Although she hadn’t been intently eavesdropping on Alster’s conversation, the farmhouse was relatively small, and it was impossible not to hear who was speaking in the living room from the kitchen. Her husband’s conversation with Isidor rang clearly in her ears, and just like Alster, she had expected that the Master Alchemist would not take well to the news her husband had to deliver. It wasn’t like Alster to give up on anything, so when the Rigas mage ever suggested that they do not proceed to interfere with destiny, it was pretty noteworthy, and highly suggestive that there was no alternative but to allow things to unfold naturally as they would without interference. Elespeth also knew that the defeat certainly would not sit well with Alster, however much he knew it was necessary to expect it, and she imagined that this was likely as hard on him as it was the man receiving the message via the complementary resonance stone.
Alster confirmed this upon the conclusion of his conversation with Isidor. Stepping away from the dishes she was cleaning following a brief dinner they’d shared, she walked away from the basin of water and into the living room, where she set her hands on Alster’s shoulders. “Alster, it is like you have told Isidor: this is entirely out of our hands. Tivia’s destiny is beyond all of us to interfere with--look what it did to you when you tried.” She gently touched a small bruise that he had earned from the cosmically induced seizure that had landed him on the floor. “And you have to remember, a lot of us did try to be there for Tivia. Isidor included, but she has a way of shutting people out, even if she does desire their company…”
The former knight was not without her own guilt. Like him, she had not visited Tivia during her recovery. Not because she did not want to, or because the Star Seer had not crossed her mind, but she was so preoccupied with Alster’s recovery and Locque’s impending reign that she hadn’t had the time to spare. All the same, she understood how this must have affected her husband. Tivia was his kin, after all, so it only made sense that he would feel partially responsible for what had occurred. “Please don’t blame yourself. It is unfortunate, but… there is nothing to say that she won’t return of her own accord, right?”
There was nothing she could say to lessen the blow of the bad news that Isidor had relayed, nor the even worse news that Alster had to relay back to his friend. But as a show of support, she took one of his hands in her own. “Alster, I don’t know that either of us could have given Tivia the help that she needed. Or that she would have accepted it if we’d offered it. Tivia… she might have been a victim of happenstance, but I think, she also creates her own problems within herself. It’s a shame that she and Isidor parted ways…” Elespeth sighed and let her hand drop. “They were good for each other. I’d never seen either of them happier, apart.”
Upon his decision to take a walk, the former Atvanian’s brow furrowed with concern. Since his episode earlier, he had been stable and hadn’t shown any signs of distress or injury, but Elespeth knew so little of this magical, cosmic attacks when they’d happened to Tivia, let alone Alster. Was it liable to happen again? Did the stars perceive him as a threat? “You know I’d feel much more comfortable if you stayed here with me. Or let me come with you.” She sighed. She couldn’t lie to him, and even if she did, he’d see right through it. “But if you think it’s what you need… please don’t be out for long. It is bad enough that I am not convinced Locque won’t still try to take you out if she has the opportunity, but now I am less trusting of the stars overhead.”
Isidor had expected Erevahl’s cooperation. After all, he had been the one to bring Tivia’s sudden disappearance to his attention, and there wasn’t a single doubt in his mind that the Gardener cared for her and was concerned for her well-being. But what came next, what Erevahl confided in him… the socially frightened Master Alchemist was not prepared for that.
It was difficult enough being led to Tivia’s chambers and seeing them so hastily cleared out. She had taken so much with her, so intent not to return to the palace or to the lives of those who loved and cared for her… Even if he did find her again, what were the chances that he could convince her to come back? Could he really contend with the stars and the destiny that they had laid out for her? “Anything will do, no matter the material.” He ran a hand over some of the clothes that remained, identifying their fibers instantly by touch. “So long as it is something she has frequently come into contact with, then there is still a part of her on the items. If I can break them down to simpler components, I can put together a solution that will ‘react’ wherever it is dropped if it is somewhere she has tread. She could not have gotten far in twenty-four hours, and while it may not be enough to lead all the way to where she has wound up, it could give a clear indication of the direction she took. And that information could be invaluable to search parties…”
His voice trailed off when Erevahl held up a particularly familiar lily, and explained that Tivia had invested a lot of sentimental value in it given who had gifted it to her. So… the Gardener was no fool, and that kiss had been intentional! Isidor felt the heat creep into his cheeks, and there was no means of escape. “I’m sure you are mistaken.” He said quietly, although he was not sure of the words, himself. “It is Tivia who left me. Because I… I tried to help her, but she did not agree with my means. She never could have found true happiness with me… If anything, what she wanted was my brother. But he is staunchly unable to love, and I… I was as close as she would get to what she really wanted.” Well, whether or not that was the case, now, he would never really know. When he found her again… what would she be like? What would the stars have taken from her? Would she even remember him, or care to see him, or would she scorn him for going against her wishes?
He neither heard nor saw Erevahl leave, his bespectacled gaze fixed as it was on that lily. Feeling weak in the knees, he took a seat upon her empty bed, and held the once paper flower in his hand. Why did she even still have this? Why hadn’t she just forgotten him? Why… why couldn’t he have humoured her, maintained their friendship, and let her be happy?!
“...I can’t let you do this, Tivia.” He muttered, and ran his fingers over the soft petals of the flower and pressed his lips into a thin, determined line. Alster… Alster was wrong. The man was not infallible, and just because he had not succeeded in locating her by means of magic did not mean it was impossible. It simply meant that other methods must be employed. “Even if it means you will hate me forever… I am going to find you. And I am going to bring you home.”
When he stood again, he ventured toward one of her windows, where he glared up at the cloudless night sky and the infinite, twinkling lights in the darkness that mocked him. “You might reign over the cosmos and magic… but my realm is the material realm. And you have no place, no power, here. You might have stopped Alster… but you will not stop me.” Isidor boldly challenged the stars aloud, his quiet voice full of conviction as he clutched the lily tightly in his palm. “I will find her. And I will bring her home.”
Nia was practically living one of her many personal nightmares, and she never thought she would live it out in Ari’s home. Weakened and compromised, visibly vulnerable… and with no way to escape. Hells, she wasn’t sure she could walk away if she wanted to! Her head pounded to the beat of her heart with pain, and her limbs felt heavy and burdensome, with about enough strength to stumble across the room if she did make a break for it, knowing well she wouldn’t get far. But as she gave up, and gave in to the tears as they trickled down her cheeks, she felt a pressure on her left hand and opened her eyes to see that it was covered by Ari’s. Ari… was touching her? Reaching out to comfort her, when he could hardly stand the feeling of her hands on his body as she’d proceeded to turn stone back to flesh?
You’re safe, he told her, and she knew in that moment that he meant it. At least, that he believed it, and he wanted her to believe it, too. And she… oh, how she wanted to believe it. Wasn’t this just what she’d sought the night before, when she’d coerced Isidor Kristeva into sharing a bed with her? She hadn’t wanted to be alone. Wanted someone else’s touch to ground her, to bring her back to earth to maintain a healthy perspective, lest she give into her despair completely. And here, Ari was offering all that to her, willingly. Not out of guilt (although he admitted to feeling partially to blame for her fall), but because he recognized something in her with which he was already too familiar: a fear of vulnerability, of showing weakness, lest you become prey. And wasn’t what she had been hoping Isidor would show her? So that she could feel less alone, knowing she was not the only one with that fear?
Ari was safe, because they were the same. Not simply insofar as they both mourned the death of beloved siblings and struggled to make them proud long after their departure, but because they now tread equal grounds. She had seen him vulnerable on more than one occasion; and he trusted her with his own vulnerability. So what reason did she have not to trust him, in turn?
“...I don’t want to be alone.” She whispered, when her tears subsided enough for her to form words. “It’s because I’ve been alone… that I’m like this. Weak and pathetic. My clothes don’t fit because I haven’t been able to eat, and last night, a bottle of wine was the first thing I put in my body in days.” Why not overshare? She was already a bleeding, oozing, infected wound, and there was no longer any hope of pretending otherwise. With her free hand, she reached into her pocket and withdrew the small piece of cinnabar. “...there’s something I want to show you. But you should be prepared to completely rescind everything you’ve offered me when you see that I’m just the world’s biggest gullible idiot.”
With lucky aim, Nia tossed the stone to the opposite corner of the room, where moonlight pooled like a spill of liquid silver. As if manifesting from dust motes and mist, a form began to take shape. Elegant, in a stunning ball gown, with her brunette locks curled and and braided and pinned in an up-do. Her resemblance to Nia was striking, although she held herself with far more elegance and confidence than the Master Alchemist ever could. Nia smiled sadly as she met the illusion’s eyes, and new tears trickled down her pale skin. “It’s my older sister--Celene. She’s beautiful, isn’t she? See, this is why I didn’t want to attend your party, initially. I can’t contend with that; I can’t be as stunning and as confident as her. But I knew, for her sake, I would have to try… and that frightened me. Because I didn’t know what I would do if I looked in the mirror and saw her face instead of mine…”
Her heart hurt anew, seeing the woman she could never be, whose shoes she could never fill. She wanted it to be real--even now, knowing it was all a farce. She wanted that illusion to have a voice, to sit next to her, to put her arms around her and insist that she stop crying and start acting like a proper Ardane lady. “I know she--it isn’t real. You don’t have to tell me. Sometimes, it isn’t Celene, but my younger sister, Palla. I guess whomever manifests is who I need to see most, in the moment.” Nia bit on her lower lip and closed her eyes, taking a breath to compose herself. “At first… I thought they were real. The real spirits of my sisters. In fact, for weeks, I thought I was really seeing them, and that they were really here. And I was so happy, because it came at a time when I really needed it.”
Forcing herself to look away from Celene, lest she begin to sob again, the Master Alchemist fixed her eyes on the window. In her reflection, she could see how her cheeks had become hollow, and her eyes heavy with exhaustion. Is this was several days of pretending to care for yourself did to a person?! “I figured I’d burned a bridge when I made you dance at your gala, and kissed you on the cheek. So I didn’t see fit to bother you any further, out of respect. But around the same time, the proprietor of my favourite pub told me I was no longer welcome, there. And I was feeling so lost, because I really want Galeyn to be my home, you know? But Alster Rigas was right. I didn’t want to admit it, but he was right: it will never be my home, because I work for Locque, and no one will open their hearts or their homes to someone employed by the sorceress. Yet none of that mattered when I thought I got my family back--in a sense. I was so happy, and I was convinced that I could live here happily, shunned by every living soul in this kingdom, so long as my sisters could return to me every night. I could live with that. But...”
Without realizing it, she squeezed Ari’s hand. On one hand, it was a relief to get all of this off her chest, but all the same… it was hard. “But then, it was brought to my attention that this was all a really sick, lame joke. And that I’d actually been alone, talking to myself, all this time. Honestly, when I’d first met Locque, I wanted protection; literally nothing more than an opportunity to stop running. And I thought that would be all I’d ever need; and yet, it isn’t, and I still want more. Now I see I never should have dared to dream so big in the first place. I should just be happy with the protection I have, and let it be. I know this, now, but I still… I still want it to be real. I’m still not ready to come to terms with the fact that this is all a joke, and Celene, and Palla… aren’t really there. I know it’s true; but I don’t want it to be. Could… could there be… is there anything real about it, Ari? Do you think it’s possible?”
Turning away from the window, she sought answers in Ari’s eyes, a small part of her still clinging to what little hope she had left. “I don’t know magic like you mages do, but I know that you can’t make something from nothing. Is there some part of Celene in that illusion that’s real? Anything at all?” Why was she even asking him? This was not Ari’s magic; he was an earth mage, not some master of illusions. With a quiet, defeated sigh, she shook her head, but immediately stopped when it only exacerbated the sharp headache at the back of her skull, where she’d come in contact with the marble floor. “...forget it. Forget I asked. It doesn’t matter if an illusion is still an illusion. I wish… I wish I’d never found out. I wish I still believed, because then nothing else would matter so much. I could grow old and die in Galeyn, living in blissful ignorance that I’m not seeing my family at all. I could have my protection and my happiness. I considered it, too; commissioning some magic user to draft me up a tonic to make me forget everything since I found out. But it wouldn’t matter, because knowing Hadwin, he wouldn’t let me forget it. He was the one who broke the news in the first place. Don’t get me wrong, I think he thought he was helping me, but… I mean, you can’t just tear off a bandage and expect the wound it was covering not to bleed. I wasn’t ready to hear it. I’m still not ready. I don’t know that I’ll ever be.”
Nia closed her eyes to shut out the taunting image of her sister. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve to put up with this--to put up with me. My problems are my own, and you’ve obviously got your own demons to contend with. I know you don’t want me to go, but I… I don’t know that it would be good for you to have me stay, Ari. I’m in a really dark place. I don’t want to drag you down to that place, with me.”
I don’t want to be alone…
“Then it is settled. You will not be alone.” He offered the hurting Master Alchemist a gentle smile. “The bed is yours. I shall hunker down in a corner somewhere, a goodly and decent distance whilst simultaneously hovering closeby on an as-needed basis. I trust you will keep our slumber party secret from the serving staff?” He positioned the finger of his free hand over his lips. “They are wonderful people, but they do have the tendency to gossip. No worries, though. They are not malicious gossipers. Over the decades, I’ve established a strong rapport with them. My brother was a very busy man and my parents had so few expectations of me, given my unique condition, so I was left to my own devices, more often than not. It would have been a lonely existence, were it not for the kind staff. And Lazarus, of course.” His head shifted to the wall shared by the bedroom and the hallway opposite, where the clay golem stood and patrolled.
“He originally belonged to my brother and served as his personal guard and butler, but Laz transferred hands shortly following the ocean incident which almost cost my life...were it not for Chara Rigas.” Praise for the woman who accrued more damage over the years than benevolent acts was at this stage an obligation rather than a testament to her less-than-altruistic character. A mere pronunciation of an acknowledged truth. Get to the point, a frustrated voice berated him. Coughing politely, he gathered up the main observation from the awkward rant he subjected Nia to endure, when he should have been using emotional intelligence to determine the suitability of a breezy, sparsely-connected lecture. “Through my connections and my associations, I daresay I’ve learned the meaning of strength, and it is invariably found in companionship. A maudlin platitude, to be certain, but it carries a sliver of wisdom. We were not meant to sally forth on our own for long. At any rate, I’m glad you have chosen my company over a bottle. I pray I do not ruin this moment by saying anything indelicate, or--I shudder to think--by boring you to tears.”
His tongue-in-cheek aside notwithstanding, Ari respectfully quietened as Nia withdrew the cinnabar stone and skipped it across the room, where it plunked into a pool of moonlight. Instantaneously, a gossamer figure rippled into life. Translucent yet full-bodied, the young woman stood with ghostly elegance, a ballroom debutante aglimmer in both gown and dainty pin-up curls. Celene. An appropriate name for one so dosed in moonglow. “She is beautiful--and she captures your likeness. The resemblance is undisputed. The two of you are, without a doubt, related,” he said, eyes trained on the smiling spectre. The detail of illusion was uncanny! No wonder Nia was fooled into believing their authenticity. “But, if I may offer my perspective, and therein my upcoming question will sound as though I am shifting the conversation to myself—do you view me as confident? Charismatic? Stunning, in some respects? For I certainly choose the loudest fabrics to display on my person like a moving, living canvas,” he chuckled at his own expense, flicking an invisible piece of lint off his lapel. “If the answer is yes, then I regret to inform you that it is all a farce.”
“What you see is a shoddy imitation of my brother. From crown to toes,” he gestured to the whole of him, discluding nothing from the analysis. “When he stood on the pulpit, his hypnotizing presence compelled people to listen, and follow on his every word. I’ve learned to channel him such that I’ve achieved a modest level of his confidence, but the confidence is borrowed from his merits, not mine.” He cocked his head to the woman bathing in the quicksilver. “Is it off-limits to emulate your sister in such a manner, even when the situation calls for courage you may not readily possess? Is it so wrong to draw power from the people you admire? From outside of yourself? It may not be your confidence, not entirely, but, if nothing else, what you carry and what you exude is an homage to your departed sister. She lives on, in you. So, in a sense, it can be your confidence, Nia. Pretend enough, and people are convinced that it is real, such that you are convinced, as well. Now—Lord Aristide Canaveris, Steward of Stella D’Mare, has much become my dominant persona, and I have my brother to thank for the inspiration.”
