over his seemingly vested interest in her relationship with the Canaveris lord. What did it matter if she and Ari remained friends? “Look, while all that might be right, it really isn’t my place to try and change the guy before he’s ready to change. I pushed a little too hard, it scared him, so it’s time for me to back off. He’s a great guy and all, and I’ve had fun with him, but I guess the timing just isn’t ideal. Nor are the circumstances. And honestly, I’ve gotta stop clinging so hard to people who tolerate me. I mean, that’s gotta be annoying, am I right? Maybe I’ll try again with Ari once things settle down for real. When he’s more open to help. In the meantime… why can’t I just enjoy life a little? I’m not on the run anymore; I’ve got everything I want. It’s not like I’m completely lost without Ari’s unrelenting friendship or anything.”
Whatever his reasons for pushing her friendship with the Canaveris lord, Hadwin also didn’t seem particularly sold on her little pep talk about life and happiness. She frowned at his criticism, but shrugged her shoulders in indication that she frankly didn’t care what he thought of her spiel. “Since when have you known me to be anything but sunshine, wolf boy? Sorry if I don’t wear pessimism well. Life is good and I already have a few drinks in me. Why shouldn’t I be happy? Because things didn’t work out between me and Ari as well as I hoped they would? Please, I’m not the type of girl to mourn a guy because I don’t turn out to be his type. I’ve got plenty of things to be happy about. So enough with the nagging, okay?” She playfully kicked his shin from under the table. “Let a girl bask in life and be happy, why don’t you. There’s plenty of times to be gloomy; now’s not one of them. Y’know, maybe, for a while, I thought I needed friendship from someone like Ari to feel like I belong here. Or that I needed a good meal at Osric’s superb pub. But it turns out, I already had all I needed, okay? I just didn’t realize it at the time… but it was already there.”
Nia didn’t elaborate any further because she didn’t really feel the need to explain herself. She had fully intended to honour Vitali’s request not to mention the enormous favour he had done for her. Why risk angering the man who had given her such a priceless gift as the ability to see her family again? Well, the family that mattered, anyway. She saw no point and no benefit in making an enemy of the man, after all, but Hadwin had a way with words and getting to know what he wanted to know, and the Master Alchemist already had several ales in her, and as someone with a loose tongue to begin with, it eventually just slipped out. “Okay, look, don’t go blabbing this to the world, but I’ve got your brother to thank, hon. The necromancer.” She grinned at Teselin and lowered her voice a little. As if anyone else really cared to listen in on what they were talking about. “He found a way to let me see my sisters, again… their spirits, at least. For the first time in over a decade, I can see their faces again. I didn’t realize that was all I needed: to not feel like the last Ardane in existence. I mean, on the physical plane, maybe, but they’re still here. I was never alone, and I never have to be. They’ve been looking out for me, all this time. I don’t know why he did what he did; maybe Locque did ask him to do for my sake. Who knows? I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth.”
Already quite drunk, she knocked back the remainder of another tankard and set the heavy pewter back on the table. “No, they can’t speak. I guess there are some limitations to fraternizing with the dead; I’m no necromancer, so I wouldn’t know the details. But they weren’t that chatty in life, either. I was the odd one out who couldn’t stop running her mouth. Not that it really matters: just because I can’t hear them doesn’t mean I can’t understand them. Their faces say everything I need to know. Y’know… my little sister, Palla, was a lot like you, Teselin. Always wanting to reach out to help. If she were alive, she’d have maybe been your age, or just a little older. Maybe that’s why I like you so much.” She winked and chuckled. “Hell, I think you’d have liked each other. Would’ve gotten along great. A shame that ship has sailed.”
“I… I really don’t know what to say.” Teselin, who had listened in stunned silence with a furrowed brow, was suddenly completely lost. “Vitali… he is my brother, and I love him, but he is not known for being charitable. And yet, what he has done for you is beyond compare, Nia. And he asked you for nothing in return? I mean--I’m beyond happy that he is making an effort to show some redeeming qualities. I’m just surprised. Could… would it be possible for me to see your sisters? To see my brother’s work?” A small, hopeful smile tugged at her mouth. “Everyone is so quick to brush him off as a villain. Sometimes I am almost inclined to believe them… I want to see for myself that there is evidence that isn’t the case.”
Nia pursed her lips, the smile fading from her mouth for the first time that evening. She seemed to withdraw a little. “My time with my sisters… it’s kind of private. No offense, of course, but I get kind of vulnerable, and I don’t like being around other people when I feel that way. Not to mention,” she traced the woodgrain of the table with a finger, “Your brother made it very clear he didn’t want this getting out, lest everyone starts wanting a favour from him.”
“Of course. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. But… just for a moment? Would you let me see what my brother is capable of? To be honest, I hardly know Vitali at all, and he isn’t an open book, not even to me. It… would mean a lot. And,” her smiled broadened a little. “If you’re missing Osric’s pies but can’t make it to his pub for whatever reason… I’ll grab you one from there, in exchange.”
The Master Alchemist blinked. Then, after a short pause, she tipped her head back and laughed. “Wow! I never pegged you as someone who wouldn’t take no for an answer, kiddo! Alright, you got me. If it means that much to you, then I’ll oblige, just this once. But I’d rather it be quick, alright? I prefer to spend my time with my family alone. Tomorrow knight, when the sky is at its darkest and the moon is full, meet me at the observatory at the topmost floor of the palace. The room with the big, ornate glass doors, and enormous windows. And don’t breathe a word of it to your brother--got it?”
“I promise.” Teselin nodded, and then took the hand that Nia had offered to shake, sealing their agreement. “Just a minute is all I want.”
“Then that’s what you’ll have. Anyway…I should get going before I’m too drunk to see myself home. Stay out of trouble, you two--and not a word, you hear? You don’t want to piss off a Master Alchemist.”
Teselin watched as Nia, who was just barely able to walk a straight line, threw some coins at the barkeep before sauntering out the door, into the evening. As soon as that door shut, the young summoner’s smile faded. “I wasn’t lying; I don’t know half of what Vitali can do. His powers are a mystery to a lot of people, and if he has the ability to raise the dead, then it makes perfect sense that he could summon the spirits of Nia’s departed sisters. But… I don’t know. I’ve got a bad feeling about it. Something just isn’t right.” She sank into her seat, and finally took a drink of the non-alcoholic beverage Hadwin had bought for her. It did taste delicious and refreshing, but she couldn’t properly enjoy it. “I want to see it for myself. Maybe it is exactly as Nia says; and maybe Locque did put him up to it as a favour for Nia. My suspicions could be wrong… and I really hope they are.”
True to her word, the next evening, long after dark and when the majority of the palace was sleeping, Nia was waiting outside of the ornate observatory doors for Teselin’s arrival. The young summoner was a little bit late; it had taken her a moment to convince Hadwin that she was perfectly safe and didn’t need accompaniment, and that his presence might actually leave a bad taste in Nia’s mouth when she had only promised Teselin, alone, an audience with her ghostly family. If Vitali had indeed helped her, then it was in Nia’s best interest not to let anything dangerous befall her. She did, however, promise to report her findings and keep him in the know. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten, kid.” The Master Alchemist mentioned as a greeting when the young summoner finally arrived. “It won’t get any darker out there; it’s best to use the time we have.”
“Sorry. It took me a while to shake Hadwin; you know how nosey he can be.” And it wasn’t at all a lie. When something piqued the faoladh’s interest, he wouldn’t let up until he got what he wanted to know. “I really appreciate you doing this, Nia.”
“Not a problem, kid. Come on in,” she grinned, “and meet my sisters. Well, one of them, whichever decides to appear. I can only ever see one at a time.”
The young summoner followed Nia inside, carefully closing the heavy doors behind her as the Master Alchemist stepped to the middle of the room, and directly in a stream of silver moonlight, she placed a bloodred stone. Magic--Teselin could feel magic all around her, strong and pungent in the air… Not unlike she did when she was near Alster, or Locque. This really was no small feat. Could it be… that Vitali had really gone to such lengths for someone he didn’t even like?
The dust motes that hung in the air swirled in the moonlight. And slowly, but surely, something began to take form. A person, about Nia’s height, with the same brunette locks and fair skin, clad in a flowing gown with a hemline that disappeared into smoke along the edges. She has a soft smile and a kind face, animated brown eyes despite being translucent in appearance… not so unlike Nia. She was beautiful and held herself with confidence, and when her eyes befell the Master Alchemist, there was real recognition in them. A warmth reserved only for a familiar face that meant something to the beholder. This was, without a doubt, Nia’s sister, her older sister.
And she wasn’t real. Not a single thing about her… was real.
“Celene… Teselin, this is Celene. She made my necklace. And she’s the kind of perfect that I could never be.” Nia thumbed the starburst pendant at her neck. “And your brother made this happen. You’re right; he’s not a villain. A villain wouldn’t do this for someone he despised, even if he was told to by some higher power. He… I’ll never be able to repay him for this. Hey--hon. Are you alright?”
Tears streamed down Teselin’s cherubic face. She didn’t even realize she was crying until Nia took a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her face. “This is no reason for tears, Tes--this is nothing less of a miracle! Don’t you see?” As if the young girl’s tears were contagious, Nia’s eyes also began to fill. “I’m not alone. I have my family back. The people who mattered to me are here with me, again. I feel like a void I didn’t even know I had is suddenly filled, again. So you can take this to your heart knowing that our necromancer brother isn’t a bad guy, alright?”
“I’m sorry. I… I just understand, now. Why you’ve been so happy.” Teselin struggled in vain to put a stop to her tears. “It’s just… it’s good to see you happy, Nia. I’m glad you’re happy and that you… you have this. I’m sorry.” Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, she sniffled and forced a painful smile. “Thank you for showing me this. I won’t take up any more of your time… thank you.”
Forcing herself to look away from the apparition that she so desperately wanted to register as a real ghostly presence, Teselin quietly left the observatory, tossing a final glance over her shoulder at the Master Alchemist. Nia looked upon the apparition with such reverence and irrevocable belief… Teselin had to leave, and fast, before a new wave of tears threatened to tear free of her eyes. She made it as far as halfway down the corridor before she ran into Hadwin, who had chosen to follow at a distance, it seemed, likely because he didn’t trust Rowen to have taken lightly to the change in plans they had discussed the night before. “I need… to go back to my room,” was all she said to him in a trembling voice, and he did not hesitate to comply, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and leading her back to her chambers, where she then shut the door and locked it--and then slid to the floor with her back to the wall as her body succumbed to sobbing anew.
“It’s not real. Not any of it. It wasn’t real, Hadwin.” Pressing her forehead to her knees, Teselin’s small shoulders trembled with the magnitude of her sobs. She tried to take deep breaths to slow the convulsions of her diaphragm. “All I could sense in that room was magic. I’m not like my brother, and I can’t pick out spirits at will, but I’m a summoner. It makes me sensitive to all energies, and I know the way the atmosphere changes when an entity in a different form is present. It’s like the air gets… heavier, and colder. But that didn’t happen. There was no change in the air. Just the heavy pressure of magic… of illusion. Hadwin, Nia isn’t seeing her sisters. They aren’t real… they’re not really there. She’s… she is being deceived.”
Her voice broke on the last syllable, and she happily accepted a cup of water that Hadwin poured for her from the decanter at her bedside. “I knew it sounded too good to be true, but Hadwin… Vitali might be self-serving, and apathetic, but he isn’t cruel. He wouldn’t find it worth his time to put so much effort and energy into deceiving anyone in such a way, especially if he has nothing to gain from it. I just don’t understand… why. Why do this?”
Wiping her bloodshot, tear-filled eyes on her sleeve again, an off-handed comment from Hadwin about how unfortunate it would be for Nia to find out she was being played made her eyes grow wide, and she grabbed the faoladh’s arm. “Wait! Hadwin--she can’t know. At least… we can’t tell her. You don’t understand.” Tugging on his arm, she urged him to squat down to her level so that she could meet his eyes. “There’s no doubt in Nia’s mind that she is really seeing her sisters. And she is clinging to that like a lifeline. She’s so happy, Hadwin. I… I-I can’t take that happiness away from her! Even if it is contrived… I can’t do it. I… don’t know what to do.”
As much as Hadwin wanted in on the midnight seance, three was a crowd, and it wasn’t as though he excelled at detecting ghosts if he still failed to distinguish the shade of his mam as real or delusion. While his wolf instincts and uncanny sense of smell could identify residual odors of magical essence from clothing and skin—and he definitely picked up on it from Nia—he couldn’t tell if the cause stemmed from prolonged exposure to Locque and Vitali or if it was due to Nia’s nightly ghost interactions that had alerted his nose. Whatever the case, he trusted Teselin to investigate in his place, but he didn’t trust the jilted and scorned Rowen to stay put, and took to casually patrolling the corridors to ensure she wouldn’t leave her chambers and make a scene. Save for a smattering of Forbanne and palace guards, the halls remained clear, save for a few moments later when Teselin hurriedly turned the corner and fled from the observatory stairs, tears trickling down her face. He caught her arm before her blurred vision introduced her to the wall in an unceremonious crash.
“Whoa, scamp, easy there,” he soothed, stilling her frenetic movements. “Here,” he positioned a stabilizing hand on the small of her back and guided her to her chambers, “let’s go inside and I’ll get a read on what’s going on.”
In the (relative) safety of the room, Teselin didn’t need to speak her concerns aloud; he detected them clearly, via his Sight. So prominent were her sorrows and gut-wrenching sobs, he was almost tempted to absorb her fears to take the edge off her grief, but he thought against it. Excepting a full-blown panic attack akin to the one Alster nearly experienced in Osric’s pub, he saw no need to cushion Teselin from her acute emotional reaction. Not yet, anyhow. Besides, he still hadn’t a clue as to how he wielded his newly acquired Sight-trick.
“So it’s fake, huh? I’m none too surprised.” He pressed a tin of water into the summoner’s hands and leaned over to gently massage her shoulder. “Not to shit all over your brother or anything, but he’s cut from the same cloth as me. And like me, he’s capable of some fucked up shit. Don’t deny it; you can’t say I never screwed someone over for shits and giggles, or to satisfy a personal objective.” He made a low clucking sound in his throat. “You’re too damn kind, Tes. Sometimes, it skews your perception of others. Though it’s one of your most endearing traits, and one that folks flock to, it’s liable to eat you alive, one day, when you realize some people aren’t always gonna come through for you. They’re gonna do heinous shit. For reasons, sure; there’s always reasons. Reasons are there to explain the cruelty, though, not to downplay it.”
Rowen Kavanagh’s reasons, for instance, were sympathetic. Her Sight had run rampant, which muddied her ability to determine right from wrong. Not that she grew up on a strong moral or ethical foundation, but Hadwin’s teachings notwithstanding, Rowen had always harbored an unshakable sense of justice and fairness. Like Bronwyn, the youngest Kavanagh sibling also believed in the righteousness of the world, and thus, her current crusade was, in the lens of her madness, a righteous one. While he could explain her angle, understand why she killed, and what led her to the breaking point, he couldn’t keep giving her free passes when she so staunchly opposed him and anyone who gave a care about him. Not when she killed Cwenha for daring to associate with him, and would surely kill him, too, whenever the chance afforded. For Rowen, Hadwin had finally exhausted his options and his excuses. Cry for help or not, he could no longer compromise his life to bend over and exhume her from the pit she herself had dug. He didn’t expect Teselin to do it, either. Not for Rowen, and certainly not for Locque. It wasn’t because he had no faith in the summoner to deliver; it was because their darkness had become a near-inseparable characteristic, too merged to exfoliate without peeling the skin from their body, and killing them from blood-loss.
Unlike Rowen and Locque, however, Teselin was right about one fact. Vitali was many things; an opportunist and an amoral businessman, chiefly, but he was not in league with their kind of darkness. Even so, by the merit of his partnership with Locque, he had to do her bidding. And a job was a job. “But let’s give your brother the benefit of the doubt for a moment and say he was acting under our wonderful new monarch’s orders,” he continued, trying, at least, to bolster Teselin’s favorable attitudes towards the necromancer. “Well, there’s the answer to your ‘Why.’ Of course Nia’s not gonna let on, even when I point-blank tell her what’s up, but getting ousted from Osric’s place, and to an extent, losing her camaraderie with Lord Fancypants, affected her something fierce. She started questioning her position in Galeyn, allowing this cloying fear of never belonging, of never having a place to call home, to take prominent residency in her mind. Her colleagues probably picked up on it and wanted to shut her up so she wouldn’t be a bothersome presence. So they gave her a happy distraction. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for distractions, too, but this one kinda rankles me. With all the combined power in their arsenal, you mean to tell me they couldn’t do the real deal? Or didn’t wanna invest in the bells and whistles at all? Wow.” He shook his head and frowned, in the closest manifestation to displeasure he was able to share with Teselin. “Way to make a Master Alchemist feel special. I would say we out and tell her what’s what, but—“ He was interrupted by a sudden yank, its force of strength unparalleled in the tiny summoner. The jerking motion tugged him close and brought him to his knees.
“Tes, squirt, you gotta let me finish,” he said in a calm, cooling whisper. He gave a tender pat to the hand that squeezed his arm and made direct eye contact, despite the burgeoning headache. “Y’see, normally I wouldn’t care about yanking someone’s happiness underfoot, especially if it’s all built on lies and deceit. Part of my fight with my ebbing and flowing madness, I suppose; I ain’t hot on seeing others nurse their delusions so I pop ‘em whenever I get the chance. But here, I’ve run into an obstacle because one; she ain’t gonna believe me if I tell her. She always argues and denies it whenever I call her out on some fear-based truths, anyway—like denying the fear is gonna make it go away. And two; I ain’t here to disrupt Vitali’s whole thing.” Not when he’s doing me a favor, his eyes communicated. He knew better than to so much as hint about Cwenha’s revival scheme within the palace proper. Or to voice suspicions that he was playing Locque. “So here’s what I propose. Let’s pay your bro a visit. We’ll pop in tomorrow night and gently nudge the truth outta him. Then we just play the whole thing by ear from there. No reason to despair so soon, scamp. If Miss Positivity has got one thing right, it’s that there’s no reason to fixate on misery. Let’s just compartmentalize and take things one step at a time, yeah?” Rising from his place on the floor, Hadwin plied open the buttons of his tunic and pulled it overhead, discarding it to the side. “But if you need to let out a good cry, I’m here to oblige.” He looked over his shoulder and winked. “Big, fluffy, huggable wolf, coming right up!”
By some random act of providence, Hadwin received a resonance stone buzz that morning from none other than Ari, himself. He was adding some finishing touches to Cwenha’s memorial statue and requested that Hadwin and Briery stop by the villa at their earliest convenience to see the result and throw in their input for any last-minute changes. After informing Teselin of his impromptu errand, and promising to return before evening fell, the faoladh gathered his outerwear--for the early spring weather was still a bit nippy for the time of day--and set off to find Briery. Within the hour, the duo departed by carriage en route to Ari’s villa on the hill, and within the next hour, they arrived, to be greeted at the door by the hulking golem, Lazarus. Though he boasted an impressive size, he dwarfed the Missing Links’ own Lautim, as though the intent of the artist behind the golem’s appearance--Ari, he wagered--was to simulate a human male of massive, albeit realistic proportions. Wasting little time for pleasantries, Lazarus led Hadwin and Briery through the courtyard through a narrow alley-space, emptying out to an unassuming stone cottage nestled under a low cliffside. The cliffside in question, once an undisturbed mound of a hill, sported massive bites taken out of the earth to reveal stores of marbleized quartz, a perfect resource for a sculptor gathering raw material.
Upon entry, they discovered the Canaveris lord adorned in a floor-length smock, covered from head-to-toe in pulverized rock dust. Pulling down his face shield, he stepped away from the workstation in the corner and presented his guests with a bow.
“Miss Briery Frealy. Hadwin Kavanagh. Forgive me this most unorthodox assembly,” Ari set aside a chiseling tool and a hammer, freeing his hands to gesticulate a wide-armed welcome. “I had meant to meet you at the entrance, but I suppose the time ran away from me, instead. An unfortunate circumstance when your preoccupations are elsewhere. Please,” he swept a hand towards the corner whence he came, “have a look. It is nearly complete, but I did not wish to set everything in stone, as it were, without soliciting your opinion. Do not hold back on my account, either; if you see an aberration or a flaw you want resolved, I ask that you not hesitate in pointing it out to me, so I may go about and make the appropriate adjustments.”
The statue stood about eight feet high, with three feet accounting for the pedestal at its base. Clad in a skin-tight piece reminiscent of Briery’s creations, the petrified Cwenha posed, bare-feet planted firmly on her plinth and arms stretched heavenward, presenting the end of her routine to an adoring audience. Her hair looked soft to the touch, framing her heart-shaped face in delicate curl patterns and haloing her head like gold filigree. With eyes open, she gazed upon the world, closed-mouthed, but with lips raised in victory and the careful poise of her profession.
As Hadwin and Briery marveled upon the almost-finished replica of the fallen acrobat, Ari brushed a gloved hand over the pedestal’s empty slab. “What would you like me to carve at the base? ‘In Memoriam’ is a popular choice--followed by her name, and a short, personalized message. Some families prefer to add a date of birth and a date of death, but that is entirely up to you, Miss Frealy.”
“I think it’s pretty perfect,” Hadwin chimed in, speaking up for Briery, who likely needed some time to digest and register the sight of her dear friend, revived in marble. “Gotta say, you captured her performer’s ‘essence.’ Course, she had a whole other side of her behind closed curtains, but knowing her fans, and she’s got buttloads, they’d wanna see her at her prime, y’know. Out on stage, making folks happy, giving them a show to remember--that’s the kind of spirit to emulate.”
“I concur,” Ari turned from the pedestal, clasping his hands in front of him. “Memorials are not for the dead, but for the living, after all. In honoring the dead, we capture their mythology, for that is what survives after memory has long departed. Their true nature, the hidden aspect, sparks alive in the hearts of those who’ve been entrusted with their story. Both are facets that comprise an individual. Alive in them is the face they show to the world, and the face buried under the loam of the earth. That said, I do hope you are satisfied with the aspect I’ve chosen to display.”
“I mean, I am, but we probably should give Brie here a minute alone, yeah?” Hadwin jerked his head to the door.
“Of course. Please, take your time, Miss Frealy.” Taking the faoladh’s cue, Ari followed him outside of the workshop.
“So I’ve got a question for you,” Hadwin leaned his shoulders against the stone building’s facade. Ari, expectant of the sorts of questions a fear-mongering mongrel would ask, tensed a little, but offered a receptive nod. “About what happened between you and Nia the night of your grand party. She says she pecked your cheek, and from what I can glean, she’s afraid she overstepped her boundaries, so she’s tiptoeing around you as a result. If you’re also afraid of taking shit too far--which, let’s be real, you are--shouldn’t you be the one to tell her up front, instead of giving her the silent treatment?”
Ari released a patient sigh. “Why must you meddle in affairs that do not concern you?”
“I mean, it’s what I do,” he chuckled low in his throat. “I meddle. Besides, Nia’s a friend of mine, so I’m looking out for her interests. As someone who sees her as a friend of sorts, too, you should also do the same.” He pitched his voice to a low, almost inaudible, rumble. “She’s not exactly keeping the best company, if you catch what I’m saying. I just think she’d appreciate a message from a concerned party, is all. But your decisive action depends on what you value more; your policies or your pals. And really, they can go hand-in-hand.” He smacked his two palms together, for emphasis. “I don’t need to reiterate that strong, sturdy alliances are gonna serve you well, especially considering she’s your only lifeline if things on your end go to shit--’healthwise’.” He waggled his eyebrows and gave Ari a meaningful look; his recipient deftly avoided eye contact. “So don’t cut your connections. No one says you need to be best mates, but a little clemency goes a long way. As a man whose point of pride is to offer top-notch hospitality, you understand this concept well, eh?” He made to nudge Ari, but stabbed at the air with his elbow, out of respect for his touch-adverse proclivities. “It won’t hurt to let ‘er know you’re thinking of her.”
Whether the faoladh had gotten through to him or for another reason entirely, Ari, after arranging a tentative date and time for the delivery of Cwenha’s statue to the Night Garden, sat in his chambers that evening, staring at the resonance stone in his hand—his link to Nia. Before he changed his mind, he brought the stone to his mouth; it glowed and buzzed in activation, and her voice carried on the sound waves, to his ears.
“Good evening, Nia. I hope I have not caused any disruption in your schedule,” he prefaced, his tone light and amicable. “If so, I shall not keep you long. I would like to invite you to a small luncheon at my villa tomorrow. No worries; it’s not a formal affair. Just you and I, if it so pleases you. Perhaps Sylvie, too, as she has taken quite a shine to you. Does this sound like something that catches your interest?”
Despite her suspicions, Teselin had wanted what she’d seen to be real. And not only for Nia’s sake, as the woman had so longed to see her departed family again, but because the young summoner had so desperately wanted to believe that her brother, who acted as though he didn’t have a heart, truly was capable of selflessness from time to time. She had no right to have become so invested in Nia’s account of Vitali’s good deed, but just as the Master Alchemist was so willing to believe that what she was seeing was real, Teselin yearned to see in Vitali the person that she truly though he could be. Really, the young summoner had no one to blame but herself, setting herself up for disappointment in such a way.
“I’m stupid, Hadwin.” She sniffled, and dried her eyes on her sleeve. “I really wanted to believe it. And not just for Nia’s sake. I was selfish and… and I wanted to see that Vitali can care for others the way I want him to. I wasn’t lying to Nia when I said I really just wanted to see proof of that. But you’re right--I’m always too fixed on the good and the positive, even when it isn’t there, and that is what makes me such an idiot. I was so eager to believe but… but I can’t deceive myself into believing that what I saw was real. I’m not a necromancer; but there isn’t a chance that what I saw was a spirit. It was just magic. Just illusion… Vitali never helped Nia, even if he was capable of doing so. I think it is exactly as you say: a distraction. To keep one of Locque’s key players from succumbing to loneliness… though she’s been alone this entire time.”
Hadwin’s advice regarding how to proceed was sound, at the very least, and she was happy that he didn’t suggest simply shattering Nia’s illusion as soon as possible. First, they would approach Vitali, and then if they did not like the answer they received, or if he wasn’t able to give them the details… Locque would be next. As much as Teselin wanted to believe that the sorceress was redeemable, a first step in that direction would be for her to own up and explain her reasons for deceiving a valued colleague. After all… there was a high chance that, similar to Vitali, Locque did not perceive what she had done as wrong or hurtful. “Nia wouldn’t be happy… she made me promise not to make it clear to Vitali that anyone else knows what is going on.” The young summoner sighed and gradually picked herself up from the floor, turning her back as Hadwin disrobed and shifted into a wolf. “I guess she doesn’t have to know… not that it really matters if none of it is real, anyway. But we… we have to be careful. Because once he knows the illusion is over, Vitali might have no qualms about telling Nia the truth, regardless of how it might affect her. Without anything else for her to lean on, now just isn’t the time to make her come to terms with the truth. I know she is working for Locque, and she has harmed Elespeth in the past, but Nia… isn’t a bad person. I know you think the same. And I don’t want her to lose her grasp on hope.”
Climbing onto her bed, Teselin curled up along the contour of Hadwin’s canine body, his coarse fur always a comfort in times of need. “At the same time… she deserves to know the truth. I don’t know what to do, Hadwin. I don’t think there is a good answer for this.”
It took the young summoner a while to fall asleep that night, plagued not only with the anxiety of keeping Rowen Kavanagh at bay, but now also with the disappointment that Nia Ardane’s happiness was contingent on a lie that her brother had skillfully crafted. The next day, though Hadwin had taken off that morning to attend to some ‘business’ with Briery, as he’d said, she didn’t leave her room even to eat, too afraid that she would encounter the faoladh’s psychotic little sister. Certainly, she would have to face Rowen eventually, or else risk more vengeful carnage at the girl’s hands, but today was not a day that she could tolerate the youngest faoladh’s mind games and thinly veiled threats. So she waited until much later when Hadwin returned to finally take a meal, and when darkness fell and they were certain that the now nocturnal necromancer was awake to take visitors (whether he wanted them or not), they paid a visit to his chambers in hopes that he was there, probably just waking up. When there was no response upon knocking several times, Teselin sighed and finally spoke up. “Vitali--it’s Teselin. I need to talk to you. It’s important… so if you’re there, I’d really appreciate it if you wouldn’t pretend like you don’t hear the knocking.”
There was a long pause, no sound or indication that anyone was actually present in the room beyond the door. Yet, a moment later, it opened with a slow creak, revealing the blindfolded necromancer clad in only an open tunic and loose trousers, aside from the amulet he never removed from his neck. It was clear enough that if he hadn’t just awoken, their unsolicited intrusion had woken him. “Teselin.” His voice was laden with sleep, and he rubbed the back of his head. “You’re lucky you’re so endearing. You friend… not so much.” He raised an eyebrow. Vitali didn’t need sight to know that she hadn’t come alone. “What can I do for you?”
“We need to talk… it’s important.” The young summoner kept her voice steady and firm. She had resolved not to break down again; not in front of her brother. “Please.”
“It doesn’t sound as though I have a choice in the matter…” The necromancer stifled a yawn and stepped aside to let the two into his room, which was… remarkably barren. Almost completely devoid of worldly possessions, save for a handful of outfits folded at the foot of the bed. It made sense, she supposed, for a nomad such as Vitali.
“I… know. What you did to Nia. What you made her believe.” The young summoner forced the words out before she lost the nerve to confront her eldest brother. Her chest felt tight, nonetheless. “What I want to know is why? Why toy with her like that? Those aren’t her sisters. They’re not real. Why make her believe otherwise?”
Vitali did not respond right away. After firmly shutting the door, he stepped away from it and stifled a yawn. “And here I told her not to breathe a word… I should’ve known what her promises are worth.”
“I made her show me. I coerced her. Don’t try to change the subject. Vitali…” No, no, no, she had promised herself that she wouldn’t cry again! Her voice was already breaking. “I know you aren’t a saint and don’t want to be. But you aren’t cruel, either. Please just… tell me what is going on. Nia is going to find out, eventually, and when she does… she’s going to be crushed.”
“I think you already know the answer, Teselin, because you know me. And you also know I am not particularly fond of the Ardane woman--and that means that she really isn’t worth my time in any capacity.” The necromancer pressed his back against the wall. “There are eyes and ears all over this palace. You know there is not much that I can safely tell you. But what I can say is that I am a necromancer. My magic is exclusively tied to life and death--not to illusion. So if we are being real… I did not deceive Nia Ardane.”
Locque. Of course… of course it would be her. “No. You just led her to be deceived.” The young summoner sighed slowly, holding herself together at the seams by some miracle. “You were just the means of her deceit. But… you didn’t have a choice.”
“I didn’t realize the Master Alchemist meant so much to you, Teselin. Perhaps you can look at it this way.” Stepping away from the wall, he rested a hand on her shoulder. “Right now, she is feeling happy and fulfilled. Ask yourself, do you really think she would want to know that what she is seeing isn’t real? In the end, who would that benefit? She will never find belonging, here. Galeyn is too suspicious of her. What I facilitated was a means of having her feel less alone.”
“It isn’t about what she wants or who it will benefit. It is about what she deserves. Vitali…” She covered his hand with her own and would have looked him in the eye, were his eyes not hidden. “Couldn’t you make it real for her? Isn’t it possible?”
The necromancer frowned and shook his head slowly. “The long and short of it is her sisters have been dead far too long, and they have moved on. I can animate corpses, call on lingering spirits, and prevent a soul from departing this plane, under certain circumstances. But I cannot call a soul back from the beyond. At best, I can reach out, try to establish communication… but there is never a guarantee that it can work, and when it does, the connection is fleeting. Often more of a disappointment than anything. I am sorry, Teselin. Not for her--but for how this affects you.”
“You’re going to have to tell her, you know. The truth. She won’t believe it from anyone else.” The summoner sighed, realizing that this was a lot to ask, and far more than Vitali was willing to do on a good day. “Are you able to do that?”
“To intentionally break the illusion that was not my doing? I’m afraid the consequences of that might cost me more than you wish to see me lose, Teselin. However… if she draws her own conclusions or is otherwise tipped off,” he shrugged his shoulders, “then I suppose nothing that I tell her would be anything she doesn’t already suspect. But that is about as far as I am safely able to take responsibility for my involvement.”
That was about as close to help as Teselin knew she would derive from her brother. She could not make him care about Nia’s feelings; nor could she ask him to defy Locque’s wishes. All the same, hearing it indirectly from his lips that this was not some malicious game to which he took pleasure in subjecting Nia did come as a small, but significant relief. “I’m sorry. To accuse you like that... I knew. I already knew. But I needed to hear it from you, just in case… I was wrong.”
“Glad to be of service. I’m sorry I couldn’t be the bringer of better news. I’ve never had much of a talent for cheering people up. Lucky for you,” he nodded at the faoladh who he sensed was standing not too far away, “you’ve got someone who is far more capable at that than me.”
Nia had all but entirely forgotten about the resonance stone that she kept in one of the pockets of her leather garments. She hadn’t thought about picking it up since Ari’s less than enthusiastic acknowledgement of the silly worry stone she’d sent him, but at the same time, hadn’t seen fit to tuck it away. After all, she had left herself open to responding to ‘emergencies’ on his behalf should he so require her assistance. It startled her that evening, when she was--as she had been every night for weeks, now--enjoying the company of her sisters in the observatory, and the stone suddenly hummed and vibrated close to her skin. Frowning and temporarily taking her eyes off of Palla, who was her company tonight, she brought the stone close to her face as the Ari’s voice unmistakably filled the otherwise silent air around her. “Ari. Been a while.” She couldn’t hide the surprise in her own voice. “What’s going on?” A luncheon? Just the two of them… of course. It was code that his curse was acting up again; why else would he make such a specific request? Funny that he wanted to wait until tomorrow, when she could have been down there within an hour and solving his problem that very night. Wasn’t it just like him not to want to be an inconvenience.
“Yeah, sure thing! You can count on me being there. You know I wouldn’t pass up the opportunity for a good luncheon. Even better if it isn’t formal. See you then!”
Closing her hand around the stone, she looked back at the bright and innocent face of her little sister, who had angled her head as if she wanted in on the conversation. “Looks like we’ll have to cut this a little shorter tonight, Palla. Got a person who needs my help and if I can’t travel by night, it’ll take a hell of a long time by carriage. Means I’ll have to get up early… which means I’ll need sleep.” She smiled sadly at the ghost of the young girl, who now appeared disappointed. “Yeah, I know you understand. But hey--I can stay for a little while, huh? Celene seems to show up so much more than you. Gotta take what time I can get, right?”
Going entirely against her own advice, the Master Alchemist stayed up much later than she had intended, and almost didn’t wake in time to arrange a carriage to the D’Marian settlement. The ride down was so bumpy and uncomfortable that a desperately needed nap eluded her, and by the time she arrived, she desperately hoped he’d be able to spare a strong cup of tea. Exiting the carriage, she was ‘greeted’ by the enormous manservant that never looked too kindly upon her--and that only encouraged her to grin even brighter. “Lazarus! Been a while, huh? Bet you missed me. Before you tell me to go back where I came from,” she took the resonance stone from her pocket. “Your Master personally invited me here the other night. Feel free to go ask him yourself if you don’t believe me.”
He didn’t need to. Soon enough, Ari himself came out of his villa to greet her, well-dressed as always, but ‘casual’ by his standards. “Ari! Nice to see you again. And thanks for the invite--though fair warning, if I yawn, it’s not because I think you’re boring. I just didn’t go to bed early enough to not suffer the consequences of sleep deprivation. So,” she slipped past Lazarus and followed Ari inside, and then lowered her voice. “What’s the situation? You know, I’d have been perfectly happy to come down last night if it was…”
When they turned the corner, to a familiar room where they had spoken upon their first meeting, the table laden with various dishes ready to be consumed. Nia slowed to a stop upon the sudden realization… this really was a luncheon. But… how? Why? “Wait. Hold on. So…” The Master Alchemist held up a finger, her brow furrowed in confusion. “This really is… exactly what you said it is? So you’re not… experiencing any unique ‘health’ flare ups? I thought--I honestly thought that a ‘luncheon’ was like, you know… code for ‘I’m in a really rocky situation’, if you know what I mean. If not, then… honestly,” she looked around, vaguely wondering if she was being set up. They hadn’t spoken in weeks. Where did this ‘luncheon’ idea come from all of a sudden. “Honestly, I don’t really know why I’m here...”
Despite his general isolation from the goings-on in the palace, Ari—thanks to the efforts of his pebble-sized golems—was well-informed of the climate as well as its lukewarm, bathtub temperatures. Life in the center of Galeyn plodded forward at a rate hardly worth tracking, but out of thoroughness, he followed the reports the tiny golems pinged to his mind via their psychic link, and he in turn forwarded a summary of events to Alster Rigas by means of the special resonance stone that transmitted information through telepathic energy waves. Considering the novelty of the stone-based technology, summaries were always short, but significantly more succinct than Ari had anticipated. Very little progress was happening at the crown center of Galeyn. Worth noting? Yes, but the noteworthy dragged at a sluggish pace.
Over the last few weeks, he learned of Locque’s plans to reconnect with the Night Garden and her late-addition recruitment of Prince Haraldur Sorde. He learned of Rowen Kavanagh’s questionable appeals to the young summoner, Teselin, for assistance regarding the condition of her soul, and later, her ensuing blowup with Nia on the shift of plans; now, Locque would reap the benefits of a “soul cleanse” in her place. Last, and certainly the most concerning development--at least in terms of his own personal investments--he learned about Locque’s illusory act, a set-up involving the shady necromancer, moonlight, and a red stone, an elaborate trick to convince Nia into believing she was communing with the spirits of her dead sisters. Her two conspirators concocted their unethical scheme as an aim to placate and prevent her from succumbing to the pressures of working for an unpopular and divisive figurehead, and they had succeeded. While Ari couldn’t precisely cry foul for their techniques, seeing as he fared no better by allowing his pebble golems to run rampant and invade his opposition’s privacy, he also staunchly disagreed with the tactic, citing it as tasteless and cruel. Eventually, Nia was going to realize that the shades keeping her company every night were only so: shades, spun into form by moonlight and deceit.
Nia’s nightly prowls to the observatory was heartbreaking to observe, enough that it impelled him to reconsider lifting his embargo on their burgeoning and borderline intimate friendship. If her loneliness was so profound that she clung desperately to the wisps from her past, then surely he could extend a courteous hand to her once again, and hope it would be enough to root her in the present.
Hadwin Kavanagh’s remarks had clinched his decision. For all the rambunctious and troublesome faoladh unnerved him, he usually expressed some fair and cogent points. Surrounded by an amoral necromancer, a murderous she-wolf, a compelled warrior, and an inhuman tyrant who struggled to display the most basic conventions of common etiquette, Nia did not choose a particularly forthright and stable group of people for whom to pledge her alliance. Even if Locque’s takeover persisted, and they became the official ruling body of Galeyn, he doubted the Master Alchemist would find fulfillment among her colleagues. If nothing changed, if no one reached out and offered a sympathetic ear and a seat of fellowship, would Nia fall under the spell of her false prophets, in the guise of two sisters?
Whatever his principles and policies for defeating Locque in play, he didn’t want to see Nia suffer needlessly, nor lose her grip on reality. Thus, taking Hadwin’s counsel into consideration, Ari opened his home to Nia in the best way he knew how: by hosting an event. Factoring in the lack of guests, decor, or preparation, perhaps ‘event’ was too strong a moniker, but he acknowledged her preferences and opted for a private affair for maximum comfort. No sudden string of guests waiting in the wings; no D’Marian elites spying around the corner. On his word, the dining hall would be populated by them, alone--unless she personally requested an additional body, such as Sylvie, who was never far from a summons.
At her arrival, Ari greeted her with a bow, offered to take her outerwear, and led her through the corridors en route to the dining area he’d reserved for their luncheon. Meanwhile, Lazarus trailed behind them, his mouth firmed into a flat, begrudging line. “Situation?” He cocked his head curiously in Nia’s direction. For the occasion, Ari sported a modest long-coat of robin’s egg blue, no frills, brocade, or eye-catching designs. A modest choice, considering his extensive wardrobe, the Canaveris Lord wore it in solidarity as an effort to put his guest at ease. “Ah, you are mistaken; there is no situation, Nia.”
Opening the door, he waved the Master Alchemist into the room, the same venue where he entertained her for the first time, and the same venue where he’d hosted his disastrous dinner party with Queen Lilica and Lady Chara. Upon the table, crystal candelabras shed light upon a glorious spread of dishes: chilled cucumber soup topped with mint garnish, spinach and cheese puff pastries, a variety of finger-sandwiches--egg salad and curry chicken salad peppered with raisins--and for dessert, miniature pies made from the strange peach-lemon hybrid growing from the Night Garden’s orchards.
Sweeping out one arm, Ari bade Nia sit on one of the room’s plush chairs. When she did not budge, surprise and suspicion overtaking any delight over the food, he clasped his hands, contrite.
“My apologies, Nia, for the confusion. I find I must apologize for many things, in fact, but I shall start by expressing my many regrets regarding the silence that followed in the delivery of your thoughtful gift. While I was most appreciative of it, I fear I’ve done you a disservice by failing to maintain our amicable communications.” He readjusted the base of one candelabra, looking thoughtfully into its tongues of flames. “The gap is, I assure you, not in response to any perceived wrong on your part. Rather, I had once thought it best we maintain a strictly professional relationship. Seeing my error, I wished to remedy said previous behavior by inviting you to dine, so that we may revitalize and review our relationship.” His gaze flickered downward before rising back up to meet Nia; a brief moment of hesitation and uncertainty, defeated. “During our time apart, I’ve come to realize how often I enjoy and miss your company. Beyond our professional ties, I would be remiss to lose your illuminating presence.” A smile graced his features, stone-carved and precise. Nothing he uttered was a lie, but it proved difficult to shed his host’s persona and expose his truth, bare and vulnerable, so he chose to maintain it. And the truth was this: he fancied her more than he had any reason to. No matter of avoidance or sound arguments from Chara or Lazarus, who both advised to bridge distance from the Master Alchemist, could change his perspective otherwise. Through speaking with Hadwin, he realized that he could fight against Locque without guilt, for to overthrow and defeat her was to liberate Nia from her obligations. He could simultaneously keep his promise to his late brother and welcome the Master Alchemist as a valued guest and a dear friend. An oversimplification of tactics, he admitted, and one apt to backfire, but at the very least, he was amidst drafting a new plan. A better plan, that would invest in Nia’s future, and unshackle her from the poisons of tyranny. “Alas, if you think this luncheon to be presumptuous and a waste of your time, you are free to take leave whenever you desire. The last thing I want is to make you feel beholden to attend yet another of my droll and overwrought events. I would not be affronted; a tar melancholy, true, but I shall respect your decision, either way.”
To his relief, she elected to stay, whether because he persuaded her, or because she had traveled all this way and couldn’t reconcile leaving on an empty stomach. Rekindling his smile, he waved anew at the chair he reserved for her and lowered into his seat, in turn. “Excellent! For beverages, I have a selection of wines paired specifically for the food we are to consume. If you do not fancy wine, I can brew you a rich black tea. Do you like cardamom in your tea? The pie,” he gestured to the latticed dessert cups, arranged in a tantalizing circle, “is a valiant attempt by my talented baker to replicate the recipe from Osric’s pub, utilizing the Night Garden’s peach-lemon hybrid for the fruit center. I hear you speak fondly of his wife’s desserts, and my baker was searching for a challenge.” Raising a glass of pre-poured wine, he held it to her in a toast. “As it is just you and I in this room, I will happily overlook the order by which you desire to consume these edibles. I do not intend to judge. Please enjoy.”
Halfway through the luncheon, to prevent awkward lapses likely caused by her aforementioned exhaustion (and he knew precisely what exhausted her so), Ari led the conversation, chatting gaily about events that had transpired with him over the last few weeks. He briefed his duties as D’Marian leader, sketching out plans for unity between the people and the shunned Rigas elite, a topic that inevitably referenced his predecessor—Alster Rigas.
“I’ve had the honor of visiting Lord Rigas and his wife off in the countryside. They reside in the quaintest of farmhouses, surrounded by orchards and blooming fields,” he said, setting down his depleted goblet and blotting his lips with a cloth napkin. “While we are not quite aligned in regards to the future of Stella D’Mare, nor are we in agreement over a reinstatement plan—many D’Marians are understandably wary over his Serpent-related antics from several months ago and would not accept his residency with open arms—I must say that the man is not as repugnant as I once believed.”
“I suppose my animus stemmed from Lady Chara,” he paused, staring at his distorted reflection in the polished silver tray whereupon rested the small pies. Although Nia was better informed about the identity of the woman who tormented him, and a fair amount of the details, Ari struggled not to stutter through his words. He hadn’t spoken in so cavalier a fashion with regards to his and Chara’s past to anyone; not to Lazarus, and certainly not to his brother, who hadn’t even learned her name, only that she was a Rigas. Despite developing a greater immunity towards the painful memories associated with her legacy, it still proved difficult to so much as mention her antics in passing. But for the sake of building trust and camaraderie with Nia, he plowed forward. “In no unclear terms, she had named me as his replacement. Oh, he had broken her heart, so, and I was to answer for his crimes against her heart. For decades, I acted as his proxy, receiving his lashes, his vitriol-spewed speeches, and it embittered me towards him. Why should I suffer in his stead? I must admit,” he sighed, dropping his soup spoon into the empty bowl, “my campaign against Lord Rigas was, in some lights, a personal one, and I relished knocking him off his podium. Alas, he would not let me have a clean victory. Only now have I come to find revenge-fueled motivations are, by themselves, weak and seldom pan-out as planned. I derived no enjoyment from the outcome, from the aftermath, because my imagined gains were buoyed not by applause and cheers, but by screams and fright. In a sense, he, too, exacted revenge on me—and neither of us is happy for playing the part. While I do not forgive him his trickery and betrayal to our people, I understand that sacrifices are sometimes necessary, and to others, they may sometimes seem traitorous or nonsensical in execution.” He tucked a tuft of hair behind his ear. “I worry that I will also have to deceive my people, however well-intentioned my deceit. Much as I strive to be a friend to all, and unanimously popular, there will always come a time when I have to weigh popularity and thankless duty on a scale, and decide which weight I must carry. The latter will always contain the heavier load. It should come as no surprise that I, too, will head in the direction of my contemporary. If I kowtow to the people, I will hold their respect as long as I always answer to their demands. But to be a truly great ruler, however temporary my position, I must delay gratification, and govern in reach of a tomorrow. Unfortunately,” he indicated the spread of food before him, “this means I should become a mite stingier with my parties, yes?”
Noticing his complete monopolization of the conversation, he bowed his head in apology, the strands of hair sliding free of their ear-hold and brushing across his forehead anew. “Ah, forgive me, Nia, for heaping my insecurities on your plate when you are here to enjoy food and light entertainment. Perhaps I have consumed too much wine.” He gave the crystal goblet an experimental flick; it rang hollow across the table. “It is also rude of me not to ask after your wellbeing. How have you fared over the past few weeks? Has your Lady been keeping you busy?”
Their luncheon was interrupted by a spirited knock on the door, followed by the turning of the latch and a dark head of hair popping through the crack. As was typical of the eldest daughter of Casimiro, Sylvie’s nosiness couldn’t be contained behind a door. “Uncle Ari, forgive my interruption!” She stumbled the rest of the way through the door and fell into a clumsy curtsy before Nia. “Miss Nia, a pleasure to see you again. It’s been far too long! Ah, so,” she awkwardly picked at invisible folds in her white dress, “judging by your face, I’ve come in at a ghastly time, haven’t I? Laz is outside guarding the door and he told me I was welcome to enter, but,” her lowering eyebrows and pouting frown caused a reflexive twitch of her nose, “sometimes he is known to play rather unamusing tricks on me!”
“Ask our guest if you are welcome to join,” Ari said, setting his brown eyes on Nia. “I am happy to accommodate whatever you request. I assure you, Sylvie here will not take umbrage if you prefer to keep things between us. We wouldn’t want to exasperate your exhaustion.”
The possibility that she had somehow been set up for an unpleasant surprise quickly dissipated when Ari, with his welcoming smile, explained that he had intended nothing more for them that afternoon than exactly what he had implied: a luncheon. A meal between friends only. But perhaps it was the fact that it remained between friends that threw Nia the most. Ari hadn’t reached out to her in weeks, save for a brief and ultimately neutral acknowledgement of her petty gift. She didn’t even need to guess exactly where and how she had burned that bridge, looking back on the events of the last soiree she’d attended, and had quietly accepted this blossoming friendship as a write-off as a direct result of her actions. So this--the food, the lack of pomp and circumstance that had so pushed her comfort off-kilter during his party, and Ari’s genuine welcome really threw the Master Alchemist for what she had initially prepared for.
It never would have occurred to her, not even for a brief moment, that Ari would have reconsidered his lack of contact… and felt remorse for it. “Hey--no need to apologize. I heaped that confusion on myself, after all. You know what they say when you ‘assume’, right? Well, seems like I effectively have made an ass of myself for thinking you were in some sort of trouble.” Nia laughed off her own misconception and nervously toyed with the pendant dangling at her throat. “Listen, there’s no need to feel like you were in the wrong, Ari. Here’s the thing: I’m a person with a strong personality, like it or not. And because of that, people will either love me or hate me--or, as the pattern seems to be, love me until they can’t tolerate me anymore. I mean, I can’t blame them. You think I don’t know I’m a handful?” She grinned knowingly and shook her head. “It never really mattered, before. I was in and out of towns within weeks, sometimes days, keeping on my toes and on the run to keep out of danger. Never really had any lasting relationships, not long enough to see where they could lead. Never hung around anyone long enough for them to get sick of me. So this… I’ll admit, settling down for the first time in a decade it’s something I’m still navigating. Galeyn is the first place I’ve actually been able to call home since Ilandria; I’m still trying to figure out how to treat it, and its people, like home. Anyway… that little gift I sent doesn’t make up for making you ridiculously uncomfortable.”
The Master Alchemist’s broad smile faded around the edges, as she stepped toward one of the chairs seated at the table and rested a hand upon its back. “I should be the one apologizing. I was a jerk, Ari--there, I said it, so you don’t have to. Not only did I bail on the majority of your party because I couldn’t figure out how to feel comfortable, but then I made you dance when you explicitly declined wanting any contact. You didn’t give me that consent, but I threw it out the window, anyway. And then to add insult to injury, I thought it would be funny to give you a little kiss on the cheek--which, to be fair, most people would take with a grain of salt. But you had your reasons for not wanting to be touched… and I should have known you wouldn’t take it lightly. So that stupid little rock really makes up for nothing, and I knew it. I should’ve just come to apologize directly to you, sooner, but… I’ll be honest, I chickened-out. I’m not all that great with confrontation, yet you deserved an actual apology. So, now that I have the chance… I hope you can take this fool seriously when she gives it to you now.”
Taking a deep breath, Nia dropped her hands from the chair and clasped them together in front of her. “I am sorry, Ari. For hardly attending your party, for forcing you to dance, for invading your personal space like that… there isn’t any excuse for it. Like I said, I was a jerk, and I deserved every bit of your silence that followed. And the last thing I want to do is insult you again by taking off, when you’ve gone to all the trouble of putting together this delicious looking meal.”
So Nia did take a seat, and despite her lingering sleep inertia, waved her hand at his offer to brew tea in lieu of wine. “Don’t trouble yourself--wine’s just fine. I’ve got nothing else on the go today, fortunately, so if I need a nap, I can grab one later. After this luncheon, of course. I promise not to take off again and sleep away my visit like last time.” At his mention of the pies, her eyes (and nose) did drift toward the sweet scent of the small pastries in the middle of the table. She had thought the crust had smelled rather familiar… but she’d chalked it up to missing the food from her once favourite pub. Turns out, her sense of smell was not being offset by nostalgia. “Yeah… as a matter of fact, I do love that place. Well… did. How’d you know?” Perhaps word traveled fast between villages. Osric’s village was only about an hour away by regular steed from the D’Marian settlement; it wasn’t much of a mystery as to how and why Ari might have picked up on her fondness of the place, really.
“Before Locque’s big reveal and all--and my big reveal, for that matter--I spent a lot of time at that pub. Osric’s a great guy. Made me feel really welcome, both he and his wife. And you can bet I sure as heck made sure to keep his business booming.” She smiled faintly and picked up one of the delicate pastries from the middle of the table. “He’s a lot like you. Really kind man, even offered me his place as a temporary home because he was afraid for my safety with regard to Locque. Imagine his surprise when he learned I wasn’t in danger at all, but was actually working for her--ha! Needless to say… that didn’t really end well.” Nia stared at the pastry for a moment before setting it down on her plate, with the intention of eating it at some point during the meal. “He said he felt like I betrayed him. I guess I did; in a sense, withholding information really can be something of a betrayal. My involvement with Locque ultimately caused him to lose business, so… he decided it was probably best if I don’t come back. Of course, I agree--the last thing I want is to see him go under because of me! It’s still a little sad, though. Words mean nothing from someone working for a perceived enemy, but I’d never have let anything bad happen to him or his family. I don’t have enough friends to make it a farce: if I like you, then I like you. It’s real. But there are more important things than how I feel, so… it is what it is. Water under the bridge and all. So long as he can continue to be happy and successful in my absence, that’s all that matters. For the record, I’m not telling you this because I want you to feel sorry for me. In fact, I’d be really happy if you could just keep this between us. Don’t need it being anyone else’s business. Not like it’s some awful tragedy: after all, when one door closes, another one opens. All the same…” She looked up from the pastry and smiled, but didn’t go into detail about the door that had ‘opened’ for her. “I appreciate your chef’s appeal to my not-so-distant nostalgia. I’m gonna save the best for last, I think.”
While usually one who was quite good at carrying on an entire conversation all by herself, the handful of hours of sleep Nia had managed to get were catching up with her, and for once, the Master Alchemist didn’t quite have the fuel to yammer on about nothing. She was therefore grateful that Ari opted to take up the mantle instead, debriefing her on his current affairs--which, to be honest, she found rather interesting. Particularly when he mentioned having an amicable meeting with one Alster Rigas. “Ah. So you managed what even I couldn’t achieve: a promising conversation with Alster Rigas.” Nia took a bite of a spinach and cheese pastry, for once feeling proud of herself for opting to now shovel the food into her gaping maw. “I gave that a try, once upon a time. I think he’s too sore with Locque to want to consider having too many friendly words with me. Kudos to you for doing what I couldn’t!” The conversation turned a little more grim, however, when the Canaveris lord, in a somewhat uncharacteristic way, opened up about the origins of his animosity toward Alster Rigas--which all, of course, stemmed from Chara Rigas. The one woman who had literally been the very bane of his existence. “Hey, Ari, it’s no secret that you really got the shit end of the stick where it comes to Chara Rigas. You put up with her shit for a long time--I’d also be hella bitter in that situation. Can’t say I’ve ever been in a similar situation, but if I was… if I know me, it’s not like I’m incapable of a little spite. You’ve got every right to feel hurt; it’s not like Alster stepped up and spoke to Chara on your behalf, either. He let you take his beating. Sounds like you really owe the guy nothing.” The Master Alchemist took a sip of the wine, swishing it around in her mouth as Ari opened up even more with regard to his insecurities as D’Marian leader. “See, I think this is exactly what makes you a damn good fit for a leader, Ari. Not your fancy as heck parties and your exquisite way with words. You know exactly what’s going on: you can read all sides of a story and make a thoughtful and educated decision. Sure, Alster Rigas might have had the best interests of the D’Marians at heart, but If you ask me, you are what they need, right now. Throwing parties might seem frivolous, but let’s be real, they’re great for morale. And sometimes, a fun little gesture amidst a whole lot of stress can make a world of difference.”
The Master Alchemist smiled and leaned back in her chair. “Everyone’s got insecurities, no matter their position. And I’m not gonna lie… you’ve got a hell of a lot of responsibility on your hands. And--yeah, the food here is delicious, I can’t argue that. But I came here under the assumption that you needed help of some sort, anyway. Even if that means I’m just an ear for your troubles, I really don’t mind! Don’t worry about my well-being. I’m doing just fine. Better than ever, actually. I’ve been in Galeyn for the better part of a year, but it only feels like now that everything’s coming together. It’s really starting to feel like home. I haven’t been this happy since… well, it’s been a while. Things have been good. And better yet, I get to see you, again!” Reaching forward, she finally took a bite of that small pie. No, it wasn’t identical to those lovingly crafted by Osric’s wife, but the care put into it was by no means any lesser. And that he’d known she craved a particular taste, and had sought to replicate that… it made her feel warm inside. Like she actually mattered.
Nia was about to go on and tell Ari to speak whatever was on his mind, as it appeared to be something (he didn’t just invite her over to feed her, surely!), when a familiar voice, followed by a familiar face, stumbled into the room. Ari’s sweet little niece from the party! “Sylvie--of course you should join us. I mean, I could try to make a dent in all of this food that your uncle so lovingly laid out, but even the likes of my enormous appetite can’t do it the justice it deserves. Have a seat--and have one of these pies.” She pulled out a seat beside her for the young girl to sit. “Seems your uncle has taken a real liking to the strange fruit from the Night Garden--not that I blame him one bit. There’s nothing I haven’t tasted from there that hasn’t been delicious!”
Ari’s niece was thrilled to have a seat at the table, and the Master Alchemist was by no means bothered by her cheerful presence. For someone who had been through tragedies herself, losing her father as well as losing her home, Sylvie was the resilient sort, not so unlike Nia. There were good things in store for that girl, she felt; always a light at the end of the tunnel. Even if it took a while to get through that tunnel. But for all she had lost, Sylvie Canaveris still found ample reason to derive joy from what surrounded her. It was little wonder Nia was so at ease around her. “Perhaps you can tell me, Sylvie: has your uncle been up to crafting anything exquisite, lately? For all he’s a talented man, he doesn’t often talk about his artistic endeavors, and I don’t see anything new decorating this villa.”
The girl then went on to explain that Ari had been working on something of a charity case: a sculpture of a life that had been lost, it seemed, but that he’d asked no payment for it. And of course, Nia knew exactly what she was referring to. “So that’s where your time has been going, huh? Good thing I haven’t been around to bug you, Ari. That’s kind of a big deal!” She just so happened to look to her left, where something she hadn’t noticed before caught her attention. A lever harp was situated near a window, where one of Ari’s statues of Chara had once sat, if she recalled correctly. Judging by the dust collecting on the M-shapes harmonic curve, it didn’t look as though it had been recently played--if ever. “Hey, now… who plays this?”
Sylvie quickly went on to explain that early on during the construction of the D’Marian village, when there hadn’t been much in terms of decor and the villa had still be largely spartan (Ari had yet to find a moment to start crafting new sculptures), some kind Galeynians in nearby villages were quick to donate a few oddities and centerpieces to help the otherwise barren building feel more like a home, until the D’Marians could make their own marks. This level harp, evidently, had been one of those very donations, and intended as a piece of decor, but no one within the Canaveris household actually knew how to play. At present, it was a place-holder, until Ari could craft something else for that corner.
“It’s been a while since I last saw one of these beauties… it’s really never been played? Do you mind if I take a look?” Anything that took Nia’s attention away from the food in front of her was obviously a big deal of sorts, and the way the Master Alchemist ran her fingers along the body--which was chipped and had definitely seen better days--it seemed as though she knew what she was doing. “It’s been a loooong time, but I used to play. I learned from my elder sister, and when she… When she was no longer around to direct me, I suppose the rest was self-taught. In a soundproof room; my mother would never have approved of such a ‘waste of my time’. See, Master Alchemists kind of get to cheat when it comes to musical instruments. If we know what to look for, we can find the means of achieving the purest, most melodic sounds by carefully choosing and changing materials. This old fellow,” she gave the column an affectionate pat, “wouldn’t sound good to anyone right now. Every little nick in the wood affects the resonance, and these strings are made of steel and have rusted. In my experience, the best sounds come from silver strings. Hm…”
Nia reached into one of her pockets and withdrew a single silver coin, along with a small handful of gold. “Say, Sylvie. Could you go and fetch me a couple silver coins if you can find them? I’ll make it worth your while and trade you for some gold.”
Delighted to help, the young Canaveris girl agreed right away and set off to retrieve the items in question. Meanwhile, Nia held her single silver coin in one hand, and ran her fingers over the harp’s strings, one by one. The tarnish from the steel began to give way to what looked unmistakably like silver. “She’s sweet--your niece. Her dad did a good job raising her, I’d say. The more I indirectly learn about your older brother, Ari, the more I’m starting to realize that I was kind of crap at being a sister. Well, a big sister, at least.” She plucked at one of the strings, dissatisfied when it still gave off a tinny note, and continued to gradually imbue its material with the silver she was transferring from her other hand. “When Celene… died, I’d play her harp for Palla. I think she took some comfort from it, but it doesn’t matter, because what I did was wrong. Or, rather, what I didn’t do. I never told her that Celene had died. She was still quite young at the time, and she wasn’t a strong girl; I didn’t want her to give up hope. So instead, I told her that Celene was the best of the best of us, and she had taken a job that took her far, far away, where she wouldn’t have time to visit us anymore--but that she’d think of us often, and if we wrote letters, she would get them. To my knowledge, Palla never knew what really happened to our oldest sister. Instead of knowing she’d died, she went on for the remainder of her short years thinking that Celene had left us in pursuit of something better. I thought I was doing her a favour… but now that I think about it, as an adult, it was hella wrong, wasn’t it? I was shit for a big sister. I used to think that when Palla found out, when she crossed that plane and reunited with Celene, she’d never forgive me for my lie. Now… all that seems kind of silly.”
A soft smile played on her lips. Silly because she now knew that sweet Palla could never hold anything against her. Never made her feel guilty when she showed up in the moonlight. But she couldn’t explain any of that to Ari; he would think she was crazy! “Hey, Ari… if no one’s particularly interested in this thing, would you mind terribly if I wanted to fix it up? It’s kinda nostalgic for me to see one of these things again. And it would make a nice little side project. I could arrange to have it taken to the palace so I’m not in your hair all the time.” Maybe I can even still play. Maybe I can play for Palla again.
Once Sylvie returned with a handful of more silver coins, Nia made good on her word and handed her a handful of gold. “Perfect! This might be enough to turn all of the strings to silver. The body and harmonic curve will have to be dealt with another day, but this is still a start. Don’t worry, Ari, I haven’t forgotten that there’s still plenty of food to be eaten.” She grinned and nodded at the table. “Give me a few minutes at this and I’ll work up another appetite. I might make it look easy, but changing the composition of matter is actually not a walk in the park.”
As Nia apologized for her behavior during his previous celebration some weeks ago, Ari quirked an ear in particular to her mention of their full-contact dance, and the ensuing kiss. So...it had all been a lark on her part. He should have known better than to read too much into the gesture! All the same, he schooled his expression into a pleasant but neutral host’s facade, batting away any explosions that would heat the apples of his cheeks in memory of hands on his shoulders and lips smacking skin in a tantalizing, intimate tickle.
“There is no need to apologize, Nia,” he said, refraining from touching the spot on his cheek she had kissed. “If I did not want your hand in a dance, I would not have asked. While it is true I had not intended to partake in a full-contact waltz, all things considered, it was not a disastrous encounter. Above anyone else I could have danced with, you were the safer choice. Taking into account your knowledge on my condition, should a flare-up have occurred, the matter would have been handled in swift and short order, of that I am certain. As for the, ah, the kiss,” he cleared his throat and stared at a painting on the wall with inordinate interest, “it took me by surprise. Not to mention, it was a little unorthodox. But there is no harm done, Nia. What you presented to my cheek was chaste and innocent. A playful little peck.” Nothing at all like Chara’s ‘playful’ pecks, he recalled, not without a reflexive shiver. She loved to use teeth...and fire. So why would he ever associate Nia’s flirtatious ministrations with the vicious bite of Chara Rigas, whose actions were always to assert dominance and control? No. On the contrary, the Master Alchemist’s kiss, aside from being gentle and brief, bordered on...pleasant. Why did he derive so much meaning and give fond remembrance to such a flippant, one-second act? Surely, Nia hadn’t cared as strongly, but in comparison, he cared enough to close all communication with her for weeks, afraid of inviting further advances of an intimate bent. Even now, he tread carefully, hoping his words wouldn’t be construed as a come-on. He didn’t know how he would react, should Nia approach him a second time, leading with the mouth. Fortunately, her guilt implied her awareness of the importance of boundaries, and she respectfully kept her distance.
“Nonetheless, I appreciate your heartfelt apology.” Following Nia’s lead, making sure she took a seat before he got comfortable, he flattened out his coat-tails and lowered into the cushioned chair opposite the table from her. Upon her wondering of how he knew about her love of the pies from Osric’s pub, he smiled benevolently, hiding away any indication of the forbidden information to which he was privy, via the spying prowess of his pebble golems. “I’m honored that you would compare me to Osric. He is a good man. I heard tell of his pub’s popularity. A few D’Marians who visited informed me of a woman matching your description, sampling pies and praising their flavor with great gusto.” Of course, ‘with great gusto’ was a euphemism for, ‘gorging down,’ but he didn’t want to offend his guest by point-blank referencing her gluttonous tendencies. He doubted she would take offense, but he valued politesse and civility over the blunt truth, no matter how nonjudgmentally he delivered the statement. “You are quite forthright in your opinions of others, good and bad. Perhaps one day, you will rekindle your relationship with Osric. Once the tensions in this kingdom settle and Galeynians grow accustomed to the new regime, it remains possible that he will extend an invitation to dine at his establishment as you once have. Until then, I hope you find my villa a suitable alternative.” I am no better, he thought, scooping up chunks of diced onion in his cucumber soup. In a sense, I, too, am betraying your trust by withholding information. Information that I am using against your Lady, and, by association, you. But as much as he would regret potentially endangering Nia’s position, or worse, her existence, he would not cruelly sit back and allow her to succumb to grim Fate. So long as she refused to play an active role among Locque’s coterie, the others may see fit to spare her life. In his attempt to make probability a reality, he would appeal to Alster Rigas, stating Nia’s case. If he succeeded in convincing his predecessor the worthiness of overlooking her strictly supportive role, a role which championed peaceful accord over violence, then perhaps Alster could persuade Chara and Queen Lilica to show clemency, should they succeed in defeating the tyrannical summoner. But to do so required Alster to care, and, according to Nia, his concern for her remained at negative levels.