The easy smile he presented for the Master Alchemist peeled around the edges when she mentioned Alster Rigas’s claim of her undesirable status as Locque’s advisor. While he wasn’t wrong, there was more going on beneath the surface than her unpopularity-by-association. “Of course Lord Rigas would say that. He excels at wielding his unpopularity like a banner of pride among our D’Marian citizens. But let us take a page from his book, shall we? Despite his many foibles, malicious acts, and multiple exiles, he earned the moniker, Savior of Stella D’Mare, and he enjoyed a brief tenure as its leader. If a controversial and reviled figure could—albeit briefly—shed the people’s hatred and earn their respect and admiration, then it is not so impossible for you to do the same.” And I will support that avenue for you, if need be, he thought, but chose not to share the sentiment out loud in case it implied his rejection of Locque as her sole benefactor.
“Anywhere you choose to settle down and make a life will present its difficulties, especially when you’ve spent the latter part of your years as an involuntary nomad,” he shifted in his seat, almost forgetting the hand he still cradled and hadn’t yet released. “Now that you have nested, so to speak, it is no longer a matter of pure survival, but of learning how to settle. Everything you’ve run from is slowly catching up to you; in particular, the anxiety of belonging, and the fear of isolation. It is why, I daresay, you look to the familiar vis a vis these illusions of your cherished sisters. Real or no, they bring you solace during a time of uncertainty. As a decades’ long wanderer, removed from home, security, and comfort, this is not a scenario you are accustomed to. Once you achieve that security, you will find that you will not cling to them so fervently. Ah,” he scratched the lobe of his ear, a little self-conscious of launching into an ocean of unsolicited advice, “do tell me if I am overstepping in my analysis. I do not mean to dissect your current struggles under such a cold, sterile light. I only say as much to elucidate a pattern. That where you are at present is not a state you are bound to repeat forever. It is a stage. I’ve gone through the requisite stages, as well, and they do linger a while.” His eyes lifted to admire a painting; an artist’s rendition of the sentinel tree, incidentally created by Casimiro’s eldest son, a budding artist and the closest in appearance to his brother. “You are correct; some dark realizations do not always fade. For example, I shall always believe that I should have taken Casimiro’s place on the front lines. But the acute, stabbing pain you feel now...it will pass, Nia. It will subside to a manageable numbness. For now, it is perfectly fine to sit with that pain.”
Upon her inquiry concerning her sister’s illusion and the plausibility, however slim, of it representing the bonafide spirit of Celeste Ardane, Ari clucked his tongue, an audible sound of concentration, as he appraised the fabricated apparition drifting before them. “I am no illusionist. An earth mage’s domain deals purely in substance: solid, corporeal, and salient. Something that can be worked and manipulated with the hands. If you are curious about the specific properties that comprise this illusion, I would ask the original creator, or a celestial mage, whose extensive work with light manipulation is most suitable for this type of inquiry. But I suspect that investigating its authenticity is not exactly what you are asking. This might not be a fact-based response, but I do believe that what you are seeing is, by some measures, real. Do you remember when I referenced how your sisters live on in you? Well,” he nodded at the moving picture, “what you see here is solid proof. Look at how lovingly your sister is rendered from memory. How beautifully you have preserved her over the years. This,” he declared, “if nothing else, is a celebration of your love. You, Nia Ardane, harbor the soul of an artist. She is the sculpture and you, the sculptor.”
Realizing he went off on yet another tangent, he lowered his head and slowly dislodged his hand from its guardian-like position over her own hand. “Forgive my enthusiasm. Comparing your sister’s illusion to a sculpture—that was uncouth of me. But.” The ‘But’ hung in the air a few moments, unsure of where to go, questioning why it was even uttered in the first place. But. But what?! What did he want to say? What did he want to do?
This is not the right time, his pragmatic side warned. She is in need of comfort and safety. Why would you threaten or ruin her trust?
Do it, Hadwin Kavanagh’s infuriating grin floated in his head, golden eyes flashing their dare. You’ll never drum up the courage again. It’s now or never!
“But,” he inhaled noisily, hiding his fumbling hands beneath the wide bell sleeves of his minimalistic frock coat, “I assure you, your presence is no imposition. As a matter of fact…” Before he changed his mind, he caught her brown gaze, the sparkle of tears rimmed beneath her lids and sprinkled over the shriveling apples of her cheeks. Despite the tangle of her hair and her diminished, defeated, deflated bearing, no throes of misery could destroy her aesthetically pleasing bone structure, the sinuous curves of her delicate neck, the shape of her bosom rising and sinking, rising and sinking. She was beautiful to him, a subject he could paint and sculpt and never truly capture because he saw something more beyond the flesh. Something he could not chisel to the fore. Brushing a few brunette locks from her perspiring forehead, Ari closed his eyes and pressed a small, but meaningful kiss, a brief brushing of lips, but no less significant.
“I...I owe you. For the night of the gala,” he said, in an unstable whisper. “Please understand, I want to put up with you because...because I’ve taken a fancy to you, Nia.”
Before his entire face could transform a bright, burnished red, Ari withdrew from their proximity, a shuffle of erratic, frenetic energy. “My...my apologies,” he burst out. Too flustered to remain seated, he shot out of bed, immediately crossing the room to busy his hands with pouring Nia some water from the crystal decanter set upon the table. “Where is my etiquette? You must be parched. Dehydrated from overconsumption of alcohol, I presume. Oh, and I shall have those headache-healing stones prepared for you straightaway. Tomorrow, the cooks will prepare you an enormous breakfast. Tell me which foods you desire. No requests are absurd or out of the question.” As though afraid she’d leap out of bed at his approach, Ari cautiously pivoted forward on one foot, presenting the tin of water and a clean cloth for drying her face. “I hope I have not disturbed you. It was not my intention to bring you any discomfort. I understand this is not an appropriate time and…” he bowed deeply from the waist, “again, please accept my humblest apologies, Nia.”
Meanwhile, at the palace, Erevahl was locating the aforementioned people to assist in uncovering Tivia Rigas’s whereabouts. Prince Haraldur Sorde offered not only his Forbanne to search all of Galeyn, but agreed to seek the sentinel tree’s ancient guidance. As he set off to tap into the energies of the tree’s widespread root system for a lead, Erevahl managed to snag the cooperation of one of the Kavanagh wolves to lend their uncanny sense of smell. Only, the eager volunteer was neither the reclusive Bronwyn nor the notorious Hadwin.
Rowen Kavanagh had stepped forward to offer her services. And considering how she ate in the palm of Locque’s hand, no one could reject the “kindness” of her helping hand.
On their return to Tivia’s chambers, the starting point for tracking her trajectory, the two of them entered to find that Isidor was still inside.
“Forgive me. I thought you’d have gone by now.” The Gardener tossed his head to the girlish figure at his right. “I’ve been fortunate to recruit Rowen Kavanagh for her tracking expertise. She needs only to acquire a strong scent. We won’t be here for long.” Though his tone was neutral, betraying nothing of his true feelings on the manner, one micro-flash in Isidor’s direction revealed his apprehensions; obtaining the killer-wolf’s cooperation was not his idea.
“Isidor Kristeva. The infamous Master Alchemist. Nice to make your acquaintance.” Her blood-red irises ironically brightened and narrowed as they seemed to absorb each and every one of the man’s dark deeds and latest deceits.
To dampen any tensions before they rose to an uncomfortable level, Erevahl handed Rowen a pillow on Tivia’s side of the bed. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Blinking away her eye contact of the Master Alchemist, Rowen nodded, obliging, and took a liberal sniff of the pillow. “I have her scent. Follow me.”
But she didn’t make it more than three steps out the door before a shudder went through her spine. With a gasp, she clutched her nose and fell to her knees.
“Is this some kind of trick!?” she demanded in between gasps of pain. “Who did this to me?!” When she pulled back her hand, geysers of blood streamed down each nostril. “It’s...like I’m breathing in hot pepper flakes!”
Erevahl stood by, genuinely clueless. “I assure you, no one assaulted you, Rowen!” He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s get you to the Night Garden and we’ll have a loo--”
“No!” She screamed, violently shrugging away his hand. Her eyes were wide with fear. “Get away from me!” Rolling forward on her toes, she sprang upright and darted down the hallway, leaving a trail of blood spatters in her wake. Before he made to follow, a Forbanne guard turned the corner and saluted to Erevahl, fist to chest. “Sir Gardener, we need your assistance. Commander Sorde has collapsed. We found him at the base of the sentinel tree, breathing but unresponsive.”
“First, Alster Rigas, then Rowen Kavanagh, then Prince Sorde.” Erevahl muttered, massaging his temples. “All because we dared to search for Tivia. And what of you, Isidor?” He glanced at the alchemist. “Have you begun your experiment, yet? If you also require healing, please come with me.”
Perhaps it had to do with his being a practiced politician, or maybe just his tendency to wax poetic, but Ari always seemed to know just what to say. Whether he believed his own words was another matter altogether, but for the short time Nia had known him and dared to mention something sad, or dark, or even jovially self-deprecating, the Canaveris lord never failed to counter her thoughts with another angle that she had never considered, and yet always made sense. It was true: humans, human creatures, were undeniably social in nature, and meant to form connections with others. Even the reclusive Isidor Kristeva, however much he shunned company, had reportedly shone in his connection to Tivia Rigas. The Star Seer had brought out a light in him that even he hadn’t realized he’d had… so didn’t it only make sense that that was precisely what Nia had sought, as well? A light she didn’t know she had? Something beyond just being a survivor?
It occurred suddenly to the Master Alchemist, then, that she really had no idea what her strength was, or where to find it. That wasn’t exactly something that one thought about while on the run. You couldn’t get anywhere close to self-actualization when your need for safety wasn’t even met on the daily.
“She is--was--beautiful. I could never hold a flame to her.” Nia agreed quietly, her sad, brown eyes locked on the spectre-like visage of someone she desperately wished was still here. “But… yes, of course I see you as confident, Ari. Brave, even, for everything you’ve gone through, and for the fact you’ve still come out with something to show for it.” But Ari seemed to see it as a farce, and not at all something that was borne naturally of his unique disposition. Of course, knowing what she did of his fear of touch, and the stone flare ups that he dreaded might one day become public knowledge that could damn him and his family forever, she was aware that at times, putting on a mask of confidence was necessary. Nia had never considered that by trying to emulate Celene, but trying to be everything her sister would have been if she were still alive… it didn’t feel like quite the same thing. All that said, however, he wasn’t wrong in his assessment.
“Do you think, if I were to emulate her… I’d miss her less? Look at us, the two of us, lost in the shadows of people who we deem much grander and more deserving. I guess you and I have that in common, Ari.” The Master Alchemist blinked more tears from her eyes and looked away from the ghostly form of her departed sister. “Here I thought I’d never mourned her death, or Palla’s, properly. I never thought I mourned at all, because I was never given the chance… but until now, I didn’t realize just how much I was clinging to the past. Because the past is all I have when the future is so uncertain. It isn’t that I never mourned my sister. I simply never stopped mourning them, and this… all of this has forced me to face it. That they are gone, and if I do manage to make a home for myself, here… I have to go one without them. I do not have a choice. I think I was beginning to accomplish that, before the places where I thought I was welcome suddenly informed me that I was not. It made me realize the future is so uncertain, but the past, the memory… this stupidly convincing apparition. Those will always be there. My memories will always be there. But out there…”
Sighing, she turned her head toward the window, and the darkness beyond it. “I don’t know what’s out there, anymore. Or if I can really be a part of it. I should be grateful that I’m safe: that I don’t have to worry about running anymore. But… damnit all, why is it that running was easier all along? I didn’t have to commit to anything. Not a lover or a place or even an identity. I was always moving on, and it was exhausting, but now… now, the running is over. Now, I could have a home. It just never occurred to me that I might not have what it takes to make it the home I need. And that right now, I’d rather give up and pretend Celene is really here, to talk me out of whatever bullshit I’m entertaining in my head… although,” the corner of her mouth curled into a tiny, but genuine, smile. “You’re not doing a bad job of that, yourself. I’ve always admired your words, Ari. Even if it’s hard to see things the way you do.”
In particular, she wasn’t sure that she was at all an artist, even if her fondest memory of Celene in that ballgown that she had always dreamed of wearing one day was so painfully accurate, it quite literally hurt to look at--although, she suspected part of that pain had to do with the fact she’d cracked her head on a marble floor. “Hey, you compare what you know. I’m not sure I’m anything of an artist. And if you knew Celene well enough to sculpt her--well, after seeing your beautiful rendition of that acrobat, I have no doubt in my mind that it would be just as beautiful as what I am seeing now. Th-that isn’t a hint, by the way! I could never ask that much of you, and if this is what a transient image of my older sister does to me, I can’t imagine how I’d fare if I had to face a solid replica of her every day. Not sure what that would do for closure.”
No, knowing Ari’s giving nature, his kindness, how he hadn’t hesitated to take on such a commission for a person he hardly knew, Nia was loathe to ask the Canaveris lord for anything--including that he tolerate her presence at his villa for longer than what made him comfortable. It felt too much like taking advantage of his kindness, and remembering all too well the discomfort she’d caused him in insisting he dance with her, then stealing a kiss on his cheek… If only she hadn’t been such an idiot, if only she’d remained seated when he’d insisted, and had a drink of water and a bite to eat before leaving, she wouldn’t have become such an imposition! As grateful as she was that she had fallen apart (physically and emotionally) in a safe place, around a safe person, it didn’t help the Master Alchemist feel any less wretched that she was once again making her problem someone else’s. Hadn’t it been enough to coerce Isidor Kristeva in an intimate moment that he hadn’t wanted at all?
When Ari removed his hand, a simple gesture that somehow brought another veil of sadness to her already gloomy outlook, she let out a small sigh. How similar they were, in some regards, and yet, still so vastly different. Both haunted by the memories of loved ones lost, both wondering why it hadn’t been them, and yet how differently they derived comfort. Ari sculpted and put his energies into his art, and flinched from human touch, whereas Nia… she was no artist, she had no outlet. And she craved touch, some grounding presence, some tangible proof that she was not alone. Such was the reason why she had sought Isidor’s touch, someone who hadn’t wanted to touch her at all. She had no right, doing what she had done to the other Master Alchemist. Just as she had no right to grab Ari’s hand back, just to have something to hold…
And then the completely, utterly unthinkable happened, and Ari reached out again, his fingers brushing the hair from her forehead as he… kissed her. Wait--he kissed her?! It was so brief, that it left Nia wondering if it had actually happened when he pulled back. She suddenly felt very warm and wondered if she was blushing, too. “Ari… Ari, stop. What are you apologizing for?” She took the proffered cup of water from his hands and sought his eyes, though he seemed hesitant to make eye contact. “...will you do it again? Kiss me again. Please…”
Understandably, he hesitated. Perhaps he’d used up what little courage he had left to reach out and touch another person who was not Lazarus, but to Nia’s surprise, the Canaveris lord obliged her. The tips of her partially gloved fingers just barely grazed his jawline, too afraid she’d scare him away if she went any further. “...I’ve liked you for a long time. I knew for sure, when you agreed to dance with me. Faced such a cloying fear, for me, because I asked you to. I’m… still a little sorry about that, by the way. I’ve decided I need to work on not pushing everyone’s boundaries. So far, I haven’t been off to a great start, have I?” It was faint, but Nia’s all-too-familiar smile shone through her sadness for a moment. “There’s nothing to apologize for, and nothing to forgive. Could… could you take the stone away, out of the moonlight? I don’t want a spectre’s company right now. I need something tangible… I want yours.”
Ari was as good as his word, and remained with the Master Alchemist all throughout the night--which, in hindsight, was probably a good call for someone who had suffered a head injury. Nia’s sleep did not go uninterrupted, and she awoke often, sometimes in pain, and other times out of confusion, where Ari would have to remind her where she was and why she was there. It was in the early hours of the morning when she finally fell into a deep and stable slumber, and did not awaken again until the sun had crested the horizon the following morning. Typically, Nia would happily greet the day to bright sunlight streaming through the windows, but today those golden rays did nothing to soothe the throbbing in her head. Cracking one eye half-open, a cursory glance around the room found her alone. So… had it all been some weird, elaborate dream? Had Ari even been here at all? Had she really showed him Celene, and had they… had they kissed?
Nia was not alone for long. Following a brief knock, Ari quietly opened the door, stepping inside with a stone in his hand that he claimed would help her with her throbbing headache. What timing! “Could you… close the curtains? Sunlight kinda hurts…” She asked as she took the stone and pressed it lightly to the back of her head where it had come in contact with the floor. It felt blissfully cool to the touch. Last night, she’d thought for sure that ‘3 days of bedrest’ was overkill; now, she wasn’t sure she could walk in a straight line, if asked. Being piss drunk often left her less debilitated! “I never thought anything could be worse than a hangover… oh, how I was so damn wrong…”
Now that the room wasn’t glowing with daylight, the Master Alchemist turned her eyes on Ari. “I’m really embarrassed to admit… that I’m not sure what I dreamed, and what actually happened, last night. Did I show you what that stone--the cinnabar--could do? And did I…” This was where she had trouble believing what she thought she’d experienced. “Did I kiss you…? Because if I did, and if I crossed any lines or made you uncomfortable, I am so, so sorry! I’m really trying to get better at this whole respecting people’s boundaries thing, but I… I feel like I’ve told you that, already.”