“A promising conversation is all it is, Nia,” he placed a few puff pastries and finger sandwiches on his plate. “Lord Rigas and I share far too many differences in regards to rulership and general values to hold more than a civil conversation. But I will say this of him; I doubt he is fully aware of the circumstances and details behind the relationship between Chara and me. At one time, they were betrothed to each other. To preserve their betrothal and eventual marriage, I doubt she would reveal to him the exacerbated complications of our sordid history. Not if she wanted to earn his love.” He paused to take a bite of the chicken salad sandwich, only continuing once he swallowed the last vestige of food from his mouth. “I can tell he has suffered her abuses, as well, but he is also fortunate to have her respect, something which I lack terribly. He has no fear of her; as a result, if he perceived her to have made some grave injustice, he would not stand silent to her face. That was always his strength as a leader. He has a strong sense of moral integrity. Or—he did. Alas, regardless of his morality, he always prioritized the individual over the group. That is why the D’Marians—led by me—rallied against him. He chose who he wanted to save. In a heartbeat, he would frequently abandon the D’Marians to answer some distress call elsewhere. While there is little dispute that Alster Rigas is a savior in many avenues, as a leader, he was largely an absentee presence. The man stumbled upon too many distractions, and it hindered his ability to concentrate his efforts squarely on the people he governed.”
“However,” he gestured vaguely, conceding his frustrations, “after experiencing firsthand the toils of pleasing the majority, dispelling small uprisings, and posing compromises to my strong opposition, perhaps I denounced him too harshly and too quickly. Leadership...is not a simple connecting of the dots. Even if you are assured that you are fixing all of your predecessor’s mistakes, further issues spring from your solutions, and you are left wondering if they were, in truth, ever really solutions. At any rate,” he changed into a weary smile, “I am thankful for your vote of confidence, Nia. Having very minimal experience in a leadership capacity, Canaveris Head duties included, I am learning as I go. Perhaps one day I may swallow my pride and ask Lord Rigas for assistance, but,” he enjoyed a hearty chuckle, “honestly, I do not expect to do so anytime soon. Be that as it may, thank you for listening to my disclosure. I trust that it, as well as yours, will remain within the confines of this room. Should the D’Marian village hear of their new leader’s incompetence, they will surely incite a civil disturbance. I cannot be seen as weak or needlessly frivolous, either. We’ve precious little funds, as it is. Not enough for fancy parties. I am certain there are other ways to produce morale. A statue in the square, perhaps? Ah,” he bowed his head apologetically. “I digress. I am pleased that you’ve been faring well in your new home. Galeyn is not Stella D’Mare, no, but even I am fast becoming enchanted by this landscape. It almost makes me forget the bustle of port-city life, and the sublime view of the ocean from upon an open terrace. Oh, do I miss the salty sea brine, but this kingdom has been so welcoming that I can dismiss my past grievances. I cannot believe that at one time, I desired to depart!”
Before they could continue with their private discussions over a mountain of food, Sylvie made her presence known. Effervescent of character, she dove into the scene in an explosion of bubbles and enthusiasm. Hard to resist denying his niece a seat at the table, Ari was happy that Nia voiced her approval for some additional company. Sylvie, too, beamed her pleasure and excitedly slid into an available chair, skirts flying. “Lucky for you, I brought my voracious appetite!” She piled pastries and sandwiches upon her plate, arranging them in geometric patterns, accounting for each sandwich’s symmetrical half. “I’ve had the onerous task of entertaining my brothers all morning and I’ve just now found the opportunity to escape. They might come looking for me here, but Laz promised he would fend them off!” As the conversation opened to include Sylvie, she nodded, cheeks stuffed like a squirrel’s, happy to oblige in Nia’s inquiries.
“Oh yes!” She swallowed a big lump down her throat, taking care to chase it down with some water before answering in full. “Uncle is always crafting something special! He has been working especially hard on a stone effigy for the poor acrobat who was murdered near our village. He chose not to take payment for the commission. Isn’t that grand of him?”
“Yes, yes, Nia is well-aware, Sylvie,” Ari said patiently. “She was present during the exchange. I may sound charitable, but in truth, I was hesitant to accept monetary incentive from one Hadwin Kavanagh. Heavens know where he obtains his ill-gotten gains. Anyway,” he tilted his head at Nia, “if you are interested, after lunch, I can take you to my workshop for a look-see. It is not yet completed, but nearly-so. Delivery should happen within the week, but I have not yet consulted Majesty Locque or Majesty Lilica on the proper procedures, going forward. Your friend, the wolf, claims to have sent word to Majesty Lilica, but perhaps you can confirm on my behest, as well. It is unfortunate I cannot make the trip, myself, but duties require I keep near the village, in case of emergency.” What he failed to mention was that his reasons for avoiding the palace pertained not to the pertinence of his physical appearance at the settlement, but to the fear of a run-in with Rowen Kavanagh, who would read his deceit and reveal his treachery to Locque. Like Alster and Elespeth Rigas, he simply knew too much, and was safest at a distance.
Fortunately, Nia didn’t question his decision to abstain from visiting the palace, and instead honed her attention on a dusty lever harp occupying one corner of the room. He hadn’t needed to explain its origins; Sylvie did a fine job of refining the details concerning the harp’s acquisition and the reason it graced their home. “For a harp that is over a century old, I must say, it is in fair condition. A pity no Canaveris is knowledgeable on the harp. We are artisans and architects by trade. Musicians...not so much. Though, I am respectable on the flute. Or—was,” He rubbed the back of his neck, a little sheepish. “It has been a few years.”
On receiving instructions to search the villa for some silver coins, Sylvie straightened in her seat, intrigued by the prospect of seeing some Master Alchemy at work. “I shall embark on this most arduous task, Nia. If I do not return, assume I have been waylaid by my brothers and am as good as a goner.” Enacting a brave salute, fist to chest, Sylvie exited the room on tiptoes, careful not to alert passersby in the hallway outside.
“She is a hyper one, Sylvie. Full of boundless energy,” Ari rose from his chair to observe, at a closer distance, Nia’s conversion of steel into brilliant silver string, transmitted as though by magic. “She will not let on, but she was affected particularly hard by my brother’s passing. As is the Canaveris way, she feels it necessary to put on a strong front for her family, taking on extra responsibilities and deferring her marriage prospects indefinitely. I understand her desire to escape from the demands of rigor and duty; she is still quite young and cannot manage everything on her own, so she is free to bother me if I am not terribly busy.” As he listened to Nia’s account of Palla and her regrets pertaining to their tragically short relationship, Ari gave a slow, agreeable nod. “I think we all feel like we could have done better for our late brethren. It is easy to paint ourselves in the colors of failure when they pass and we are left in the shadows of our regrets. We painstakingly analyze everything we could have done differently, agonize over what we did wrong or what we neglected to do, and we even entertain the delusion that, if we could change one important encounter with the deceased, then maybe, they would be alive. Please take this comfort, Nia,” he alighted his fingers on the base of the harp, the closest to proximal contact he could manage, “you did what you could, at the time, for your age, with the only available resources at your disposal. For that, I disagree with your assessment. You did not fail your sister. An uncaring soul would not worry about protecting or preserving the feelings of their sibling, but you took her wellbeing into account. She was lucky to have you, during her brief but beloved life.”
Lowering his head to inspect the indentations and chips of the instrument’s fine wood, his gloved fingers came away with a thin film of dust. “If you find meaning and promise in this battered, neglected thing, please, consider it a gift. It’s yours. For all your care and attention, it is in no better hands than an enthusiast vested with the ability to restore its former glory. No need to insist that you could not possibly accept it without proper payment, either. As it was originally a gift from the Galeynians, I could not justify selling this harp to make a profit.”
Upon Sylvie’s return, she heaped a small stash of silver into Nia’s open palm and happily accepted the gold as payment for her services. “Oh, is this alchemist’s gold?” She held one of the coins to the light of the glowing rock chandelier overhead. “Fascinating. It certainly bears a weight indicative of real gold. I do have a request of you, as well.” She set the gold on the edge of the table to clasp her hands behind her back. “After you replace the strings, would you play? Even if it is horrid, I would very much love to hear how it sounds when it is all bedecked in silver. I imagine the strings would tingle like sweet bells!”
For all Nia was the chatty sort, and more often than not apt to overshare and blather on about topics that others might find inconsequential, there was something in particular about Ari that always seemed to put her all the more at ease, and as a result, prompted her to touch on topics that she would never reveal to anyone else--such as her sisters. Certainly, she had made mention of Celene and Palla to a number of people, both Hadwin and Teselin included, but she didn’t want to overburden the young summoner with her musings, and Hadwin… well, he saw too much as a rule, in any case. Often words weren’t necessary, when the faoladh could read what lingered in the eyes, or, more frequently, find opportune moments to get people to talk when they were drunk. In contrast, Ari was the exact opposite. He didn’t pry for information, nor did he ever give the indication that he was too overburdened with his own worries to lend an ear. And somehow, all of that just made him feel undeniably safe when it came to divulging topics that lingered on her mind. Thoughts that she needed to get off her chest, lest they haunt her…
If Ari was at all annoyed by her opening up now and then, he certainly didn’t let on, and he even reciprocated by sharing some of his insecurities surrounding his tedious role as leader of the D’Marians. The fact that the talking wasn’t all one-sided also made the Master Alchemist feel like less of a burden, and more of a mutual conversationalist. All the more, Nia was comforted by the fact that she had been wrong: Ari did not seek to cut ties with her as a result of her… questionable antics. Rather, he had been confused by her actions, and simply wasn’t sure how to respond in turn--which was entirely reasonable! Maybe Hadwin had a better read on people than she’d thought. She had never burned a bridge; rather, neither she nor Ari had had the courage to cross that bridge again and meet in the middle, since the night of his gala.
“Listen, Ari. If it’s funds you’re concerned about, and maintaining that balance between throwing lavish events to keep your people interested and loving you, while at the same time allocating enough money to continue to rebuild a home for them in this severely underpopulated kingdom… I’ve got your back. And no, I’m not talking about charity. Just a favour from one friend to another.” The Master Alchemist smiled over her glass of wine. “Metalwork is my specialty. And the difference between the gold that results from my transmutations in contrast to your general run-of-the-mill alchemist is that it’s real, and there’s not even a sim chance of the material reverting back to led or tin or whatever material it was in its first life. How do you think I managed to get on for a decade, traveling alone and under entirely uncertain circumstances? Not so hard when you make your own money!” She whispered conspiratorially, although crafting her own gold coins from alternate materials was probably one of the least morally ambiguous feats she had undergone as a Master Alchemist. “I know, I guess I’m making that sound a little dishonest. It’s not my intention to royally screw up the economy here or anything. All I’m saying is that as long as you’re here in Galeyn, and as long as I’m here, don’t think you can’t turn to me for help if you need it. After all,” she grinned from the side of her mouth, “I’ve really gotta settle Briery Frealy’s debt to you somehow for sculpting the likeness of her lost friend. I’m sort of responsible for the tragedy in that I didn’t interfere when… when I probably should have. It’s really the least I can do, considering you don’t often need assistance with your ‘flare ups’.”
It just so happened that after Sylvie entered with her bright smile and energy, the young girl confirmed that Ari was near completing that very aforementioned project. Which, of course, sparked Nia’s interest. If the handful of statues that remained, after Ari’s quiet rampage in destroying every likeness of the face of Chara Rigas were any indication, then the likeness of the late Cwenha, the “Silver Fairy” of the Missing Links, it would be no less than a masterpiece to behold. “Well I’d certainly hope you won’t send me home without letting me have a peek at your current work in progress.” She teased good-naturedly as she set her wine glass down in front of her. “And don’t worry about transportation. I see absolutely no reason why Locque or Lilica would take issue with having your work of art delivered to the right people. It’s such a sweet way to commemorate someone who is dearly missed. I’ll give them a heads up about it tonight, sound good? You have my word.”
As eager as she was to see the almost completed piece of art, it was another piece that captivated her attention in that moment, and before she realized how likely rude it was to up and leave the table in the middle of everyone else eating a delicious lunch, her hands were testing and assessing the condition of the ancient instrument. “A hundred years old, eh? They really don’t make them like this anymore. Even my sister’s didn’t have quite so sturdy a base as this one. Something this old, to survive for as long as it did, definitely deserves a little tender loving care. Just a handful of coins will do, Sylvie!” She called after the eager girl, who did not hesitate to jump to her request and retrieve the coins.
It was inevitable that such a familiar instrument would spark memories that the Master Alchemist held dear to her heart. Learning to play the harp with Celene, and later, playing it for Palla in Celene’s absence. Just as she hadn’t divulged her eviction from Osric’s pub to anyone (Hadwin had somehow deduced that all on his own), neither had she ever discussed her sisters in such great detail as she did to Ari. Listing her shortcomings and regrets, and what she had wished she’d done differently… those were all things that Nia typically kept close to her heart. And yet, around Ari, it felt safe to discuss these things. Perhaps it had something to do with his generally non-judgmental demeanor toward others’ hardships, or the fresh perspectives he brought to conversations. Or, more realistically, perhaps it was just that Nia really, truly liked the Canaveris lord, and valued his company.
“That’s really sweet of you to say. To give thirteen-year-old me the benefit of the doubt.” She replied with a smile, running two fingers up and down one of the steel strings. The tarnished steel was gradually turning bright silver with every pass of her fingertips. “But, nah, I was the lucky one, even when I didn’t deserve to be lucky. I just didn’t want her to hurt, you know? The way that I was hurting. I wanted her to believe in the possibility that she would see Celene again, even though I knew that was impossible. Though… it was wrong of me. I realize that now. She deserved to know the truth; it was the least of what she deserved. She wrote her letters, Ari! She actually thought that Celene was getting them. Reading them. I’m… damn, I’m really a shit human being, aren’t I?”
Nia plucked the string she was working on. It sounded a little less tinny that before, the silver finally coming through. By the time she was done with it… it would sound as good as new. “Makes me feel like I don’t deserve to be happy. I don’t deserve all of the doors life has been opening for me, lately. But I guess I’m just selfish enough to keep enjoying it all. Freedom and protection, the company of good people… all of it. I mean, at this point, it’s too late. Not like I can go back and change anything. Not like I could ever prevent anyone from dying. Anyway…” The Master Alchemist sat back on her heels and took a breath. The wistful sadness drained from her face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get so damned morbid; I’m not looking for sympathy or anything. Or for you to tell me that I was only doing my best. I know I’m not a great person, and I’ve made some real shitty decisions. It just feels good not to have these thoughts silently floating around in my head. So if nothing else, thanks for listening.”
Sylvie returned just as she finished speaking, the eager girl’s hands full of silver coins, which she happily traded for the better deal of gold. “Nope. ‘Alchemist’s gold’ isn’t real gold; at least, it doesn’t remain real for long. Any ordinary alchemist can make a substance mimic the composition of gold. And it’ll last a little while, but ultimately, even as late as several years later, it reverts back to what it initially was. Because unless you have the ability to feel what something is truly made of, through and through, you’re just making some really good guesses when you put it through transmutation. So this,” she nodded to the coins in Sylvie’s hands, “is real gold, through and through. No unpleasant surprises when you reach into your pocket several years from now and find it’s turned to steel! You have my word.”
The girl’s request, however, took Nia a little off guard. Her hands paused on the strings asshe digested the girl’s innocent wish, and responded with a shaky smile. “I haven’t played in almost a decade, Syl! Even if I can reconfigure this beautiful instrument to play exactly like it once did, I sure as hell wouldn’t do it justice. I don’t think I was ever really that good to begin with; when my sister died, I was self-taught the rest of the way. I’m sure I picked up some bad habits that most harpists just don’t have.” But--ugh, the hopeful gleam in that girl’s dark eyes! How unfair, the Master Alchemist quietly sighed to herself, that you should so remind me of Palla. “...maybe after a little practice, huh? Give me a chance to at least warm up so I can do this beautiful piece of art justice! Although,” she gave Ari a suspicious side-eye, “I don’t believe for a moment that you, Lord Canaveris, are not musically inclined. So far, you’ve informed me that you not only sculpt, but also paint. And you have a way with words that makes me think you could also have a career as a thespian. So when you tell me you are ‘respectable’ on the flute, I have a feeling you are being far more modest than your abilities would otherwise suggest. Do you still have your flute? Sylvie,” her grin broadened as she met the eyes of Ari’s niece conspiratorially. “I’ll tell you what. Get your uncle to dig out his flute, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll hash out a duet with him. I get stage fright--you can’t expect me to perform alone!”
Nia turned to Ari, who looked a little bit uncomfortable, and said as a reassurance, “If you’re rusty, I can guarantee I am even rustier. So let’s be rusty together and break in some long-abandoned instruments that deserve a little love, huh? It could be fun! And that way, if it turns out I really suck, you’ll spare the audience--that I assume will contain only your niece--from a gravely disappointing musical experience. What do you say?”
Between her enthusiasm, and Sylvie’s wide-eyed plea, Ari really had no choice but to agree. And, of course, Nia had known he wouldn’t. “Here I am, throwing you out of your comfort zone, again.” She teased, but her smile softened around the edges. “Don’t worry. This time, we’ll be out of our comfort zone together. And it’ll take me a little while to spruce this thing up to being worthy to be played, again. So you’ve got plenty of time to practice. Just pick a song you like and I’ll figure the rest out! Oh--though I should probably mention, I don’t read music. Self-taught, remember?” Nia held up her hands and shrugged helplessly. “So you’ll have to at least play the melody for me. Then I can figure out how to work in the harp. Like I said, I’m definitely not a professional, here. I’m just good at giving instruments the potential to sound wonderful.”
Nonetheless, it was still little more than a suggestion, spurred by the eager desire of a young girl to hear the harp with its new silver strings, eventually. No deadline, and therefore, no pressure. Nia might have roped Ari into something he had not intended (nor desire) to be a part of, but since it had nothing to do with touching and posed a very low risk of causing any ‘flare ups’, it wouldn’t be nearly as frightening. But, this time--if he said no, or backed out at the last minute--she wouldn’t make the same mistake as before. And she would respect his wishes. “I’ve almost got one string done. Just give me a little bit--I’m on a roll, now! And I’ve gotta do something with all this silver. Don’t worry, I fully intend to dive into the rest of the food on that table.” She assured Ari with a smile. “I’m just easily distracted. And this is a rather pleasant distraction I wasn’t expecting!”
‘A little bit’ actually turned into a while, however, between Nia’s concentration on the slow but eventual transmutation on the ancient harp, and chatting intermittently with the ever cheerful Sylvie, and of course, Ari, who was great company. He and his niece continued to pick at the meal he had laid out, and although Nia had promised to return to it (and it really had been her initial intent!), the Master Alchemist had become so fixated on her task that she didn’t realize the way time passed, or that the sun had long since shifted its position in the sky and finally began to set. Lunchtime had turned into suppertime, and Ari now had other meals and other matters to consider. Nia was startled to look up and find that the sky was darkening outside the window. Where had the time gone? Hadn’t she just arrived!?
“Well I’ll be damned… have I really been here this long? Ari, you should’ve kicked me out! Now I’ve wasted the better part of your day but way overstaying my welcome!” Nia jumped to her feet, her legs cramped from her hours-long position on the floor. Her head also spun a little, standing up as quickly as she did. That appetite that she’d mentioned having several hours ago suddenly reminded her of what concentrated work did to her metabolism--but that was her problem, and she’d address it as soon as she got back to the palace. “No wonder you went silent for so long. With a guest like me, I’d be hesitant to invite me back, too! I didn’t get as far with that harp as I’d hoped. I’m kind of a perfectionist, and only about half of the strings are where I would like them to be… but, if you don’t mind, I could arrange to have it taken to the palace, along with that sculpture. I can work on it there, and when I bring it back, you’ll hardly recognize it! Or how it sounds. I know you said you have no need for it, but… I dunno, I don’t feel right not returning it to you. I don’t think I can accept a gift of that caliber, even if it doesn’t mean much to you.”
Brushing off her knees, which were dusty from kneeling on the floor, Nia pulled her gloves back over her hands, which she had removed to work on the harp. “I wish I had a better way to say ‘thank you’ for inviting me over, today. It was a really pleasant surprise. Even more of a surprise when I realized I was an idiot for assuming you were having a crisis.” She chuckled at her own folly, and shook her head. “And--I’m glad we’re still good. I was really afraid I’d burned a bridge when I hadn’t meant to. Thanks for setting me straight. Well,” Nia turned her head to assess the situation in the sky beyond. “It’ll be dark soon. Shouldn’t take me long to get back to the palace. I’ve got a… commitment, so I really shouldn’t make it back too much later than nightfall. In the meantime, better get practicing on your flute so at least one of us doesn’t suck when we play.”
It wasn’t until Nia mentioned his throwaway comment about funds that Ari realized his faux pas. As his guest, discussing money with someone, especially someone who could easily generate gold, seemed not only disingenuous of him, but incredibly rude. “No, no, that is not necessary, Nia. I misspoke,” he dismissed hurriedly, before he unintentionally saddled her with the responsibility of managing the D’Marian village’s paltry treasury. Having her on board would make a mockery of the system, as near-infinite stores of money would inevitably depreciate the value of gold and cause a different crisis among the village’s delicate economy. As well, relying on a foreign investor in place of a D’Marian would threaten their independence as a sovereign entity. Not that they were so prideful as to reject aid. They were accepting of aid, as long as they were able to return the investment one day. Receiving a windfall of gold where gold once didn’t exist, on the other hand, was difficult to monetize and quantify within a kingdom that had, for the year since its awakening, resorted to bartering and trade as its main form of income. Already, their expenditures to Galeyn were grossly out of proportion, to the point where Ari would happily create an entire army of statues for any Galeynian or affiliate of the palace who asked. “Creating income for the village may have the opposite effect. Not that I do not appreciate your abilities. On the contrary, your assistance is a godsend. While I have not experienced any major flare-ups lately, I have not suddenly gained an immunity to them, either. What you provide is more than enough, of that you can be assured.”
When Sylvie had arrived and promptly sent to fetch several silver coins, Nia unpacked a fair amount of guilt in association with her youngest sister, leaving Ari feeling obliged to say something, even when she deemed that simply listening was enough. Considering her current state of mind, believing she shared each night with her spectral sisters, he wasn’t comfortable remaining a silent observer. Although she couldn’t know the truth behind his remote spying, at the very least, he wanted to offer a small comfort, to break at her vocalized self-loathing. As a host, it was only polite to hear a guest’s concerns and to acknowledge them. “Happiness is not reserved expressly for the saints, or for those who never misstepped and induced harm. Happiness is not a gift for the virtuous or blameless; it is for everyone. It does not care if you feel deserving of it or not. It loves the selfish because the selfish latch on and refuse to release. But,” he buffed the nose belonging to a male bust of a Canaveris elder, which had also collected a layer of dust, “it is also a greedy emotion and wishes for others to pass it along so that it may ensnare the world with impunity. People do not typically pass it along; other circumstances prevent its exchange—circumstances such as guilt, regret, grief. But what I find helps in believing you are worthy of carrying happiness is by sharing it among the people within your sphere. The more your happiness infects, the better you can justify feeling its pull, for you are content in knowing you’ve spread its message of fulfillment. That is, at least, how I’ve been able to reason its existence in my life, despite the unsavory things I may have done to procure it.” He gestured to the food-laden table, its bounty only partially consumed. “As long as I can share my gains, then I am seldom dissatisfied.”
Upon his niece’s reentrance, silver coins in hand, Ari had mistakenly drawn attention to his dabbles in musician-craft. By the gods, why was he so eager to open his life, including his secret hobbies, to this woman?
“Uncle Ari, you never told me you played the flute!” Sylvie’s dark eyes grew starry with surprise—and mischief. “Now you and Nia simply must put on a concerto. No need to be shy if I am your sole audience!”
“I am certain there is someone in the D’Marian village who will allow me to borrow their flute for practice and a performance,” he conceded, unable to disappoint both Nia and his niece. “If not, I will fashion one from clay. As I am sure your request is similar, I also ask for time to attend to this lost art of mine—if this course of action should please you, Sylvie.”
After receiving her resounding approval, Ari settled into his seat, his niece quick to follow. Despite the awkwardness in dining when their guest had temporarily abstained in favor of refurbishing the harp, they resumed sampling the small pastries and sandwiches and chatting together, until Ari politely pointed out the hour. “No need for apologies, Nia. I, too, lost track of the time out of sheer enjoyment for my company.” He rose from his seat, setting aside the silk cloth he draped across his lap to catch whatever morsels of food fell from the table. “I am afraid I must make preparations for dinner before entertaining a few patriarchs and matriarchs from Stella D’Mare’s old Arcanum families. A humdrum affair, to be certain. A shame I cannot escort you to my workshop, but you will see the finished product arrive at the palace in a few days, along with your harp,” he emphasized, insistent on taking no for an answer in regards to the instrument’s change in ownership. “Before you depart, I am more than happy to pack whatever extra food you desire. Do take the rest of the pie,” he aimed a smirk at his niece, “before Sylvie voraciously devours the rest.”
Hadwin waited a few days before springing the news on Nia. On the evening she returned from Ari’s place, her steps buoyant and her mind fulfilled, the faoladh, perhaps as a result of Teselin, Briery and the far-off (but still prevalent) influence of Elespeth, faltered in revealing the devastating truth that the Master Alchemist’s ghostly encounters were nothing but a farce. Laughably, he was fast becoming more...conscientious in his relationships with others, an angle not foreign to him when he was working someone’s good side and schmoozing for a favor, but not a normal occurrence, either. No doubt he was playing Nia for the benefits of her friendship, but then again, if he truly didn’t care about what happened to her, he wouldn’t have volunteered to spill the details behind Locque’s little puppet show of dead siblings. Then again, if he hadn’t volunteered, Teselin surely would’ve stepped forward in his place, and the emotionally-frail summoner wasn’t equipped in dealing with such a harrowing prospect as killing someone’s hopes and dreams—however illusory and harmful those dreams. Hadwin, though, had built a life profiting from mentally torturing his quarries, and could do so without a lick of remorse. While a wee harder to accomplish when he was actually invested in Nia’s happiness and not keen on watching her suffer, he also had little compunctions about shining a light on the lie Locque had fed her to keep her appetite sated, especially if it exposed the tyrant queen’s bullshit.
The next several days of laying low weren’t entirely uneventful, though. By the third morning, a supply wagon arrived at the palace, packed with the completed statue of Cwenha and a smaller, wrapped bundle to be delivered to Nia, complements of Lord Canaveris. A curious peek beneath the wrapped canvas revealed an old, beaten-up harp, a similar make to the sort Collcreaghan people of means displayed in their prim and polished homes. Well, well—Nia had quite the benevolent benefactor on her side, and he frankly couldn’t be more pleased that the two had reconciled. Maybe then, his imminent hammer-fall of information wouldn’t hit her quite as hard... if Ari’s rock-solid presence could, ironically, cushion the blow.
Hadwin spent the good part of the morning directing a handful of the bulkiest Forbanne soldiers to remove the heavy marble statue from the wagon and heft it to a designated display area in one of the palace’s many empty hallway alcoves. Due to the nature of the Night Garden’s flower-bearing memorials, the Gardeners rejected the idea of a statue on the grounds, citing its inorganic design as a misfit among the carefully cultivated flora of the Garden. Respecting their decision to maintain the living effect, which a never-living memorial to the dead would besmirch, Hadwin and Briery, with clearance from the dual monarchs, chose to plant Cwenha’s effigy in an alcove mere steps away from Isidor’s quarters, a perfect spot for the hermetic Alchemist to observe at length without undergoing the kind of scrutiny he’d receive from a more public area, such as the Night Garden.
Amid wheeling and positioning the life-size statue into its new home, a curious passerby ceased patrolling the corridors to stare at the newest decoration, so transfixed by its familiarity, he froze in marble approximation, as though hailing its memory was to stand in petrified solidarity.
“Kadri.” Hadwin side-stepped away from the impromptu ceremony and rounded on the stymied Forbanne soldier, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Ain’t it something? I commissioned this beaut from a master sculptor down in the D’Marian village; happens to be the de facto, leader, too. I’d say he did a smashing job carving Cwenha’s likeness, wouldn’t you agree?”
Kadri didn’t answer. He stared at the statue as the other Forbanne in charge of handling erected it in the intended spot, as marked on the floor by chalk. The pedestal made a brief grinding sound as it abraded against the grout between the marble tiles, before finally settling in place, and silencing.
“Ah, speechless, eh? Probably ain’t easy to look at, all things considered,” Hadwin slid away from Kadri, whose dark skin drained of color, as though the statue was steadily sucking away his life-breath and readapting it for its own uses. He couldn’t blame the man for his reaction. To him, it was like seeing a ghost. Once Cwenha regained her spirit in a new flesh and blood vessel, Hadwin only imagined how Kadri would react to seeing his first friend essentially return as some sort of vengeful wight, risen from the dead.
His one-sided conversation with the gawking Forbanne came to a rapid close once he spotted Nia emerging from the corner, who, ostensibly curious about where they chose to display the statue, arrived to take a gander. “Looks even better than in Fancypants’ workshop,” he mused, appreciating the sculpted work of art from a variety of different angles. “The natural light streaming from the windows over there really illuminates ‘er into a nice, ethereal glow. Now all we’re missing is some ethereal music, to complete the aesthetic. Speaking of,” he gently nudged her in the ribs and lowered his voice, “I see that your mate, the one you were so convinced wasn’t your mate, sent you a fixer-upper harp. Well ain’t that sweet?” he effused, modulating a high, string-like keen on his last note. “Didn’t even know you could play! Unless now you’re suddenly invested in restoring old, beat-up instruments to their former glory. Everyone needs a hobby.”
“Shifting the topic from hobbies to habits, I’m itching for a drink—a barrel-sized one.” He gestured in the direction of the town, where a fine drinking establishment eagerly awaited their patronage. “Meet me there after supper. Drinks on me. I got something to tell you. A doozy of a something.” With a parting wink, the faoladh disengaged to rejoin Briery and Kadri near the base of the statue.
Later that night, Nia had abided by Hadwin’s request and met him at the town pub. She entered as he was upending his third refill of ale. At her approach, he gestured to the seat he reserved at the two-person table, where a frothing tankard waited for her to imbibe.
“My bad; I started without you!” He announced, sounding entirely unapologetic. “Not that you’d stand a chance outdrinking me. A faoladh’s constitution makes it a cinch to win drinking bets!” He raised his tankard in a toast and guzzled its contents in one fell swoop. “Now,” he rubbed off the ale-foam mustache with the back of his hand and set the empty vessel on the table, “I never stated it before, but I’m all for seeing fortune smiling your way. Got yourself a home, a cozy room, your stately man’s lavishing attention on you again, and you’ve got the otherworldly support of your sisters. Everything’s coming up aces! So don’t take what I’m gonna say the wrong way. But,” he shrugged helplessly, “let’s be real; you will. I’m gonna knock a peg off your chair.”
“First off, I’ve got no reason to spin a lark at your expense. I ain’t drunk, either, and it’s also important that you’re not drunk when I spill what I spill. Loosed up, hells yeah. Engulf that ale; I’ll get you another. But you gotta give me a listen while you’re still sober, alright?” He spread his hands open on the table. No use spending the better part of a half-hour shooting the shit and delaying the inevitable drop. He’d already given her a several day grace period. Creating several more minutes wouldn’t improve her situation.
“So the spirits of your darling sisters that materialize by the light of the moon? Sorry to say, but it’s a hoax, Nia. Hear me out.” He leaned forward in his chair, brow lowered to an intense level, his golden eyes bereft of any mirth or humor—nothing to indicate he was messing with her. “The Moon is a powerful source of magic. I should know. All faoladh are cursed by the Moon. She presides over emotions, illusions, and madness. As a cursed one, I’m afflicted by all three. But as a positive side-effect, I have a certain affinity to the Moon, and I understand her unique attributes. She’s both an illusion piercer and an illusion creator, but never a conduit for attracting spirits. She doesn’t invoke the dead.” He pressed a finger to his nose-tip. “When I smell you, I smell only magic. Strong magic. Summoner magic—and you can bet I’m very familiar with that smell. But nowhere am I smelling death on you. None of that oogie-boogie ghost stuff that trails the necromancer wherever he goes. You’d think that since it’s his spell, and you’re always hanging with the dead, that you’d reek of it, too, like he does. But the simple fact is this; you don’t. Not at all. Don’t believe me or my impeccable nose? I can sit in on your seance and tell you for sure, but Tes already did that and came across the same results.”
He reached out to place an anchoring hand upon her arm. Aside from stability, it served another purpose: a demonstration of his support. “I assure you, I’m not speaking out of my arse. But if you still don’t wanna believe me or Tes, there’s a way you can find out for sure; just ask Vitali. If you’re ever in doubt over why you see your sisters only under moonlight and why they can’t utter a single word, then bring the issue to his attention. Because even you gotta admit, those are some very convenient--and specific--limitations. Again, I ain’t here to shake your world out of some sick pleasure of watching you shrivel and wither. I’m just here to give you a head’s up before you go in too deep. If you wanna disregard my information and live on in blissful ignorance, that’s your prerogative, but before you invest one hundred percent in your spirit siblings, do me a favor and give the necromancer a call,” he tilted his head, the intensity of his eyes softening. “He’ll tell you the truth if he knows you’re on to him.”