Isidor had set to work right away, taking what he could of Tivia’s belongings, reducing them to ash, and mixing them into a solution that he hoped would react to the Star Seer’s presence--or the essence of what had been her presence. It was a relatively simple task and had not taken him long, and he promptly returned to her chambers to test its efficacy, as there was nowhere else anyone knew she had recently been. But he was not alone for long. Who should come along but Erevahl, and… and Rowen Kavanagh?! “I… was gone. I returned. To test out my own plan…” It was not without wariness that he regarded the she-wolf. Was Erevahl really stupid enough to be investing trust in this girl?! Or was he somehow siding with Locque? No… surely, Tivia would have known, and would have known better than to give her heart to a traitor. A brief look from Erevahl confirmed that, when he took note of the apprehension in the man’s eyes.
“Of course, multiple venues of searching will yield a better chance of success.” However much he did not trust Rowen for even half a second, whatever the wolf’s ulterior motive… if she could find Tivia, then it didn’t matter. Isidor was not a man shackled by pride, and if the Star Seer was not found by his methods alone, then his already non-existent self-worth would not be impacted. “There is a good deal of belongings that have Tivia’s scent. You should find no issue picking it up in here.”
Isidor did not return Rowen’s greeting, but did step aside for her to pick up a pillow that most definitely would have had Tivia’s scent woven into its fibers. Not long after taking a whiff of the goose down cushion, however, Isidor and Erevahl exchanged startled and confused glances as the she-wolf suddenly fell to her knees. “A-are you alright…?” Isidor asked, frankly not caring if she was, but wondering just what could have incited such a reaction. When she stood, the sight of blood pouring from her nose made the Master Alchemist’s stomach turn, and he went a shade paler. “I… there is nothing in this room that would elicit such a reaction,” he tried to explain, but Rowen did not stay to listen, and hurried out of the room before either of them could help.
No sooner did Rowen bolt out of the room that the two men were then joined by a Forbanne soldier, who requested help for Haraldur Sorde, who had just recently lost consciousness… It is as Alster said: the warning was dire. This is the result if we act against the stars…
“I am fine. At least, as of now. Erevahl…” Isidor sighed, hating what he was about to suggest. “Alster warned that the stars that now rule Tivia will retaliate if we go directly against their will. I… I did not think they could have such bearing on the physical realm, but what happened with Rowen Kavanagh just now, and now Haraldur Sorde… that cannot be a coincidence. I don’t think it is. But I am going to find out. For now… it may be in everyone’s best interest to call off the other search parties, until we can be sure what’s going on.”
Reaching into his pocket, he wrapped his fingers around the handful of vials containing the alchemical solution that should lead him to Tivia… or point him in the right direction. “I… I have a feeling this may not end well. But I refuse to give up on Tivia. If you do not see me by morning… then I’d be grateful if you would turn a search party to my whereabouts.”
Those were his last words with the Gardener before he parted ways. Removing one of the vials from his pocket, Isidor poured a single drop on the floor of Tivia’s room, next to her bed. The solution turned to smoke almost immediately, and that smoke slithered like a snake, all the way out the door. Hurrying to follow the lead, he shook out another drop, and the same thing happened again, where a thin, snakelike swirl of blue smoke rose from the droplet and curled around a corner. “I’m going to find you, Tivia. Even if you don’t want to be found… you’re needed here. You’re wanted, here.” He whispered, knowing full well she would never hear. “I’m going to bring you home. Home, where you belong.”
Here, Nia had entrusted him with her existential musings on the future and her companion fears of the unknown, and he chose to confound her by planting a kiss! What ugly timing, to feed on her vulnerability and obtain a selfish desire, when his needs and her needs possibly fell on a different spectrum. Nia was expressing the freedom of a noncommittal lifestyle under the terms of familiarity. Despite the instability and exhaustion of frequently hopping from town to town, established patterns eventually engraved themselves in the long-term stores of the mind, converting repeated actions into habits. Once actions became habits, rituals, routines, good or bad, they proved difficult to break. He could respect her hesitation in trading the transitory for the sedentary, and also understood the allure of falling into a comfortable set of known precepts, muscle-memory, and learned behaviors, for they occupied the least amount of energy to maintain...and yet, he upset the social contract by introducing an unknown and confusing element to a woman who suffered an obvious head injury, which, as a side-effect, likely impaired her judgment. Why did he rely on the wolf’s cheeky counsel as though it carried a shred of the profound? Hadwin Kavanagh was a prankster, invested in the punchline, but not in the harm the joke could cause. By kissing Nia, Ari became the main aggressor, laying lips upon an open wound and threatening infection with his tongue. How was he better than Chara Rigas, who never accounted for his feelings or readiness when she attacked his body in a wild fervor of lips and teeth?
Oh come on, the imagined voice of Hadwin Kavanagh scoffed into his ear. She pecked you first at the ball! So what’s wrong with your chaste little answer peck? Unless you’re playing, and you’re kissing her ‘cuz you get off on insecure women mewling at your feet. Power fantasy, much?
...Damn his accurate portrayal of the wolf! Even in his protected headspace, Hadwin somehow excelled in wringing Ari’s thoughts through a perverse, distorted mirror-land! However his frustrations in allowing the beast’s signature works into his inner sanctum through perfectly curated fears too masterful not to accept into its gallery, he preferred Hadwin’s incursion to the devastative trail Chara Rigas relished in weaving. A reminder, a shiver ran down his arm in memory of her manicured finger leaving bloody scratches into the flesh...of who owns you.
Standing near the dresser where he’d retreated as an excuse to pour Nia some water, his hand reflexively touched the mark, the branding she had left; a faint scar of alabaster on brown. You are mine…
No! He never desired to dominate. He would not be like Chara Rigas.
Oh? So you want her to dominate you? It was neither Chara’s voice nor Hadwin’s, but his own. Do you enjoy how she humiliates you? You sit, bare-chested, stripped of your grandeur, exposed and begging for her merciful touch as she removes layer by layer of your hardened carapace. She is no Chara Rigas, but you derive pleasure from the power she lords over you…
His thoughts tumbled freely in space, gone of their filter, relentless in challenging his integrity as they obsessed over the process that drove him into delivering a faint kiss and tell. What role would he fancy playing, they wondered? The Instigator? Forceful, assertive, and bold? Or the Supplicant? Compliant, agreeable, and passive?
Neither. He would proceed as Ari. As a man who expressed his sentiments to a woman for whom he reserved some affections--and nothing more. He liked her, and she liked him. The simplistic science was indisputable. No use overcomplicating the scenario with a convoluted warring of the minds.
So when she asked for him to replicate his previous kiss, he complied, but only after gauging her head condition for stability, as he was loath to proceed if she wasn’t thinking correctly. The possibility presented itself, regardless, and yet, he responded to her desperate plea with lips on lips, a respectful, closed-mouth union, its longevity counted in mere seconds. Although not the first time he experienced a kiss upon the mouth, Ari’s courage vacillated. She had been with other partners before. Even if Hadwin’s statement rang true, that she preferred virgins, his trite contributions had to be a paltry thing to behold; morsels served at a grandiose dinner party. As he pulled away, an apology already buzzing on his mouth, his brows knit in slight surprise at her request that he remove the cinnabar from its moonlight bath, citing her preference for him above her sister’s apparition. Plucking the stone from its position on the woven rug, Ari watched the fair Celene disseminate, reverting to faint motes of celestial light. “Why, I do hope you’ve made a wise decision, choosing me over your sister,” he quipped to hide his uncertainty. “I cannot say if my company is satisfactory, but it is solid and tangible. So if tangibility is what you require,” with hesitation, he returned to his seat at her bedside to cradle her hand anew, “I shall provide what I am able until you fall asleep.”
Provide he did. In place of setting up a bed pallet across the room, Ari remained with Nia throughout the night, resting his knotted shoulders against the backboard as he donated his bare, ungloved hand to the woman at his side. Taking his position as her bed watchman seriously, he remained in a halfway state between sleep and wakefulness, stirring whenever Nia stirred—thanks to the hand-on-hand vibrations tingling and shifting against his palm. He didn’t mind the intermittent disturbances of his sleep; rather, it comforted him to know the amount of trust she placed in him. You are safe here, he’d said, and he meant it.
But would their status change the moment he stood against Locque? By opposing the tyrannical summoner Queen, he would, regardless of the internal pledge he made not to harm Nia, cause her grief. Therein, the burgeoning foundations of their relationship would inevitably collapse, along with the delicate threads of trust they together spun and formed into a handsome tapestry. No matter his good intentions or his strategy to recover Nia from Locque’s claw-tipped hands, his role as co-conspirator to her employer’s downfall acted as a betrayal of sorts. Here, Ari professed to offer Nia safety and shelter while simultaneously destroying the barriers of her current place of shelter. While he could advocate the cause by insisting that Nia would never have the safety she craved unless he helped to tear down yet another witch-cast illusion, how did he know for certain that she would find an ultimate safe haven in him and with him? As leader of a group of D’Marian refugees outside of his influencing radius, Lord Aristide Canaveris harnessed little power within the foreign and faraway kingdom of Galeyn. In the end, he would have to bow to Queen Lilica, Lady Chara, and even Lord Alster Rigas and beg for an appeal. Alone, Ari could not even grant sanctuary to a fly.
You are safe here. That was a lie. Neither of them was safe.
Lazarus, too, had no end of concerns in regards to Ari pursuing a romance with the garrulous Master Alchemist. The following morning, when the Canaveris lord quietly slipped out of the guest chambers in order to run a few errands, came across the golem in the hallway, his expression restive and hands gnawing at his sides.
“Ari, why?” He captured his master and his friend mid-stride, anchoring him in place. “What will this union achieve? Are you interested in surrendering your freedom to a dangerous woman who could do worse to you than Chara Rigas, simply by her associations? And yet, you let her close. You let a Master Alchemist touch you. She may be helpful now, but if she has any reason to suspect you, who is to say her next touch won’t harden you to stone?” Despite his absence of a functioning heart, he placed one thrumming hand over his chest. “I am supposed to protect you, Ari, but my protection is purely preventative. I can do nothing for you if she’s already caused you injury.”
"Laz, Laz,” Ari gave his trusted manservant a reassuring squeeze in a bid to release his iron grip. Laz complied and dropped his arm. “Good man, I hear your concerns, but do not fret. We are connected by a psychic bond and thus, you are able to sense whenever I am in mortal peril. I trust you will step forward when your assistance is necessary.”
“Ari,” he grunted, his mouth curling into a frown, “I sense only what you perceive to be dangerous. Currently, you view this Master Alchemist as nothing of the sort. How then, can I be assured of your keeping her prolonged company is safe?”
“Why, by your intuitive grit, of course. Again, Laz, you will be the first to notice if anything is amiss. The fact that you express concerns but temper your temerity is a testament to your incredible restraint and unassailable instincts. Nia will not inflict harm on me; you have my word.” If anything, he thought, darkly, it will be the other way around.
Later that morning, he returned to the chambers where he left Nia to slumber in peace. Dressed in a spring green and brocade coat, his fine, silken hair plaited into a braid, the Canaveris lord greeted the conscious Master Alchemist with a warm smile. “Good morning, Nia,” he said, his volume at a soft susurrus, to account for her head injury. At her request, he bounded across the room and swished the curtains shut. “As promised,” he removed a black lava stone from his pocket and offered it to Nia, “another stone to alleviate your head troubles. I’ve taken the liberty of collecting several more for you, to use as needed.” He piled three other stones of like size and shape on the nightstand. “I’ve also taken the liberty of informing the kitchen staff to cook you up some breakfast. They will be arriving at your quarters shortly. Please eat whatever you are able to manage. Building your strength is of import—and I say this as someone who is a most notorious frequenter of bedrest.” For emphasis, he rubbed a sore spot on his shoulder where before, the plate of stone threatened to grow and proliferate.
From the table at the far end of the room, Ari retrieved the cinnabar and conveyed it back into the hands of its original owner. “Last night…” a flush of remembrance spilled across his cheeks. “Ah, yes, you showed me the illusory properties of your cinnabar, of that you are not mistaken, but what you’ve misconstrued are the details behind the kiss. It was not you who initiated the kiss; it was me. So, in all sincerity,” he dipped his head, contrite, “it is I who should apologize for choosing to display my affection for you during an emotionally and physically sensitive time for you. If I have overstepped, please tell me so, and I shall keep my berth. Maintaining distance has always been an effortless boundary for me to maintain, and yet, ironically, I am the one who violated that boundary. It is strange, to say the least,” he released a conservative chuckle, “that after so many years of avoiding physical contact, I should find myself wanting to touch you. In...in small increments, that is,” he hurried, deliberately avoiding her eyes as he paid invested attention to the flowering bedspread over which she lay.
He was almost glad for the buzzing in his pocket, a welcome interruption during a heightened moment of ambiguity between two parties. Normally, he navigated such situations with ease, owing to his political background, but romancing a woman...was an entirely different matter, which called for a specific set of skills. Skills that he did not possess. Pulling out the glowing resonance stone, he edged from Nia’s proximity and veered toward the door. “If you will excuse me a moment, allow me to respond to this message.”
He was not gone for long. Ten minutes later, he re-emerged through the door and took a seat not on the bed, but in a chair by the vanity, out of respect for Nia’s space. “That was Lord Rigas,” he said. “Apparently, Tivia Rigas has gone missing from the palace and he wanted me to inform her parents of her disappearance. Oddly, he has advised against actively searching for her whereabouts.” He kept his voice neutral, betraying nothing of his knowledge behind the argument that arose between them in the corridors. “He also wished to speak with you in person, expressing his regrets for how he ended conversation with you last and wanting to schedule a follow-up discussion on Majesty Locque’s adjustment process thus far. In case you considered the information sensitive, I omitted any mention of your present condition and location, but I also have agreed to relay any messages you have for him, seeing as the two of you have no resonance stones linking each other in immediate correspondence. Alas, do not worry about a prompt response. Rest and recovery is paramount.” As if on cue, a knock on the door signaled the arrival of two servants, who pushed a multi-tiered cart inside of the room. On the top tier, a steaming tea kettle and a porcelain cup sat beside separate bowls of sugar cubes, cream, butter, and wildberry jam. On the second tier, a spread of toasted breads and honey cake dominated the silver polished tray. The last tier featured hard-boiled eggs displayed in appropriately-sized bowls and various strange fruits from the Night Garden.
“Before you grow too overwhelmed by your options,” Ari prefaced, “this breakfast is not expressly for your mouth alone—unless you are feeling particularly ravenous, this morning. In which case, I will not stop you. But should you need assistance,” he adjusted his cravat as though the gesture also adjusted his appetite, “I am most ready to join you in your eating endeavors.”
So it had been him! By some burst of confidence, or some calculated risk taking, it had been Ari who had first planted a kiss on her, just the other night. And she… right, now it was all becoming clear, again. She’d acknowledged his interest, his bold confession, and had requested that he kiss her again. And he’d agreed, and done so, without any great deal of hesitation. But was Nia so wrong to think it had been a dream? After all, this was the exact same man who looked as though he was about to faint when she insisted he dance a proper dance with her. That he’d somehow found it in him to take initiative and touch her, unrequested and unprovoked… well, not only did that send her heart a bit aflutter to know he cared, but damn, she was proud of him! And to think, when they had first met, he’d hardly let her help him up the hill when his leg had turned to stone. How far they’d come--no, how far he had come in that seemingly short amount of time!
“Please, the last thing I want is for you to apologize, Ari.” Nia reassured him with a smile, one that hurt significantly less now that the piercing sunlight wasn’t exacerbating the sharp pain in her head. “Frankly… I’m impressed! You don’t give yourself enough credit, you know. You talk of emulating Casimiro’s confidence, but that confidence, Ari… Stepping out of your comfort zone to take a risk like that, that was all you. It’s a small step, maybe, but it offers enormous potential for progress in other small, gradual increments. You’re showing your fear who’s boss, and you’re not letting it restrict you to such an extent. Maybe you don’t quite see it that way yet, but I hope you can appreciate how transformative such a little step can be. And… hey, if we’re being honest? I get it--I do. Your whole thing about touch. More than you know.”