Although she had staunchly made it clear that she didn’t feel she could accept Ari’s neglected harp as a gift (especially when her puny little gift to hum had been nothing more than a common worry stone), the Canaveris lord himself made it clear that he did not wish for the instrument to be returned to him when she was finished fixing it up. For fear that arguing over such a detail would only put an uncomfortable wedge between them again (and knowing that Ari had the tendency to take offense when his kindnesses were rejected), the Master Alchemist humbly accepted the massive instrument when it arrived at the palace sometime later, along with the aforementioned statue of the fallen acrobat, Cwenha. Word around the palace suggested that the ringleader of the Missing Links and her wolfish companion had first requested that it find a home near the dead girl’s memorial rosebush, but the Gardeners, for all they sympathized with Briery’s plight, insisted gently that there was no place for an inorganic likeness of Cwenha among the foliage of life spread throughout the Night Garden. So, somehow, it had ended up just beyond the living quarters of the other resident Master Alchemist, Isidor Kristeva. A strange place for it to find its final home, tucked next to some pillar in a random corridor, but Briery reportedly was not bothered by this odd compromise--nor was the reclusive Kristeva brother, who saw fit to actually leave the comfort and privacy of his room for the first time in as long as anyone could remember to gaze upon the masterpiece, himself.
Isidor evidently wasn’t the only one with the idea to gaze upon the face of the dead woman he had never met on that particular day and time. Much to his disappointment, the corridor was not empty when he arrived. One of the Forbanne soldiers stood just feet from the masterpiece, gazing upon it with a sad mixture of confusion and despondency… and who stood next to him but Hadwin Kavanagh? Of course happenstance would have it that one of the two people he’d run into in over two or three weeks would be that blasted wolf. He didn’t even have a chance to make a getaway before the man’s keen senses spotted him. “There was word that an important memorial was to be set up here,” he responded flatly, as a reason for his curiosity. Of course, both he and Hadwin knew well why he had come to bear witness to a petrified Cwenha: so that he could know precisely what he was working with. Clearing his throat, he went on, in case anyone (or rather, Locque) was listening. “So this is the acrobat girl? I never had the pleasure of meeting her when she was alive, so I am no judge as to how accurately this bears her likeness. Did… did you know her?” He expressly asked Kadri, and not Hadwin. “Is this what she looked like?”
The Forbanne soldier’s affirmation that this was, in fact, an uncanny twin to the deceased girl was all the reassurance Isidor needed--Hadwin’s vote notwithstanding. So the aristocratic sculptor did have a talent for replicating the exact likeness of someone with whom he was only vaguely familiar. Well, if this was, in fact, to scale, with every curve and crevice of Cwenha’s statuesque body mirroring that of the flesh and blood form that had been cremated just prior to his arrival, then it was beyond helpful for the task he had painstakingly agreed to. Reaching out, he touched the stone, as if its material could give him a better read on this girl and who she had been. Of course, there was no life to it; this was only a replica. A template. He would be responsible for the real piece of art that would take the next several months to develop beneath the soil of where the girl had fallen, if he started now. “She is… she was very beautiful.” He remarked, once again not to Hadwin, but to Kadri, who seemed somehow just as invested in this girl’s likeness. “It is indeed a tragedy that someone with such beauty should pass before their true time.”
Now was perhaps not the opportune time to quietly take measurements and mental notes of the statue’s form, not with so many people present to bear witness. Isidor resolved to come back later, preferably without Hadwin Kavanagh present, but before he could so much as turn the corner to make his way back to his chambers, he came face to face with yet another insufferable presence: Nia Ardane.
The other Master Alchemist stopped dead in her tracks before she could collide with Isidor, her eyes wide with astonishment. Truth be told, this was actually the first time the two of them had come face to face, since she and Locque had taken up residency within the palace. “Well wouldn’t you know it--we finally meet! I’d know that resemblance anywhere. You’re like a taller, less foreboding version of your necromancer brother. Isidor, is it?” Her lips stretched into a smile, and she offered a hand. “Nia Ardane, fellow Master Alchemist. I heard tell of a lovely piece of art being situated here and thought I would take a look. Turns out I’m not the only one who had that bright idea! So what’s your specialty, Isidor? I heard you’re something of a hero to one Alster Rigas and his wife. Saved her life, didn’t you? Are you a drinking man? Because I’d love to hear that story over an ale someday.”
Isidor recoiled from her hand, heat flooding into his face. His eyes said it all before he could so much as open his mouth: he wanted nothing to do with this woman. “Excuse me.” He all but hissed the words and, giving the woman a wide berth, stepped aside and hurried down the corridor before disappearing around the corner.
Truthfully, Nia had been expecting nothing less than this man’s hasty retreat; a number of people had already made mention of his instantaneous aversion to her. Nonetheless, she felt there was no harm in trying to make a positive first impression… even if it blew up in her face. “Wow. Can you believe that’s the first time I’ve ever talked to the guy? You weren’t wrong--he’s hellbent on hating me. Probably all projection, though. A damn shame he can’t see past our shared profession to build bridges. I’m a pretty damn good friend, if I do say so myself!” The Master Alchemist shook her head and shrugged. “Ah well. So this is what Ari’s been working on, huh? Wow. The man’s pretty damn amazing. And it’s accurate, is it? The guy actually sculpted the complete likeness of a girl he’s probably only seen from a distance? Can’t beat that kind of talent.”
It struck her as surprising that Hadwin had also picked up on the delivery of a certain harp, and who it had been intended for, but it was a small palace in a small kingdom. Word did tend to spread like disease. “I got a little distracted by the harp during our last visit and kind of started working on its restoration. It’s been ages since I saw one; kind of brought back some fond memories, is all. But it’s not ready to be played yet by any means. Still need to finish turning the remainder of strings to silver. I might have dabbled in it a bit in the past, but… well, I’m mostly self-taught. So don’t expect anything professional coming from those strings when I do finish it.”
Rather out of the blue, Hadwin then proposed they meet that evening for supper at one of the local pubs. Nia was taken aback for just a split second, a little surprised at the suggestion and just where it had come from. Evidently, he had something to tell her--and he obviously didn’t feel safe telling her here. That was enough to rouse the Master Alchemist’s suspicions. What was so important and such a ‘doozy’ that he needed to arrange to tell her later? “Huh. Got secrets, do you? Not sure it’ll be any different telling me later than it would now, but if it suits you better… sure. I don’t have any other plans for supper.” She tucked a tress of hair behind her ear. “I’m always good for a drink. See you then, wolf man!”
Nia had arranged to have the lever harp painstakingly moved all the way to the top floor of the palace, and into the observatory, of all places. Perhaps it was not the most appropriate home for a musical instrument, as the room had initially been intended for stargazing, but there was no proper conservatory within the palace, and she figured that large, open (and relatively unused) room would have adequate acoustics for testing out the quality of the silver strings. That, and… the idea of having a safe ‘first’ audience had crossed her mind. If she was going to practice and stumble over her own fingers as she remembered how to play, she sure as hell wasn’t going to do that in front of Ari. Palla and Celene, however, would be a far safer audience.
“It’s been a while. Even silver strings won’t save me from the fact I am horribly out of practice.” Nia spoke to no one in particular as she sat in the observatory later that evening, a pile of silver coins in her lap while she went about restoring the instrument. “But you two have suffered my inexperienced fingers before. Let me get comfortable playing in front of you, first, before I have to go display my skills and make a fool of myself to Ari, huh?” She lifted her brown eyes to the center of the room. The exact spot where she planned to see her sisters that very evening. And then, more quietly, she added, “I’d love to play for you again.”
Nia wasn’t one to go back on a promise, though, and as eager as she was for darkness to fall so that the moon would once more reveal the spirits of her sisters, she was not late attending supper with the flippant faoladh just before sundown. Evidently, that didn’t stop Hadwin from being early, and she had a feeling that what he was drinking was not his first glass of ale. “On a good day, I think I’d have a fair chance of outdrinking you, thanks very much. Don’t underestimate me!” The Master Alchemist grinned good-naturedly as she slid into the seat across the table from the shapeshifter. Hadwin apparently had a lot to say… and she wasn’t entirely sure where he was going with it.
“Yeah, I guess I’ve had a bit of luck, lately. But frankly, I think I was grossly overdue for it, if you ask me. Years and years of shit luck means that it’s gotta take a turn for the better sometime, right? But… I’m not sure what this has to do with you, or why it concerns you so. What’s going on?” She furrowed her brow and leaned in. “Some misdeeds happening in the rafters that I should know about?”
She wasn’t prepared for what he had to say when he finally let it out. The Master Alchemist took in the first handful of words from his lips--namely, ‘hoax’--before she all but stopped hearing altogether. Something about the moon, the smell of magic, the absence of death… Despite the now temperate climate of early springtime, Nia began to grow cold. She swallowed and sat in silence for a moment, her features unreadable, before she shook her head with a humourless grin. “Oh, come on, Kavanagh. You think I wouldn’t know if I was being played? That I wouldn’t know some smoke and mirrors magic from the actual presence of my family? Look,” She leaned back and folded her hands in front of her on the table. “I’m gonna let you off the hook hear and assume that you’re not trying to fuck with me. I believe that you genuinely believe that maybe someone’s trying to make a fool of me, but honestly, it doesn’t add up. Just doesn’t make any sense, you know? You’re not such a bad guy, and I do get that you’re probably just trying to look out for a friend. And I appreciate it! Happy to know you got my back.” The Master Alchemist playfully punched him in the shoulder. “But we’re gonna have to agree to disagree on this one. I know my family; I know my sisters. I’d know if it was all bullshit. Give me a little credit, why don’t you? I might not be a mage, but I’ve seen enough magic to sniff it out if it’s around. So I guess what I’m trying to say is… relax. All is well. As much as I am sure the necromancer would love to pull a fast one on me like that, I can’t see him going to so much trouble just to fuck with my emotions. But, hey, if it makes you feel better, then maybe I’ll pay him a little visit when I get back to the palace tonight, alright? Just in the slim off chance that you are right, if that’ll make you feel better.”
Pulling her arm free of Hadwin’s grasp, Nia stood from her seat. It hadn’t been more than fifteen minutes since she’d arrived, but the Master Alchemist strangely did not seem interested in food or drink. And although her face betrayed nothing but a calm countenance, what Hadwin couldn’t see--or perhaps he could--was the roiling in her gut, the sudden heaviness of her heart, all as a result of the possibility that maybe… maybe he was right. Just maybe…
“Y’know, the ale’s smelling kinda sour here, tonight. I guess I’m just a little spoiled; nothing really beats Osric’s pub. I miss the place. Don’t mean to bail, but I think I’m gonna go find some better food and drink elsewhere. But no hard feelings, huh?” She flashed her characteristic smile in the shapeshifter’s direction. “We two need to scope out some better places to drink. Gotta be somewhere in this kingdom that compares to Osric’s. Let’s make it a date for next time, huh?”
When Nia casually exited the pub that evening, it was the last that anyone saw of her for a handful of days. She couldn’t be found in any of her usual haunts, and did not appear to be available to anyone within the palace--including Locque. Of course, Hadwin had come clean to Teselin about confiding in Nia that everything to do with her sisters was nothing more than a cruel hoax. Understandably, despite knowing that it was necessary Nia find out the truth at some point, the young summoner was both worried and sad that the Master Alchemist’s merciful illusion had likely, by now, been shattered. Perhaps she’d have been comforted in that she had not been the one to have to make the ugly reveal to the otherwise very optimistic woman, but Nia’s absence was proof enough that she had not taken well to the truth.
“I know that telling her was the right thing to do. She deserves enough respect to know the truth.” Teselin sighed quietly, as she sat near the window in her chambers, scanning the courtyard outside several floors below for any sign of Nia. It had only been three days, and the two of them had given her a couple of those days to herself to come to terms with the truth. But today, after not seeing her smiling face even once, when otherwise they would run into her so often, Teselin convinced Hadwin that they should look for her. It turns out no one had seen her, according to everyone they’d spoken to, although they’d neglected to breach that topic with Locque; it just wasn’t safe. And although the faoladh’s sense of smell would often bring them close, they felt, it always led to a dead end. Wherever Nia was right now, she didn’t want to be found. “But maybe… maybe it wasn’t our place. She was happy, Hadwin; and she doesn’t have much other reason to be happy, otherwise. What if we just made things worse?”
The young summoner was interrupted by a knock at her door, drawing her attention immediately away from the window. Hope lit up in her dark eyes. “Could it be her?” A long shot, but who else would be quietly rapping on her door early in the night? Teselin hurried across her room and pulled on the latch. She was not expecting who she saw.
“Ah, Teselin. I hope I am not disturbing your evening.” Vitali, blindfolded but standing strong, nodded his greeting to his younger sister, and her ever present wolf companion. “I hate to put you to any trouble, but I’m afraid I am in need of our brother’s assistance; and getting his cooperation, personally, might not be possible on my own.”
“Vitali.” Teselin tried not to sound disappointed as she sighed his name. Not Nia, but... perhaps he would know something. “Of course I’ll help you, but maybe you can help me, first. Did… did Nia approach you? Did she ask for the truth? No one has seen her in days. It is starting to worry me… Have you see her, since?”
The necromancer rolled his shoulders back, and huffed a distinctly annoyed sigh. “As a matter of fact, the Ardane woman is exactly the reason I require your assistance. Yes, she did approach me some days ago, and yes, as per my promise, I was frank and honest with her. And, no--she did not take it well. I have not heard from her since, but I have a feeling she is not far. I found the lock melted right off of my door, and this sitting upon my bed. Obviously, I cannot read it, but that room stinks of alchemy, as does this note. I think I know who it is from.”
Vitali handed Teselin a piece of torn paper, with hastily, angrily scrawled handwriting: “Five objects in your room will… explode when you touch them. Have fun finding which ones they are.” At the bottom, the note was signed with a passive aggressive heart that dotted the i in Nia. The young summoner winced. “Vitali, it is no secret that there are any number of people who would take great pleasure in booby trapping your room, but… I can see why you need Isidor. And it seems clear to me who did this. If you want, maybe I can take a look? I might be able to sense a difference in the affected objects…”
“That is very considerate of you, Teselin, but I’d rather not put you at risk. Isidor, however, would not only be able to detect, but to disarm whatever she has tampered with. I do apologize that my honesty with the Ardane woman has wounded her, so, but I was honest. I was hoping, in return, that you could lend a hand in convincing our dear brother to help.”
The young summoner glanced sidelong at Hadwin and sighed, nodding her agreement. “Of course. Hadwin, would you come, too? In case… I run into Rowen.”
Ever since laying his eyes upon a near-perfect facsimile of his fallen comrade, encased in stone, Kadri found it harder to concentrate on his Forbanne duties. He didn’t know why. Death was so commonplace that it didn’t need to be referenced by name. But that latest death, that latest corpse, did have a name. He’d handled her lifeless form and conveyed it to the palace, stood in the company of her circus family as they lowered their heads and shed tears for her passing, attended the funeral, stock-still and imperious, as the Masters taught him to behave. Always a soldier, never a man. They took his manhood to prove it. Mourning was for civilians.
So why did the statue call him to step out of his patrol route and notice it? Who had exhumed and remade her, defying the pyreal fires that incinerated her flesh and blood to ash, claiming her body for the dirt? The same fire that ensured she’d never grip the earth with her toes or flit across the rooftops like a scorned songbird mobbing whoever blocked her path? Why had they collected the vestiges of her remains, her memories, and hoisted them for display? She was dead. Her stone eyes would never again blink to their full luminosity, and her puckered lips would never part to sigh a note—or an angry rebuke. So why? Why fuse her corpse to a pedestal and calcify it to become breathless, lifeless rock? Why disturb the dead from resting?
There wasn’t much he could say. Not to Hadwin Kavanagh, who thought the statue an impressive tribute to Cwenha’s enduring legacy. Not to Briery Frealy on his right, who considered the young acrobat her kin when she lived and who wordlessly accepted the human-like monolith in the hallway. The sculptor, too, current leader of Stella D’Mare, probably regarded his work as something to celebrate. According to Commander Sorde, people honored the dead in different ways, like planting a rosebush, or holding a funeral service, or, in this case, constructing a memorial—a memorial with a face and a presence and a form. No, he couldn’t say much to anyone, because his limited scope of experiencing life as a liberated Forbanne removed him from an opinion. He couldn’t discuss the wrongness of what he saw because nobody else thought it was wrong, so it stood to reason that he was wrong. As always, he knew nothing about the world outside of following orders and soldiering. It was far easier to defer to the expertise of others, anyway. They didn’t need his flawed opinion. Only facts. He recalled answering a few fact-based questions posed by the Master Alchemist, Isidor Kristeva—he made an effort to remember everyone’s names—something he was equipped to handle. Yes, the statue resembled Cwenha. Yes, he knew her. He nodded and voiced responses to those easy inquiries. However, Isidor’s last bit gave him pause. Was it a tragedy? People died all the time, in a plethora of different ways. Did that make every death tragic, by definition? And had she passed before her true time? What did ‘true time’ even mean? Vega Sorde and Commander Sorde had returned from the dead with help from a necromancer. But did Vitali Kristeva control ‘true time’? Is that what brought them back? If so, then Cwenha definitely died during her true time. She didn’t exist anymore. For her, dead was dead.
Before he could ask Isidor to clarify his statement, the other Master Alchemist, Nia Ardane, approached the scene, offering a smile and a gesture of friendship, a kindness too warm and inviting to reject. He saw nothing wrong with her introduction, but Isidor ran away from her extended hand and closed the door to his chambers. He nearly took her hand in introduction, instead, figuring that someone should answer her summons, even if he was not the person she wanted, but Commander Sorde often warned him that there was a time and place for pursuing friendships, and not only was Nia Ardane off-limits, but he couldn’t abandon his post. Excusing himself from the dwindling crowd, he returned to patrolling the corridors.
The next few days proved difficult. Without understanding why, Kadri would often wander down hallways not assigned to him, start or end his duty at the wrong time, and forget to eat meals. He was not running a fever—not that a fever would cause him so many missteps in procedure—but he felt sluggish, uncoordinated. Out of worry for disappointing Commander Sorde, he considered knocking on his door to report his failings, but didn’t want to bother him during family time. Instead, he proceeded as normal, usually catching his errs in judgment before they evolved into issues bordering on insubordination. But on this particular evening, perhaps out of spending the day mercilessly overcorrecting, he allowed his mind to wander, and during that small window, his steps brought him back to the base of Cwenha’s statue.
He was not alone. Isidor Kristeva was standing off to the side, hands unspooling a white tape ticked with lines and numbers. Before he raised the tape flush against the base of Cwenha’s marbleized hip, he caught Kadri from the corner of his eye and whirled to face him, hiding the evidence behind his back.
Ever the curious sort, (and he had the scars to prove it), Kadri tilted his head to one side, his confusion apparent. “Why are you measuring the statue? Are you in the middle of some kind of alchemist’s experiment?” Whatever Isidor’s answer, he wasn’t satisfied enough by it to leave him alone. In fact, he had even more questions. “Is this statue a good thing? Everyone seems to think so. Do you think so? ...What is true time?” he blurted out, making it obvious that Isidor’s choice of words never left his thoughts. “Cwenha’s death...do you not believe she should have died right then? Is that the definition of ‘true time?’ Was she supposed to live longer? How would that be possible, now?” His voice dropped into an awed whisper. “Is it possible?”
Expecting denial and receiving it in heaps, Hadwin sat back in his chair and let Nia go on her way, knowing not to belabor the matter, especially when he succeeded in getting her to speak with Vitali. Even without meeting her eyes to check the impact of his words, they had hit home for her; his ears caught the frenzied thump, thump thump of her heartbeat and his nose detected the release of a distinct chemical from her pores, which reeked of fear. Already, she shared a lot in common with a prey animal, fleeing at the first sign of danger. How apt that she should also flee from the wolf.
“All in a day’s work,” he muttered to the shadow of Fiona’s likeness as he lifted Nia’s untouched tankard of ale, tipped it in a toast, and took a long, inviting swig.
Over the next handful of days, Nia would disappear from the public eye, and she hadn’t just made herself scarce, either. Judging by the cold trails Hadwin found, where her scent had ended but lacked a telltale body from which it emanated, it was as though the Master Alchemist had guzzled down a draught of invisibility. That, or, Locque had poofed her inside some interdimensional pocket for safekeeping, and she was adrift in the ether-realms—hopefully, not going the way of Alster Rigas, stuck in an endless loop. For one as gregarious and present as Nia to vanish after allegedly consulting Vitali for his take on her illusory sisters meant that she was licking her wounds, alone, so one would be privy to her vulnerabilities and weaknesses. Not that he was spared; he always saw people’s greatest vulnerabilities, and if he didn’t see them, he smelled them. The swirls of her residual scent were, therefore, very telling, and distress had soured her signature, akin to curdled milk.
Leaning one shoulder on the large window in Teselin’s chambers, the faoladh casually glanced at the overgrown foliage below, not quite looking as fervently as his counterpart, who, as always, worried herself sick over every possible development and scenario, generating endless headaches behind his eyes. “It wasn’t our place? Psh,” he waved a careless hand in her direction. “And if we did nothing, that wouldn’t sit well with you, either. Her happiness was a lie; is that supposed to be better? Look here, scamp,” he sighed patiently, turning his headache-bogged eyes at her, against his judgment, “there’s a difference between a harmful lie and a harmless one. If this were harmless, sure, let her float off on a sea of bliss. Hells, I drink and smoke all the time; harmless lies I tell myself. I soak in my fill of transient joy and all that rot, only to do it again when the bowl runs dry. But if the harmful shit were to go off unchecked, imagine the long term effects. You gotta break the illusion before it gets in your head and controls you. That’s what happened to Rowen; she let the darkness control her and now, she can’t remember what she once stood for.” She can’t remember how much I love her. He pointed a finger to his chest. “I let fear control me. It wanted me dead. Thanks to you, I shook it free; I’m alive, and I more or less have my shit in order. But who’s gonna look out for Nia when she stumbles into danger? Just because the danger wears the face of a loved one and brings you a dab of joy doesn’t make it any less threatening. In fact, I’d argue that it’s more threatening. Once the threat takes a personal form, it’s more liable to fuck you up. You can quote me on that.” He gestured to the shadow of Fiona who watched wrathfully in the corner, heedless of the fact that no one else saw her. “That modus of happiness is poison. It’s not merciful. If it shakes folks out of their self-delusion, I’ll happily jab and twist the knife as deep and as painfully as it’ll go. Nia’s lucky I went easy on her.” He pushed off the windowpane and faced the door. “Can’t say the same for Vitali.”
He nodded to the door seconds before the knock signaled their guest. Though he knew who stood on the receiving end, he stayed silent as Teselin opened the latch and invited her necromancer brother inside. They listened to his request as he unfurled the letter in his pocket and handed it to the summoner to read. Hadwin couldn’t help but bark out an amused laugh at the letter’s contents. “Well, doesn’t she have a dramatic flair for revenge?” He traced the little heart she drew in place of a tittle for the ‘I.’ “Kinda enviable. I’m impressed. I formally retract my statement, then, Tes. I’m lucky I went easy on her. Damn. Message fucking read and noted; do not piss her off. But sure thing, chickadee,” he nudged the summoner’s arm affectionately. “I’ll tag along. Gotta make sure my mate here isn’t blown sky high and reduced to cinders, eh?” The overlarge grin he sported carried in his ebullient voice. “Let’s go!”
For once, they found Isidor, not in his chambers, but standing beside the newly-erected statue of Cwenha, and accompanied by Kadri, trapped in the middle of a pretty awkward conversation. Invading their personal space, Hadwin weaved between them, insinuating himself in the shameless way he favored whenever he wanted to capitalize on his assholery. “Hate to break it up here, you two, but we sorta have an emergency that’s gonna require Isidor’s attention.”
“Emergency?” Kadri gripped the shaft of his glaive. “Then I should accompany you.”
“No offense, Kadri, but this is a bit above your skill level. We couldn’t even use you as a human shield because it’s not magic-related, either.” Hadwin patted the lanky Forbanne’s shoulder. “It’s gonna take the finesse of a Master Alchemist to defuse. Here,” he stepped aside to make room for Teselin and Vitali in the circle, “I’ll let the two of them explain it.”
It took some convincing, but whether because Isidor hated Nia that much, because his curiosities over her related proficiencies got the better of him, or because Teselin was the one to ask—probably a mix of all three—the reclusive Alchemist agreed to offer his assistance. Though denied, Kadri also joined the group, on the off chance his presence would be useful. At the very least, he could act as a human shield, caring little about injury or death.
When they reached Vitali’s quarters, Hadwin loitered by the threshold. “Well, it looks like you’ve got this well in hand, especially with all the Forbanne at your beck and call.” He said, referring not only to Kadri, but to the two private guards who never wandered far from Vitali’s front door; though, they since relaxed their vigilance after Locque came into power, perhaps by personal request. “But I can give your room an expert sniff and point you in the right direction, at least, before begging off.” Inside, he led the way, guiding everyone to the objects that smelled most like Nia and the astringent chemicals she likely employed in the mixing of her special explosives. Once assured that Isidor had a handle on disarming the objects and that they wouldn’t explode in anyone’s faces, he ducked out of the room under the guise of checking the hallways for Rowen. Instead, he headed straight for the observatory. Filling his nose with the astringent in Vitali’s chambers had given him a better lead as to Nia’s whereabouts, the scent too potent and agitating not to notice, especially in conjunction with her distinct, earthy fragrance. Climbing the long, twisting staircase to the roof, he lost a bit of the trail, owing to the cross breezes of the balmy Night Garden and the cooler climes of spring blowing through the observatory’s many, open windows, ruffling his ruddy hair in several directions. But there was no question she currently occupied the space. In the room, he spotted the harp, the strings now refined with silver and glinting faintly in the moonlight. He took a seat on the empty chair situated at its base and experimentally plucked a few strings, humming along to the sweet twang they produced.
“Hey, Nia,” he said, as flippantly as though he’d seen her in the flesh. “Hope you don’t mind that I play with your fun new toy. A bit too pretty for my tastes, but the sound’s spectacular.” He slumped back in the chair, removing his hands from the harp strings to rest them behind his head. He stared overhead, at the gathering stars. “As we speak, Isi’s down in Vitali’s place, defusing your handiwork. I wouldn’t mess with the clean-up though; Tes is down there, too. Pretty ingenious trap, if you ask me. Gave me a solid laugh. Can’t help but wonder if you have the wrong person, though, and you know what I mean. But, eh, he’s an accessible outlet for your revenge, I’ll give you that.”
“Y’know,” he blew a long stream into the air, a traceless sigh that did not have its signature pipesmoke to mark the direction, “I see my mam’s ghost. Been seeing her for years—ever since she up and took her life. She ain’t a friendly face. Oh no; far from it. She spits curses and lists all the reasons why I’m better off dead. Now, would I trade her for some benign spirit who smiles, doesn’t say a peep, and only appears in moonlight? Well,” he flicked his gaze to the nub of moon staring from the window, “that ain’t her, to start. There’d be nothing of substance; nothing to convince me it was really her. As is, I’ve my doubts that the image I see isn’t just some hallucination I cooked up to make sense of my fears—because in life, she wasn’t so damn hostile. But then again, maybe that’s what the afterlife does to you. Makes you bitter, resentful, vengeful.” A grimace marred his otherwise smooth speech. “I’m the wrong person to ask. Would I love her gone? Expunged from my mind completely? Hell yeah!” He suddenly slapped a hand on his knee, punctuating the statement. “But if I’m stuck with her forever, I can’t deny she keeps me on my toes.”
“Anyway,” he looked back at the dark blotch on the wall he identified as Nia, “if you were looking for a point to this little anecdote, I don’t have one. Just that ghosts are complicated and you’re better off without them. Even more so when they’re illusions, or hallucinations made to torture you. You don’t want ‘em around for life; they’ll turn on you. Mam’s ghost began all sweet and remorseful, till she started whispering revenge plans in my ear. Fuck that; I’d rather live in the present than cling to the past. Fuck it all, the dead have no place here. They already have your memories. Your grief. Fuck it if they take anything else from you. Fuck them; that way, no one can use them against you.” He loudly strummed a discordant clang on the harp, just to hear the notes of strain and imperfection, a better translation of the soul than moonlit mirages and sweet, silver melodies. But damn it all; the ethereal instrument couldn’t properly reflect the raw twists of ugliness and rage from within! Couldn’t let out a primal scream and shake the heavens from their moorings. “Sure hope I’m not rambling to myself here,” he said, a quiet laugh to offset the tumultuous waves of his vacillating state of mind. “But whatever; so what if I am? I’ve gone mad before. Hells, my madness has a body count! Rare is the faoladh who dies from natural causes.”
Isidor fully understood why the statue of the dearly departed acrobat had found a home near his chambers. And while it did offer a great deal of convenience, particularly for someone who was so seldom seen beyond the doors of his room, he also realized that it would be impossible to take in the work of art in private. That meant that the crucial measurements he needed to take of every single aspect of that statue would be a risk, and one that he knew he would have a hard time explaining to any onlookers or passerbys who wondered what the heck he was doing to the likeness of a someone who was dearly missed by a large portion of the kingdom that she had once entertained. More often than not, he chose to study the beautifully crafted piece of stone in the evenings, when there was considerably less foot traffic in the corridors. Whenever someone did happen to approach or pass him on their way, the reclusive Master Alchemist would hastily jump back, bunch the flexible, white measuring apparatus up in his palm, and try to appear as though he was simply marveling at the piece of artwork… of a woman he had never known. Certainly, that had earned him a few curious glances, but fortunately, no one appeared to believe that he was doing anything particularly untoward.
Not until he was taken off guard one evening by a tall, although not particularly hulking Forbanne solider (something of a contrast to the muscular Commander of that band of soldiers). More often than not, the Forbanne tended to be people of few words, at least as far as Isidor could tell from his very brief run-ins with them on those occasions when he did leave his room. Never had they ever initiated a conversation, at least not with the likes of him; when he did encounter them, they were more apt to give him a brief glance, which was evidently enough for them to decide that he was nowhere near a threat to anyone, and wouldn’t hesitate on their way to wherever they were going.
No such luck with this man, however, whom he remembered briefly seeing just a few days, ago. Isidor didn’t even have time to put down the white tap in his hand, or hide the sheet of paper scrawled with measurements behind his foot, before the Forbanne soldier called him out completely on what he was doing. “Oh. I… it’s, well…” The Master Alchemist could already feel perspiration begin to bead at the back of his neck, which he rubbed away with one nervous hand and pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose with the other. “I was not… I am just very intrigued by the work of art, and…”
But Kadri’s questions did not stop there. On one hand, they were rather overwhelming, and Isidor couldn’t help but wonder just what this man had once invested in the woman named Cwenha. Had he known her? Had they been friends? Those weren’t questions someone would ask of someone who had not mattered to them, at least just a little. But on the other hand… at least it provided him the opportunity to dodge the questions he simply couldn’t answer, lest he cast a shadow of suspicion on himself, and instead elaborate on the ones for which he could spin some semblance of an explanation. He wasn’t sure they were the answers that Kadri was looking for, or if he even truly had all of those answers, but it appeared the man just wanted to… talk. And there was no way to not engage him without coming across as a suspicious person of interest.
Clearing his throat, Isidor turned back to the statue the two of them acknowledged, and chose to let Kadri’s first two questions slide… hopefully not to the man’s awareness. “I do think this statue is a good thing, actually. For a number of reasons. Not only is it an exquisite work of art and the striking likeness of a human being who was once very important to some people, but I think it means a lot to the people that this woman left behind when she departed for the world of the dead. I think that seeing her face again… for some, perhaps it brings sadness, but also a little bit of happiness. Her body and spirit might be gone, but her memory is eternal. Especially with someone such as this to remind people of her.”
This man evidently paid closer attention to people than Isidor had imagined, however. That he remembered the Master Alchemist’s somewhat throwaway comment about ‘true time’ rather took him aback. That was not something that he had ever thought would require explaining, but… Kadri had already caught him on it. And it didn’t appear that this man would be willing to leave him alone without some explanation. “I apologize if I confused you with that term. Honestly, I… well, I wasn’t thinking too deeply on it when I mentioned ‘true time’. But to answer your question, yes. This girl--that is, I did not know her, and I have never met her, but if the features of this statue are of any indication whatsoever, then I do believe she should not have died when she did. She appeared to have been very young--in her twenties, if I am any decent judge of age. And, my understanding is that she was an acrobat, yes? Well, that tells me that she must have also been in good health. One cannot perform such feats as challenging gravity on silk ropes if their bodies are in some way compromised. So, for the fact that she was both young, and healthy, that leads me to believe that were it not for the attack that ended her life, she would still be here. That is what I meant about ‘true time’. It is different for everyone, I suppose, depending on their health and what luck they were dealt at birth. I do think that this woman might have lived until old age had she not been attacked.”