Lowering the stone from her head only because her arm was growing tired holding it up, the Master Alchemist set it carefully in her lap refocused her eyes downward. “I know it’s not really a secret that I’ve… been around. Been with a lot of people. There are a lot of colourful names for people like me--especially women like me. Evidently it goes against all virtue to seek out someone else’s intimate touch on a whim. I’ve long since come to terms with being considered a dove that’s fallen from grace, or whatever bullshit analogy people like to make. It honestly doesn’t bother me, anymore. But the reason I am the way I am is because at one point in time, I, too, was afraid to be touched again. And that was a fear that followed me for quite a while.” Reaching up, she rubbed the scar at her throat, a reminder of one of the most deadly mistakes she’d ever made in her life.
“When I came very close to being murdered, for a short time, touch was off limits to me. I couldn’t take that chance again--not when I needed to survive for my family’s sake. I spent the next few years speaking to and encountering as few people as possible, and honestly… those were the most miserable years of my life, I think. Seeing no one. Trusting no one. I’m a social person, and I don’t do so well when I get drastically lonely. So I decided it was time to nip that paranoia in the bud and try again… only, safer, this time. See, everyone I’ve ever been with in the past decade… all of them were virgins. Men completely inexperienced with intimacy. That was the type of person I sought out; that I continued to seek out. Sounds pretty awful, huh?” Her lips stretched into an ironic smile and she slowly shook her head. “Like I’m some black widow preying on innocent, unsuspecting men. But the reason why I took the company of inexperienced people is because I knew that if they didn’t quite know what they were doing in the sheets… then like hell could they coordinate themselves to seduce me and try to kill me. Most of them were way too nervous to even take the initiative in bed, and it meant that I was always the one in control. What’s worse is I’m sure I broke quite a few hearts along the way, because I really couldn’t see any of them more than once; once they had a taste of what sex was like… who knows? Maybe they were fast learners. They had the experience at that point, and so, after that, they just weren’t safe for me, anymore. So it has never even really been about pleasure for me. Just about finding temporary company to take the edge off of being all alone, while staying safe. I… I bet that makes me look pretty awful, huh?”
Nia lifted her eyes from her lap slowly, afraid of what she might see when she looked at Ari again. “Look… I understand if that changes your mind. About me. About… everything. I just want to put things in perspective, in case you were wondering where I came about a promiscuous reputation in all. But… but what I really want to make clear, Ari--and I hope you’ll believe me--is that I see you differently. Much differently.” Slowly, she covered one of his hands with hers, lightly resting her partially gloved fingers over his knuckles. “You’re different because… I’ve never wanted to see anyone else more than once. Because I’ve made excuses to see you again and again, and despite what you know about me--which is more than anyone I’ve ever even temporarily trusted--you still feel safe, to me. And when you tell me I’m safe… I know I can believe you. I’ve never had that, before. Ever. So…” Her smile was--oddly, for someone like her--rather shy. “I guess what I’m trying to say is… I hope that I can continue to see you. And I hope that you can continue to feel safe touching me. Because whatever happens, Ari, I need you to know that it has never been my intention to do you any harm… nor will that ever be my intention. I’ve got a good thing, here. A really good thing, that I probably don’t even deserve. You think for a second that I want to ruin that?”
She was suddenly very aware that her heart was racing. For all of the men she’d taken to bed, over the years, she’d never experienced anything close to such a visceral reaction as she did now, laying it all bare to Ari. Probably because it had never mattered, before; because she had never planned to see a man more than once. But Ari… Ari mattered, and she desperately, desperately did not want to fuck things up with him…
It didn’t help her anxiety when the Canaveris lord excused himself long enough to respond to a message from a buzzing stone in his pocket. “Of course--go tend to your business!” Nia reassured him, but couldn’t help but sit and wonder if she’d gone too far and said too much when he left the room. They were alike, the two of them, in a lot of ways, but also… very different. Yet that did not cause her to admire Ari any less. In fact, she admired him for being everything that she could not be: upstanding, ethical, well-spoken… and here, she turned to sex and alcohol when the world was too overwhelming. Maybe he should change his mind, a criticizing voice at the back of her mind quietly suggested. Come on, you know well he deserves better than you. Honestly, what do you have to offer him, anyway? He’s already got everything he could want and need, and there are enough upstanding D’Marian women that far outclass you. No wonder his big manservant can’t stand you, when you’re standing in the way of the fact he can do so much better…
Ari was not gone for long, however, and he returned to inform her of what had caused the brief interruption. While she was not particularly surprised with the news he came bearing, she couldn’t help but feel hit with a wall of guilt. Tivia Rigas… missing? There was no way that wasn’t related to their little altercation in the palace hallway, right after… right after she’d overstepped Isidor Kristeva’s boundaries in a terrible way. “She’s missing? It… damn.” Nia rested her forehead in her hands and shook her head slowly. “We… just the other night, before I came to help you out with your shoulder, I said some stuff to her. Some pretty awful stuff. I really tread all over her territory and what… or rather, who, she cares about. I was unkind because I was already in a really bad place and I just didn’t have it in me to be a decent human being. If she took off… then I bet it’s because of what I said. But… why is no one looking for her? You could let him know, I might be able to help. There are alchemical ways to trace someone’s actual footsteps by--well… now that I think about it, I’m sure Isidor Kristeva would already be doing that. And probably with more accuracy than I could.”
Feeling deflated, the Master Alchemist ran a hand through her hair, and leaned back against the headboard. “Not sure Lord Rigas is going to want anything to do with me in the long run if he knew I’m the reason Tivia took off… Ari, maybe rest isn’t a good idea, right now. If I really am the reason she went missing, then I might have some real fires to put out at the palace.”
But just like before, Ari wasn’t having any talk of leaving, given her current condition, and to her surprise (and relief), he did not appear to change his disposition toward her at all. Not in light of what he learned about her past. While she wasn’t sure she could so easily forgive a person like herself, the Canaveris Lord, who clearly dealt with people from far more stable and less questionable walks of life than herself, did not appear terribly fazed by her sordid trysts during her years on the run, nor did he seem to fully believe she was solely to blame for the disappearance of Tivia Rigas. It was possible, she figured, that he simply did not want to upset her in her less than ideal condition. But Ari, an honest man as he was, also was not one to reshape or distort the truth simply to accommodate feelings. Perhaps that is what made her feel so at ease, around him… Not only because he had a way with words, but he could shed light on the perspectives that she was so apt to miss. Such as those that pitched her as less of a scoundrel fugitive on the run, and more of a victim of terrible circumstances who was simply doing what she could to survive.
When a knock on the door revealed what was obviously a very generous breakfast spread, Nia almost paled for the first time in her life at witnessing such a wide array of food. On any other occasion, she couldn’t have found a home in her stomach for each tier fast enough. And although she had been dealing with hunger pangs for several days now, it did come across as just a little bit intimidating. “Wow…” She breathed, and rubbed the back of her neck. “You know, you’re not wrong to think that I could easily eat for three people on a good day, Ari, but… I think I might have to take some time to work my way back up to that…” Fortunately, and to her great relief, it was not all intended for her. Her shoulders relaxed at Ari’s declaration that he had no intention of having her dine alone while bedridden. “I can assure you… as much as I hate to disappoint, given my reputation for putting copious amounts of food away with ease, I most definitely need assistance.” She chuckled. “Ari… you really didn’t have to go to all of this trouble just for me. I mean, I appreciate it--all of it--but I’m not one of your high-class guests with high-maintenance needs and expectations. I’m just a friend--or… something similar, along those lines. But,” a faint flush coloured her otherwise pale features, “what I mean to say is… your company is enough. With or without the fancy meals, you are enough. And you… you’ve really made a difference for me. I’ve had a rough go of life these past few days, and I can honestly say… I’m starting to feel a little bit better, already.”
Between the two of them, they managed to put a good dent in the cakes and jams and savoury bits of the breakfast for the next better part of an hour. Nia didn’t eat nearly as much as what she usually would, despite her best efforts, but it was enough that she’d finally put something other than wine in her stomach, and it would help her recuperate from the alchemy she’d put to work turning Ari’s shoulder back to flesh, blood, and bone. As the two of them were finishing up and chatting, another servant politely knocked on the door, looking somewhat pale in the face, and undeniably anxious. “Ari… you have a visitor.” He quietly declared, and took a steadying breath, his eyes darting from Nia and back to the Canaveris lord. “I… do not think she should be kept waiting.”
“Hey--sounds like you’ve got some real guests you need to tend to. Not just the riffraff.” Nia winked and smiled. “Go on. I’ll be fine; not like I’m going anywhere. I’m not sure I could walk in a straight line if you asked me to, right now.”
The servant had been right; she who’d requested Ari’s audience was not one to be left waiting. Standing just inside the doorframe of the parlor was Locque herself, dressed fairly well, but not in any such way that would reflect on her as a queen. As always, she preferred to take on a rather plain aesthetic and countenance--more lately than even before, in fact. As if she were trying to show Galeyn that she was not some tyrannical megalomaniac like they perceived her to be, but just the same as they were: another citizen of Galeyn. Another Galeynian happy to have found her home, again.
“Lord Canaveris.” She nodded her greeting upon Ari’s arrival. “I received your message regarding my Master Alchemist, and I’ve come to inquire about her well-being. Is she stable? Tell me, how did this accident come to pass? From what I understand, she now suffers a head injury. Anetania is not one who strikes me as clumsy or prone to striking her head on hard surfaces. I was hoping you could fill me in on these details.”
The Galeynian queen took a few steps forward, inviting herself a little closer into his space. “You’ll have to forgive my sudden intrusion in your home. It seems that not only has misfortune befallen my Master Alchemist, but a Rigas resident of the palace also happens to have mysteriously gone missing, and those setting out in search of her are winding up with critical injuries. An abundance of stress and confusion are driving me to seek answers.” Locque made as if to look over Ari’s shoulder and past him, like she meant to suss out precisely where Nia was. “Is my Master Alchemist conscious? If she is, then I wish to speak with her at once.”
Nia’s gushing account of Ari’s alleged fearlessness and initiative nearly drove him to reveal the reasons behind his sudden boldness. When one couldn’t exorcise the persistent grin of Hadwin Kavanagh from the mind, every step forward seemed like an effort to appease the wolf-demon with a suitable offering—lest he retaliate through nightmarish means. Not that Ari operated under duress and hadn’t actually desired to kiss and confess his affection for the woman who won his heart at the gala, but considering his conservative approach to most situations, he wouldn’t have made so quick a declaration if not cajoled to act. Reliving the fears surrounding Casimiro’s death, too, emboldened him to keep eschewing his restraints in favor of the brazenness he’d begun to adopt in the years servicing his brother’s memory. For too long, Ari exercised caution and safe practices, both as a deterrent against another Chara Rigas-class mistake and as an ongoing campaign against his secret’s discovery. Thus, he’d succeeded in shielding his heart, encasing it in the selfsame stone that composed and comprised his semi-inorganic body. Outside of a few close confidantes within the Canaveris family, he never allowed anyone to get close, either physically or emotionally. But if he truly wanted to emulate Casimiro, the fierce and indefatigable leader, Ari could not allow his stone-malady to hold his life hostage through fear and shadows of doubt. By the demands of his newfound position, he needed to rise and change alongside his people. Gone were the comfortable days of complacency and resistance, a condition once acceptable in timeless Stella D’Mare, but no more. The new settlement’s survival depended on a dynamic leader, not an immovable pillar who touted outdated traditions above practicality. Perhaps that was why he gravitated towards Nia. As a fugitive who self-admitted her promiscuity, she represented the perfect counter to Stella D’Mare’s historic, stuffy traditions that few noblemen were willing to shed, even after the loss of their home and assets. To survive and persist, what better inspiration to draw from than a survivor?
“I feel that you should know about the Canaveris legacy of, ah, sexual leniency,” Ari rested a gloved hand on the back of his neck, massaging the joints near his tender shoulder. “Culturally, we are different from the majority of D’Marian nobility. Our people are Stella D’Mare’s original settlers, and our traditions provided a foundation for the city upon its creation. Throughout the generations, as magical nobility flocked to the region, some of those traditions were rejected, ridiculed as obscene or improper. Alas, we Canaverises have seldom forgotten our roots and often still practice our bounteous carnal harvest, as it were.” At his choice of words, an awkward gurgle of a laugh fountained to the surface. “While some have adopted the stricter policies of our fellow gentry and choose not to partake in the freedom of physical exploration, the majority of our family have not abstained, and are very much, well,” he shrugged, hoping he came across as casual, “active.”
“Anthropological tangent aside, we Canaverises have little qualms over premarital or inter-marital relations with others, so long as we do not forsake our promised partners and bear no progeny with our coital chosen. In other words, our family as a whole is...not entirely monogamous. We are welcome to bed lovers inside and outside our bloodline. Again, marriage and child-bearing are another matter, but I assure you,” he tossed his head to remove the raven-haired fringe from his eyes, “there is little care or scandal surrounding your sexual escapades. I am, however, a different story. It may come as no surprise that I,” he rounded his shoulders, hand dropping to his lap like a white blossom drifting from a tall branch, “have not partaken in this Canaveris rite of passage. My reasons are not difficult to glean.” In his chair, he crossed one leg over the other, a mechanical distribution of weight that distracted from the discomfort of detailing his aforementioned reasons. “If we forget the complexities surrounding my non-sexual but pseudo-physical relationship with Lady Chara, among my family, I was considered off-limits in both a marital and libidinous sense. Owing to the...accident from my youth,” his tongue tried not to stumble over the word ‘accident,’ “my parents expressed concerns over how my unstable composition would affect my virility in the future. Not only am I possibly sterile, but there are...hazards associated with my pursuit of an innocent tryst.” His speech plodded forward; he found it difficult to gain purchase in so delicate a subject. “In short, everyone privy to my peculiar malady strongly advised against my participation, as a two-fold form of protection--moreso for my protection. The excitement would, they feared, encase and petrify me whole. In the years and decades that followed, the family knew never to touch me, a precautionary line that’s rarely been crossed--until you came along.” He held her gaze, his own half-closing in a meaningful glint.
“Please do not interpret this as a condemnation; it is far from one. Merely an observation. Aside from Laz, in the brief span of our acquaintanceship, you have made more contact than recent memory serves. And, despite my touch aversion, it is an aversion steeped with fear and...not repulsion. Not exactly. For...there are moments I crave this odd and slightly off-putting sensation. This is why I allowed you to touch me when we waltzed, and why,” a curl of a smile touched his tension-heavy face, “why I rather liked the kiss you landed on my cheek, tease or no.”
Nia’s mention of isolation rather hit home for him. During many instances of his youth, Ari was forced to remain as a bystander while his peers ran and played with impunity, caring little for the accidental graze of a shoulder or a mischievous tackle in the mud. Resigned to passively watching, Ari defaulted as the resident cheer-meister, vicariously celebrating the wins and successes of children who were given unrestricted access to full-contact gatherings and casual roughhousing. “Ari, why don’t you go inside?” His elders often suggested in a tone that indicated their suggestion was non-negotiable. “This game is too rough for you. The children would not know how to play with you if you joined. We have a special place just for you, a private place where you can paint and sculpt to your heart’s content. Wouldn’t you like that, instead?”
No. He wanted to play with the others. They were wrong to treat him like a porcelain doll, ready to break at the slightest provocation. He needed only to demystify their misplaced sense of caution, for surely, he would excel at whatever the able-bodied children could do, given the chance. If he just had the chance…
Their point was sadly proven when Ari ventured out to a secluded inlet on his own during a family outing at the beach, reveling in the feel of water rolling over his toes as he waded deeper and deeper into the mottled aqua and ultramarine surf. Pulled adrift by the strong undercurrent, his mounting panic manifested as a physical response; his legs, the two limbs most capable of saving his life, hardened to rock and yanked him down, down, toward the seabed. They were right, he’d thought, his last conscious thought after ceasing the struggle and accepting the watery grave of his demise. I am breakable. I cannot do as the others do. Not like this...
When he came to, spurts of water flying out of his mouth, he focused his blurry vision on the hard scrutiny of a blue-eyed girl, her shock of blonde hair, and the pointed, telltale ears of a Rigas. “Care to tell me why you were swimming—failing miserably, might I add—in Rigas territory, Canaveris?” She almost spat out the name. The pierce of her blue eyes honed in on the granite molds where his flesh-covered legs once existed. “What are you, a rejected golem?”
“No,” he rolled over, spluttering a few hacking, waterlogged coughs onto the sand. “I’m a boy. P-please...tell no one about this.” He squeezed his salt-irritated eyes shut. “Please. They’ll lock me away. They’ll never let me out to play again. I’m a boy; I’m not stone. I want to live as a boy!”
Her eyes softened as she heard his plea, a familiar one to her elf-like ears. “What is your birth name? If you need to escape your overbearing family...I’ll help you.”
Despite her egregiously misplaced version of ‘help,’ for decades, he associated Chara Rigas with freedom and companionship—because, outside of his very busy and then absentee brother, she was the sole person who neither ignored his requests for an outing, nor treated him as fragile. “Stone isn’t fragile,” she told him once, scoffing at the absurdity that led him to believe otherwise. “Shall I throw you against the wall in demonstration?”
Realizing he’d lapsed into reminiscing silence, Ari shook away the fugue from his past and honed in on the brown, receptive eyes of his present. “For too long, I have been deprived, controlled into standing at a distance, never engaging out of the very probable reality that my flesh would render to stone. But...I needn’t worry about such an outcome. Not when I am in your company.” He accepted her touch, curling his fingers over the leather casings of her palm. “You alone can soften the stone and return me to flesh and human. And, yes,” he emitted a light chuckle, “I do realize Master Kristeva is as capable of performing this ritual, but I refer only to you in this case--because yours is the touch I am most comfortable to receive. No one else’s. It is as you say.” He gave her hand a light squeeze. “I find it safe.”
“Please stop me if I am veering too close to saccharine.” One leg swayed underfoot, rattling with excess nerves. Why had he thought to overstate and overshare, referencing feelings he daren’t say aloud to anyone?! “The last thing I want is to trap you into a commitment. This needn’t be a courtship. I am open to whatever you desire, Nia--even if you decide you’d rather have me as a notch on your belt. Either way,” he bowed his head in reverence, “I will be satisfied. Because when will I have another opportunity to experience such blissful proximity with someone I fancy? Herein lies my confession.” Lowering one leg to the floor, he hunched closer to Nia’s bedside. His disclosure, like much of his candor from the last several minutes, radiated frenetic energy. “Praise me however you will for my alleged altruism and bravery, but I also carry ignoble wishes of my own. I am not so innocent; not when my objective is to sacrifice my virginity to one who touts experience. To you.” He stared not at her face, but her hands, his voice wavering. “This is my selfish wish, and a wish I never thought the fates would ever grant. But here you are, Nia. A desire made flesh. Ultimately, I leave the choice in your hands. After you recover….I will be here.” An uncharacteristic bout of shyness colored his smile. “To do with as you please.”
Glad for the escape from the intensity of their conversation, Ari excused himself from the room to commune with Alster through the telepathically-transmitted stone they shared, a correspondence tool that required no deliverance of sound to convey through their distance. Having gained his second wind, he returned to Nia’s room, his stature better composed and steady, as opposed to moments ago.
“It appears as though Lord Rigas has tried to look for Miss Tivia, but met with disastrous results,” Ari said in response to Nia’s concerned and guilt-laden inquiry on the subject of the missing Rigas woman. “He believes any who attempt to search for her whereabouts will suffer retribution from the stars who shield her from detection. Be that as it may, please do not blame yourself so harshly. From what I’ve heard about the young star-seer, she is quick to upset and has a history of running away. If Lord Rigas is the understanding sort, he will not charge you for the offense of speaking your mind in an emotionally-charged situation.” And if he does have a problem, I will have words, he thought, but chose not to express aloud.
Their discussion was cut short when the servants entered through the threshold, breakfast on wheels at the ready. “One can say I am bound to the rules of etiquette and so shall always provide for my guests in whatever capacity available to me. That is my one, irrefutable rule of hospitality. But in truth,” he approached the cart and poured tea for himself and Nia, “I am simply happy to offer you every comfort, because if it personally brings you happiness, then I am fulfilled.”
Together, they dined on the sweets and savories, chatting on breezy topics such as the wondrous weather and the full bloom of cherry blossoms proliferating all across the village and beyond. “When you are feeling better, we should have a walk, before peak bloom wanes and we miss the ephemeral beauty of this fleeting season. Springtime outside the beauteous Night Garden is probably a pale copy in comparison, but art is art, and each composition reveals its own unique mark on the world.”
As ephemeral as the blossoms in spring, so, too, did their morning come to a swift end. Reality flew through the door in the form of a servant requesting he meet an unexpected guest at the front parlor. Judging by the envoy’s perspiration-dotted brow, he was able to gauge the identity of this mysterious visitor. With promises to return, Ari followed the unsettled servant to the parlor’s entryway, where, sure enough, Locque awaited his arrival. Clearing away any wisps of trepidation or visible unease, he turned to the Demi-Queen and dipped into a courteous bow. “Why, Majesty Locque, it is an honor of the highest order to welcome you to my home. Please, make yourself comfortable. May I offer an aperitif? Wine? Honey cake? A plate of Night Garden fruit? Whatsoever you crave, I am most happy to provide.” But she, expectantly, was not interested in refreshments or small talk. Ignoring the chairs and sofas and their varying levels of plushness, she stood in the doorway, unfazed by politesse and etiquette, and launched straight into the purpose behind her impromptu visit.
“Yes, Miss Nia took a rather nasty tumble last night. She is stable but currently on bed-rest. It is highly recommended she stays off her feet for three days, minimum. Her equilibrium was impacted by alcohol-imposed weakness and she lost her balance on the door’s threshold as she made her departure,” he said, a perfectly serviceable and truthful response that also omitted unnecessary details. “I take full responsibility for the accident. It was within my means to catch her before she succumbed to the floor, but I hesitated. My sincerest apologies, your Majesty. I resolve to rectify the situation by providing her the best of care while she recovers. Rest assured, she will be able to return to the palace after a brief interim of convalescence. It is most pleasing to see the extent of your concern. That you would travel all this way, in daylight, to ascertain your royal Alchemist’s well-being is most benevolent of you. I am sure she will appreciate your solicitude.”
During his report, she encroached far too close to his space, almost succeeding in unseating his eloquent equanimity. Politely, he retreated a step. Sensing his master’s discomfiture, Lazarus emerged from across the room, casually crossing his sculpted arms over his chest.
“That is most unfortunate,” Ari commiserated, not without a dram of genuine surprise. Alster had spoken truth when he warned others not to involve themselves in Tivia Rigas’s retrieval. “And I sympathize with the chaos that is no doubt running rampant at the palace. But--” What are you doing? Lazarus’s voice boomed a warning in his head. Why do you interject!?
I...I don’t know, came his bewildered response.
“But,” he recovered, “as I am at fault for Miss Nia’s head injury, it falls to me to oversee her prompt recovery. At present, she rests. Give her two more days and I am most assured she will be put to rights.” He pressed a hand to his chest in a respectful salute. “I know I am a poor substitute, but if I may be of service, please allow me to assist however you see fit. I have a great deal of influence and reach among the D’Marians of this village, many of whom are magically inclined. If not, then I thank you for visiting. Your presence has showered many blessings upon my humble villa. Are you sure you have no appetite or thirst? I have quite an enviable collection of liquors and wines, your Majesty.” He plastered on a serene smile, the only barrier preventing his tremulous legs from succumbing fully to stone.
He was openly defying Locque. For Nia.
Holding his breath, he prepared to drown anew.
“Alcohol-imposed weakness?” Locque raised a curious eyebrow at Ari’s account of Nia’s fateful tumble that had landed her bedridden. “Then it does not sound to me as if you are at fault for not catching her, Lord Canaveris. I’m afraid that my Master Alchemist has always given me pause to worry that her actions and behaviours might ultimately pay off for the worst. It was only a matter of time, really. Do not feel that you must hold yourself accountable. So,” she clasped her hands patiently in front of her. “Where might I find her? I’ve already arranged for a carriage; it should be arriving shortly. We will impose on you no longer, Lord Canaveris.”
It hadn’t occurred to the half-queen for even a second that Aristide would not oblige her request. After all, he had surrendered to her, and it was her Master Alchemist whom she wished to retrieve. Was he… did he really mean to deny her?! “Rest assured, Lord Canaveris, I will make certain she rests as much as she needs to back at the palace. Kindly understand that I am not asking permission; and this is not up for negotiation. Your cooperation thus far has not gone unnoticed, and I am grateful every day for your allyship… But I’m afraid I must insist in this matter.”
“What are you insisting? I’m here, already.” To the surprise of both parties, Nia turned the corner, clearly standing upright and looking alert. If not for the fact she kept close to the wall, one hand pressed against the smooth surface to ensure her balance, and the dark circles beneath her eyes that suggested a fitful sleep, one might not have detected that there was anything amiss with her at all. “You do remember that Lord Canaveris is an ally, right? He set the precedent for everyone else’s surrender. So if I may make a suggestion… do not antagonize your allies, huh? I fainted on his watch. He’s just doing what any good host would and making sure I’m alright.”
“Anetania. So you’re alert and standing.” Whatever animosity or threat that might have been growing in the silence and distance between Locque and Ari dissipated as soon as Nia made her appearance. “Lord Canaveris said that you took a rather bad fall and require bed rest… but I see now that you’re able to bear your own weight on your feet well enough. How did this come about, exactly? I was hardly aware you’d left the palace until I was notified that you had collapsed.”
“It’s nothing to be concerned about. I came to help Ari out with a specific task--because that’s what you do, you know. Help friends and allies. But I… haven’t been taking care of myself. I bit off more than I could chew at the moment… and the rest is history.” Nia shrugged one shoulder, trying to play it off as nonchalant. “I’ve been in a bad place lately, is all. Threw me right off my game. The necromancer played an awfully dirty trick on me… maybe you might know something about it? I can’t imagine much at the palace gets past your awareness.”
Locque nodded only once. “You are referring to the stone. The one that interacts with moonlight.”
“...so you do know.” Just a little bit of Nia’s nonchalance began to ebb away. She swallowed the onslaught of feelings that threatened to throw her off-kilter. “For how long? Why… why would you let him play me like that? I’ve gone above, beyond, and upside down to give you what you want. Please explain, because… because I don’t understand. I really don’t understand.”
The sorceress was silent for a moment. She took a single step toward the Master Alchemist, and after a beat… bowed her head. “It was not up to the necromancer, Anetania. It was up to me. I have done you a disservice, and I realize now that I owe you an apology. One that I hope you will accept.”
“You? You mean to tell me that you… you had him lead me to believe… no, I still don’t understand. Why?” The hand supporting her balance against the wall curled into a fist. “Why make me believe that I am seeing my dead sisters? If it was all an illusion, then why not just tell me from the start?”
“I had failed to notice that you were growing lonely and feeling isolated. So when it was brought to my attention… I could think of no better way to lift your spirits. This was not an endeavor to upset you further, although I now realize that it has only done more unnecessary damage. I take full accountability for this, and for your current state. And it is no excuse that my intentions were in the right place… because I still have much to learn. And it is up to me to continue to learn. So,” she offered a hand outstretched, either to take, or to shake, “If you cannot forgive me outright, I hope that you can at least consider my apology and accept it at a better time.”
Locque was right; her intentions did not, in any way, justify what she had done. But that the sorceress had the cognizance to admit that, to hold herself accountable, and to apologize… Nia found she couldn’t hold onto the shock and disappointment that the person she’d loyally served for the past year was responsible for making a fool of her. It just made so much sense! Because she knew exactly how Locque thought, and was all too familiar with her human shortcomings. What sometimes made logical sense obviously did not register in the the same light, emotionally… but that was where the demi-queen fell short. Marrying logic and emotional intelligence were not her strong suit, and that was a skill that Nia, through her mediation, was hoping to help her develop. She was still devastated; still angry, still depressed that she had wasted weeks of her life talking to nothingness and all the while thinking it was her sisters… but she couldn’t shirk Locque’s apology. It was hard to be angry at someone who quite literally had no idea that their actions would come close to destroying you.
“...water under the bridge and all. Don’t worry about it.” The Master Alchemist flashed a tight smile. “If I go back to the palace with you now, will you leave poor Ari alone? He’s done nothing wrong, and honestly, if it weren’t for him, I probably would’ve found myself in much worse shape back at the palace.”
“Of course. You, too, have my apologies, Lord Canaveris, for barging into your home unannounced.” Locque nodded once to Ari, before turning her attention on Nia again. “When we return, I could use your help in investigating Tivia Rigas’s disappearance. If there is something, some sort of undetected magic running amok, then it is imperative we get to the bottom of it.”
Nia had every intention on following through with her offer (whatever it took to get Locque off of Ari’s back), but as soon as she took just a few steps away from the wall, the room spun, and depleted her balance once again. This time, she had the sense to fall in a crouch on her hands and knees to avoid hitting her head a second time. Ari was at her side almost immediately as Locque turned to see what was amiss. “I… I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ll be making it back to the palace so soon after all.” She said quietly, closing her eyes against the spinning and the pounding in her head. “My balance is feeling pretty off… honestly, it’s kind of hard to think straight.”
Locque paused to consider, again, a slightly frown on her lips and a crease between her eyebrows. But this time, when Ari reiterated that Nia must rest for the next couple of days, the sorceress did not object. “...this is terribly inconvenient. Particularly in light of the strange events surrounding the missing Rigas girl. But I do see, now, that you are not unable to travel at this time. So I will leave you to look out for Anetania’s recovery, Lord Canaveris.” The demi-queen turned her eyes on Ari. “And I trust you will inform me when she is fit to return to central Galeyn.”
“If you want my advice… forget about Tivia Rigas.” The Master Alchemist managed to articulate as Ari helped her to her feet. “If you want the truth, I pissed her off, so I’m to blame for that. Her disappearance is not part of some ploy that has anything to do with you;; she had a temper tantrum and stormed off and just doesn’t want to be bothered. Focus on what you can control… and seek out the other summoner. Teselin. She has already agreed to help you reconnect with the Night Garden; it’s time you take her up on that offer, and refocus your energy where it matters.”
“I see. Then… I shall take your advice, and do just that. Lord Canaveris.” Just before she turned to leave, Locque addressed the lord of the estate one last time. “You have my thanks for looking out for my Master Alchemist. Do know that if you or your people require anything from me, you should not hesitate to ask.”
After the demi-queen was escorted out, and Ari helped Nia back to the room where she would stay for the next few days, the Master Alchemist sighed her apology. “I couldn’t let you take any heat for what happened to me. Please forgive her. I know she’d hate for me to say this, but for lack of any better analogy… Locque is honestly a lot like a child. There is so much about people that she just doesn't get because she’s lost touch with a crucial part of herself. But I will say… she’s making progress! I mean, not only did I get an actual apology, but so did you! A few months ago, that certainly would not have been the case.”
Whatever the Master Alchemist thought of her queen’s own involvement in the trickery that had led her to believe she was seeing her sisters, however, remained unclear, as Nia did not bring up the subject again--likely out of a lack of desire to confront the fact she had been betrayed by the person she had been loyally serving for the past year. Instead, she reached for Ari’s hand, and gently guided him to sit next to her on the bed. “But… enough about her. I’m interested in what you were saying, earlier. And I am by far more comfortable talking about sex than Locque’s moodswings.” She couldn’t help but grin a little, finding it all too endearing that the topic brought a flush to Ari’s skin, though she knew better than to point that out. “I never would’ve guessed your family was so liberal in their views on intimacy. Or how that must’ve made you feel… being sheltered from any and all opportunities to be physically involved with anyone in any way. I can’t imagine how lonely that must have made you feel. Even making art can’t fill that void. If we were all meant to exist secluded from one another, to thrive and to grow without any desire for human contact, then we wouldn’t have the desire to reach out in the first place.
“But… we’re not plants, are we? We don’t live apart from others. And there’s nothing we can do about what you might’ve missed out on, growing up… but we do have control over what happens now. So, listen.”
Without breaking eye contact, Nia threaded her fingers between Ari’s, pressing her partially gloved palm against his own. “If you want some experience in the bedroom, then I am more than happy to take you there. But there are two things that you need prior to committing, regardless of your partner, if you want to really make it work: and those are trust and communication. So in light of the latter, I’ll be very honest with you…” Nia’s eyes dropped to her lap and she expelled a small sigh. “There is no way you could ever be just another ‘notch in my belt’. Because that would entail me fucking you, and then never having anything to do with you again. That’s been my pattern for years, when I was on the run, but I’m… I am not running, anymore. And I don’t want that. I want--no, I need relationships that are more meaningful, now. I need people to come into my life and stay in my life, because this is my new home. I don’t mean that we need to be exclusive, if that isn’t what you want, but I want to continue to have some form of relationship with you. Even if that just means we’re friends with benefits. Who needs a definition, right? So…”
The Master Alchemist lifted her eyes again, and with her free hand, she tucked a tress of dark hair behind Ari’s ear. “Whatever you need me for, in whatever capacity, I’m here… so long as I can keep seeing you after the fact. But, first and foremost, we need to work on that communication and trust. And given your unique condition… in my own ‘pseudo-professional’ opinion, I suggest we work our way up to it slowly. Maybe over a series of encounters. Get you more comfortable with being touched, more comfortable with kissing, and learn a few things along the way. Learn what you like and don’t like, what feels more comfortable to you, what you wanna go further with. The process can be as fun as the endgame, and you get to enjoy it for longer.” She winked conspiratorially, and leaned in to briefly kiss his jaw. “And--I mean this--if at any point in time whatsoever, you feel uncomfortable or have second thoughts and want to stop the whole damn thing, then we stop. No questions asked, no grudges held. We can pick it up at another time, or shrug it off and just stay friends. Does all that sound reasonable to you?”