Unfortunately, there was no avoiding Kadri’s last, and most controversial question, as much as the Master Alchemist would have preferred to run away from it. Was this man somehow on to the plan to which Isidor had sworn Hadwin, Briery, and Alster into secrecy?! No… no, surely, none of them would have breathed a word. Not if it meant compromising the procedure from ever taking place. That this Forbanne soldier would touch on such a topic… it must have been a coincidence. Nonetheless, it made Isidor uncomfortable enough to tug on the collar of his tunic to alleviate the heat building beneath it. “Some people say it is possible. I’m afraid I am the wrong person to ask. I am a Master Alchemist, and not a necromancer. I have personally never seen it done that someone who was once dead for so long may live again, but my brother would surely tell you otherwise. If you do manage to get him to talk at all, I suggest consulting Vitali Kristeva. But do not be surprised if he is rather unwilling to discuss anything with you. He is a rather wretched person.”
Exhaling on a steady sigh, Isidor straightened his spine and forced a nervous smile to his lips. “I apologize that I do not have all of the answers for you. If this woman meant something to you, or was important to you in some way, I do hope you can take comfort in her likeness like this statue was intended.” With a final parting nod, the Master Alchemist turned and retreated to his room before Kadri could fire any follow-up questions his way, measuring tape and paper in hand. His heart was still racing from what had seemed like a very close call when at last he found himself behind the safety of his door.
That reprieve did not last for very long, however. It felt like only a handful of moments that Isidor had taken a well-deserved seat at his desk after dodging such a compromising situation, when there was a knock on his door. He would have easily ignored it, and without any guilt, were it not for the pleading voice of his younger sister asking that he open up to discuss ‘something important’. He was no fool; as soon as he opened the door, he expected to see that she was likely not alone. Wherever Teselin went, so, too, did the aggravating faoladh; he was mentally prepared to bear with that. But what took him off guard completely was seeing that not only did Hadwin accompany, but also, Kadri and… his brother. Immediately, that put Isidor on guard. The last time Vitali had mobbed him in a group was to coerce him to go directly against what he believed in, and create a homunculus body so as to resurrect Cwenha… and use the alchemist stone to afford her enough years to live a long life. What did he want now? And were both Kadri and Teselin in on it, now?
Fortunately, Teselin was quick to explain their intrusion, which to his relief had nothing to do with resurrection. Instead, it appeared that Vitali had managed to get on the bad side of the other Master Alchemist, and now required some assistance with disarming everything that Nia Ardane had tampered with in his room. Of course, his initial response was flat-out refusal. “That sounds a lot like your own problem, Vitali. For all I can’t stand the woman either, maybe this will teach you not to make enemies of Master Alchemists.”
“As hard as it is to believe, Isidor… Nia is angry with Vitali for a reason that actually isn’t his fault at all.” Teselin informed him. “It’s a long story, but… Locque put him up to it.”
“Sounds as though you chose the wrong side, then.” Isidor snarked in response, but it was impossible to deny his sister with her wide, pleading eyes. Unbelievable… how was it that he seemed to fall for everything if someone asked nicely enough?! “Fine. But you--you are going to owe me.” He jabbed a finger in the necromancer’s direction and frowned. “I’ll see what I can do, but no promises of success.”
After they made their way to Vitali’s room, which he did not enter for fear of encountering something that would blow up in his face, Hadwin offered to enter along with Isidor to point out the suspicious items in question based on his sense of smell. The duo, obviously, tread cautiously, and although Isidor was loathe to admit it, Hadwin’s help was extremely useful. The Master Alchemist would have had to touch everything in the room to get a feeling for what had been tampered with, and although the necromancer was not much a person for material possessions (aside from the brightly coloured waistcoats that he flaunted, even while blindfolded), it could have been anything. A slat of wood on the floor, a stone in the wall, and to go up and down the room with a fine tooth comb would have taken much more time than Isidor was willing to donate to his wretched brother. Rather quickly, they were able to narrow it down to a handful of items and areas, and that was when the faoladh insisted they could take it from there. And, truth be told, it was less of a burden on Isidor to be in the presence of two people he could not stand, so Teselin did not argue when Hadwin finally chose to take his leave. Isidor was capable of safely dealing with Nia’s wrath, while the faoladh, though he’d announced it to no one, sought out to once again search for the source of that wrath.
For someone as gregarious as Nia, it stood to reason that when you couldn’t find a woman who happened to be everywhere, all the time, she probably did not want to be found. But Locque’s Master Alchemist could not count on everyone in the palace politely keeping their distance while she floundered in a deep and dark hole, the biggest rut she’d experienced in quite some time. Truth be told, she very much was a prey animal, the sort that could not show sickness or vulnerability for fear that the predators would pick up on the scent and pounce when she was at her weakest. For the most part, Nia really prided herself in holding it together when the world around her was falling apart, but after confronting the necromancer… everything had gone all too dark, too fast, and she wasn’t sure how she could face the world with a smile. She couldn’t find her smile, the one that was so characteristically her, and so instead of being forced to pretend that she was unperturbed and not entirely broken over the revelation she had been duped, Nia Ardane disappeared--under an illusory cloak that she had crafted for Locque, and which has been used by both Nia and Sigrid when they had all still been in hiding. It wasn’t perfect; at the right angle, light would be skewed in such a way that it would give the indication of her body beneath the coarse fabric, but it seemed to work well enough for three days, at the very least.
However, it did nothing to hide her scent, and she should have known that it would be Hadwin to finally call bullshit on her disappearing act and find her in exactly the place anyone would expect to find her. When the faoladh invaded her space, and took a seat upon the stool near the almost fully refurbished lever harp, the Master Alchemist considered ignoring him and continuing to play up her ruse as if she wasn’t there. But he wasn’t fooled; and he didn’t appear to mean any harm. After he had said his part, Nia sighed quietly and pushed the hood away from her face before dropping the cloak from her shoulders, letting it fall into a pile of what was seemingly nothingness. “It’s not finished yet. I was all gung-ho about fixing it right up, but… I dunno. Seems stupid now. I’m not really sure why I was so drawn to it in the first place.” She indicated the harp and tucked her hair behind her ears. It wasn’t half-pulled back like she usually had it, but hung down her back and shoulders, looking as though it hadn’t been combed for a while. And it hadn’t.
“Trying to figure out how I can send it back to Ari without him getting all butthurt that I returned a ‘gift’. But oh well. At least it looks a little prettier.” For someone who had assumedly been broken at the shattering of her own, merciful illusion, Nia did not appear particularly despondent on the outside. Rather, she sounded bored. Whatever hurt she was still feeling, she didn’t let it seep through, at face value. Three days of solitude had awarded her enough strength for this encounter, at least. “Forget about the ‘ghosts’, wolf boy. Yeah, I’ve laid low because I’m a little upset--not that you were right, but that the necromancer actually had the gall to make such a fool of me, and I goddamn fell for it. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life!”
The Master Alchemist groaned and kicked the invisibility cloak aside, as if to demonstrate that she hadn’t been stewing in a broken heart, but in anger. “My revenge on Kristeva was small. He deserves so much worse--and I hadn’t even done anything to him! But he saw fit to fuck with me. And before you go off spouting that it was Locque, her involvement makes even less sense. I’d sooner accuse your darling little sister, who would sooner see me out of the way so she can get her hands around your neck. I’m just pissed off, Hadwin, okay? I appreciate your support, but… let me be pissed off.”
In a huff of fury, Nia reached into her pocket, found the tiny red stone, and tossed it across the room. It landed directly in a stream of moonlight… at which point, who should manifest, but little Palla. Palla, for whom she had hoped to play that stupid harp, once she had finished it. Now, she didn’t see the point in playing for an empty room. “...gotta give him credit. He fooled me fair and square. That’s every inch my little sister in appearance. Even her mannerisms are identical, for a fucking illusion! She died when she was eleven; so I guess she’s forever eleven. Honestly… I never thought I’d see her face again. Now that I know the truth, it’s like looking at a moving picture. And… and I guess I’m angry that I can’t be angrier.” She blew a tress of hair from her face, her expression softening as it was apt to do around her little sister--even just the illusion of her. “I can’t be angrier because it still makes me happy to see her. To see both of them--whomever happens to show up. Even though she isn’t really here--and I know it. How fucked up is that?”
Rubbing the back of her sore neck (she had actually taken to sleeping there, on the floor of the observatory those past few nights), Nia puckered her mouth in distaste. “Do me a favour and don’t tell anyone you found me, here. I’m sure Vitali had his kicks now that the cat’s out of the bag, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much he got to me.”
So Kadri had been wrong. Memorializing Cwenha’s death on display as though alive and enjoying a second existence in stone was, according to everyone, a good thing. But confusion still dominated the surface of his mind. Why did people believe in cementing memories in physical form? Would they not remember the dead without a material reminder erected in place? If so, then what happened to the dead who didn’t receive memorials? Were they forgotten, lost to history? And did it even matter to the dead, whether or not they were remembered? Once, Kadri thought that in death, you ceased to exist. The Masters of Mollengard told him so. The moment a heart stilled in the ribcage, a life became a corpse, and nothing could reverse its terminal state. The spirit, unable to survive without the body, also died. A human was a collection of interlocking parts: flesh, bone, sinew, and organs. ‘Spirit,’ and ‘soul,’ not separate entities, were just fancy terms for a human’s essential functions; mortal, killable, and rotting vessels, all the same. Dead was dead. No hauntings, no ghosts. But then Commander Sorde returned from the dead. He had died; every Forbanne linked to him felt their psychic bond lift, a sole indicator of their Master’s passing. He died, but his spirit returned to reclaim his body, thereby debunking the ‘truth’ about the spirit. Bereft of a corporeal form, it did not die. Vega Sorde, too, had been reintroduced to her body in a feat performed by a necromancer, a specialist who understood that death didn’t have to be permanent. It meant that, somewhere, Cwenha’s spirit floated, free and formless and...trapped. Without her original body, would she confuse the statue for an equal replacement? Having nowhere else to go, would she take residency within the cool rock, comforted by its familiarity, and find that, once she entered, she could not escape?
Despite being ‘wrong,’ Kadri couldn’t warm to the idea of Cwenha’s memorial as something praiseworthy. Not if it housed her spirit like a prison.
“Would Cwenha like this?” He brushed a hand over the pedestal’s front slab, partially covering an elegant, embossed scrawl of letters arranged into words he couldn’t read. “Did the necromancer ask her spirit if she approved of the statue? How do we know this is what she wants? And that we haven’t ended up trapping her in the stone?” He’d known Cwenha to abhor the attention and infamy of her performer’s guise. She scoffed at gifts, at painted portraits that encapsulated her beauty, at poems that extolled her grace. They never expressed how she preferred to be seen and heard. Why, then, would her restless spirit find peace in the culmination of her most fervent rejections? Where, within the stone artifice, did her happiness reside?
“I cannot ask Vitali or I would be disobeying direct orders.” He dropped his hand and returned it to the smooth wooden surface of his polearm. “Commander Sorde doesn’t want us to have any business with the necromancer. We’re only allowed to watch him and to report suspicious activity, but never to engage him in conversation. Even though I’m not on duty right now, the order applies as long as Commander Sorde wishes it. But I’m allowed to speak with you because you’re a friend of Alster Rigas.” His brow knitted in concentration as the aforementioned friend of Alster Rigas explained the concept of ‘true time.’ “I am not sure I understand, but there is also a lot I don’t understand. So when people are killed...that’s not their ‘true time?’ I’ve killed. Does this mean I’ve prevented all those people who’ve fallen to my glaive from reaching their ‘true time’? What...what happens to their spirits, then? Have I,” he rocked on his heels, a departure from the sturdy, steadfast soldier, “cursed them to wander?”
Before the effects of his words led him down a winding path of existential horrors wherein he’d be forced to address the multitudes of people, both soldiers and innocent civilians, he had murdered, Kadri withdrew his probing inquiries. “You’re not the necromancer. These aren’t your questions. I’ll...let you go,” he said, noticing the Master Alchemist was already edging away in anticipation to leave. While his stature was of a leaner persuasion, not at all like the other intimidating Forbanne behemoths of his regiment, civilians tended to avoid him or cut off his attempts at conversation. Isidor, uncomfortable in his company, was no exception. He’d barely taken a few steps in retreat when Hadwin, Teselin, and none other than the one man best able to answer his questions appeared from around the corner to request Isidor’s aid in defusing an explosive set of objects from Vitali’s chambers. Kadri volunteered to accompany the group to the scene of the incident. On duty or not, as Forbanne, he was responsible for investigating for signs of trouble, despite his limited capabilities. Silently, he followed, dark eyes honing on Vitali’s retreating back. If he were to ask him an innocent question, would Commander Sorde consider it a breach of conduct and punish him for insubordination? It came to his attention that he didn’t need to report everything of significance to his Commander, especially if they were private affairs, unrelated to his duties. But...withholding information would call his loyalties into question, and he was fiercely loyal to Commander Sorde for liberating him.
How is it freedom if you’re still bound? A very odd voice, one he hadn’t heard before, echoed inside his head. Defy his order. Speak your mind. If Commander Sorde punishes you, then he’s not your liberator. He’s another oppressor.
But he was a soldier. A soldier obeyed. Obeying a man he believed in didn’t impinge on his freedom.
How else will you know about Cwenha’s spirit?
By formal request. He would visit Commander Sorde, explaining the situation, and asking for permission to visit Vitali.
And what if he denies your request?
His roving eyes fell upon an answer. The young summoner, Teselin. Vitali’s sister, a girl known to have favorable ties to the necromancer. He was allowed to speak to her. She could ask her brother on his behalf.
After Hadwin departed, leaving Isidor to concentrate on his explosives-defusing task, Kadri waved the summoner aside, non-verbally imploring they meet outside. In case of an accident, two other Forbanne watched the proceedings from inside Vitali’s chambers, reducing Kadri’s presence to an extraneous third soldier. Away from the busy and concentration-heavy atmosphere, he leaned close to the slight summoner, a good three heads shorter than he, and leaned a whisper into her ear, in the event that the Forbanne, or even Vitali, himself, could hear him from out in the hallway.
“I want to ask Vitali a question but I cannot disobey orders. Will you ask him...about Cwenha’s spirit? Is it still...around? What will become of it--of her? She hasn’t reached her true time, so will her spirit forever wander, looking for a place to rest? Is the statue...her new home?”
On Isidor’s completion of his task and subsequent departure from Vitali’s chambers, yet another obstacle prevented him from a safe return trip to his rooms. Distracted by an unspooled thread on the bodice of her gown, Tivia Rigas did not notice the Master Alchemist’s proximity until he was almost upon her, too late to redirect her route or slip off unseen to some empty alcove or convenient door to nowhere. Face to face, they had no choice but to acknowledge each other, two quiet months later.
“Isidor. Ah...good evening,” she stumbled, hiding her color of surprise under the hanks of blonde hair that concealed half her face. In the months since their last encounter, her hearing had recovered to a degree where speaking wasn’t akin to shouting through the void. She could hear herself enough to deliver verbal messages with proper enunciation, spacing, and volume control. However, receiving messages required her to stand close for proper reading of one’s facial expressions—in particular, the lips. Though she could detect faint garbles in others, such detections were only possible through closed distances. Her feet propelled forward, bridging the gap between them. “It’s...it’s been a while.” Unable to afford shielding her eye from bashfulness or shame, she met his face, glance unwavering. Gods, he was so skinny! “How are you faring?”
Something, rather, someone, emerged from the sighted side of her face, a delicate encroach, meant to surface and not startle. Tivia turned her head towards the figure who alighted to her right, a Gardener bedecked in the cream-white robes of Galeyn, and smiled at him. He flashed a few quick gestures with his hands, to which she nodded. “My apologies. Isidor, this is Erevahl,” she motioned to the man, who clasped his arms and bowed. “He is a Gardener who was under my care, during the incident that damaged my ears. He’s been helping me to communicate with my hands, in case I need to teach others...in the event I fully lose my hearing, or I need non-verbal context to help me understand what’s being said. He’s not himself deaf, but his mother is, so his skills are vast. He has agreed to be my interpreter. If you would like to learn from him,” she gave a meaningful tilt of her head as though to say, It will make for a useful code language, “well, you know where you can find me.”
“It was an honor to meet the famed Master Alchemist, Isidor.” With a retreating bow, the Gardener continued forward, waiting for Tivia to follow.
“I must go,” she apologized. “But it was great to see you again! ...Make sure you eat, Isidor. And sleep. Erevahl can prescribe you some tinctures perfect for dreamless slumber. There are also some Night Garden plants that are so hardy and nutritious, one bite is all you need to sate your appetite for the day. Please take advantage of your surroundings.” Having said her peace, she uttered a farewell and strode off to catch up with Erevahl, who wasted little time to press an affectionate kiss upon her lips. Blanching in mortification, she angrily sighed at the Gardener. ‘You could wait until he’s out of sight!’
Erevahl looked over his shoulder. Isidor was gone. ‘Relax,’ his hands stroked. ‘He didn’t see anything.’
She was neither relaxed nor comforted. Without a shred of doubt, she knew that he had seen.
Hadwin was thankful Nia had chosen to manifest before he talked himself into a violent outburst. For the most part, he would isolate the self-inflicted damage to whatever arm or limb he targeted, usually aiming for a wall with a balled-up fist until it crunched into gore and bone; though sometimes, he would aim the violence at his companions. He’d turned on Briery back in Braighdath, and he didn’t know what damage he’d have tolled if he failed to find the self-control to withdraw in time. Why he bothered to spout to the Master Alchemist about madness and ghosts was a mystery. Was he looking to rile himself up in an authentic act of fellowship, an attempt to relate and ease Nia out of the brink of self-erasure? Or had the moon, full in the sky, influenced his pensive mood with processions of past memories and future visions that, devoid of drink or pipe, were impossible to shake?
Suddenly antsy in his stool, he bounded on his feet just as Nia withdrew the cloak from her body, revealing her solid, decidedly unghostly figure. “Thank the devil you decided to show; I was gonna keep talking till I garroted myself with a harp string to shut the hell up,” he stretched his arms over his head, an innocuous movement meant to ground him back into relative normalcy. It didn’t stop him from snapping a few fingers in retaliation. “Would be a shame, too, plucking out chunks of your handiwork, whether or not you choose to play. And hey, you can still save face with Ari. Fix up the harp, decorate some corner of the palace with it, and that’s that.” When she made a brief mention of a musical collaboration she’d arranged with the Canaveris lord, Hadwin wheezed out a laugh. “Seriously? You and Ari making music together? That’s fucking precious! Well now you have to do it. An opportunity like that doesn’t roll around often. I wouldn’t pass that up if you get a good story out of the deal. But,” he popped his shoulder out of its socket and rolled the joint back in place, “that’s just me.”
As Nia went out of her way to prove she hadn’t broken from learning the truth, he released a wide, cavernous yawn, a trait shared by his wolf counterpart, jaw nearly unhinged and sharp canines exposed. “‘Scuse me, but your constant denials are starting to get pretty dull, Nia. So do me a favor and spare me the performance, because I’m seeing your nightmares right now and I’m not convinced you’re just a ‘little upset,’” he said, scanning her eyes in the dark. “If we wanna talk sense, a ‘little upset’ is disproportionate to setting up an elaborate booby-trap for your enemy. Sure, I buy that you’re angry. You’re fucking furious. But that anger’s feeding off far more than embarrassment, that’s for true! Oh, and I beg to differ about that last bit,” he dodged the red stone she vaulted in his direction and watched as the moonlight surrounding the receptacle shifted in motes of dust and smoke, creating the form of Nia’s eleven-year-old sister. “Vitali’s a necromancer and a medium. He’s got zero skills with illusion magic. ‘Sides, what I’m smelling over there is summoner magic. Strong and hella skilled magic, to boot. Trust a wolf’s nose, especially a dead sober wolf’s nose. But,” he shrugged helplessly, “if you don’t trust my analysis, the scamp noted the same thing. And if you don’t believe her, the only other bloke I can think to ask for a third opinion is good ol’ Al, who’s ace at detecting magic. If you’re so embarrassed about being fooled, Nia, then be vigilant, and question everyone and everything so it won’t happen again. That’s how you fight the moonlight. That’s how I fight the madness.”
He stepped through the illusion of Palla, a physical demonstration of his advice in motion. At his passing, the illusion sputtered and lost its image, only to reform after his slipstream dispersed. “But whatever; be angry at whoever the hell you want. You think I’m telling you not to be? When I went through the trouble of flipping over my hand for you to see my bulging heart of rage? Psh,” he snorted. “Rail against the heavens for all I care. Even if Vitali was just the scapegoat in a broader scheme, the bastard deserves a bit of roughing up at his expense. S’long as he stays whole in the end. Tes’ll have a fit if he croaks.”
He swerved on his heels, heading towards the door. “Go on ahead and soak up your false pictures. If I were you, I’d chuck the damn stone. Get it over with. Kill the illusion before it kills you. Then again, I’ve always erred on the extreme side of things.” A careless flick and a snap, and his wrist hung from an unnatural angle. Grabbing the side of the doorframe with his uninjured hand, he glanced over at the disheveled woman one last time. “Your secret’s safe with me, but if you keep holing up here, by process of elimination, you’re gonna get discovered. If you plan on roughing it long term, I suggest a less obvious place for your base of operations.” And with a grandiose wave of retreat, Hadwin exited the observatory, leaving Nia to her own devices—and making a beeline for the closest source of substance-related relief.
Along with Vitali, Teselin stood back as Isidor performed his thorough search of the necromancer’s bedchambers so as not to get in the Master Alchemist’s way. While the necromancer had relaxed into a half-slouch, arms folded and leaning more heavily on one leg than the other, the young summoner was practically holding her breath, afraid that whatever Vitali might have triggered at his mere touch would also unleash at the pressure of his younger brother’s hands, related as they were by blood. Teselin was so on edge watching Isidor perform this delicate detective work that she hardly noticed when Kadri had shifted to stand beside her. His low voice in her ear startled her such that she jumped and turned to him, eyes wide as she slowly digested his words. “I-I… but Vitali is right here, Kadri.” She motioned to the blindfolded man standing next to her. “Are you sure you don’t want to ask him yourself? I don’t know if he’ll give you the answers you want, but…”
Kadri explained, rather vaguely, that it would be going against orders to speak with her brother. But not enough for him to try and find answers in a roundabout way, apparently. Glancing sidelong at the necromancer, Teselin sighed and offered a small nod. “I’ll see what I can do. I can’t make any promises, Kadri, but… I know that Cwenha was your friend, wasn’t she? I don’t blame you for wanting to know more. If I get answers for your questions… then I’ll pass them on to you. Alright?” She gently patted his arm and offered a kind smile. “You know… wherever Cwenha is, now, and whatever she is feeling, I think it would make her happy to know that you are still thinking of her. That she hasn’t been forgotten. Isn’t that all that we can really ask for, when we die? To live on in the memories of those who love us?”
“Alright. As far as I can tell… you’re in the clear.” Wiping imaginary perspiration from his brow, Isidor stepped out of the room what had to have been three-quarters of an hour later. “Nothing should be spontaneously combusting to your detriment, Vitali… and to my chagrin. Sounds like it is exactly something that you deserve.”
“Ah, what would I do without you, Isidor? Now I can rest in peace--quite literally.” The necromancer patted Isidor’s shoulder, from which the Master Alchemist visibly flinched. “Consider me in your debt. How might I repay you? Would you be interested in trying to get in touch with the spirit of that long lost friend of yours? I can’t make any guarantees, considering how long she has been dead, but know that I am willing to try to repay your genuine kindness.”
“There is no genuine kindness here, and you know it. You dragged Teselin into this to make me feel guilty if I refused.” Isidor hissed, though his eyes softened at the hurt look that his younger sister flashed him. “I’m… I didn’t mean it like that, Teselin. But you have to understand that I am never going to care for Vitali the way that you do. And you know why.”
Huffing an exasperated sigh, the Master Alchemist pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. “The next time you see fit to piss off another Master Alchemist, Vitali, I strongly suggest that you don’t. You want to repay me? Never ask for my help again. That’s what I want in return.”
Before anyone else could ask anything of him, Isidor pushed past the small gathering and turned the corner, en route to his own room again. No one could touch him on the other side of a locked door, and he wouldn’t be answering any knocks for the next handful of days at the very least, if he could help it. But happenstance wasn’t so kind as to allow him an obstacle-free path back to his own chamber where he could bask in the peace of silence and solitude. Just when Isidor thought he was in the clear, he came face to face with a face he hadn’t seen in quite some time… yet which had never faded from his mind’s eye. “T...Tivia.” She took a step forward, and it was all he could do not to take a step back, in return. “I’m just… Vitali required assistance, because he managed to earn the scorn of the other Master Alchemist, and I wouldn’t have helped but Teselin has a way of being convincing…” Stop! That little voice at the back of his mind shouted. You think she really gives a damn about any of that? About what you were doing? She is being polite, imbecile. “...I am faring well, thank you.” Backtracking after his awkward faux-pas, Isidor cleared his throat. “I was just on my way to my chambers…”
Someone else emerged from his peripheral vision. Judging from the pale cream-coloured robes, it was a Gardener. Isidor certainly saw his fair share of them during those rare times when he left his room and ventured into the corridors, and he wouldn’t have thought anything of it, had the young man not sidled next to Tivia as if he knew her--really knew her, and made some vague gestures that he could not understand. Not in that moment, at least, but as the gears turned in his head, it suddenly became very, very clear just what was going on. This man had cared for Tivia when she had needed it. She had recovered under his care, and now to compensate for her reduced hearing… he was teaching her a new means to communicate? With gestures and symbols that only the two of them understood. Gestures that meant nothing to an onlooker such as himself. It was like staring at Tivia through a window, where the glass prevented him from reaching her, however much he might have liked to.
He wasn’t even sure of what she said next. As if he himself had gone deaf, save for the hammering of his heart in his eyes, the Master Alchemist saw her lips move, saw the Gardener’s lips move, but didn’t understand a word that came out. What were they talking about? Was he expected to say something? Rubbing the back of his neck, Isidor forced a pathetic smile, because he didn’t know what else to do, feeling captive to the situation as he was. “Uhm… wonderful.” Having absolutely no idea whether or not that was an appropriate answer, and not caring enough to ask them to repeat, Isidor offered his own small bow. “It was good to see you. And to meet you. I mean--well… both. Uh… have a wonderful evening, the both of you.”
At the very least, neither of them seemed to have had the intent to linger, and Tivia was on her way with her new trustee, but not nearly fast enough. Not before he saw--with his own two eyes, which could not deceive him with the aid of his spectacles--a kiss. A kiss, shared by both the Rigas woman and the Gardener. No, it wasn’t a trick of the light, or of his exhausted mind. It had been real, just as real as when he’d once felt her lips upon his own. She’s moved on… she’s found someone else. But this was good--wasn’t this good? What did it matter if Tivia was healthy, happy, recovering? What did it matter if she wasn’t happy… with him?
You knew this would happen. It was only a matter of time. What did you think, you moron? That she would suddenly find your absence like a hole in her heart? Why would you tote yourself with such ridiculous importance! He had seen all he’d wanted (or never wanted) to see. Before either of them remembered that he was still there, standing just yards away from them as they shared a very public moment of intimacy, Isidor turned a corner and rushed toward his room. He didn’t stop until the door was firmly closed, at which point he let his knees finally give out as he slid down the wall, tears breaking free of his eyes and fogging up his glasses.
“Nah, forget it. It’s not happening. Just some more bullshit I strong-armed him into… Ari has no interest in playing music with me.” Nia waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Not like we could coordinate it, anyway. It was a stupid idea that he’ll probably be happy never to har about it again. I can’t even read music, for fuck sake.”
Funny how the recent revelation was able to colour everything in shades of grey. She couldn’t stop thinking of that harp when she’d first laid eyes upon it; now, she just wanted it gone. If Ari didn’t want it, then maybe she’d shove it into some corner and let it be forgotten. There was no more nostalgia in the silver strings: only pain. “I’m sorry if you wanna call it denial, wolf boy, but it is what it is. I’m angry. I fucked up the necromancer’s room because it was all I could do. So whatever your sixth sense is telling you or whatever… it’s wrong. Yeah, that’s right--you’re wrong. Maybe you weren’t wrong about the magic or whatever, but if you think this has made my whole world come crashing down or some horseshit, then you’re wrong.”
Crossing the room, Nia bent and picked up the stone, shoving it back into her pocket. “I am embarrassed that I was fooled. I’m angry. That’s all. You think it’s gonna crush me that I’ve actually been alone all this time, talking to a fucking wall or an illusion like you do? I’ve been on my own for over a fucking decade, my friend. I know how to navigate it by now. So even if this was all Locque’s plan, then the fault’s on me for somehow making her think that I needed someone. It’s not a big deal. I don’t need pretend images of dead loved ones, so yeah. I’ll ditch the stupid stone. And--if it gets your pants all out of a knot, I’ll even talk to Locque. I promise not to mention that you’re so keen on accusing her--you’re welcome, by the way.”
Nia couldn’t deny that she was feeling a little sore from being found out, though. Hadwin was right; being holed up in the same place for so long was bound to get her caught, and questioned. She couldn’t hide in the observatory forever, stewing in her ‘anger’. Locque needed her help, and it would only be a matter of time before the new monarch would lose patience with her. It was time to leave the observatory… and to leave the remnants of her hope with it, along with the stupid harp. She meant what she’d said: she would get rid of the stone, and forget about the illusions of her younger sisters. She would do it. Just… just not right now. Not yet.
Kicking the invisibility cloak aside, the Master Alchemist ran a hand through her hair and left the observatory, before she could change her mind and re-immerse herself in the comforting illusions that were Palla and Celene. It was late: no one would be traipsing about in the corridors at this hour. She knew the paths to take in order to avoid the necromancer, for whom she still had no kind words as of yet. All the same… she hadn’t intended to run into his brother.
Perhaps “run into” was not the right term. Isidor Kristeva was already preoccupied with a couple of other individuals, one a Gardener, and the other she recognized as the Rigas girl--the star seer, with whom the other Master Alchemist was clearly smitten. So as not to interrupt, she kept her distance behind a corner as their conversation played out, keeping only one eye on them out of curiosity. Isidor stood, soundless and motionless, as Tivia and the Gardener spoke to him, and then went on their way… and she didn’t miss what happened next. That kiss--and Isidor did not miss it, either. The despair that dawned on his pale features, as the woman he clearly loved had chosen to love another. Isidor was so struck by the incident that he turned tail and turned a corner, hurrying straight past Nia without so much as seeing her. And perhaps it was out of her own selfish desire, but for all Isidor wanted to be alone, Nia followed. She followed, and stood back as he found his way to his room and slammed the door. Then she waited a moment--two, for good measure, before knocking on the door. Of course he did not answer, considering when he’d last answered his door, he’d been strong-armed into helping Vitali. But she hadn’t heard the latch fall into place and lock her out on the other side, so she tried the handle, and against her better judgment, pushed it open.
“...what in the hell!” Isidor was on the floor, tears steaming his spectacles, but he was on his feet again upon the intrusion. “Who do you think you are? Get the hell out of here!”
“I saw what happened. With the Rigas girl. I’m… sorry. That looked like it hurt. And you’re not alright.” Nia’s arms hung at her sides, and she shrugged her shoulders. “Honestly… I don’t know what I’m doing here. I’m just… I guess I’m not alright, either. And I don’t know who else can understand.”
“Understand this: I want you out, now.” Tearing the spectacles from his face, he wiped his tear-filled eyes on the sleeve of his tunic. “You are not welcome here!”
“Yeah… I’ve heard that before. A lot, actually. Hey, I just wanted to know. I just wondered… do you think it’s ridiculous? To cling to something you know is total bullshit, but that… that still brings you some modicum of comfort? Your brother, he got me real good. Made me think I was seeing my dead sisters. I’m embarrassed, I’ll admit, but is it… is it stupid to think that maybe there was something real about it? To want to still see them, even if they aren’t real?”
“I don’t know what made you think I’d spare even a moment to listen to you, let alone talk to you.” Isidor wasn’t having it. He jabbed a finger toward the door. “Leave, Ardane!”
Nia nodded her understanding. But… she hesitated to comply. And then she went on. “Do you really want me to? Is being alone really what you want? Here’s a secret: I thought I was okay with it, too. I’ve been on my own for over a decade, so what does it matter if my sisters aren’t really there? That haven’t been for years, anyway! But for what it’s worth, you’re not alone, you know. And as much as you hate to admit it, we’re really not so different. We’ve both lost probably more than we’re okay with. We’ve both gone through the required suffering to be where we are and who we are. And hey, it just so happens that the guy I have my eye on probably won’t even think of me the same way, either. Not more than a quirky friend, at least. So all that unrequited infatuation is something I’m no stranger, too.” She shook her head with a humourless smile. “So--hey, Isidor, you can choose hate me. That’s totally understandable. But… if you might consider otherwise, then… I dunno. Maybe we can feel like a couple of idiots together. We’re not all that different, Is. And maybe you think that’s a really, really bad thing. But…” Nia cleared her throat, that was growing increasingly tight as tears gathered in her eyes. “Maybe it’s not, huh? Maybe there’s a chance… we can help each other?”
Why was she making this plea? Why, when she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that reaching out to someone who hated her was so futile? Against her better judgment, Nia laughed to try and offset the awkwardness that she had created. “Wow. I’m a bigger imbecile than I thought. This is ridiculous, isn’t it? You’re clearly hurting, and I’m not in good shape, and you hate me… I don’t know what I expected, Isidor. Misery loves company, or some shit. I’m… really sorry.”