Realizing this was probably a lot for Ari to process and to consider, she didn’t expect a clear answer right away, but all the same, it felt good to let him know where she stood. And hoped that she made it clear that she only had his best interests in mind. “I’ve had my share of flings. At the end of the day, this isn’t going to be about me; it’ll be about you, and for you. I mean… you just stood up to Locque, looking out for my well-being!” She whistled in emphasis. “This is really the least I can do for you.”
Ari, there is still a chance to comply, Laz’s psychic hiss rang in his ears. Appeal to her. This is a fight you cannot win.
No; he was not to be deterred. Casimiro would not allow this obstruction of rights to happen in his own home. “According to the contract of surrender, which I drafted and you approved by signature, any home in the D’Marian village cannot be subject to immediate seizure of assets, be they persons or materials.” Shaky at first, Ari regained his footing as the recitations of his penned words reinstated his confidence to continue. “Under Article 37, The Hospitality Clause, Miss Nia, as my honored guest, qualifies as an asset, for she is seeking medical care for a condition that befell her on my, the host’s, property. Therefore, it falls to the host and his guest to determine when to dissolve guest rights, effective upon her voluntary departure. As this discussion takes place between the affected persons alone, it disallows third party interference, excepting extenuating circumstances. In short, I daresay that the paperwork is up for negotiation, your Majesty.” He clasped his hands behind his back, hiding their vacillations with a supportive grip. Legs once thought a guarantee for petrifaction loosened enough to begin a subtle pacing motion before their visitor. “Galeyn, as I understand, is a semi-constitutional monarchy. Power is determined by the Night Garden’s will, true, but the chosen figurehead—or in this case, figureheads— is bound by the written edicts and laws as established by Galeyn’s people, including those that have been formulated by her allies; we, the D’Marians, for example. Our contract cannot be disregarded or overridden at this time. It can be reviewed and revised, but only through the approval of both sitting Queens. In addition to your Majesty, I would also need Queen Lilica to accept.”
You are dangerously toeing the line. Laz drifted closer to the Lord and the Queen, prepared to launch himself in the space between them in the event of the latter’s retaliation. As a golem, he possessed a great deal of magic resistance, akin to a Forbanne soldier. So long as he acted quickly, Ari would be spared.
But any tensions surrounding the two leaders of their respective nations quickly dissipated when the subject of their discussion appeared in the flesh, upright by some miracle of willpower and self-delusion. “Nia,” he turned, mouth twisted into a concerned frown. “Are you certain it is wise to be up and about?”
Not wise, no, but it did not seem to matter to Locque, who cared only that her Master Alchemist could stand and interact, nevermind the strain and energy it cost her to present as able-bodied and ready for departure. Abandoning his post near Locque, he relocated to Nia’s side opposite the wall in anticipation for a secondary incident. In fear of disrupting a delicate exchange of revealed deceits and hard-hitting truths, Ari remained a silent observer, an unobtrusive statue of flesh propped up near a corner. Not that he desired involvement in the ensuing volley, a volley which tolled its damage on only one side of the field. Nia, loyalties wounded, struggled to finesse a modicum of propriety, preferring a nonconfrontational front in response to what was no doubt devastating news. While he’d known, for weeks, the person responsible for crafting the stone, it came for him as equal parts relief and alarm when Nia finally discovered the origins behind the cruel deception masquerading as her beloved sisters. Counter to Nia, Ari had to take care not to betray any crack on his slate-smooth expression, lest his growing distaste for Locque exfoliate to the surface, as sure as the rock grist lingered on his skin following the Master Alchemist’s flare-up removal procedures. Whatever soft excuses her allies listed for her behavior—childlike, tantrum-prone, emotionally inept, socially clueless—he was not particularly assured of her capacity to change from wrathful tyrant who killed to clinch her seat of power, to benevolent ruler who valued her close allies as equals, not pawns to placate through tasteless trickery. However sympathetic Locque’s early history of heartbreak and betrayal, few could deny that some people were not meant to rule—in particular, those who lacked critical understanding or interest in the human condition and in the laws that governed the land. Alas, the story was as old as time. They who controlled power, controlled the narrative.
What happened next nearly peeled away his polite demeanor. As Nia took a step and fell forward, he followed her trajectory, acting quickly to secure her arm, despite her successful prevention of repeating yet another head-cracking incident with the floor. Instead of expressing concern over her charge, however, Locque scoured at the request for more bed-rest, defining it as ‘terribly inconvenient,’ as though Nia the person never mattered; only Nia, the Master Alchemist.
“Your Majesty, it is vital that Nia receives proper rest before she can return to her duties,” Ari said in his most practiced, neutral timbre, indicating nothing of the true feelings bubbling to a boil beneath the lid of his smartly-closed pot. “Understand I am not speaking in defiance; merely, I am ascertaining the wellness of my guest, a courtesy I would bestow to any who find themselves injured on Canaveris grounds. Rest assured, the moment she is hearty and hale, I shall send out a carriage and return her to your court, posthaste. You have my word.” In lieu of bowing, a social faux pas excused by providing a helpful crutch for Nia to lean on, he gave Locque a shallow dip of his head. “Thank you for prioritizing her safety above all. Should you need me, I am, as always, at your service. My servant will see you to your carriage.”
At the Demi-Queen’s departure, Ari couldn’t help but breathe out a sigh of relief. Upon his first, stress-free inhale, air returned to his waterlogged lungs, clearing out all memory of drowning where he stood. Lazarus, not satisfied by their near-miss, trailed after Lord and guest to the bedchambers whence they came. He insisted on guarding the outside door as they entered and Ari, not opposed to the idea, agreed, if for no other reason than to establish the illusion of safety. Safety. Here, Ari had professed to feel safe around Nia,, but that wasn’t entirely true—as evidenced by their unpleasant encounter with the witch. So long as Locque presided over Galeyn’s throne, making demands of her Master Alchemist, they were opening their arms to yet another illusion. How long did they have? How long would they last? Key questions for which no definitive answer existed.
After helping Nia to her bed, Ari hunkered beside her, hunching over to check the status of his legs. “I thought my ankles were turning to stone for a moment,” he admitted, massaging the would-be affected region with his fingertips. “But they are luckily unchanged. While I cannot condone your high-risk intercession between Queen Locque and me, I am nonetheless appreciative that your appearance pacified her—to an extent.” Straightening upright, he twisted to face her. “Even factoring in my pontifications referencing indisputable legal documentation, the very same which carries her signature, I still failed to persuade her on my own. It seems you’ve quite a handle on her Majesty; she is quick to heed your counsel. I,” hesitation plied his brow, “you do not have to obligingly accept what she has done if you are not yet ready to forgive. Whether or not she possesses the perspective to parse right from wrong, whether or not she is learning from past mistakes, if you are bothered by her monumental err in judgment, tell her so. Seeing as you are confident in her willingness to grow from her trespasses as would a child when lectured by their parent, then she will listen. And if she cannot yet listen,” he sought her gaze, “I can listen, if it helps.”
But she was not interested in discussing Locque’s emotional betrayal, and Ari did not belabor the point. Like Nia, he was also interested—albeit a mite bashful—to resume their conversation from earlier. As a result of his virginal state of being, he’d developed little resistance to shameless sex-talk, leaving him almost breathless with every detailed deflowering strategy, going forward. “You could say I have found a few workarounds to my intimacy prohibition. Over the decades, I’ve painted and sculpted quite a few lewd and provocative pieces to tide over my...frustrations. Art did help...a little,” he supplied, a nervous chuckle making him all too aware of his inexperience. In comparison to his peers, he was an utter juvenile, still fantasizing over and idealizing his first time. His palm, thankfully covered by a white glove, perspired in Nia’s gentle grip. “Oh, but you needn’t worry about losing a meaningful relationship. I, too, am most invested in maintaining lasting, amicable ties with you. My interest goes beyond the physical, Nia. When I confessed that I fancied you, I meant all of you—inside and out.” I would court you, he wanted to say aloud, but it cannot be. Not with Locque controlling the narrative. Not with the prospect of returning home a far-flung but real possibility. He wiggled a little in his seat upon the bed. The eiderdown sheets felt too lumpy to support his weight comfortably, as though it had succumbed to stone in his place.
“I am solidly in support of a gradual transition,” he affirmed, eyes fluttering shut at the butterfly tickle of wings upon his jawline; a brushing kiss that his sensitive sense of touch registered as particularly intense. “I was about to motion for the same. As I am now, it is doubtful I would provide any satisfaction for you, not when my primary concern rests with the number of flare-ups that would doubtless afflict me at once. If my nerves abate, it stands to reason that I’d sustain fewer flare-ups. It is a sound course of action, Nia, but,” an uncharacteristic droop tugged at his soil-churned eyes, “I would not fault you if this slow-going process discourages you from engaging. With the plenitude of conditions that plague my body, I cannot imagine a swift turnaround in progress. Alas, I am afraid that I will be your most sluggish student, much like a boulder one must roll uphill. With any luck,” he raised her hand to his lips, which spread in a self-deprecating smile, “let us hope I do not become a literal boulder.” A small kiss pressed against her partially-exposed knuckles.
Since Tivia Rigas’s disappearance, three people at the palace suffered injuries in pursuit of her location. Rowen Kavanagh caught a nasty nosebleed that her faoladh regeneration failed to heal; Haraldur Sorde stumbled and cracked his head on a jutting rock; Isidor Kristeva was found the following morning, face down in a ditch. Gardeners, Erevahl included, hustled to round up everyone who sustained damage, imploring they seek treatment in the sanctuary and stay for observation, just in case the Night Garden couldn’t mend their specific, star-imposed wounds. Rowen was particularly difficult to convince. The murderous faoladh girl, foreign to the sensation of nursing a wound that wouldn’t heal, was rightly frightened, but her fear eventually gave way to good sense, and she timidly revealed herself to a Gardener, hands fused to her face and dripping blood through the webs of her fingers. By the time they ushered her to the sanctuary, she had lost a good deal of blood, reducing her to uncoordinated sways and anemia-triggered lightheadedness. As they sat her down in an empty bed, her eyes darted to her two bedmates; Haraldur Sorde and Isidor Kristeva lay on the far end of the small room, their distance from her noteworthy, considering the sinister hand she played in attempting to eradicate one of the two men from existence. She heard murmurs pass through the Gardeners present, failed whispers, suggesting they place a partition over Rowen’s bed for peace of mind. They, after all, did not want to disturb the recovery of their other two patients, for when they awakened.
“Do what you have to do,” Rowen hissed through her mouth, surprising the Gardeners who thought their hushed commentary covert and unnoticed. “I’m an eyesore, so cover me up.”
The two Gardeners looked at each other; then, lowering their eyes to the ground, they shuffled out of the sanctuary, destination unknown; presumably, to retrieve her privacy sheets. Despite their original purpose to protect Haraldur Sorde, or any of his visitors, from glimpsing her, she, too, desired to hide behind a shroud. Never one for crowds or public scrutiny, Rowen sought a sanctuary within a sanctuary, a place of her own, where no soul was allowed to penetrate. Just like the old days in Collcreagh, contentedly isolated in her one-room hut, seldom disturbed but for one unyielding presence.
Hadwin didn’t know how to relent. Willful as a cat, he had often waltzed through her door, through her barriers, and sprawled across her silent, sacred territory, unaffected by her coldness and undisturbed by her otherness—an otherness preventing her from mingling with the faoladh of Clan Kavanagh. They all wore crooked faces, all thought crooked thoughts. Lies and harm, trickery and wrath. Hadwin was not spared, not singled out as superior from their peers, but he never directed darkness at her and never questioned her reticence, never forced her to speak or act prematurely, because he understood the source. Emboldened by her silence, he stayed, because: You don’t want this, Ro. Living in dust and darkness. You wanna bask in the sun surrounded by folks you can trust. I’ll get you to that place. Whenever you’re ready, just say the word and I’ll push you out the door. And I won’t lose sight of you. I won’t let go of your hand.
But he did let go. He let go of himself, dropping his hand, and left her spiraling back into oblivion. She could never be safe again. Never—because that dusty, dark hut of home was gone, and memories no longer served as cushioning lining her pillow, but of nightmares, haunting reminders of the first and only time she trusted someone. All she had now were false walls, a false haven, and shadows of the people she loved, too dark to reach, too removed of form to hold. They were ghosts; they were dead. She need only kill them from her memory by removing their lingering essence from this mortal plane. Swipe the knife, sever their spirits, and exorcise them, for good. Only then would she truly be free of their influence. Their lies. Their darkness which infested and infected her, beyond recognition. And beyond saving.
Although the Gardeners managed to stabilize her condition, ceasing the liberal drip of her bloody nose and reestablishing the connection to her faoladh regeneration, she was advised to remain in the sanctuary the following day, both as a measure to recover from exsanguination and as a caution, in case of resurgence. In her partitioned-off corner, blocked from sight, recognition, and any possible visitors who asked specifically for her, she lounged on her bed and stared upwards, tracing the whorls of vines that crosshatched the ceiling as a prevention tactic against falling into a mind trap, into the darkest, most hopeless depths of inner idleness. Normally, she didn’t mind the plunge, the foray to the midnight glade where the hooded figure gleefully recounted her horrific deeds, one by one, and sentenced her to an eternity of suffering, but lately, it bothered her. She was a write-off, true. However, the people she targeted—they were worse. They deserved their fates. ...Didn’t they?
The familiar shuffle of unassuming footsteps at the entranceway alerted Rowen upright. Though her nose was still clogged and she was resigned to mouth-breathing, she recognized the timid footfalls of Teselin Kristeva, who no doubt decided to pay her shut-in brother a visit.
Peeling back the privacy curtains, Rowen stepped out of bed and made her presence known. “Teselin.” She greeted the summoner with the ragged remains of a smile, too tired to keep up a fully-executed pretense. “They’re asleep.” She nodded to Isidor and Haraldur, whose closed eyes and deep, measured breaths indicated slumber. “Surprising, really; your brother doesn’t take well to sleep. He seems immune to it--but the Gardeners made him drink sleep tonic for his health, so he’s staying put for now. As for me,” she lifted her head, tilting it at an angle, “I’m supposed to keep my head elevated, but I’d like to go for a walk and no one’s here to stop me. Unless,” her red-brown eyes scanned the summoner’s face, silently daring her to call the Gardeners to wrangle their escaped patient, “you’re planning to stop me. Or...maybe you’d like to join me? I haven’t changed my mind about wanting your help. I know you’ve been,” she gave a not-so-innocuous clearing of her throat, “passed off to Queen Locque, instead, but you made a commitment to me first and…you’re here, and I’m here, and I could use your perspective. So dispense your wisdom, Teselin.” She stalked forward, a veritable wolf in human clothing. “Help me to see the good...in this hell. Because I was just punished by, by,” she balked, “the universe for doing a good deed. Tell me, then; what am I supposed to do?” Something genuine caught in her entreaty; something akin to desperation. “How is it possible to adjust to the light when you’ve only ever known darkness?”
“Hey, knowing how easily you flare up under duress, I couldn’t just sit in here and let you negotiate on my behalf. And I’m okay, aren’t I? Just… a little bit light-headed. And I think I bruised a kneecap hitting the floor.” Nia gingerly rubbed one of her legs and flashed a half-smile. “But it’s reassuring that you stood right there in hot water and didn’t partially turn to stone, you know. I’m not sure that I can agree that I have much of a sway over her Majesty, though. I think it’s just that all of the advice I’ve offered thus far has come through, for her. I haven’t let her down yet--I mean, not until just recently, that I’ve been hiding away and crying into a bottle of wine instead of being there for her when she needs me. Please understand, her frustration wasn’t directed at you, but rather, me. It’s the first time I’ve let her down, really, and I… I can’t do it again. I need to get over what’s been eating at me and return to the reliable Master Alchemist that she knows. I’m sorry you had to get caught up in all of that, Ari.”
Although she didn’t want to preface it, she was especially sorry that he’d had to be present when she took the colossal risk of confronting Locque for the cruel trick she had fallen into. A part of her still hadn’t believed that the sorceress had anything to do with it, but rather, perhaps Locque had been aware of the necromancer’s antics and for whatever reason had chosen not to intervene. But to hear it straight from her lips that it had not been Vitali at all, but she who had instigated and seen that the ruse had been carried out. It had been Locque all along… and the truth was, Nia did not know how to deal with it. How to handle that information. It was easier for her to brush it off and try to move past it as quickly as possible than to settle on the fact that the person to whom she had shown nothing but astute loyalty for the past year had betrayed her in such a cruel way. It was difficult even to justify it as Locque’s naivete in being so sure that she had been helping… And since Nia could not wrap her mind around it, she did not want to talk about it. Not now… not yet.
“I know how it looks. Pretty bad, right? To find out that she was behind it all along, but… I can’t be angry at her, Ari. Not because I’m afraid to confront her about it, but because, as fucked up as it is, what she did to me, I know deep down that she genuinely thought she was helping. She said it herself, she didn’t want me to be lonely, but she didn’t know what else to do to rectify the problem. So she gave me what she thought I wanted most… and that was to see my sisters again. No, it wasn’t right, and yeah, it does hurt. But it makes no logical sense that she would have been trying to hurt me. She just… wanted to help.” The Master Alchemist shifted uncomfortably on the bed. “Maybe someday I’ll sit down and talk to her about it, but she’s all up in arms right now about what’s going on at the palace, which… which I really should be there to help rectify. Or at least be there as support, since she currently has no one to speak reason to her. But I… I appreciate the offer. To listen.” She looked up from her lap and smiled at Ari, whose face still reflected vestiges of concern. “I’m fine, really. I mean, yeah, a little sad, but I don’t feel so alone anymore. And that helps.”
Perhaps she wasn’t being entirely truthful, though, not even to herself. Sometimes, it was easier to simply tell someone what you wanted to believe. Like anyone who might dare to oppose the powerful sorceress and self-made demi-queen, of course Nia was afraid to confront her, in any more of a fashion than she already had. Just because she had spent the past year gaining Locque’s trust and favour did not mean that she was immune to losing it over any given misstep. She already felt she had come too close with her inability to return to the sorceress’s side at the palace, today. The woman had obviously realized her own faux pas in insisting that her Master Alchemist travel when she was not travel ready… but it would be naive to imagine that Locque would let any future mishaps such as this slide. Nia needed to play it safe, even if that meant never again addressing how badly the sorceress had hurt her.
Fortunately, she had just the right distraction from that discomfort, one that she was more than happy to lean into--and not just for Ari’s sake. She’d be lying to claim this was entirely selfless and all about providing the Canaveris lord with the sexual experience he had been denied for his entire life; she’d be lying to claim she hadn’t already pondered what it would be like to take him to bed, or that the thought hadn’t been tickling the back of her mind for a while, now. Isidor Kristeva had been the first person she’d bedded in… well, over a year, now! And that had been far from satisfying, considering how badly they were both hurting, on top of her inability to surmount the guilt surrounding that situation. But Ari, who was kind and courteous to her, who admitted to fancying her, and who wanted that union with her, was different. In fact, everything about this situation was different. After all, she had never cared for any of the men she’d taken to bed in the past. She’d used and discarded them like washrags. So what would it be like to be intimate with someone who actually mattered?
“Okay, yeah… that’s actually a good start. It helps to know what a naked woman looks like.” Nia couldn’t help but gently tease at Ari’s confession that he had sculpted and painted his fair share of artistic nudity. “But then again, you’re a sculptor. So you’d have to know how a body looks from every given angle. You’ve already got more of an advantage than you think. Have you ever pleasured yourself? If so, what did you think about?” Nia anticipated the hot flush and the avoidant gaze on Ari’s part that would have resulted from that question, and she reached out to give his hand a gentle, affectionate squeeze. “Sorry--I know we’re getting extremely personal, here. But that’s really the first step: communication and trust, remember? The more I know about what you fancy, the better I’ll know how to approach this with you.”
She had to give him credit, though. To think that the last time they’d touched, Ari had nearly fainted over the prospect in dancing with her, body to body. He was opening up more than she’d imagine he would, which only gave her pause to consider just how heavily this subject had weighed on his mind in the time he’d been alive. Perhaps getting it off his chest was cathartic, just as their eventual union would be. He really was braver than he gave himself credit for. “And, listen. There is one thing you are not allowed to worry about, and that is me. I expected that this would be gradual for you, and I’m not going to abandon ship just because you’re not ready to jump into the water head-first. Hey, here’s a confession that might make you feel a little better: I might have a lot of experience, but I’m far from an expert. If we’re being honest, here, I’ve never… actually climaxed. Surprising, huh?” Nia rubbed the back of her neck, feeling a little more exposed, herself, for that small tidbit of truth. “And it really has nothing to do with any of the men I’ve been with. It’s all me, up in my head. I mean, I kinda got off to a rough start. That’s bound to break someone just a little.” She stopped rubbing her neck when that scar on her throat began to ache, and dropped her hand back into her lap.
“So what I’m trying to say is, don’t worry about me, Ari. This is all about you, and giving you the experience you deserve, however you want it. I’m not about to lose interest. Whether or not you have a flare up or a few, we’ll deal with them, and continue only at a pace that suits you. Honestly, I’ve never been with anyone who I… who’s mattered to me, beyond the transient company they provide. This is high stakes for me, too, because I don’t want to fuck things up between us. I like you. You… you’re probably one of the most genuine people I’ve ever known. But, for now...”
The Master Alchemist straightened her posture to sit upright, and gently rested one partially gloved hand on the back of Ari’s neck. “Tell me about this ‘risque’ art, you’ve made. The sculptures and the paintings. I’d love to know what you envision…” A slow, sultry smile spread across her mouth. “So that I can do my best to make it happen when you’re ready for it.”
When the mysterious disappearance of Tivia Rigas spread throughout the palace like a communicable disease, it entirely made sense that the help of a faoladh or two would have been requested to see if the Star Seer’s scent could be tracked. Naturally, the palace’s first choice was Hadwin, who was arguably the most cooperative, even if he was also pegged as the most aggravating and obnoxious (though not the most dangerous) of the trio. And he would have been happy to lend a hand, were it not Teselin who couldn’t help but feel the urge to warn him against it. The young summoner couldn’t really explain why she felt that it was too dangerous for Hadwin to embark on this rescue mission when he very clearly had the unique capacity to provide a great deal of help, and it was not without guilt that she begged him to stay put. There was… something was amidst, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. A change in the air, some new charge sending violent particles throughout the atmosphere that sought to disrupt anyone and anything that would attempt to locate Tivia. And, given reports the next morning of the casualties the searches had left in their wake, Teselin realized she had not been wrong in her suspicions.
The first report was that of Haraldur Sorde, who had suffered a head injury as he’d led a search party in an attempt to retrieve Tivia. And then, none other than Rowen Kavanagh was also rumoured to have been admitted to the sanctuary in the Night Garden, for a very similar reason (although Teselin would need to see it to believe it). But it wasn’t until she knocked on Isidor’s door the next morning, to ask him how he was faring, if he was alright in light of Tivia’s disappearance, and if he needed anything or if there was anything she could do for him, that she was informed he would not be found in his room that morning.
“What happened? Do you know where Isidor is?” She asked the Gardener--Erevahl--who explained her brother wouldn’t be found in his room, for he, too, had been admitted to the sanctuary after being found facedown in a ditch, unconscious, several hours ago. “He… he what? Is he alright!? Thank you for telling me… I need to go see him at once.”
So concerned for the Master Alchemist’s well-being, Teselin didn’t even take the time to inform Hadwin of what had befallen her brother, and instead rushed straight out of the palace and all the way to the Night Garden, not stopping for even a moment until she red in the face and out of breath from her hurry. Stopped at the door by a Gardener who explained that the small healing sanctuary was already at capacity, and that visitors were not allowed at this time, she hurriedly explained that she worried for the health of her brother. The anxiety practically emanating from the small girl was enough to made the Gardener concede defeat and allow her a few moments with Isidor, long enough for her to see for herself that he was alive and well, and merely resting.
Teselin stepped over the threshold of the door, and her eyes immediately darted between Haraldur and Isidor in adjacent beds, both who were currently unconscious. But Isidor pretty much never slept, even if he needed it… They’d told her that the extent of the injuries he’d sustained were a sprained ankle and wrist, a small bump on her head, and mild dehydration from lying motionless in a ditch for an extended period of time. “Is… Isidor.” The young summoner closed a hand around her unconscious brothers. There were cuts around his face, on the bridge of his nose, which suggested he must’ve broken his spectacles when he’d fallen. “Can you hear me?”
Whether or not he could hear her remained unknown to Teselin--but someone else certainly had heard her. The young summoner jumped as a curtain was drawn from around the cot in the corner, and Rowen Kavanagh. “Rowen.” She spoke the she-wolf’s name, but was otherwise at a loss for words. Somehow, she had been convinced that she would be asleep, as well… This is what such wishful thinking got her. “I… I’m not sure it is a good idea to leave, against the advice of the Gardeners. But if you want to go, then no, I won’t stop you…”
And she wouldn’t have, but the open-ended ‘offer’ that she join her could not be ignored. Once again, Teselin Kristeva found herself pinned between a rock and a hard place, just as Hadwin warned her might happen. And she had known that opening up her services to Locque would only keep the murderous she-wolf at bay for so long. “I… I did hear of what you did. The Gardeners say you volunteered willingly to try and find Tivia. And that you suffered for it…”
It was easy to state the obvious and make observations that Rowen could not read too much into. So Teselin told her exactly what was on her mind, and how she perceived what had gone down. “You know… that’s the trouble with doing good, sometimes. There isn’t always a ‘reward’; and sometimes, you wonder why you reached out at all when it seems to backfire. I know I’ve been there, too. When all I’ve wanted to do was help… and it only ends up making this worse, either for me or for others. But, what you did… that didn’t go unnoticed by me.”
Sighing quietly, she spread her hands, and shook her head. “I can’t explain what happened to you or why, but I think what you did is a good indication that you are more capable of thriving in light than you think. It’s true that I’ve also opened my help to Queen Locque because I believe that she also has the capacity to return to the person she once was. But no--I haven’t forgotten what I promised to you. In fact, I have asked around to find the best route to address your concerns and Locque’s collectively. There is a Gardener who specializes in healing similar to the Sybaian healers who has offered to lend a hand if need be. If you are feeling well enough to begin to address this, then we can go and seek her out now, but… I think it’s fair for you to know, Rowen, that it might get harder before it gets easier… Are you willing to deal with that? If you are,” she offered a hand, feeling both defeated, and maybe a little hopeful. “Then I’ll help you now.”
“Have you perhaps stopped to ask yourself why she wanted to help?” Ari found himself blurting aloud before he could filter his words into something a little more tactful. As the mage in control of the pebble golems spying all about the palace, he was privy to certain conversations, including one that passed between Locque and Vitali several weeks ago. From the sound of it, the witch-queen hadn’t expressed much concern for Nia aside from her ability to perform as intended, without pesky emotional distress clogging the arteries and choking off access to her productivity quota. Locque seemingly contributed the stone to Nia much like an exhausted parent would throw a favored toy at their incorrigible child, a motion not done primarily out of love but out of the attempt to silence the tears and the pouts long enough for them to sink into blissful sleep. Not that Nia presented as an incorrigible child, but in Locque’s long-suffering perspective, to dangle something desirable in front of a demoralized worker meant that, logically, said worker’s mood would lift, revitalizing their motivation and their willingness to work. In a purely clinical, callous sense, Locque only handed Nia a boon--albeit a most twisted and cruel boon--to placate, not to help. Someone who truly valued a person beyond their contributions would not barge in amid said person’s recovery and announce how inconvenienced they felt. She does not care about you as a person, Nia, he wanted to say, at risk of divulging more about the situation than was comfortable or safe. She only cares about what you can do for her. I cannot see this dynamic changing in the near future.
Instead, he retracted his last statement and immediately apologized. “Forgive my indelicateness. You know her best--most definitely better than I know her. I am afraid my previous biases do me no favors, for here I am, judging Queen Locque’s forbearance and questioning her rationale. As a man who invited a great deal of unpopularity from Lord Rigas’s allies for lambasting his efficacy and commitment as a leader, you must excuse that my sentiments remain a political holdover against those who were once, but are no longer, my adversaries--your Lady included. I am certain my opinion will change as our relationship evolves,” he said, concluding on an optimistic note, despite his lack of optimism on issues involving the summoner, whose dalliances with humankind proved harmful no matter what strategies, well-meaning or hostile, she employed.
Though initially interested in the shift in topic, Ari quickly lost his footing when Nia started to inquire about his personal preferences and his experiences, if any, with sexual and intimate acts. “Ah. I see.” He stroked the tailed ends of his bound hair, his hyperfocus trained on the flower pattern on Nia’s duvet. “Exchange of information will best help to customize and enrich our upcoming encounter. Very well,” he said, in as casual a candor he could muster—as though they were discussing place settings for the next dinner party and not one of the most vulnerable activities two people could share together. “You’re correct; the naked form is one I’ve studied extensively over the decades. Male and female, I’ve used many live models, of varying body types and ages, to perfect my accuracy of rendering the appropriate shape and proportions in my works. Nakedness, therefore, does not faze me. As for, erm, practical experience,” on exploring uncertain territory, his confidence, certain of itself from an artist’s standpoint, wavered, “while I have pleasured myself, yes, and didn’t suffer any negative effects, I...I’ve done a little more. With...with Lady Chara. With mixed results.”
It was not a chapter of his life looked upon with fondness, but neither could he deny the Rigas woman’s impactful and damaging influence on his formative years of development. The sick games she played to instill superiority. The loveless attacks; the lustful teases. You’re mine, she uttered in one breath. I don’t want you. She placed those contradictory whispers, one in each ear, and stood back, gleeful in the confusion and distress it caused him. No woman will ever touch you, hmm? Let me be the first, her sharp fingernail traced across his throat. If I am your last.
“A few times, we...started to engage. Kissing. Foreplay. She initiated every step and would not allow me to contribute. She wanted control and I helplessly obeyed. We seldom ventured far because,” he took a sharp breath. Releasing his physical connection to Nia, he threaded liberated fingers through his other hand, a protective, impenetrable weave. Blood. Gasps. Curses. Broken bones. Humiliation. Burns. Fragmented memories, their story told by pain, urged into conception by the stroke of a paintbrush, the scritch of charcoal, the chisel of stone, replicating the scene. Different mediums, different interpretations, but always the same event. The same several events. Her and him and their most hated aspects of each other, manifested through an unholy union. A violent clash. Obsession drove his art. Pictures and paintings and sculptures spoke for him when words failed to express what happened. And it was also here, in Nia’s company, when words, precious wingbeats that seldom tired of flapping, tucked in to roost.
In an apologetic head bow, Ari climbed to his feet, bounding a few steps towards the door to bridge some distance from the invasive thoughts circling through his mind. “My apologies,” he murmured, almost breathless. “I...I am not ready to...divulge. I thought perhaps I could, but there is...I’m afraid there is too much to parse. If we could instead focus on, for the time being, a different subject, we can return to this conversation later. How, how about,” he faced the drawn curtains, pawing at the decorative golden tassels that lined the bottoms of the valance, “I arrange for Lord Rigas to visit in the next day or so? I’d prefer he addresses you here, in my villa, an environment most conducive to your recovery. And seeing as your travel is restricted, this presents a golden opportunity to retread open-ended territory from last you spoke with him. I assume Queen Locque will keep you quite busy following your palace return, so now is more pertinent a time than ever. Besides, if he truly wishes to establish friendly relations, then as a show of goodwill, surely he could provide some healing for your head injury?” Realizing he’d devolved into babbling, he whirled from the curtains and tried to emulate a natural, neutral stance, one not affected by the dark wisps that still clung to his aura from the uneasy conclusion of their trust exchange. “I will make all the proper arrangements, of course. As well, I shall give you time to consider the proposal. Again, rest is paramount, a priority that supersedes diplomatic gatherings of almost every grade, so please do not feel as though you must accept. Oh, but speaking of diplomatic gatherings,” he checked the positioning of the sun through the cracks in the curtains, “I do believe I have an upcoming meeting with the patriarch of the Farbor family. He suffers no tardiness, so I must away. But fear not!” He looked over his shoulder, delivering Nia a reassuring smile. “During my absence, I’ve instructed my serving staff to check in on you periodically. I cannot imagine the meeting taking longer than an afternoon to conclude—after which we can partake in some lunch or a light dinner. Whatever strikes your fancy. Until then,” he swept into a bow before reaching the door, “it is a brief parting, but we shall meet again.” With a spirited wink, he exited through the doors, catching the concerned gaze of Lazarus, who shrugged out of his self-imposed petrifaction at his master’s proximity.
She could hurt you like Lady Chara hurt you, the statue of a man, identifying the source of Ari’s inner turmoil, reiterated through their mind’s connection.