Isidor had a variety of reasons for having avoided Nia for as long as he did, and he very well knew that a good part of that reason was because he feared precisely what she said: that they were too much alike. And that through that likeness… it might not be possible to continue to hate her with the intensity that he did. But she had breached his defenses, and now she was standing before him, reaching out for… help? Because his brother had played her for a fool? No… no, no, no, he couldn’t start feeling sorry for her! She’d made her bed, she’d chosen her side, but… but she had never asked to be shattered. And it was too late but to see it, now, the way she was so close to falling apart in front of someone she knew despised her. Someone she had reached out to for… for help? Knowing full well that he was hardly capable of helping himself? But it was too late: he saw the tears on her face. Heard that catch in her voice that suggested she didn’t really want to be telling him any of this, to be this vulnerable in front of someone who hated her, but she was lost. And for some reason, he had become her only beacon.
“...what do you want from me?” Defeated, he turned his hands palms up. “What is this about? I can’t help you, Nia. I can’t make what Vitali showed you real. I couldn’t even help the woman that mattered to me! So what made you think that coming to me was your answer?”
“I-I don’t know. I wasn’t really thinking. But maybe… maybe we can just help each other forget, just for a little while? You think I can’t see why you are the way you are. I can… and I don’t blame you. Not for any of it. Maybe I can help you forget… just for tonight. It would help me, too.”
Nia took a step forward, only for Isidor to recoil immediately. “Don’t touch me.” He hissed. The alchemist stone! It was still under his skin, and if she touched him--
“Got something to hide? Then give me something to forget about it--you’re a Master Alchemist, off all people, I know you’re capable of it. I don’t care. I’m not here to condemn you. I-I’m just…” She closed the distance between them, but respectful of his boundaries, she didn’t touch him. Heavens help her if she hadn’t learned her lesson about touch aversion from Ari, at this point. “I don’t know what else to do. Because if I have to be alone, tonight, then I’m just going to go back to the observatory. And I’m going to entertain the illusions of my dead sisters, ‘cause it’s all I’ve got. It’s all I’ve got left of them and… and I shouldn’t have to feel like this. And neither…. Neither should you! Okay? Neither should you…”
She took a chance--she touched his tear-stained cheek, and he didn’t pull away. This isn’t the answer. Not for either of us. Nia knew that, and she had a feeling Isidor did too, even when he didn’t shy away from her kiss. But it’s fine for now… just for now. Just for tonight. Tomorrow is another day.
Tivia Rigas was desperate for stability.
Considering the list of events that had flashed past her one eye, occurring not as errant visions, but in real-time, the star-seer had planted her feet into the ground in a bid to quell the dizzying spin of the sky, which had grown worse following the major loss of her hearing and thus, her equilibrium. Between Alster’s recovery, Locque’s soft-takeover, the fallout with Isidor, her long rehabilitation period, and the general hopelessness of her portentous destiny, Tivia yearned for a light, something unwavering, pure, and understanding, to distract her failing body and the destructive gifts that stole from her health and sanity whenever she called upon the strength of the stars. With Alster and Elespeth gone, Vitali surface-level serving the enemy, Teselin too knee-deep in Kavanagh troubles, and every other ally put under a self-imposed gag order as protection from sorceress detection, she hadn’t a soul she could reach for comfort.
During her weeks of convalescence, she was a subject of interest, a study in healing-resistance. The Gardeners had deemed her case a magic-created cochlear occlusion; in other words, the stars had declared, regardless of the Night Garden’s healing medicines, that her hearing loss would remain largely irreparable--with her only saving grace a minimal recovery. So, too, was the conclusion to the burns marring the left side of her face. Magic, even miracle Garden magic, was ill-equipped in removing or lessening the scars that rippled and distorted her skin. And if the skin could not be restored, neither could her eye. The fire had melted the upper lid shut, leaving the area a mess of scar tissue too delicate for operation. Although the Clematis Healer, Elias, had suggested a highly invasive and experimental procedure involving the transfer of healthy skin to the affected area, and vice versa, its success rate paled in comparison to Isidor’s alchemical expertise, which had seen handsome results. In the end, she rejected Elias’s offer. What did it matter, anyway? Burned, half-blind, mostly deaf, unseated from reality as stars nonstop flashed their messages, Tivia was imbalance incarnate. The sooner she accepted her lot, the better.
Out of self-pity, she nearly ran to Isidor’s chambers to beg him for another chance, out of the sheer, cloying terror of isolation, which had grown stronger as the rich vibrato of the world faded, and faded...and silenced. But the Master Alchemist was a busy man. A broken man, too. Her petty complaints would compound his troubles, and she didn’t want him to view her as a user, turning to him when it suited her needs alone. The truth was, she couldn’t abide by his self-destruction; couldn’t be a party to it, or couldn’t be its cause. The neglectful Master Alchemist required care, more care than she felt able to give. Not when she couldn’t care for herself. As two separate entities, they teetered on the edge. Together...they’d fall over the edge. Much as she hungered for the warm sink of his arms, the welcome cloud who caught her as existence disintegrated, leaving only her, only him, it was irresponsible to worsen the poor man’s already fragile psyche with her selfishness and greed.
Making up her mind, she resolved to face her multi-faceted issues on her own. It wouldn’t be too hard, she reasoned. Seeing as the reveal of her prognostications to her allies could endanger or shift their chances for victory, Tivia’s best plan was to stop, do nothing, and self-isolate. To sleep away the next few months and hope for the best.
Then along came Erevahl. The perfect distraction.
Upon learning of Tivia’s hearing impairment, the Gardener volunteered his specialized knowledge to help her transition go as smoothly as possible. Armed with the ability to communicate a language separate from sound, one that utilized specific hand and finger combinations, he offered to teach her how to stay connected to the world she was determined to ignore. Instead of declining, his eagerness and subtle charms endeared her to him, and she agreed to take his lessons. The man was nothing but respectful; a true mentor. His mouth dimpled whenever he smiled; his brown eyes exuded warm shades of positive energy, and he always brought a welcome, easy attitude to their every encounter. No drama trailed after him like a black kite blotting the sun. He didn’t suffer from malaises of the mind, body, or spirit--at least, not outwardly. Pure. He shined like a pure, unwavering light, steadfast as the sun (the sole star that never assaulted her with visions). After several weeks, Erevahl asked to court her, and no conflict stirred in her gut when she answered, ‘Yes.’
Compared to her last three infatuations, Erevahl didn’t carry Haraldur’s wounded convictions, Vitali’s cold arrogance and disinterest, or Isidor’s savior complex. Refreshingly, he read like an open book, frank without treading on heartlessness and earnest in all facets of their relationship. When she detailed her frequent star-related encounters, he first asked how best he could accommodate her to an optimal level of comfort and happily assisted, never overstepping their established boundaries. A fortnight after their courtship began, he moved into her chambers, a mutual leap forward that neither party had regretted thus far. She reveled in the comfort his bare, solid embrace provided, a sentinel standing guard against the nightmares, the visions, and the loneliness. No, she hadn’t regretted their relationship at all.
Until she ran into Isidor.
Since she started seeing Erevahl, Tivia had avoided Isidor. Not difficult, considering the Master Alchemist’s hermetic nature, and no one reported his whereabouts outside the safety of his chambers. It was cruel not to check up on him, but she deemed it a necessary cruelty. Better not to get his hopes up; better not to spark old, undying sentiments dredged up in the moment. Thus assured she wouldn’t encounter him, Tivia relaxed her guard, and welcomed more frequent strolls beside her uncomplicated lover. They were just returning from a bioluminescent tour of the Night Garden’s nocturnal fauna when she met Isidor in the hallway, against the odds. Stopping short, her heart seized, swallowing so hard on her saliva, she nearly choked on her words of greeting. His tumult of a response fluttered out of his mouth at a rate too quick to decipher. Atop Isidor’s soft-spoken nature, Tivia was still honing her lip-reading ability, and gleaned about half of his words. Thankfully, Erevahl slid forward and saved their awkward conversation. His existence gave her a focus, a target, and helped in the social-navigation of choppy waters to safe harbor. Pleased by their conclusive remarks, she turned to let Isidor go on his way…
But Erevahl had miscalculated. Instead of kissing her in the Night Garden, or in the privacy of their chambers, he decided to make a bold statement mere paces away from another person--another person whom she had former relations.
In mortification, she pushed him away, pantomiming her discontent in full, wide-gestured display. Why would he do such a thing? Erevahl knew about her and Isidor. Did he feel threatened? Insecure?
While settling in bed for the night, Erevahl bowed his head and apologized for his unwarranted display of affection. Though she accepted the apology, she feared the damage was done. She couldn’t hide the truth from people forever, but she at least wanted to spare Isidor any further pain. A visit explaining the situation wouldn’t suffice, but if she acted quickly, perhaps she might mitigate some of the wreckage. Yes, she’d call upon him in the morning. Alone. Not sure what she’d possibly say to lessen the blow, if she slept, perhaps a suitable response would materialize in her dreams, ready for her to draft out, come dawn.
No ideas visited her in dreams. She did not dream at all. In place of dreams, the stars asserted dominance over her unconscious mind, wrenching open her prophetic eye in a deluge of rapid images. Since losing the majority of her auditory senses, when the heavens chattered, she no longer heard their whines of impossible pitch. They still spoke in shrill voices, but no horrifying feedback amplified the sound to head-splitting, ear-bleeding levels.
But while her newfound impairment turned out as a mixed blessing, nothing about what she saw could be classified as a blessing.
Twisted bedsheets. A guttering candle upon a bedside table, pulsing to the sounds of a shared rhythm. Thump thump thump. Two naked bodies melded, dripping, melting like wax in the firelight. Two faces, lost to the throes of passion, lifted from the shadows, revealed in the lambent, red-orange glow.
Two Master Alchemists. Nia Ardane...and Isidor.
Now. The star, influenced by her past intimacies with its human counterpart, hummed, its accuracy indisputable. This was happening now.
How did this come about!?
Another image superimposed over the two tussling bodies, revealing the moments before the unlikely union. Nia’s intrusion. Isidor, demanding that she leave. Her refusal. The ensuing conversation. The resignation. The agreement. The tryst.
I’ve seen enough.
Isidor’s star, obliging, winked its last and receded into inky oblivion, leaving Tivia huddling in the cold, drafty darkness.
Gasping awake, she shot out of bed, limbs shivering and teeth achatter. During her unprovoked vision, she had kicked off her sheets and roamed far from the radiating touch of Erevahl’s embrace. Instead of reuniting with her lover, who hadn’t stirred from his slumber, Tivia got out of bed, threw on a thick shawl to conceal her nightdress, and pulled on a pair of slippers. Carefully, she lifted open the door latch and shuffled out of her chambers.
The middle of the night brought an eerie ambiance to the deserted palace hallways. Slivers of moonlight filtered through the high windows, anticipating the path ahead and illuminating it for its hapless traveler. Hugging the shawl close to her body, Tivia glided over the moon’s walkway, her determination strengthened by the night’s grace, where the stars glittered their brightest and lent her supreme guidance. Self-possessed, she strode forward, her footfalls steady and resolute. When she reached Isidor’s quarters, she did not stop; it was not her destination. Turning the corner, she spotted her destination; a roving one, replete with legs, breath, and a heartbeat. Nia Ardane had retreated from the scene, but did not travel far before Tivia caught up to her gait.
“Nia Ardane.” She reached out and anchored her in place by the arm. Unsurprisingly, Locque’s Master Alchemist jumped in surprise and twisted in view of her captor, who, entrapped by the remnants of moon-thread, appeared less human and more like an ethereal being.
“I know what happened. I saw everything. Against my will,” she muttered as an aside. “I also saw what happened, before. How you entered without invitation, disrespected Isidor’s wishes, and forced yourself on him. He was hurting, and vulnerable, and you took advantage of that vulnerability, refusing to leave until he agreed to give you what you wanted. Nia,” her tone took on a dangerous edge, “I am not so arrogant as to believe that Isidor can’t have his share of trysts. Nor am I ignorant of or unaffected by his reaction to my current relationship. I never wanted him to find out in quite that way. No--I am here because you crossed a line. You bullied him into compliance and I hate it. I hate what you did. People like you are all the same.” Her grip tightened around Nia’s wrist. “Your wolf companion, Hadwin Kavanagh, fucked my mother in a moment of vulnerability. And here you are, fucking a man who deserves not to be fucked with, or fucked over. He’s suffered enough--and I’ve suffered enough of your kind’s monumental acts of selfishness and abuse.” She swallowed the tremors that threatened to overpower her speech. She would not allow her message to be weakened by resigning to her outrage. “I won’t forget this. In the future, when you need help--and you will need help,” her eye sparked with the prescient star-knowledge to which only she was privy, “please remember this conversation.”
Releasing the reviled Master Alchemist’s hand in disgust, Tivia Rigas drifted away and, as though she were made of vapor, seemed to dematerialize into the moonlight, and out of sight.
Tivia spent the remainder of the evening awake in bed, limp, stiff-bodied, and wholly unresponsive to touch--including the soft, pliant fingers of Erevahl, who awoke to dole her a few morning caresses. In a bid not to alarm the gentle Gardener of her warring state-of-mind, the sleepless night, or her moonlight gallivant, Tivia lolled a lazy smile and playfully nipped at his nose before dancing away from the clutches of his incoming bear hug. All morning, she maintained the facade, washing, dressing, and breaking fast, holding the deception with admirable placidity and fortitude. Only when Erevahl parted en route to the Night Garden for his Gardener duties did Tivia drop the pleasantness from her smile-sore lips. By noon, she set off from her chambers, later finding herself in front of Isidor’s door. Last night, she promised a forthright explanation regarding her new significant other, but that was before the Alchemist’s star had shown her an explicit scene featuring two intimate partners in the deeps of sexual expression. But however willing Isidor had appeared, there was no mistaking how Nia pressured him into the act, though emotional manipulation and a flagrant dismissal of personal boundaries. Her grievances concerning Nia were well-founded and justified.
She couldn’t well broach the subject with Isidor, though. No, she wouldn’t. As intended, she paid him a visit for one reason and one reason alone.
Raising a fist, she knocked on his door. Once. Twice. Three times. No reply. “Isidor, it’s Tivia!” Silence. The man seldom slept and she could somehow sense he was alone. No Nia inside, further mucking up a profoundly delicate situation. “If you happen to be speaking through the door, I cannot hear you.” No vibration of feet on the floor. No clanking of the door-latch. Nothing. “If this is a bad time, I’ll return, but if you can hear me--I apologize for last night. I...hadn’t wanted you to see. And I wasn’t ready to tell you in case it was too soon, or too shocking. But then he...well, we both know what happened. I didn’t plan my coupling with Erevahl. He was simply there and...events escalated organically. It doesn’t mean I’ve quit caring about you. Vitali, he,” she nearly bit her tongue, hesitating to broach the subject of Isidor’s most-despised brother, “I loved him, and he continually rejected me. Yet, we managed to live over a year together contentedly, as friends. If it pleases you, Isidor, let’s,” she stammered, “let’s correspond as friends. I would like that.” She pressed her ear to the door; not like it made a dram of difference; her barely-functioning ear detected no movement from inside. “Would you?”
Though he played the moment over and over in his mind, the moment where he let go of his objections and conceded to Nia Ardane’s desires, Isidor still wasn’t sure what happened. What made him accept that wretched woman’s kiss and embrace, to do what he never thought in a million years that he would find himself doing, and take her into his bed. Nia was relentless. She had come with a purpose, to which she admitted was selfish, at least in part, but there was something else that made up his mind in that pivotal moment when he could have rejected her and pushed her away for good--just like Tivia had pushed him away. Something that she had said, beyond her desperate plea for a distraction, had wormed its way into his mind, his heart, and he couldn’t disregard it in time to think clearly on what he really wanted from this situation. I shouldn’t have to feel like this… and neither should you.
He hadn’t wanted it. He hadn’t wanted her, and yet… and yet, the Kristeva brother would have been a liar to declare that it had not been mutually consensual. She didn’t force him to accept her kiss. Didn’t force him to pull her into an embrace or to help her disrobe, and didn’t push her hands away when she helped him disrobe, in turn. Because at that moment, when he was already overcome with his own grief and deep-seated self-loathing, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was a chance her words held some merit. Some slight possibility that this would snap him out of his own defeat. What if she was right? He couldn’t hide his vulnerability from her, couldn’t hide the fact that he was, largely, a broken man. And she, too, despite his preconceived assumptions of her, had not made it to where she was today entirely unscathed. Isidor didn’t quite understand what his brother had done to hurt her, or why. But their unique circumstances had, in fact, brought them to a level playing field where neither one had power over the other. And maybe, just maybe, two broken halves could meet in the middle to temporarily feel whole.
So Isidor threw caution and preference to the wind, and for the next better part of an hour, he gave himself over to Nia Ardane as she gave herself over to him. Of course, it wasn’t the same as it had been with Tivia--not by a long shot. While he had not been the Star Seer’s first venture beneath the sheets, Nia toted a sort of confidence and experience that strongly suggested this was not the first time she had found a means to distract herself in such a fashion. That said, for all she’d forced her way into his room with this outrageous proposition, she had a respectful demeanor about her even during their intimate encounter. He could have asked her to stop at any point, and he was fairly certain that she would have… but he didn’t. Because while Nia took advantage of his vulnerability, so, too, did he take advantage of hers. She was an open wound, desperately seeking a bandage before she bled out, and oh, how he could have hurt her. How he could have turned this entire situation against her and told her words that would cut straight through to her heart, from which she might never recover. Isidor had never possessed such an extent of power; not even when he had killed Zenech. That had been about luck, not power, when the man had actually drunk the beverage that he had poisoned. No, at no point in his life had Isidor Kristeva ever felt as though he’d had power over anyone, and he could have used it. He could have taken out his pain and frustration on this woman who only sought him as a damn distraction!
But he didn’t. As angry as he was, with her, with Tivia, with himself and the universe at large, he did not take this once in a lifetime opportunity to completely shatter the already fractured Nia Ardane. What would have been the point? She was already miserable. They were both miserable… and so, they had chosen to bask in one another’s misery. He had already destroyed any potential with being with the woman he did love, so if he was already on the path to destruction, what did a completely uncharacteristic tryst matter? Because Isidor could think of nothing more destructive than lying with Nia Ardane.
Ultimately, it wasn’t even much of a distraction; at least, not for him. Sex did not put his misery on hold. Instead, with every undulation of his body, with every breath he took, he hated himself more and more. And by the time they finished, he was certain he couldn’t possibly sink any deeper into his own abyss.
For some time afterward, the two of them laid in silence, Nia facing him but he with his back to her. At last, he sat up and reached for his trousers. His movement ultimately broke the other Master Alchemist’s silence to his left. “It’s a lonely road we walk, isn’t it? So much that we have to lose for so little gain.” Her tone was quiet, something that was decidedly uncharacteristic of the otherwise boisterous and obnoxious Master Alchemist. “I heard… that you once had someone. Someone who was very dear to you. Someone you feel as though you let down.” Noticing how Isidor visibly stiffened, she went on quickly, “I had someone like that, too. She was my little sister. She was only eleven years old when she died. I think… I could have stopped it. At least, I think I could have. I don’t know how. But if I’d just found a way to remove her from that path that our family was forced to follow… she might be here. Isidor, I’m not talking to you and telling you this because I want you to feel sorry for me. I’m saying it because I was once in the position you are in: feeling guilty, wishing for different outcomes… and if only I’d had someone then to talk to me like I am talking to you, now.”
“You’re wrong. You’re wrong about a lot, Nia.” The tall man fastened the button at his waist. He didn’t turn to look at the woman in the bed behind him. “You said we don’t deserve to feel like this. To feel this kind of pain… and you’re wrong. I deserve it--every second, every moment of it. Not only for what I’ve done, whether or not I had a choice in the matter, but for what I failed to do. For so many people. For Tivia. For… for Arisza. I deserve it all. And so do you.” At last he turned to snatch his tunic from the foot of the bed. “For your own lack of remorse. For following the same path. I don’t know if you had a choice, either, and I don’t care. Anyone who treads this path is guilty, and deserves every bit of pain that others have suffered at our hands. That is clear to me now. Everything that has happened to me, to you… it is the least that we deserve.”
Picking up the leathers that Nia had hastily discarded on the floor, Isidor tossed them in her direction. “I thought I couldn’t be angrier at myself than I was tonight--but you proved me wrong. You were right about one thing: we are alike. And that is why I can’t stand you… because we are alike, and I can hardly stand myself.” Making a vague gesture to the door, the now fully dressed Master Alchemist told her, “Leave.”
“It doesn’t have to be like that.” Nia regarded Isidor with a mixture of pleading and sorrow. “You… we don’t have to suffer it alone, Isidor. There are so few of us. We can take what we have gained, and we can pay it back to the world. Haven’t you done that already? By helping people? By saving Elespeth Rigas’s life, and then some? You’re right, we can’t wash the blood from our hands. But we can take what we have and use it for good. Use it for others.”
“Just like you are using your skills for Locque?” Isidor hissed the tyrant’s name. “You won’t even heed your own words. I’m sorry, but you’ll find no comfort from me. This--all of this--was a huge, ridiculous mistake. Now leave.”
Nia picked up her bodice from where he’d tossed it in her direction. She knew when she’d lost, and there was no recovering from this. But all the same, she couldn’t help but ask, “Isn’t it… even just a little bit reassuring, Isidor? To know that there’s someone who’s hurting just as much as you? To know you’re… you’re not really alone in it?”
“No. Please, don’t make me ask you again.”
The woman on his bed nodded, hesitating only briefly, before she said, “You never answered my question from before. Is it… ridiculous? To want to take comfort in… in mere illusions? Now that I know what they are.”
“...I can’t answer that for you.” It was perhaps the kindest thing that Isidor could have said to her, as opposed to calling her a flat-out imbecile. But the truth was… he still took comfort in Arisza’s illusion, if that was what it truly was. Sometimes seeing her was enough to take the edge off of despair. He therefore couldn’t fault Nia for feeling the same way about her own illusions. Maybe that made the both of them crazy. “No one can answer that but you. Goodbye, Nia. Do not seek me out again.”
Hastily dressing, the Ardane woman ran her fingers through her hair and left far more silently than she’d come in. Of course, she had known from the beginning that this was a lost cause and a fruitless effort. If he hadn’t already committed to despising her and everything she stood for, Isidor Kristeva harboured such intense loathing for himself that the similarities in their pasts only fueled that fire and made it all the more unlikely that he would ever see her as anything but an infected wound on humanity. So… why had she bothered trying? Truth be told, Nia hadn’t even wanted sex. It was hard to be in the mood for it when her heart already felt so heavy. She’d just wanted… what she’d hoped for was some understanding. Someone to whom she wouldn’t have to explain the hurt she felt from the wound that Vitali Kristeva had opened in her with his antics. No, she hadn’t wanted sex; she had wanted to cry, and for someone to be there while she cried, so that for once, she wouldn’t have to cry alone. Someone around whom it was safe to be vulnerable. Isidor hadn’t hurt her, but he was not that person. And now, she was back to square one, with the exception of likely having further alienated someone who could have been a potential ally.
And Isidor wasn’t the only one she had successfully alienated. Nia dabbed at tears in her eyes before they could fall as she blindly made her way down the corridor, toward… where? Where was she going now? To her room, the Night Garden, back to the observatory? It didn’t matter, because she was intercepted by someone with footfalls so quiet that Nia jumped when they grabbed her wrist. “...oh! Hey, you’re the Star Seer, right? Tivia Rigas?” Pushing all signs of emotional vulnerability behind a carefully practiced smile, she angled her head in confusion. “What can I do for you? Kind of a weird time to be wandering around the hallways, huh? Though I suppose I’m one to talk, aren’t I.”
It turned out Tivia wanted nothing from her, but in fact, had a lot to give her, in the form of simmering vitriol. Nia raised her eyebrows, but that wasn’t even the extent of her surprise. So this girl had seen it all? Well so much for privacy with a fucking Star Seer around, in that case. “Okay--listen. So, your uncanny, cosmic voyeurism aside…” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “If you think this was some half-assed attempt to hurt you, then I guess you’re not as committed to your current love affair as I thought. He’s a Gardener, right? What, too goody-two-shoes for you? Yeah, I saw some things too, Tivia. But in my defense, I really did think you were over the younger Kristeva brother. Furthermore… I wasn’t trying to hurt him, either. Far from it, in fact. And not that it really is any of your business, considering how you left him a mess of bleeding feelings with your public display of affection, but I thought… it was stupid, but I thought that just maybe, it could help both of us. I know exactly what he’s gone through because I went through the same. I know what he’s lost, what he’s sacrificed. And I needed… I needed someone who might understand. That maybe there was a chance that was what he needed, to. But I’ll be the first to admit I was wrong. I mean, you can clearly see he didn’t invite me to stay the night, right?”
The Master Alchemist pulled her wrist free from the other woman’s grip, which wasn’t particularly strong. “You can be as angry at me as you like; I’ve really got nothing to prove to you. And I’ll be sure not to ask for you… ‘help’, whatever the hell that means. So how about you be honest with yourself for a second and address what’s really got your preferred Master Alchemist down. What really matters to you, huh? Isidor or that drole Gardener you’ve snagged? You think you’re gonna have your cake and eat it too?” Without warning, she rested a heavy hand on Tivia’s shoulder and met her good eye, speaking slowly so that she could read her lips. “I might’ve pissed him off, just now, but I’m not the one who really hurt him. Are you tone-deaf as well as deaf in general, or are you just in denial that you broke that man’s fucking heart? You could’ve been his hope, you know. Could’ve steered him away from all that self-loathing that’s preventing him from healing, but you didn’t want his help--and you didn’t want his love. Yeah, I’ve heard a thing or two around this place as well. So I’d say get off your high horse, but you never had one to begin with. You’re as bad as me; as my kind, whatever the hell you mean by that.”
Releasing her, Nia took several steps back, unsure as to how much longer she could keep up her strong front before she fell apart, again. With nothing more to say, she then turned and picked up her pace as she made her way down the corridor, walking twice as quickly as usual. She still didn’t know where she wanted to go; just away, from the accusing Star Seer that rubbed salt in her fresh wounds.
And Nia Ardane was not the only one who didn’t know what to do with themselves in the aftermath of that ‘mistake’. Isidor sat with his back to the wall for hours after Nia left, trying to make sense of what happened. Of how she had managed to convince him to lie with her, of all of her petty words and pleas… and the worst of it was, he wasn’t sure what felt worse: that he had been with her at all, or that he had turned her away when she was very clearly reaching out for help, however unorthodox her methods. She wasn’t wrong; well, not about everything. A part of him did want someone who understood what he’d been through, why it had made him the way that he was. A kindred spirit, when there were so few. And despite her connections with Locque… Nia Ardane, at the end of the day, was just another human seeking human contact. Had he squandered a perfectly good opportunity? One in which he could have entertained her, led her on long enough for her to to turn on Locque?
And what kind of asshole would that have made you? A voice taunted at the back of his mind. You of all people should know better than to fuck with someone’s heart. Turning her away was the best thing you could have done.
At some point during the morning, when there was a knock on, he realized he hadn’t slept a wink. The voice on the other side startled him into full wakefulness all the same. Tivia… what was she doing there? What did she want? Pushing himself to his feet, Isidor rubbed his arm, the one in which he had embedded the alchemist stone. He would need to have it removed and find a new hiding place for it, sooner than later; after direct contact with Nia Ardane, there was no doubt she knew what he was hiding. How could he have been so stupid?
Figuring that Tivia probably wouldn’t go away unless she got some sort of response that she could read on his lips, Isidor snatched his spectacles from his desk and propped them on the bridge of his nose before opening the door. At one point… hell, even just a few hours ago, he’d have greeted the woman whom he still cared for with as much grace as he could muster. But here and now, after a sleepless night and a horrible mistake that he’d have to live with for the rest of his life, he had nothing left to give. Not even to Tivia Rigas. “It’s barely morning, Tivia. And you really think the first thing I want to hear from you is how you compare your relationship with my brother to whatever is left of our own connection?”
He hadn’t meant to be cold. In fact, his words packed no punch, but only the exhaustion that was evident from the bags under his eyes. “Since you have been so kind as to be frank with me, then I will be frank with you when I say that… no. No, Tivia, I don’t want your friendship. Not anymore.” Isidor shook his head and ran a hand through his inky dark hair. By now, it touched his shoulders; he hadn’t chopped it off at the nape of his neck since before arriving in Galeyn. “Do not take this the wrong way--I am happy for you. That you’ve found happiness in another person. You deserve as much. But the events that have unfolded here in Galeyn have shown me what I suspected all along… that I am better off back in Nairit. In my tower. I know what to expect, there, and I don’t have to meet the expectations of others. I can lend out my services to those who need it from afar without having to deal with mind-games, or being manipulated by other people. That is my home… and when all is said and done, I am going to return to it. So it makes little sense to harbour and further relationships in this kingdom.”
Isidor folded his arms and rocked back on his heels, staring down at the tips of his boots so as to avoid Tivia’s penetrating gaze. “I still have commitments, here. Primarily to contribute to the safety of the people to whom I’ve made promises: Alster, Teselin, even Queen Lilica still needs something from me. But when everything falls apart at last, and the dust has cleared… I am leaving this place, and everyone and everything in it behind.” As soon as it is safe to resurrect Cwenha, he thought, feeling relieved that after studying her likeness in paintings and now in stone, he was ready to get to work on developing her homunculus body. When Locque was done away with, that would be his final act. Galeyn didn’t need him. Teselin had Hadwin; Alster had Elespeth. And now, Tivia had a Gardener. There was nothing left for him here but to tie up loose ends.
“I’m sorry if that isn’t what you want to hear, but I see no reason to lie to you. I like to think that I’m better than that. I do wish you well in whatever the future holds for you; though only you know what that is.” Before retreating back inside, Isidor paused, and something about the decidedly guilty slouch of Tivia’s shoulders made him wonder… did she know? About what he… he… Was that why she was here? “...leave Ardane alone, by the way. It seems as though she already got what was coming to her. I don’t think there’s much more you can do to make her miserable.”
With nothing left to say, Isidor bid her a silent farewell with a nod, and quietly closed the door. He didn’t know if he would find sleep, but for the rest of the day, he confined himself to his bed--alone--without moving.
Thinking he’d effectively shut her out (or was, by some miracle, sleeping), Tivia was about to bow off in retreat when the door swung inward and Isidor crept through the threshold, bleary-eyed and disheveled beyond the normal amount. Whatever he had gained from a night spent in Nia Ardane’s company, he reaped no apparent benefits. In fact, he appeared worse-off than when she encountered him in the hallway the other night. In just a few short hours, he underwent a metamorphosis of misery so elaborate and profound, her heart threatened to ground and twist into grist. It hurt to see. It hurt so much, her hands twitched to comfort him in an embrace, to declare that she’d been foolish to reject him and to plead for another chance. Anything to siphon away the pain.
But was that the pity talking? The guilt?
Nia wasn’t wrong. She had broken his heart. She wasn’t daft. All along, she knew she had landed a crushing defeat. You could have been his hope...
That’s not my responsibility, she snapped at Nia’s echo, the parting words still lodged in her mind like splinters she couldn’t extricate. Isidor is not some project. Not someone I must tinker and ‘fix.’ I can hardly fix myself! Every attempt I make, something essential breaks! I’m deaf; next, I won’t be surprised to lose my other eye and go fully blind. No—I am no one’s hope. He would destroy himself for me. That is not hope. Not if he’s dead. I would send him to his doom.
Unsure of how else to greet Isidor, an uncertain smile plied at her lips. “It is...uh, it is the afternoon, Isidor,” she informed him, gently. “I’m...I’m sorry,” the smile blew off her lips in place of red-faced shame as she stared at the ground. “Referencing Vitaly...that was a horrid comparison, but it is the only one I have to express my point. I was hasty in cutting you from my life and…”
She looked up in time to read the response on his lips. No. What did she expect? An enthusiastic nod followed by, ‘I would love to accept your friendship and the daily soul-crushing reminder that I’m a mere accessory to your happiness’? You cannot have your cake and eat it, too, sneered the echo Nia in her head.
“Of...of course. More foolishness on my end.” She played with the tufts of her blonde hair; unbraided, it hung loose over the concealed left side of her face. What he said next came as no surprise, considering his plans for an eventual return to his tower once he completed the projects he promised to fulfill. Thanks to her prior entreaties that he stay, back when they were together, he conceded, and chose to delay his departure. For as long as she needed him, he would stay.
And here she had gone and tossed his unconditional kindness out the window! Now that she had moved on, so to speak, nothing was holding him back from implementing his original plans to shut away the world and rot until merciful death snuffed out his life for good.
...It didn’t sound like a bad idea.
“I...I see. Thank you for being frank,” she managed after a length pause. As it grew too agonizing to maintain eye contact, her gaze wandered past his head, honing in on the paper-strewn mess of the dusty, dark study inside. No longer equipped with the ammunition to dissuade his decision, Tivia had no choice but to respect his wishes. “Alster will be saddened to hear the news.” I am saddened, read her hidden subtext.
“I suppose I, too, shall be frank before I take my leave. Before we carry on as strangers. Isidor, I,” she shifted uneasily on one foot, “when I had collapsed from performing Alster’s star-tethering ritual, and you helped me to the sanctuary...I felt so safe and warm in your arms. In that sacred moment where senses failed and I could only rely on touch, I was convinced nothing bad would happen as long as you kept near and...and didn’t let go. But you left...and you took that warmth. I didn’t want you to leave. I said, ‘Don’t go,’ but...out loud or in my head, I don’t know. I was so disoriented and you were so refreshingly familiar. In my convalescence, I—I asked for you.” She twisted tendrils of hair tightly around her finger and yanked; the slight, smarting pressure gave her the strength to continue. “Several times. The Gardeners said they couldn’t reach you and I...stopped asking. I was afraid you didn’t want to see me.”
“The truth about Erevahl,” she tried to take a deep breath but, in her distress, it came out as a stagger, “is that he walked into my life when I was in such desperate need of hope and a distraction. I’m practically deaf. I’ve had to change my pitch just to hear myself speak. The Gardeners can’t heal me. My future seems so bleak. And, most consuming of all, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About how I hurt you. About how I selfishly wanted you back just to hurt you all over again. I accepted Erevahl’s offer of courtship because it was easier than repeating the same damaging patterns. Erevahl is a secure man. Self-actualized, even. Nothing I do to him can possibly wound his soul so deeply and irrevocably. I can’t fuck it up with him like I did with you. That’s why…” she wheezed. Grabbing her stomach to stabilize her teetering form, she squeezed out her finishing thought, “that’s why I’m with him.”
Huffs of staccatoed air escaped her mouth. Every breath shortened, devolving into sharp gasps. Tears sprang into her eye, reducing the image of Isidor into a faint, black and white blur. The confession ran off her tongue, threatening to careen off the edge and plunge into the water. Truths she snuffed and buried buoyed to the surface like flotsam and jetsam, never gone. Just dormant, and waiting for their opportunity to rise. To prove one fundamental truth: that Tivia Rigas had far from reached the pinnacle of stability. She was delaying the inevitable crash. “I just wanted you to be happy, Isidor. But I can’t make you happy because...because I’m me!” She sucked in a sob. “I thought that if I could be happy, then maybe I could be a better person to you. But last night, I approached Nia because I feared that she hurt you like I did and...and it turns out I’m not a better person. Not at all. I’m not even...I’m not even happy! I’m pretending!” The realization struck her like a hammer blow on an anvil. Losing her balance, she gripped the edge of the wall for support. “If...if being in a tower will put an end to all this pain...then you have the right idea, Isidor.” In resignation, she slowly slid her hand away from the supporting wall and crumpled into herself. “I’m sorry for everything. You’ll never have to see me again.” Scrounging enough dignity to bow a solemn farewell, Tivia rushed away from the wounded man who deserved better than Nia, who deserved better than a dingy tower...and who certainly deserved better than her.
Locking the top bolt to her chambers, she threw a knapsack on her bed and hurriedly packed her most important belongings: clothes, money, planting seeds, and some leftover camping supplies from her previous sojourns as a member of Lilica’s Galeyn-bound search party. Amidst packing, her eye caught a splash of white on the vanity. A lily, curled petals as fresh as snow, stood stalwart on its stem, a fine specimen, forever in peak bloom. Wistfully, she stroked the snowy velvet, tears almost welling anew as her fingers deliberated on plucking Isidor’s gift from its vase. She flinched away and pulled back as though bitten. No...no reminders. She needed a new start, wherever she was going.
No one needed the services of a star-seer. Her unique insights would complicate or divert the goals of her allies, sending them in a different, less desirable direction. She would play no instrumental role in securing Locque’s defeat. Erevahl would initially suffer her absence, but he would recover and move on nobly despite her betrayal. Isidor...he would be leaving, anyway. Better to leave first and save him the suffering of spotting her from a distance during those final, unbearable months.
It’s time to face my destiny. I’m going to meet my bleak future...on my own terms.
Once properly packed, Tivia hefted the bag over her shoulders, cast a concealment spell over her form...and disappeared from the palace. From Galeyn.
The following morning, a stout, urgent knock sounded on Isidor’s door. Relentless in its repetitions, it refused to cease until the intended person answered the summons. Eventually, the Master Alchemist obliged. Swinging open the door, who should appear on the other side but the Gardener, Erevahl, his brows hooked in deep, furrowed disquiet.
“Master Kristeva. Forgive my intrusion,” he gave a customary polite bow. “You may not remember who I am—Erevahl. The Gardener who was with Tivia the other night. I’m...afraid I have very alarming news.” He stared at the crumpled piece of paper in his hand. “When I returned to our shared chambers yesterday, the door was locked. Sometimes she is subject to moods or the occasional migraine due to her regular communion with the stars, so I allowed her a day of rest. But come morning, her door was still locked. I obtained a master key and entered. Her side of the room was ransacked, empty of her belongings. I also found this note.”
He handed it to Isidor, a one-line message that read: Star seers belong in a tower. I’ve gone to find my own.
“I thought maybe you could make sense of this writing, or could provide any insights into where she’s gone. She,” he rocked on his heels, frowning, “she can’t have gotten far on her own, but...I’ve taken to understand that she is a Rigas, and a formidable one, at that. If it is in her power...then perhaps she really has escaped. I...I’m not sure if you can help locate her, but I fear for her safety and wellbeing...and I know that you do, too.”
If Aristide checked on the remote reports sent telepathically through his psychic connection to the tiny golems scattered about the palace, not even he would have observed Tivia Rigas’s hasty departure. The pebble golems detected visuals and sound, but not shrouds of invisibility. In the same vein, he watched as Nia donned a light-refractive cloak and effectively vanish from his surveillance for days following the conversation with Vitali Kristeva concerning the illusory images of her sisters. It aggravated him not to check on her wellbeing via resonance stone, but to show haste in his response would likely arouse suspicion by bringing to light his constant and suspiciously relevant timing. So he held off, for now. His concern quickly turned to confusion upon viewing the confrontation between Nia and Tivia in the moonlit corridors whereupon the latter accused the former of bedding Isidor Kristeva. Nia did not deny the claim. For all Locque’s Master Alchemist was hurting, Ari couldn’t help but feel disappointed that she chose not to confide in him...non-sexually, of course. Disappointed...and oddly, jealous.
It was an attitude not lost on Hadwin Kavanagh, who randomly appeared at his doorstep the morning after the incident and requested an audience to which Ari questionably obliged, in fear that snubbing the wolf-man would incur dire consequences. He simply knew too much, and knowledge for an opportunist was leverage. Better to humor him than to alienate him.
Together, they sat alone in the parlor and partook of wine, a gratitude Hadwin enthusiastically lauded by draining goblet after goblet. Anticipating his guest’s insatiable thirst, Ari served the cheapest bottle, and the decision made no difference to the wolf-man’s indiscernible palate.
“Mister Kavanagh. To what do I owe your unexpected—and unorthodox—visit? Typically I am sent advanced notice before receiving guests, unless an emergency brings you to my door?”
Hadwin rolled back his shoulders and lounged on the sofa opposite the Canaveris Lord. “Not an emergency per se, but I wanted a place to chat out of range of the eyes and ears roaming about the palace. You know who I mean. Locque, my sister…” his eyebrows waggled, “your wee golem minions.”
Ari’s expression was inscrutable. Again, he anticipated the faoladh’s uncanny insights and chose not to tense-up or otherwise advertise his discomfort. “What other delectable tidbits can your devilish fear-detection methods probe?”
“Well, for one, your infiltration technique is bloody brilliant. I applaud the ingenuity.” He set aside his wine goblet to slap his hands together in literal applause. “So relax, I ain’t gonna sell you out. In fact, after this conversation, I’m dropping a forgetfulness tablet into my drink and forgetting I saw what I saw. Can’t have my darling little sis know I’m keeping secrets from her.” He patted his pocket where he kept the tablets in question. “I got this shit secondhand from Isidor. Speaking of,” he stared at Ari, golden eyes flashing, “something else worries you. I mean, it’s a given that you’re worked up over Nia; it’s why I’m here. But there’s something your golems saw and it has you all in a lather.”
An unprofessional blush bronzed Ari’s brown cheeks. “And what might that be?”
“Isidor and Nia, huh?” Hadwin smacked his knee. “Damn does that crabby hermit get around without actually going anywhere! Must be nice to just exist and get boned for it. And Nia?” He snorted. “Fucking liar, telling me she only goes after virgins.”
Ari cleared his throat. “Pardon?”
“Fuck, I’ve got so many questions as to how that unlikely union came about, and here I am, about to lose that information from my noggin! Eh, it is what it is. Look,” he placed his hands on his knees and leaned forward, “you like Nia. You like her so much that you’re worried she’s gonna go after this other Master Alchemist—who, by the way, has the charisma of a crusty barnacle—and give you the toss. Now, if you’re so worried, I invite you to do something about it.”
“Mister Kavanagh, you forget yourself,” he sputtered his outrage, rising from his seat. “We are not here to discuss personal matters. You, good sir, are overstepping in poor Nia’s delicate affairs. It is no business who she decides to, to—“
“—fuck,” Hadwin helpfully supplied.
“—And it is certainly no business of yours to interfere with matters of the heart!”
“So, what you’re saying is...you do like her.” Hadwin’s mouth spread into a diabolical grin.
Taken aback by the wolf’s goading, childish, and unfazed response, Ari, realizing the futility of arguing with an idiot, sighed low in his throat and fanned out his coattails before returning to his seat.
“Yeah yeah, it’s a conflict of interest to fraternize with the enemy,” Hadwin cycled through Ari’s inner arguments aloud. “But you’ve already worked out that she’s personally not your enemy. And she definitely ain’t no Chara Rigas, either.”
“Cursed creature,” Ari swore, “what don’t you know?”
“Say, did you eat quiche for breakfast this morning?” Hadwin teased, sniffing the air. “Cuz yeah, I know that, too.”
“What do you want, Mister Kavanagh?” Ari rolled the untouched goblet in his hands, a prop he expressly used as a distraction. “To pressure me into a confession? What do you possibly gain from this?”
“Same thing as you. Well, sorta.” Hadwin’s voice scraped to a conspiratorial whisper. “You wanna weaken her ties with Locque. So let’s make it happen. It ain’t a ploy if you genuinely like her. And hey—she genuinely likes you, too! She told me, herself. If you’re lost on how to proceed, I’ve got you, Ari!” He proudly tapped a fist to his chest. “I excel at this shit. Follow my lead—and you’ll have her attention. She’s in a bad place so you’re gonna have to tread carefully, but you’re a genuine guy, so you shouldn’t have a problem. Your odds are pretty great, if you ask me. After all,” he winked, “you’re a virgin.”
Against all practical sense, Ari listened to the wayward wolf and his inane plan. With the scoundrel’s penchant for discomfort and Ari’s penchant for having a physical reaction to discomfort, they managed to induce a sizable flare-up on his left shoulder, a surface area that spread from the clavicle to the scapula, which rendered the Canaveris Lord’s arm limp and immovable.
“I still do not understand why a simple invite would not have sufficed.” Equipped with his cane, Ari carefully escorted Hadwin to the Night steed he rode from the palace to the Canaveris villa.
“Because she’s not gonna be able to blow you off if she knows it’s important. Also, you’re gonna have to strip for her again. Close contact, touching, all the things you hate,” he threw a leg over a stirrup and settled on the steed’s saddle. “It’ll be worth it, Ari.”
The morning after Hadwin’s departure, Ari sprang the ill-gotten plan into action. Withdrawing the resonance stone, he contacted Nia. She didn’t answer on her first attempt or even on the second attempt, but, as though realizing the urgency, answered during the third set of buzzes.
“Ah, Nia, good morning. I hope I have not disturbed your slumber,” he said, almost guiltily. What if his incessant calls had interfered with her wishes to be left alone? “If it is not too inconvenient, would you mind coming to the villa at your earliest availability? It is a matter that requires your specialized attention.”
Exhausted and emotionally spent, it was difficult for Isidor to feel much beyond the rather blissful numbness of his exhaustion, even when confronting the single person who had had such an impact on his heart. Even when she made mention of her convalescence following the rupture of her eardrums, and how she had asked after Isidor, it was difficult for guilt to reach his consciousness since he had already been basking in it for hours upon hours. Every heavy feeling and its cause all blended together in such an intense miasma that it was as though his own emotional receptors had completely burnt out in the moment. He knew he should feel guilty that he didn’t respond when she had summoned him, but… he was already feeling guilty. The sentiment was just nothing new and therefore unremarkable. “I know. I realize I didn’t come when you ask. Honestly… I did not come because I simply couldn’t help you, Tivia. There was nothing I could do. I just… did not see a point in taking up space when there was nothing I can contribute. I do apologize if my decision had such a detrimental affect on your healing, Tivia.”
And he meant it, although it was far too late for apologies, it seemed. Without prompting, The Star Seer went on to explain the reason for her relationship with the kind Gardener who had helped her find a new way to communicate. There was no need for her to explain; she did not owe him a reason for her newfound happiness. Except… except, she wasn’t happy? That confession did manage to take the Master Alchemist off guard. What did she mean she wasn’t happy? That certainly hadn’t seemed the case the other night, when he’d found her in the company of her new romantic interest. Was he really so emotionally numb that he couldn’t see past the ruse?
“Tivia… Tivia, stop.” Isidor sighed and held up a hand. “You didn’t, Tivia. You have never hurt me. Not even when you treated me so poorly upon our first introductions. Despite what my demeanor may have led you to believe, I am not so fragile as to be wounded by your actions. If we must lay blame to anyone but myself, then you can blame Hadwin Kavanagh for forcing me to remember events that I had forgotten for good reason. But even I cannot blame him for what took place in my past. I poisoned my mentor and turned his heart to stone. I was too cowardly to save my only friend from a terrible fate. I was too incompetent to find a way our on my own. Don’t you see, Tivia?” Dropping his hand, he expelled a heavy sigh. “It was me, all me. I have only myself to blame for the state I am in now. Yes, I was disappointed when our relationship ended… but I went against your wishes. You had every right to discard me and to find someone better suited to your needs. Please understand, Tivia, that I do not blame you. Not for anything. Not even for a second.”
Despite his best efforts, the Star Seer was far from placated. Why was she telling him all this now? That she wasn’t happy? That she harboured such regrets? And all when he was clearly in a position where he could do nothing about it… “If you are not happy, Tivia, then find someone who will make you happy. You know it is possible: you have found happiness with other people, before, and you can do it again. Regardless of what the stars are telling you, I am a staunch believer that a future is only so bleak as you intend to make it. So don’t give up so easily. Regardless of where I am and what I am doing, my destiny is no longer connected to yours, and should have no real bearing on your future…”
But it was too late. Isidor should have known that his immediate rejection of her friendship would not be taken serenely, and it wasn’t. Before he could go on, Tivia turned and hurried away from his chambers and disappeared around the corner. She’ll be fine, the Master Alchemist quietly told himself, as he retreated back into his room and closed his door. She is upset, but she will be fine. She has the Gardener to comfort her, after all.
Tivia, as it turned out, was not fine, as Isidor learned early the next morning. After another night of fitful sleep, he awoke to yet another knock on his door. I am going to see if it is possible to change rooms, he thought dismally as he reluctantly hauled his heavy body out of bed. It seemed as though that would be the only way people would stop bothering him. Wondering if it was Tivia, coming back to try and smooth things over from their ill-fated encounter the day before, he conceded and hauled his body out of bed and didn’t even bother to don a shirt, out of exhaustion as well as complete and total apathy. If someone wanted his attention, then they were going to have to deal with him when he wasn’t at his best.
It was not Tivia on the other side, however. Nor was it Nia (thank goodness), Teselin, or even that confounded faoladh. It was Erevahl--Tivia’s new squeeze. Wonderful, Isidor thought dismally as he donned his spectacles. Tivia had likely gone crying into the Gardener’s arms, and undoubtedly, the man was here to call him out for making her cry. “I remember you,” he said simply, his voice completely devoid of emotion. “What brings you to my door?”
Isidor’s eyes roved to the piece of paper in the man’s hands, and his brows furrowed with concern. He took the note from Erevahl, noting that the handwriting was distinctly Tivia’s. Tivia… no. What have you done? Where have you gone?!
The Master Alchemist’s blood ran cold. She was gone… because of what he had said to her? Broken enough that now she wanted to emulate his own future and find a tower of her own? No… no, surely she was being dramatic. Surely she wasn’t really… gone. But if she was… what could he do?!
“Of course. I understand why you would be concerned, Erevahl. This… does seem alarming.” Throwing jealousy of the man to the wind, Isidor opted for civility only because the situation demanded it. “But you are right; Rigas or not, she could not have gone far. The Forbanne and the Dawn Guard still patrol the borders of Galeyn for the safety of outsiders. Locque has made it clear she has no qualms about sacrificing non-Galeynian lives, after all.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Some are equipped with talismans that react to magic--I had a part in crafting them--, so it is possible, but unlikely that she’d have gone undetected. And Tivia… as I am sure you know all too well, has a penchant for the dramatic, more often than not. Before she had a room at the palace, she was living with my brother in a farmhouse on the very outskirts of the kingdom. Alster and Elespeth Rigas now inhabit that farmhouse, but I certainly wouldn’t put it past her to find another if she now seeks solitude for her emotions. That would be my best guess as a place to start looking.”
Handing the note back to Erevahl, Isidor ran a hand through his hair to smooth the tangles. “I can correspond with Alster directly; he should be able to locate a fellow Rigas. For now, perhaps it would be best to just give her the space she wants. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, though.”
When the Gardener departed, Isidor closed his door and dropped his calm demeanor as he scrambled for his tunic. This was his fault… and all he’d wanted to do was to set Tivia free of him! And to finally be free of the hold she had on his heart… He’d thought that this was the right thing to do. That she would run straight into Eervahl’s arms, and find the calm and unperturbed waters that he offered her. Not run away… she wasn’t supposed to run away!
As soon as he was dressed, the Master Alchemist hurried for Lilica and Chara’s shared chambers, hoping desperately that they were present and would respond to his knocking. To his relief, Chara opened the door; he had never been so happy to see her unamused face. “Lady Chara. Are you still in possession of the resonance stone connected to Alster? Might I borrow that briefly? I have information that I wish to convey to him that cannot wait… I promise to return it, posthaste.”
Although she seemed suspicious, Chara did not question his request and turned over the resonance stone readily enough, probably figuring it was for the better that she and Lilica were kept in the dark so as not to be called out by Locque’s vicious little wolf pet. Mumbling his thanks, the Master Alchemist hurried back to his chambers, closed and locked his door, and took a steadying breath before he spoke into the stone. “Alster… Alster, it’s Isidor. What I have to say is too urgent to convey on the twin glyph--I hope you are listening.” Suddenly feeling weak in his knees, he took a seat on the side of his bed. “Tivia… it seems as though Tivia has run away, according to the man who is currently courting her. I fear for her safety, and I wonder if you might be able to track down her whereabouts, as she is related to you. I…” He hesitated. Would Alster hate him for what he was about to say next? Even so… he had to tell someone. He had to be honest. “I fear… I might have said something to upset her, terribly, yesterday. And that it may have been the catalyst for her retreat. Is… is there anything you can do to know that she is safe?”
Nia did not sleep the night she’d bedded Isidor Kristeva and heatedly told off his ex-lover. She was a wreck, moreso than she wanted to admit, and there was nothing and no one else she could turn to at that hour save for a bottle of wine she’d kept in her room in case the occasion came to pop it open. Well, that occasion was now, and she didn’t lie down until she had gone through the whole thing in just a matter of hours. Paired with an empty stomach, that got her drunk fairly quickly, not enough to be sick or pass out thanks to her generally good tolerance, but enough that it unleash the deluge of tears she’d been holding back so diligently. Nia Ardane hadn’t wanted to spend the night crying alone, clutching that stupid little red rock that had once given her so much hope; but she did it anyway.
She wasn’t sure at what point she’d fallen asleep, but the low vibration of the resonance stone sitting next to her bed finally pulled her from the blissful arms of sleep. At first, she’d ignored it, too tired and nursing too bad a headache to want to deal with whomever had the complementary stone. That is, until she sobered up enough to remember that it was Ari who contacted her via that stone, and the Canaveris lord did not have a tendency to contact her for no good reason. Gods, hopefully he didn’t mean to actually take her up on that stupid suggestion for a duet…!
Clearing her throat so as to sound at least somewhat awake, she picked up the stone before reclining in a useless heap against her pillows again. “Ari. Good morning. Not to worry--I’ve been up for hours!” Hopefully he wasn’t as adept in picking up blatant lies as much as Hadwin was, especially over a resonance stone. “In need of a Master Alchemist to solve a ridiculously specific problem, huh? Of course I don’t mind making an appearance. I can probably be there by noo-” No, one glance out the window was enough to confirm that it already was noon. If she left now, she’d be in a carriage for the remainder of the day… “...ah, can you hang in there for a few hours? I’ll grab the first Night Steed I can as soon as darkness falls. Just try to relax and not worsen the situation. Sound good?”
At that confirmation, Nia put the stone down and groaned. Right… of course, despite her brief emotional holiday, she was still a functioning adult upon whom some people relied. People like Locque (who mercifully hadn’t summoned her in days)... and Ari. She didn’t have the luxury of feeling sorry for herself forever. Sooner than later, she’d have to reconstruct that brave face and get through one day at a time… starting today, it seemed.
Well, at the very least, she had the day to recover from her hangover, and drink enough water to flush the alcohol out of her system. Reluctantly sitting up, the Master Alchemist pulled her night shift over her head and reached for her leathers. Just yesterday, the bodice had been terribly loose… but now, there was a good-sized gap between her breasts and the leather that certainly wouldn’t go unnoticed. Clearly a result of not having eaten since Hadwin had dropped the bad news. Nia couldn’t think of a single time in her life that she’d willingly foregone food not related to work… but the truth was, she wasn’t even hungry. Like there wasn’t any room in her stomach for food, among all that nauseating despair.
Cutting her losses, she tossed the leathers aside and instead donned leggings and a tunic with open shoulders, which she cinched at the waist with a belt so that it didn’t hang off of her like an oversized bedsheet. Eating now wouldn’t be a good idea even if she had an appetite, if she had to work with Ari’s curse that evening. But she had to get her shit together and at least make the world believe she wasn’t falling apart inside. Sometimes brushing your hair and putting on a pair of clean clothes was all it took. And, fortunately for her, after a good deal of water, along with her own personal alchemical tonic to help her stay awake, she felt ready and prepared to actually take up some responsibility again when she borrowed a Night Steed that evening and made her way to the D’Marian settlement.
Nia did not make her way to the door immediately after reaching Ari’s villa. She stayed with the Night Steed for several moments, mentally preparing herself to walk in there and be the Nia he was used to seeing: confident, cheerful, and borderline obnoxious. Surely, if he had any idea how she’d been holding up the past several days… he wouldn’t trust her with his health and well-being. Only when she was sure she had her misery under control did she approach the entrance, where she was greeted by none-other than Lazarus. “Ah, hello again, big guy. Miss me?” She winked and looked past him to see if she could spot Ari inside. “Your Master requested my presence, like it or not, so here I am.”
With a deep frown, Lazarus led her inside, where Ari was waiting in the parlor. “Sorry I couldn’t have come sooner, Ari. Too bad Galeyn doesn’t have Day Steeds along with the Night ones, huh? Oh, marvelous likeness of that acrobat girl, by the way. I took a good look when it arrived at the palace. Seriously, it looks like it could come to life at any moment. You’ve got more than talent there, my friend: what you can do with clay and stone is one hell of a gift.” Flashing that familiar smile, she angled her head curiously and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her tunic. “So, then: what are we dealing with today?” It was difficult to tell, the way Ari was always dressed so thoroughly from head to toe, what was going on with his body. But judging by the position of his left arm… yeah, something was definitely going on. Bearing in mind his reluctance to part ways with the fabric that clothed his body, especially when serving staff or family could walk in at any moment, she courteously suggested, “Would you feel better in a less ‘open’ space? My work doesn’t require ample room or anything.”
Agreeing that the task would be better suited to somewhere more private, she followed Ari toward a familiar wing of his villa. One where she’d managed to escape a near panic attack and rest for a while. She recognized the pastel green of the bed quilt and the decidedly floral scent of the guest room immediately. “I’ll take a look whenever you’re ready,” she told him, making sure to give him the space to remove his tunic so that he didn’t feel pressured or hurried. The problem couldn’t have been clearer as soon as he was naked from the waist up. “Damn,” Nia sighed, her brow furrowed in concern. “What a place to have that happen. I bet you haven’t been able to lift your arm all day… may I?”
Hastily removing her hands from her pockets, she accidentally dislodged the tiny red stone that she’d told Hadwin she intended to throw out. And she did intend to--just not yet… Hastily picking it up off the floor, she said with a shaky smile, “Worry stone of my own. Too bad yours didn’t seem to be of much help…” After pocketing it before Ari could ask about it, with his permission, she placed one hand on his unaffected shoulder, and then her other on the petrified flesh adjacent to it so as to judge the severity. Thanks to an empty stomach, she was able to discern fairly quickly the extent of the flare-up. “I don’t mean to worry you, Ari, but this feels worse than before. Last time, your flesh and muscle were petrified, but this… it’s beginning to reach bone. Going deeper. Damn, what happened to cause a flare-up like this?” Ari passively mentioned something about a nightmare, and having awoken with his arm petrified in place due to a literally frozen shoulder. "Damn... that must've been one hell of a nightmare. They aren't fun on a good day, but that just adds insult to injury. Fortunately," she removed her hands and pulled up a chair in front of the bed. “It’s nothing I can’t fix. But we really should work on giving you a little more control over these flare-ups; at least to mitigate how deep they’re getting. After all, when you and your people decide to leave Galeyn and we become long-distance friends, I’m afraid I can’t do much for you if you’re weeks away. Not even with a Night Steed.”
Life in the farmlands had screeched to a halt for Elespeth and Alster both. What initially started as a necessary reprieve from the politics of inner Galeyn and the D’Marian village proceeded as a steady, uneventful minutiae of little vignettes spanned over a whole lot of nothing. Over the weeks, their tentative schedule amounted to magic training, endurance training, strength training, field labor—including weed pulling, seed sowing, and harvesting the first set of spring berries—meal preparation followed by meal consumption, and parsing out what little intelligence Lord Canaveris floated to him via the telepath stone. Well-traveled or not, Alster never developed a gardener’s green thumb, nor the careful sense not to disturb a crop-bed or overwater any saplings under his death-prone hands. The Rigas Caster carried many titles and accomplishments: Serpent banisher, scholar, magical polymath, polyglot of nine living languages and four ancient dialogues, worldly diplomat, Rigas Head, and D’Marian leader. But for all his surface-level accolades, he collected just as many, if not more, failures. In terms of keeping plants alive and thriving, he was woefully inept. One more failure to add to the exhaustive list. Fortunately, Elespeth picked up his slack, leaving him to focus more on his strengths. Despite Vitali’s previous complaints, he was a decent cook, and he had an eye for organization and tidying up. Through the sharing of simple, menial tasks, Alster and Elespeth learned a different side of each other they otherwise would not have seen, were they not thrown into the nuances of farm life. It was as though they had been lobbed into a separate, new reality without quite shaking away their ties to the old.
While Alster never regretted the quality time spent in Elespeth’s company, they could barely enjoy their idyllic getaway when self-exile had landed them at the farmhouse in the first place. Every day represented a false peace. When would Locque backslide on her word and release untold wrath upon her subjects? When would they need to take up arms and fight? How would they fight? Constantly hovering on stand-by was enough to put a strain on their minds, reducing them to restless balls of energy, like trapped wolves pacing back and forth in a tiny cage.
Aside from Aristide’s reports and daily, albeit brief yet uneventful correspondences with Isidor, Alster and Elespeth were truly isolated from the goings-on of the palace, and the constant inactivity and lack of outside communication nearly drove him mad. There were only so many outlets for him to explore when filling out his lean musculature with relentless exercise and exploring every conceivable magical avenue became trite and tiring. In some regards, he plateaued on the self-improvement front, impelling him to shift his commitment almost entirely to Elespeth’s magical instruction, to which she was making vast improvements on her lightning and sword-channeling control. At the very least, he was making a difference in someone’s life.
The last thing he expected was to receive an urgent message on his resonance stone.
Alster and Elespeth had returned to the farmhouse from a long day’s training to freshen up and prepare lunch when the small stone vibrated in his pocket. Lifting the specimen to his ear, Alster listened for either Chara or Lilica, but heard Isidor’s voice instead.
“Isidor,” he pulled up a kitchen chair and took a seat, anticipating pretty horrid news, if he saw fit to choose to correspond using the resonance stone in lieu of the glyph slate. “What’s the matter? What happened?”
Tivia.
“She’s allegedly run away?!” He didn’t mean to exclaim through the stone. Casting one worried look at Elespeth, he readjusted his tone to a level better received through the garble-prone instrument. As Isidor explained the note she left behind and her cleaned-out sleep chambers, Alster stiffened in his seat, alerted by the deliberate steps she took to escape, or, conversely, to appear like she escaped. “I’ll see to it that I find her, Isidor. Tivia is...she’s troubled. That’s not a condemnation—heavens know I’m a head case—,” he chuckled humorlessly, “but I can’t imagine what innumerable horrors she’s suffered since surviving the flames and awakening as a star seer. In Rigas history, only three star seers ever existed and all three were confined to their homes after spiraling into madness.” He chose to omit the controversial details surrounding star seers, as learning of their grim history would bring Isidor no peace of mind. Lyra Rigas sewed her mouth shut with an awl. Mira Rigas bashed a sharp stone to her head and gored her brain. Sarin Rigas gnawed off her fingers and spent the rest of her days chained to the bed at her request. Alster swallowed the hard-to-swallow truths behind the trio of tragedies and continued. “Her own father tried to confine her prematurely and I daresay that mentality has stayed with her this entire time. That she’s a walking liability, living on borrowed time until destiny comes to claim her. She’s been so affected by the stories of her predecessors, so convinced she’ll follow their doomed path, that she believes hope is a concept that doesn’t belong to her. Not when her fate’s already been decided. And that everything she’s been doing thus far is in defiance of the reality she vehemently rejects, but can’t change. If she’s run away, I can assure you there’s more going on beneath the surface than whatever it is you said. In any case, I’ll contact you again when I have a lead on her whereabouts.”
Setting down the stone, its glow fading from deactivation, Alster rose from his chair, wiping the gathering sweat from his brow with a cool rag from the washbasin, the accumulation attributed to more than strenuous physical and mental activity. “As you’ve heard, Tivia is missing. It’s assumed she’s been missing for about a day. Isidor thinks something he said upset her and she took it to heart. This isn’t the first time she’s run off. But for her to disappear from the palace now, of all times,” he bit his lip, “she’s taking a heavy risk. There’s patrols all over Galeyn. If she’s caught, she’ll have to answer to Locque. I’m not sure how well she’ll receive an unsanctioned and clandestine escape attempt, no matter how distraught the escapee appears. But I’m getting ahead of myself. First, to find her.”
While Elespeth prepared lunch in his stead, Alster washed the dirt and grime off his body, dressed in a clean set of clothes, and sat comfortably on the edge of his bed in a meditative state. Through his connection to the Rigas Blood Seal, he was able to trace all living blood-relations according to location; from the D’Marian village, to Andalari, and even to Eyraille—no doubt Grandmother Alta’s singular presence. In his mind’s eye, he visualized Tivia. The blonde hair swept over one side, the gnarled countenance she desperately hid, the one luminous eye, glassy as a marble. A thin line of blood dribbled from the spell-form he’d concentrated into manifestation, and began traveling in a swift direction, going, going…
And fizzling into a burnt, dead-end stump.
Before he could investigate what went awry in his location spell, a high-pitched keen and an impossible flash of light assailed his ears and eyes, bowling him over the bed in submission. The screeches featured too many voices to quantify, and they all spoke in cacophonous disharmony, an overlapping corruption of an angelic choir.
Don’t...
...interfere.
Don’t interfere.
The flashes intensified, transitioning between white, to yellow, to blue, at a speed so jarring, it was though he was reliving the terror of spinning endlessly through space, his soul crumbling and fragmenting to pieces from the unmaking of creation.
Twitching, he fell off the bed, seizing on the floor. When Elespeth entered the room out of concern, she found her husband, mouth filled with bile, arms and legs thrashing with the intent to rip them from their sockets.
Blessedly, the episode was short-lived. After half a minute, Alster stilled in Elespeth’s arms, eyes rolling away from the back of his head. After helping him clean the bile and the blood gushing out his ears, Alster, still trembling from the spell’s after effects, breathed raggedly.
“I’m...I’m alright,” he assured his wife. “No lasting damage. The stars just wanted to give me a warning. They...they don’t want Tivia to be found.”
Later that day, Alster, following the insistence of his wife to rest, first, contacted Isidor to tell him the unfortunate news. “I’m...I’m sorry, Isidor, but...my spell was intercepted. By the stars, themselves. Even I don’t have the power or the foolhardiness to defy their collective power; it would be madness to fight the will of the universe. They delivered me a stark warning. Tivia,” he treaded with caution, “she’s...she’s fully surrendered to her fate. The stars are protecting her, so she is safe in that regard, but they’re also protecting her from discovery. She...can’t be found. Whoever tries will suffer the wrath of the heavens. Whatever triggered her initial escape from the palace, her journey is sanctioned by the divine, now. And I...I can’t break through. To do it will kill me. We just have to trust...that she’ll be alright.”
Following his remote conversation with Nia, Ari spent the rest of the day in anticipation for her arrival. In between the short reprieves of delegating plans for the village or enacting laws among the officials he elected into seats of change, the Canaveris lord requested the privacy to not only recharge, but to berate himself for ever listening to Hadwin Kavanagh for relationship advice. He should’ve refused outright; manipulating his body to petrifaction on a whim, and for frivolous reasons, stank of ignobility, a travesty of his highborn character. It’s harmless, Hadwin said, a devil-may-care smile sharpening his face. Even if she ever finds out what you did, yeah, sure, it might peeve her to hear that you temporarily sacrificed your health, but she won’t help but feel a bit flattered that you did it to get her attention.
Aside from his moral compunctions and the obvious physical side effects—limited mobility, discomfort, a chunk of his body petrified to stone—he, perhaps due to Hadwin’s very effective methods, was left a jittery, open pustule, prone to additional flare-ups or the expansion of his current one. The fear of discovery by his peers resulted in stance overcorrection, using his cane as a convincing prop and nothing more, and misdirection through his wardrobe choices. Selecting the most flashy combination of reds and yellows, replete with a trailing cravat, puffed shoulders, and frilled sleeves, Ari took the emphasis off his unbalanced gait and redirected it to his bold fashion style. So he maintained the guise all day, periodically wiping the sweat generated from his heat-retaining coat from his brow and carefully approaching each task one at a time in a last-ditch attempt to stay poised and unburdened. By Nia’s nightly arrival, he was surprised to notice no other flare-ups blotted to the surface of his skin. Alas, the weight upon his shoulder was more than enough to bear, generating knots near his neck and agitating the alignment of his spine. When before he fretted nervously for the Master Alchemist’s visit, he eagerly awaited her instruction, more than ready to receive instantaneous relief. At her request, they moved to the empty guest chambers, its location the least trafficked area of the villa. Once inside, Ari hesitated over the buttons of his fiery coat. Just because he yearned for relief didn’t make the inevitable strip-down any easier to execute.
Out of respect for his privacy, she turned around and gave him leave to remove the many tiers that protected his body from exposure. Owing to having only one operational arm, the disrobing process took twice the length of time as usual, but if Nia felt any impatience, she neither showed nor expressed it. Finally, when the wrongness of the air touched his naked skin, he turned around, eyes demurely trained to the ground.
Be vulnerable, the wolf’s advice whispered in his ear. Let her see your vulnerability.
“I typically do not suffer nightmares.” This one was a living nightmare, he thought, almost shuddering in remembrance of the preternatural glow in Hadwin’s predatory eyes. “They haven’t happened for a long while, at least, but,” he hesitated. Be vulnerable. “In my dream, I saw my brother screaming in agony amid the flames that burnt him alive. In the aftermath, he left nothing but a charred-out husk...desiccated to dust by the wind. His demise has long given me pause to wonder.” He hunkered on the bed, his shoulders trying and failing to hunch, the burdensome stone plate ironically preventing him from nursing the mental heft currently plaguing him. “I should have gone to war in his place. I had nothing to lose, whereas he had a wife, seven children, a household to run, an entire legacy at his feet. Yet, he threw away his gains to partake in a war from which he may never return. For what reason?” When Nia’s fingers touched his afflicted shoulder, he froze, sucked in his breath, and shakily released it. “He had nothing to prove. I was the disposable one. A mere artist, steadily eating Canaveris resources and wasting away on frivolities and frequent outings to visit a certain Rigas lady. It should have been me.”
Too far. He went too far. Lapsing into silence, he allowed Nia to work, sparing her interruptions but for the racing of his heartbeat and the harried breaths, which spiked whenever her probing fingers grazed skin outside the affected area. She mentioned how the petrifaction had burrowed far beneath the epidermis and reached towards bone, an alarming analysis, given how his affliction had never penetrated so deeply, before. In past cases, it only hovered along the surface level.
Leave it to the faoladh to induce the worst reaction in him. What had he done?
Too preoccupied of mind to properly react to Nia’s touch, the stirrings of her breath, and her back and forth exfoliation of stone to buff the skin to its normal configuration, Ari morbidly thought of how to solve his touch-aversion; fall into a pensive state where nothing so trifling mattered but the most pertinent questions. Why Casimiro? Why not him? The Canaveris family could have buried their illicit secrets by disposing of him on the battlefield. All things considered, it made no sense why Casimiro forbid Ari to go in his stead. But he should have fought harder. Insisted. Appealed to the family for the honor. I’m a failure of flesh and stone. Neither golem nor human. What a perfect opportunity to clean the canvas of imperfection.
Losing track of time, he almost leapt out of his seat when Nia announced the completion of her task. Moving his arm experimentally, he mused his approval at the smooth transition of joints and muscle working again in a harmonious fusion of like parts. “Again, you’ve done wonders, Nia. I am most thankful for your service.” Rising to his feet, he swept the previously affected arm into a reverent bow. “I must do something to show my gratitude. Ah,” he gestured to her pockets, where before, the peculiar red stone had dropped to the floor. Though well-aware of its significance as the catalyst behind generating the illusions of her sisters, he took her explanation at face-value and ran with it. “If you will consider my expertise for a moment,” he said, clearing his throat for a lecture. “The stone you carry, from my cursory glance, appears to be cinnabar, a powerful stone of alchemy and spiritual transformation. It is helpful in manifesting one’s greatest desires. In all honesty, I view it more as a wish stone and not a worry stone. Healing stones are typically black, a color ideal for absorbing negative energies. If you would like, I can offer you your pick of ores and crystals from my private collection. As earth mages, we simply hoard too much of the heaviest materials known to man and creation. We would benefit in lightening the load.”
In place of agreement, Nia offered, instead, to take her leave, not wanting to further inconvenience the busy Lord. As she scrounged up the strength to stand, Ari noticed her peaky skin, shallow cheeks, shortness of breath, the dull sheen in her once glossy locks of hair, and her diminishing form. The stone-to-skin procedure exacerbated the reserves of her already waning strength, sapping away everything but the ability to speak and sit upright. She was far from well, far from traveling fit. Though she insisted on her departure-readiness, he could not in good conscience allow her to go under such harrowing conditions. Surprising even himself, when she made to rise, he stretched out his arm, took her by the shoulder, and gently guided her downward.
“I understand that performing alchemy is quite taxing on the body. You require rest, as well as plenty of food and water. As your host, it would be irresponsible of me to allow you to leave in such a condition. Please stay the night.” His rich-brown eyes caught her gaze, seeing through the battered, cracked mask she hastily donned upon arrival. Slowly, his hand slid off her shoulder. “I cannot take no for an answer.”
Elespeth was about as surprised to hear from Isidor via a resonance stone as Alster was that day. As soon as she discerned the Master Alchemist’s unmistakable voice through the garble of the stone, the former knight’s body snapped into high alert, her muscles tensing as her ears strained to hear what dire message Isidor sought to convey. What was going on at the palace? Had Locque finally showed her true colours, directly endangering the lives of their friends, allies, and the citizens of Galeyn?
That did not seem to be the case, but the Master Alchemist did mention Tivia’s name in his panicked tone. Something about her… missing? And he felt somehow responsible? Elespeth patiently waited for her husband and Isidor to conclude their brief conversation, and Alster immediately explained what was amiss. “Tivia is missing? But… why would she run away now, of all times? It can’t be safe for her out there. If Locque finds that a Star Seer has run away for reasons that are not forthcoming… what if she harms her? I don’t for a moment expect that that witch would offer her clemency. Not if she isn’t Galeynian.”
Fortunately for Isidor and Tivia, locating the whereabouts of his kin was no foreign task to Alster Rigas. And although Elespeth understood the dire severity of his own going missing, she, similar to Isidor, no doubt, did not think for a moment that her husband would not be successful in this venture. Assuring her that he had things under control, Alster retreated to their bedroom, while his wife set about preparing something for the two of them to eat after a long morning of exercise and tending crops that would soon become their lunch. It wasn’t until she heard a loud thump of something heavy hitting the headboard of their bed that she was startled from her domestic task, and instantly dropped the knife she was using to cut the vegetables. It narrowly missed the toe of her boot as it noisily hit the wooden floorboards.
“Alster…!” Elespeth gasped his name and ran toward the bedroom, fear striking her heart to find the Rigas mage convulsing on the floor in a mess of blood and bile, not so unlike what she had seen Tivia suffer on occasion as a side-effect of her uncanny cosmic abilities. “Alster… Alster, can you hear me?! Are you alright?”
Grabbing a nearby towel next to a wash-basin, the former Atvanian helped Alster out of his ruined tunic and gently cleaned him up as he gradually came back to his senses. “What… what happened, Alster? I’ve seen you attempt to locate people before. You’ve never… this has never happened. Were you somehow psychically attacked? Was it… Locque?”
Helping him to his feet, Elespeth sat him back upon their bed and took a seat next to him, her arm supporting his frame from behind. “Did you find her? Do you know where Tivia is…?” She wasn’t expecting that answer that he gave: that some cosmic interference prevented him from knowing Tivia’s whereabouts. Alster had never experienced difficulty diving the location of anyone, save for Locque, although even the sorceress was no longer able to hide her trail of magic from the powerful Rigas mage. “Are you sure? There’s no way to find her, to know that she is alright? We could organize a search party, surely Haraldur would have no problem in arranging the Forbanne to try and find her. Or the Dawn Guard could assist…”
Alster had meant what he had said, though, and the implication suggested that the Star Seer was completely untraceable--at least by magical means. “I don’t understand how this could happen… and now, of all times. But we cannot just give up, right? Tivia is your kin. We cannot just accept that she is gone from our lives…” Unfortunately, it appeared that they did not have a choice. And, according to Alster, if any of them ever saw Tivia Rigas again, then it would likely only be the will of the stars that made it so. Though uncomfortable and ultimately very sad at this news, the former knight nodded her understanding. “You’ve done what you could… I want you to rest, alright? I’ll bring you some stew when it is ready, but it is imperative that you let your body and mind recover. If you like… I can relay the news to Isidor. I do not imagine that he will take it well…”
Her husband insisted that that would not be necessary, however, and that the reclusive Master Alchemist would likely take Alster’s word for it if he heard the news from Alster himself. Nodding her understanding, she rested a hand on his shoulder. “You know you did all that you could, right? I hope you don’t take this to heart. I have a feeling that Isidor will end up bearing this burden more heavily than all of us.”
Elespeth wasn’t wrong. At times, perhaps Isidor’s faith in Alster, for all he was a powerful Rigas caster, could be disproportionate to what was reasonable or feasible. As panicked as he had been, picking up that resonance stone with shaky hands, it didn’t occur to the Master Alchemist even once that the predicament of Tivia’s disappearance was not one that could be easily solved, especially since Alster had a connection to the young woman. Spending most of the day keeping himself busy in his room as he prepared what would be needed for Cwenha’s homunculus body, he kept the resonance stone closeby, one ear always prepared to listen for its buzz and hum whenever Alster was able to get back to him. Later that day, the Rigas mage’s voice finally came through, and Isidor nearly jumped out of his seat in anticipation of the news.
“Alster!” He gasped, scooping up the stone from where it sat next to him on his desk. “Have you found Tivia? Where is she? Is she alright?”
Alster seemed to have a way of talking him down whenever he began to panicked. He was always such a balanced voice of reason, a problem-solver, someone who always seemed able to find a solution. Isidor did not expect to hear anything that deviated from I’ve found her, she is safe. Needless to say, he was not prepared for the truth. “She… w-what do you mean, the will of the universe? Her fate? She is somewhere in the world, Alster. She can be found… surely she can be found!” His had began to tremble again. His chest tightened, and his heart raced. Tivia… Tivia would still be here, still be safe, if not for him!
“It’s my fault. My fault, Alster. I… because of what I said to her.” Leaning forward at his desk, the Master Alchemist rested his head in his hands. “I told her… that I thought it was time we should cut ties, as I’ve come to the decision to return to Nairit when this is all over. I said it didn’t make sense to harbur any further friendship, and where she is being courted by another man… I did not think it would affect her to such a degree. It’s my fault, Alster.”
Even if she was safe, wherever she was, this was precisely what Isidor had not wanted for Tivia Rigas. Oh, why had he had to react so bitterly, now that she was getting her life together!? Why couldn’t he have just been happy for her? “...thank you, Alster. For trying. Please take care of yourself. We… we will think of something, I’m sure.”
He wasn’t about to resign to this outcome, however, or allow Tivia to be resigned to her so-called ‘destiny’. Setting the resonance stone aside, the Master Alchemist crossed the room, opened the drawer beneath his washbasin… and withdrew a small square of cloth, with the initials T R embroidered on it. Tivia’s handkerchief, which she had never reclaimed. A memento of their first encounter. Maybe… just maybe, there was a way to track her down.
Before he could second-guess himself to succumb to his otherwise crippling social anxiety, Isidor stuffed the handkerchief into a pocket and hurried out of his chamber. After asking a handful of passing Gardeners, they directed him to Erevahl’s chambers, and it was not without a good deal of discomfort and lingering jealousy that he found the means to knock on the door before he lost his nerve. “Erevahl. I hope I am not disturbing you.” He ventured a shaky smile. “I consulted with Alster Rigas, and we have yet to locate Tivia’s whereabouts… but I do have an idea. I cannot guarantee it will yield immediate results, but it will be a start, at least to learn in what direction she set out. Can you tell me, what possessions did Tivia leave behind? The more, the better, although for this to work, I’m afraid that they will be destroyed. But anything will help; the more, the better.”
Among many other things, Nia had to learn not to push people too far out of their comfort zones--and that included not prying into situations that did not concern her. Of course the nature of Ari’s nightmare piqued her interest, particularly if it had induced such an awful flare-up, but she knew better than to ask. To her surprise, however, the Canaveris lord opened up about the horrors he’d dreamt--perhaps relived, in some way. Had he even had the closure of seeing his brother’s body, or was Casimiro never returned to the family for a proper burial, yet another forgotten casualty of war among thousands upon thousands of other bodies?
Nia lent an ear, letting him talk to take his mind off of the small cut she made in one of his hands to collect enough blood for the procedure. And then he said it: It should have been me. Those words made her fingers hesitate upon his frozen shoulder. Hadn’t those very words, that very sentiment, haunted her for over a decade? “I know the feeling. I wish I could tell you that it goes away, or that it gets better… but I don’t know, really. Might be different for everyone, and you might always hear them at the back of your mind, but eventually, they just become words: no more, no less.” Exhaling slowly, deeply, the Master Alchemist felt for the material deep beneath Ari’s muscle where the curse had begun to petrify bone, and worked from the inside out to restore the organic material. “I used to hear those words all the time. Not so much when Celene died, but when my little sister, Palla, passed away from complications due to her training… it didn’t seem fair. Why me? Why did I get to live when I was never supposed to have been born? And then when my parents were killed, it hit me even harder: me. I got to live, I got to be the last Ardane. Survivor’s guilt sucks hard, Ari, but when we are all that is left, we have to honour those lost to us by doing the damned best that we can. It’s why I didn’t give up: why I insist on surviving. For Celene… for Palla. My parents can be damned for all I care, but I live for my sisters. And because of them, because of the lives that were stolen from them and that they will never get to experience… I live for all of us. Just like you live for your brother, Ari.”
Fully aware of every averse reaction he had to her touch, from the way he held his breath to the way he flinched like it hurt (though knowing he couldn’t feel much at all through the stone), Nia opted to keep talking to help take his mind off of the discomfort. “I didn’t know your brother, but I know what you’ve done in his memory. I know how well you treat his daughter, and I know that you would do anything for the people of Stella D’Mare. Maybe I’m wrong, but I think he would be damn proud of you, Ari. Just like I’m living for Celene and Palla, you’re living for your brother. And hey--you’re really getting shit done. We’ll never know why we were spared in lieu of our loved ones… but we can make the best of what we have, right? We can control that much.” But would they be proud, now? To see how I am so desperate for them, that I’ve given up hours and days of my life entertaining illusions? Nia’s chest tightened at the thought that her sisters, wherever their spirits lingered, only looked on in pity, now. Because she was now thriving: she was yearning to forget what she had been told, to forget that what she was seeing in the moonlight wasn’t real. She didn’t want the truth… she was perfectly happy with illusions. And that--that was her own sad truth. Because she knew that when she left tonight, when she returned to the palace, she would sit in the company of those illusions again, if only to feel like she wasn’t alone. Like she wasn’t the last of them.
With her own despairing heart beating hard in her chest, Nia was just about as relieved as Ari when the procedure concluded, and the blood in her hand was now nothing more than a fine powder which she promptly dusted off. “Good as new,” she announced, after running her hands once more over both of his shoulders, afflicted and unafflicted, to make sure that the proper balance had been restored. “All flesh and blood again. Though for your own comfort, you might want to work that knot out right here. Otherwise it’ll pinch a nerve in your neck and your arm will be in all kinds of pain.” She gently pressed on the back of his shoulder, where the muscle had hardened into knots as a result of toting around stone all day. “A few nice, hot baths, and lying on a heated stone should do the trick, since I assume you’re not too keen on massages. If it’s still bothering you in a few days, I can also whip you up a salve that will help.”
For some absurd reason, Ari insisted on repaying her with gratitude, despite that she had long since agreed to lend him a hand in return for sculpting that statue of the acrobat. And knowing how poorly he took to refusals, she happily listened as he went on about the rock in her pocket, meanwhile suggesting more ‘appropriate’ alternatives. “Yeah… cinnabar. That’s what it is. Pretty colour, huh? Listen, I appreciate the offer, and as someone who deals in alchemy, the properties of stones do very much interest me… but I’m just fine, as is. It might not be much of a worry stone, but it’s got some… Well, it’s got its uses. But, hey, I might hit you up for another one of those stones that treats hangovers sometime soon! The one you gave me before is either losing its effectiveness or needs to be purified from all of the headaches I’ve had it soak up.”
Nia had to silently applaud herself, at this point, for making it through without falling to pieces. Even in light of Ari’s heartbreaking nightmare, even after saying Celene and Palla’s names, the Master Alchemist had managed to keep it together! Even if it was all a ruse, it was enough to give her the confidence of knowing she wasn’t entirely defeated. That she might be hurting, but the world didn’t have to know any better. Like a wounded prey animal that did not act like it was wounded so that predators would not think it to be an easy target. Ari was fine, and she could go home and indulge in another bottle of wine and break down in peace without anyone being the wiser. At least, that was the plan when she finally stood up on her slightly unstable legs, only to be sat back down again by Ari’s insistence. Damn… did she really look that bad? It must’ve been the tunic, drawing too much attention to her thinner than usual figure…
“You want me to stay?” She was sure, at that point, that her facade had begun to crack. She couldn’t stay: she needed privacy and solitude to feel safe enough to not be alright. She needed the faces of her sisters, who were only illusions, but still a comfort that she could not find anywhere else… You do deserve to feel this way. You deserve all of it. Isidor’s words echoed in her mind--and she had no choice but to refute them. No. I won’t feel this way. I refuse--whether or not I deserve it. “Hey, don’t worry about me, Ari. I’ve literally trained all of my life to tolerate being my strongest while at my weakest. It’s not the first time I’ve fasted for the sake of my alchemy. I might not look it, but I can handle myself just fine, see?”
Standing once again, she spread her arms and flashed a slightly less than stable smile. “Good as always. I really do appreciate your concern, but I’ve had trouble sleeping, lately. Don’t know what I’d do with myself all night in someone else’s home. Hey, if it makes you feel better, I’ll contact you on the resonance stone so you know I got home safely, alright?”
Nia turned to leave, but she didn’t get far. Her legs felt impossibly heavy, and her head impossibly light, and for a moment, she could’ve sworn she’d suddenly lost all feeling her body… but she’d never know, for sure. Because she fell unconscious before her body hit the marble floor, just outside of the guest bedroom.
She wasn’t out of long. A half hour later, at most, Nia stirred from wherever it was her body had been placed. At first, it took her a moment to realize she was awake. And then it took her another moment to realize that the faraway pain in the back of her head pulsed to her heartbeat. The last thing that surfaced in her semi-awareness was that she was not in the palace, but a room with a dainty, pastel-green springlike theme… She was not in the palace. She was not in her room… but then, what had happened after she had left Ari’s estate…?
That was just it, she realized with a start and sat bolt upright on the bed, despite the way her body protested. The world spun again, for just a brief moment, before her half-lidded eyes fell upon a familiar face. “A-Ari…! I… I don’t know what happened. I’m so sorry, I haven’t fainted in years. It’s nothing to worry about, I’ll be out of your way immediately…”
If the Canaveris lord hadn’t insisted she stay, before, then there certainly was no arguing with him now. Apparently, she had fainted just as she had made to leave, and hit her head on the floor. At this point, she couldn’t even argue that she was well enough to travel, because now on top of already being physically weak, there was also the potential she’d suffered a concussion. And as it all slowly sank in, that there was no way she was getting back to central Galeyn tonight, what was left of Nia Ardane’s shoddy mask finally began to crumble. “I… you don’t understand. I need to get back. I’ll be fine! I…” A single tear escaped from the corner of her eye--just one, but it was enough to open the floodgates, and the Master Alchemist only had time to turn her head in the other direction toward her shoulder before she couldn’t hold herself together anymore, and quietly wept.
“The warning was clear—and I’ve no choice but to abide.” Alster lodged the nub of his fingernail into a ding in the kitchen table’s wooden surface, concentrating on his idle task to prevent too much needless emotion from leaking out of his voice. Isidor entrusted him with the search and, regardless of the universe’s divine intervention, he failed to deliver. Not only did he fail, but he refused to investigate any further, fearing retribution. For all his impressive skill and magical might, Alster Rigas, deity adjacent through his associations with the Serpent, veritable god of Its domain, was humbled by the very stars that he and his family revered, and from which they drew their power. No man could challenge the infinite. Not even the “nothing-is-impossible” Alster Rigas, whose successes in life were attributed only to the approval of the stars. They saved him. They saved Elespeth. His debt of gratitude to the heavens was too bottomless to repay in his lifetime, let alone in several thousand lifetimes. If standing aside and demurring to the will of the universe was what little recompense he could offer, then he’d do so without any further fuss. His steel grip on the resonance stone tightened; it shook in his palm. Again, he was powerless. Powerless to Locque, powerless to the heavens, and worse yet, powerless to help his best friend and his kin.
“They spoke to me as they would speak to Tivia, delivering me a taste of what she must endure regularly. Now I know why star seers are known to go mad,” he muttered as an aside. “My ears bled from what was arguably the most head-splitting sound I’ve ever heard. I dropped to the floor and fell into violent convulsions nothing like I’ve before experienced. Through the screeching, unintelligible noise, I heard them say, ‘Don’t interfere.’ If you decide to proceed despite this warning, and if something unprecedented should happen, please desist immediately, Isidor. I mean it,” his voice took on a stern, grave tone. “As much as we try to push the limits of what we’re able to achieve, this is too ambitious, too arrogant, even for us. The universe acts not only as a force of magic, but it lords over the concepts of cause and effect. If it truly wants to hide Tivia from detection, then it will manipulate the very fabric of reality to ensure she isn’t found. No magic, no alchemy, no Night Garden, no summoners, no wolf or hound capable of sniffing out a single ant in a colony of millions will succeed."
"Please believe me,” his speech grew plaintive, “I would do whatever I could, Isidor, if I thought recovering Tivia were possible. And I know this a futile request, but do not blame yourself to such a degree. Tivia is her own person. She was upset. We do a number of illogical, unreasonable things when we’re upset. No one is immune. But who could have predicted that she would have the gumption to not only run away from a highly-fortified palace, but actually obtain the impenetrable protection from the stars, as well? You couldn’t have known, Isidor. What’s happening with Tivia...it’s beyond the scope of our understanding. I hate it, too. Hate that I can do nothing, but...all I can offer you in consolation is this,” he pinched the inside of his forearm, plucking away the hopeless notes that clanged a discordant tune on his tongue. I have to give him some reassurance. Anything at all. Even if it’s speculative. Even if I can’t verify its truth. “Tivia will be safe from outside forces. With the stars investing so much in her survival, they won’t allow her to meet a premature demise. And, this may sound like wishful thinking on my part, but I believe...that we’ll see her again. But only when she’s ready to make herself known to us. Only when she’s ready…”
After finishing his conversation with Isidor, Alster set the stone on the table, stared at its smooth, dark gray surface for several minutes, and slumped forward in the chair, hands cradling the sides of his head. “Even though it’s not my fault, I can’t help but feel horribly that there isn’t anything else I can do or choose to do,” he admitted to Elespeth, who sidled close, ready to pick up the pieces should he choose to fall apart. “At the very least, I should have been there for Tivia. She was there for me. She performed the ritual that saved my life. It was her idea to anchor me to my star and stop my neverending fall through the ether. She lost her hearing because of me. What have I done to show my appreciation? I don’t think I visited her even once before we left for the farmlands!” He closed his eyes, sinking further into himself. “Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference, but...if I could go back and tell her that she isn’t alone, I would do so in a heartbeat. But hindsight...hindsight doesn’t save anyone. It never saves anyone. I just have to live with being utterly negligent towards the people who are crying for help. What am I now, but just an instrument for revenge?” Staring at the closed front door, he rose from his chair. “I need to go for a walk. ...I’d like to go alone, if that’s...if that’s alright with you, El.”
At the knock, Erevahl, anticipating the visitor, opened the door to find Isidor waiting on the other side. Like the Master Alchemist before him, the Gardener held out faith in Alster Rigas’ search methods, almost placated by the inclusion of his assistance. Alas, although Isidor selected his words carefully, the implication was clear. Not even the powerful Rigas caster could divine Tivia’s whereabouts. Disappointed by the news, Erevahl was about to politely dismiss Isidor, but the Master Alchemist suggested another method, one that required the use—and destruction of—the star seer’s personal effects. Nearly desperate at this point, he nodded his permission and led the way to Tivia’s personal chambers, untouched since her hasty departure.
“She mostly left behind some clothes.” Erevahl directed him to the closet, where a few formal dresses hung from pegs. “And a hairbrush,” he crossed the room to her vanity, holding the implement to the light and exposing a few golden hairs twisted in between the horsehair bristles. “This may prove useful to you,” he transferred it into Isidor’s hands. Before he could continue the tour of the missing Rigas woman’s room, the mysterious white lily caught Erevahl’s eye. “Well, there is this, I suppose.” He lifted the undying plant from its underside with a delicateness befitting a Gardener of his caliber. “It is one of her prized possessions. I’m surprised she didn’t part with it. She didn’t obtain it from the Night Garden and when I inquired about its origins, she would only tell me it was a precious memento from someone dear to her. I’m assuming,” he cocked his brown head of hair at the much-taller man, “that this ‘dear someone’ is you.”
No judgment painted his voice when he said, “I always suspected that she never got over you. That she only sought my courtship in an attempt to carry on as best as she was able. While I could tell she cared for me and about me, she was always so...emotionally closed-off. This entire time, I fear I only had a small piece of her. The outer piece. The one she presents to others. Much as I tried to make her happy, I… I sometimes doubt if she ever was.” After returning the flower to its rightful creator, Erevahl stepper away from the Master Alchemist and solemnly looked to the door. “I kissed her in front of you in an attempt to force her to address the person she chose as her partner. To look forward and not behind. It was an ill-conceived scheme and I do apologize for any undue stress or discomfort it has brought you.” His hand rested on the door-latch, jiggling it open. “I’ll leave you to your preparations. In the meantime, I’ll ask Prince Sorde and one of the wolves if they are able to track her via the sentinel tree or by scent. I pray that we find her. We must find her.” Muttering his farewell, Erevahl made his egress, leaving Isidor to stew in the residual residency of the woman who no longer occupied the space, but whose robust presence refused to die.
While Nia’s encouragements concerning the late Casimiro didn’t go unappreciated, Ari often verbalized the same comforts she spouted to himself, whenever he needed an uplifting perspective to guide him from the brink of despair. The Canaveris family thrived on positive action, positive energy, and positivity in general, for positivity was productivity and productivity defined their legacy as the worker bees of D’Marian nobility, an honor they held with pride, even if high society deemed otherwise. He knew how deeply he honored his brother. He carried it into every aspect of his life: personal, professional, artistic, waking, and even sleeping. To earn his worth as the brother who survived, the spare brother with the spare parts, he gradually incorporated more and more aspects of Casimiro’s credos, stature, and personality, resolving to one day transform into him entirely. That way, no one would have truly lost him at all. Casimiro would live on, literally, through the youngest sibling. He would manage the household using Casimiro’s wisdom, rule the D’Marian village emulating Casimiro’s perseverance, and love Casimiro’s children as though they were his own.
It should have been me. No Canaveris worth their salt would ever utter such defeatist words, and yet he did. Not the Aristide who absorbed and presented as his brother, but just Ari; Ari the unconfident, the wavering, the broken artist. And yet, it wasn’t the first time he rejected the Canaveris philosophy of holding one’s head in adversity and always exuding an optimistic bearing. Upon Chara’s retreat from the shambles she left of him, he eventually crawled to his brother and spoke the language of pain. Instead of dismissing his cries, Casimiro listened carefully and accepted that he had a right to feel miserable. Sometimes, forcing a smile and a cheery disposition worsened one’s health because it put untold strain on both the body and the mind. In order to properly recover, Casimiro understood that an individual had to work toward positivity, and an essential step required the acknowledgment and eventual release of the negative.
That’s what Ari needed. That’s what Nia needed, as well. Catharsis.
But Nia wasn’t keen on spending the night in his villa, and he exhausted the willpower to physically restrain her a second time. Don’t let her get away. She’s not well!
“Nia, wait!” His arm shot for her, but contrary to the first time, it froze in midst of making secondary contact, having lost the courage to stop a moving target who sprang from him like he was a predator ready to sink his teeth into her hindquarters. Even when she lost her balance through the doorway, he hesitated to catch her and, due to his inaction, watched helplessly as her head hit the marble floor with a sharp crack!
“Nia!” He crouched to her side, checking for injuries. Nothing external. No blood. But the absence of blood didn’t always negate the issue. Judging by how her head met the hard marble and the ensuing crack that sounded, she could be suffering a concussion or, worse, internal bleeding. In a panic, he psychically called Lazarus to his aid. The burly golem seemed to melt out of the shadows as he barreled down the hallway on urgent feet.
“Laz,” he gestured to the unconscious, unresponsive woman. “Help me lift her to the bed.”
Laz’s dark, dissecting eyes regarded her for a moment, an insect he would like to smush while the opportunity presented itself. But out of respect to Ari, he gave a gruff, obliging nod. With Ari supporting her head, the giant man easily scooped her up by the waist and below the crooks of her legs. Together, they ushered her into the guest room and lowered her upon the bed.”
When Nia finally came to, Ari was sitting on the edge of her bed. Fully dressed, but in much more practical attire for the evening, his brow of worry smoothed to see her aware and responsive.
“Nothing to worry about?” His brow almost snapped in twain as another tic of worry replaced the previous one. “Nia, you not only fell, but your head contacted solid marble. You’ve contracted a concussion. I had the family doctor take a look and he confirmed my suspicions. He recommends three days of bed rest. I’ve already sent an emissary to the palace to inform Majesty Locque of the situation. I…” he swallowed hard. “I am ultimately responsible for your tumble. If I had caught you…” he stared accusingly at his hands. “There is no excusing my touch aversion. This accident has occurred in my home and I will hold myself accountable. I cannot express this enough, but you must stay.”
Those final words slapped Nia with the force of a thousand slaps, affecting her as though he condemned her to die by hanging, and he was her executioner. As the accused, as the criminal, she hung her head and openly wept. He had done this to her. Not entirely, no, but as a co-conspirator to Hadwin’s awful plan, he was complicit in placing additional strain on her weakening body and driving her to the point of despair. And he had wanted to force and manipulate this outcome? He followed the wolf’s scheme and was given exactly what he desired, but no. Not like this. Catharsis through shared experiences, perhaps, but not sitting as an active party to Nia’s own shattering.
Whatever had transpired was all in the past, now. It mattered to learn from his mistakes. Starting with his frightened hands.
Slowly, he curled his fingers around her hand, a delicate action, in case it startled her too much. Lowering his head, his shoulder-length black hair fell forward to conceal the heat of embarrassment on his cheeks. It was just her hand, half-bound in leather and hardly flesh-exposed, but his middle fingers grazed over and found skin: soft, spongy, and rippled by the wrinkles which delineated each new, separate segment. “You’re safe here, Nia. I will not look if you do not wish for me to see.” He closed his eyes and turned away, blinding himself from her tears. “Or I’ll leave and allow you as much privacy as you need. Conversely,” his palm sweat in her touch, “I can stay, and sit with you, if what you need is company. I can sit with you all night. Whatever will make you feel safest. It is not your room in the palace, but...please note that my villa can serve as a home when you’ve nowhere else to go.”