No. He resumed down the hallway, flitting past Laz. What hurts the most...is in realizing my blunder. I was too honest, too truthful. I should not have disclosed even a hint of...it was too soon. Too soon.
For the rest of the day and well into the next, Ari hardly broached the subject of intimacy with Nia, choosing to keep their encounters pleasant and lighthearted. Of the few times he mentioned their pact, it was to assure he had not forgotten their plans, and that they would resume drafting a strategy after she recovered from her head injury, as well as from whatever long list of tasks Locque set out for her to do upon returning to the palace. Speaking of head injuries, they succeeded in recruiting Alster Rigas to the villa, on the condition that he covertly arrive, no fanfare, and that he bring Elespeth with him. In exchange, he would take a look at Nia’s head before they commenced with friendly talks. The afternoon following Locque’s unprecedented visit, the former D’Marian leader slipped through the front doors, Elespeth in tow. By himself, the blond-haired Rigas presented as plain-clothed and unassuming, sporting a brown tunic with wide-sleeves that concealed his steel prosthesis and holding himself in a modest stature. Though he would despise Ari for saying so, Alster’s current aesthetic matched Queen Locque. Nonetheless, it struck Ari as curious, the correlation between powerful individuals and their desire to blend in amongst a crowd and appear as normal.
“Lord and Lady Rigas. What an honor and a pleasure,” he greeted the couple at the entranceway and corralled them indoors, to the relief of Alster, whose return to the D’Marian village had introduced a little tension to his polite smile. Inside, the Rigas caster only needed to withstand the hospitality of one noble family, and not a congregation full of them, an arguably better statistic for the infamous Serpent Bane. “Before we proceed, may I interest you both in a beverage or a snack? Bread? Cheeses? Wine?”
“Perhaps later, Lord Canaveris, when I’ve worked up the appetite,” Alster demurred. “But first, as arranged, please lead the way to Nia’s chambers and I will make good on my word to check on the status of her head injury.”
Together, the trio traveled down the corridors and entered the chambers where Nia rested. Since sustaining her injury two days ago, the Master Alchemist was able to sit upright in bed. However, she still complained of vertigo and headaches, even with the assistance of the stones provided. They offered temporary relief, but treating the symptoms did not treat its cause.
“Nia. Good afternoon.” Alster approached her bedside, dispensing a neutral greeting and a professional smile. “If only these were slightly better circumstances for you, but I think I can help. If you’d allow it,” he rolled up his sleeves, revealing not only flesh and steel, but a hard pack of muscle on his lean arms, “let me establish contact with your head. Through touch, I can use my magic to explore the condition of your injury and stimulate the proper vibrations for healing. There might be a little discomfort at first, but the sensation is temporary.”
“I’m not looking for a reward,” Rowen said, a blunt response to Teselin’s rejection of a foolproof recipe for doing good works. She was not so naive to believe in reaping some kind of warm and tingly satisfaction from doing the morally and objectively ‘right thing.’ As an arbiter of justice, it was her duty to do right, even if others questioned, feared, and condemned her choices. Nothing about actively purging the world of sins and darkness offered accolades, treasures, or canonization, especially when people refused to understand why murder and death was most merciful for tortured, violent souls. What she did was a thankless task, fraught with doubts, inexactitudes, gray areas, and second-guessing. Right on time, she’d advanced to the latter stage, and it was a stage that left her wondering how the concept of ‘goodness’ behaved from someone not afflicted with the curse to see nothing but its counter. What was ‘goodness’ in the eyes of this hapless summoner, who heralded in more wrong and carnage upon the world than peace and selfless deeds? If so-called goodness made morally upstanding citizens into mass-killing monsters and literal scum into the upholders of societal preservation, then where did that leave Rowen on the spectrum? Perhaps it was for this reason that she felt drawn to Teselin. She, a glowing example of a walking contradiction, still believed she was worth more to the world alive than dead, despite the catastrophic harm she inflicted upon thousands of innocents. She, who took the mantle as morality and ethical advisor, thought herself an appropriate fit? A bastion of innocence and insight, heedless of the blood on her hands? The implication that the destructive Teselin could be anyone’s salvation, save for the likes of Hadwin, was too laughable to ignore. Out of dumb curiosity, along with the stupid vibrations of self-doubt ringing in her ears, she wanted to see where the path of a delusional summoner would take her. She wanted to see...just why Hadwin chose her, had chosen life, when he desired death for so long.
“Not a reward,” she reiterated, pushing back a hank of unruly hair from her forehead. “But I wasn’t expecting so much blowback from the heavens, themselves. One can’t help but consider the alternative; what I did, what they did,” she motioned to the two unconscious men in the sanctuary, “wasn’t ‘good.’ They—we—defied the stars. Defied order, defied nature. And isn’t such defiance in and of itself arguably wrong?” Her reddish eyes bore into Teselin’s, as though to say, Aren’t you defying your nature, too? “I’m a wolf. A predator. I kill. No one would argue the role a predator plays. We kill to eat and survive, yes, but we also specifically target the weak, the stragglers—the outliers who the herd abandoned to save their community. We clean up the excess, the population overflow,” she squinted meaningfully, “me...and you. But,” she broke eye contact and strode to the doorway, “if you’re so convinced there’s another way, a way in which a wolf can thrive within society and its demands for appropriate, cooperative behaviors that don’t involve killing, then,” she grabbed hold of Teselin’s open palm, “lead me to this healer. And we’ll see if they can change someone’s nature.”
Ari’s seemingly innocent, but no less poignant question, took Nia aback. Or perhaps she was just having difficulty processing the words due to the extent of her head injury which, at times, did leave her thoughts feeling a bit jumbled. Furrowing her brow, she inquired, “What do you mean? She told me why she did what she did. Because she saw I was unhappy and distressed, and she provided what she could only to the best of her ability. I mean, she’s a summoner, which makes her hella powerful… but actually bringing back the dead? That’s something that even necromancers and mediums can only accomplish under very unique and rare circumstances. If she could, if she were capable, I know she would have given me more than some pretty convincing illusions to look at.”
But that wasn’t what the Canaveris lord had asked; not particularly. His why stemmed from an entirely different question, and veered in a direction that Nia realized she was staunchly avoiding, and had been avoiding for a long time. Not Why did she make you think you were seeing your sisters? but Why did she want to help at all? What was in it for her? Of course, the Master Alchemist already had an answer to which she was desperate to cling. That Locque had done what she’d done because she cared, because some part of her heart, struggling to be human, was doing the best that it could to help a loyal ally out of a dark pit and give her a glimpse of light. But… but was that really the case? Nia could not deny what she had seen and heard. The way the sorceress had been so eager to have her back at the palace and falling back into her productive role as a Master Alchemist. How she thought she’d seen a glimpse of compassion in Locque’s apology for unintentionally hurting her, but now wondered if all of that had been wishful thinking. She was not expendable to the summoner queen; of that much, she was certain. After all, Master Alchemists were far too rare, and she had already proven herself as useful and an asset time and again. But was she really anything to Locque beyond useful? To what extent did the sorceress care for her, if she cared at all? And if it was a matter of success or Nia’s health, safety, and well-being… what would the sorceress choose?
Silently considering the topic, the possibility that Nia had, in fact, chosen wrong all this time, was enough to make the Master Alchemist’s heart race and her temperature to simultaneously rise and fall. She was aware of Ari making some sort of apology for overstepping an invisible line, but she did not hear it in full with the sound of her own heart pounding in her ears. Am I wrong? Was I wrong about her? Being cared for or cared about was not a feeling to which she was particularly privy, growing up in a largely loveless household under the thumb of loveless parents, with only her sisters to confide in, and that period with them had been brief. Following the collapse of the Ardane name and family, she had then taken to running, realizing that it was too dangerous to assume that anyone could or would care for her well-being; for the well-being of a wanted fugitive, who had most certainly killed that handful of guards who had made chase when she ran from her homeland that fateful night. Would she really know it if someone cared for her, for her well-being, out of the genuineness of her heart?
And, if what Ari was implying was true, and that Locque had sought to merely placate her for her own gain… where did that put the Canaveris lord, who had been nothing but kind to her from the moment they had met? How he had confided in her, listened as she’d confided in him, and spoke over Galeyn’s terrifying new demi-queen out of concern for her well-being and the opportunity to heal from her injury… what was in it for him? Was his kindness, too, contingent on how useful she could be to him? Just a means of keeping him in her good graces to reverse his flare ups, to lubricate his relations with Locque, and more recently, to help him gain sexual experience, of which he had been deprived for most of his life? No; no, Ari is real. He feels real, everything about him is real and genuine. Her mind adamantly dismissed any notion that he, too, may only be using her for what made her useful: her capabilities as a Master Alchemist. Because even if that were the case… just like with Locque, she already found herself in too deep with the Canaveris lord and the D’Marians’ new leader. She already cared too much about him, genuinely… and there was no going back on those feelings. Not for her.
More than happy that he took the hint to veer to another subject, Nia tossed the matter aside, given she already had too much of a headache to ponder what ifs. Sex was a much more preferable topic, even if Ari did not seem to see it quite the same way. “Okay, so that’s really important information, then. So you already know that you can feel pleasure and it won’t trigger a rocky flare-up on your part. That really leads me to believe it’s not the act of sex that worries you, then; not the feeling really good part. It's about feeling good with another person, because, obviously, you’re a little nervous--and there’s nothing to be ashamed about with that. So, with the infamous Lady Chara, then,” she leaned back into the pillows to relieve the stress on her shoulders and spine from sitting upright, “how far did you get?”
Unfortunately, that was the wrong question, for the wrong time… and yet, Ari’s silence and sudden aversion, the abrupt fear and tension in his body as he withdrew from her touch, told her more than words could. Damn… why had she not seen it before? All this time, she had assumed the sole role that Chara Rigas had played in Ari’s life was one where she had broken the Canaveris lord’s heart, but now… now, it was obvious that the pain he felt in the wake of memories of times spent with that woman was not due to longing. Something--perhaps many things--that had spanned from that ill-fated relationship had left Aristide Canaveris more damaged than he let on. More damaged than she had thought he was, and for entirely different reasons. Ari hadn’t avoided sex all this time simply because he feared his flare-ups; he avoided it because of what had happened in the past. Because the last time he had entertained the idea of being intimate with someone… he had gotten hurt. Literally hurt, perhaps more than emotionally.
“Hey.” Nia spoke up gently, bringing his attention back to her. She wanted to reach out, but knew better than to do so at the moment. “It’s fine, Ari. Like I said, we can take this at your pace, however fast or slow you want to go. Now’s not the right time; and that’s alright.” The Master Alchemist did not begrudge him the change in subject, when he went on to discuss the possibility of a future meeting with Alster Rigas, as early as the next day. Frankly, Nia had felt the man had already made himself perfectly clear during their last meeting, and was not sure that she had anything new to say to him to sway him otherwise. Nonetheless, if it made Ari feel better that she contributed to the effort to try and build that bridge between her and the Rigas lord, then there was really no harm in trying again. Particularly if it presented her with the opportunity to make the man less of an enemy and more of a friend. “Of course, you know I’m more than happy to patch things up with our Lord Rigas. Not sure I’ll ever have much luck with his wife, though, considering I did slice her armor up pretty well that one time… but it’s a start, right?”
Flashing a smile that felt a little uncertain, Nia made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “Go on, tend to whatever duties you need. I’m not going anywhere, but that doesn’t mean I’ve got to monopolize your time and attention.”
Though she meant what she said, it was in Ari’s absence, sitting alone in that room with the floral quilt draped over her legs, that the Master Alchemist realized what a relief it had been to have someone to talk to; to occupy her time when otherwise intrusive thoughts would plague her. Thoughts that questioned her current stance and the role she played to Galeyn’s new queen. Thoughts that pondered what it would be like not to be tied to Locque, but free to integrate as part of Galeyn without the stigma of being in the sorceress’s service. Sleep did not offer a reprieve from these thoughts, either, but instead manifested them in her dreams, dredging up every possible anxiety that she had kept carefully below the surface.
In her dreams, she was in Locque’s presence, often in indeterminate situations, but the outcome was always the same. She would fall from a cliff without the sorceress offering a hand to help her keep her footing. She would be stabbed from behind, likely by an angry Galeynian, and Locque would not turn her head to her cries for help. Or, in one such circumstance, Isidor Kristeva would step up and suddenly pledge loyalty to Locque… which made her own involvement redundant. And with nothing but a dismissive look from the sorceress, she would suddenly dissolve, disappear, no longer needed--because that is all that she meant to a sorceress. A means to some end, and when her usefulness was depleted… what would be left?
These were the dreams that plague Nia every time she dozed off, and she happened to awaken from one such nightmare when one of Ari’s servants politely informed her that Alster and Elepeth Rigas had arrived the next day, and the former was ready and willing to speak with her. Her heart still racing from her nightmares, Nia breathlessly agreed to speak with the Rigas lord, and hastily ran her fingers through her unkempt locks of brunette hair to try and look a little more presentable. Though she felt a little less hollow and sunken from partaking in regular meals these past couple of days at Ari’s encouragement, it was impossible to look entirely put-together when she had been on bed rest all this time. And as much as it stirred feelings of discomfort to face someone who, as of yet, was not a friend in such a vulnerable state, she trusted that Ari would not have invited Alster if he’d thought it would put her in danger. All she could do was sit upright, with her spine as straight as she could muster, and paste on her confident smile when the Rigas lord stepped over the threshold of the doorway and into her room.
“Alster Rigas! You’re looking well, quite contrary to myself, I imagine. Very well, in fact. Whatever the farmlands are doing for you, I’d say it’s working.” The Rigas lord’s skin sported a healthy, sunkissed glow, and he held himself confidently upright with ease. His tunic, while loose, appeared less baggy on a form that was far less diminished than she remembered. Was that muscle she saw beneath the sleeves of his shirt?! “I’m afraid my own condition is my own fault. Went a little too heavy on the wine, lost my footing and hit my head. Probably the most embarrassing injury I’ve acquired, to date, but ah, we live and learn, right?” Of course, while it was not entirely a lie in and of itself, she omitted the more sensitive details as to how she found herself in such a sorry state. He didn’t need to know about how Locque had deceived her, how she’d thought she’d been reuniting with the spirits of her sisters night after night, only to find out it had all been a lie and fall into such despair that the events that followed had resulted in her cracking her head on hard marble.
And, although Ari had suggested that Alster might be able to help provide some relief to her careless injury, she couldn’t help but hesitate to accept his offer. Trust went both ways, and although he had come good on his partial surrender to Locque, she had no real reason to believe that he would inherently want to help her beyond Ari’s simple request. “It’s not so bad if I’m not standing for too long. And if there’s no sunlight.” She mentioned, nodding to the curtains of her room, which had remained closed since the first morning she’d awoken in the Canaveris villa. “Another day of rest and I should be right as rain! So, what is it you wanted to discuss? I don’t recall we ended on very good terms, last time, but I’m an open person and welcome a change of heart.”
What Alster had to say astonished Nia, to the point where she most certainly had not been prepared to hear it. Not only did he express making an effort to establish amicable relations with her, Locque’s emissary, but as they spoke, he even made mention of possibly moving back into the palace. Of course, this entailed that his favourable relations extend to the new queen, which… oddly, he did not seem so opposed to. “I mean… of course I’m happy to help out, Alster. If you and your wife want back in the palace, then you can depend on me to talk it out with Her Majesty. You’ll probably have to arrange an audience with her as well to get this plan in the works, but I don’t see why it would be impossible, considering you were never asked to leave the palace in the first place, but did so of your own volition. But, I am curious… why the sudden change of heart? Last we talked, I recall you were adamantly opposed to me and Locque and everything to do with the both of us.”
While Alster and Nia talked in the privacy of her room (though not entirely out of hearing range in case one or the other called for help), Elespeth stood uneasily at the end of the corridor with the Canaveris lord. While she was not bedecked entirely in her armour this time, with little more than a dagger tucked into her belt (and simply because she refused to set foot anywhere in Galeyn without the means for protection), instead sporting a simple tunic and trousers like her husband, neither did she emanate an entirely relaxed aura around Ari. To break the awkward silence with an equally awkward observation, she eventually mentioned, “I remember what you said the last time we all spoke, back at the farmhouse. That your relationship to the Master Alchemist was purely business. Please correct me if I am wrong--and I hope that I am--but you seem to be more invested in that woman than you initially told us.”
Pushing away from the wall, the former Atvanian folded her arms across her chest and lowered her voice even more, in case their conversation could somehow be picked up from down the hall. No doubt his massive manservant was listening in, but she couldn’t care less about that. “I want to believe what you said back then. I really, really want to be able to trust you, Aristide, because I do think you have the power to be integral to eventually reclaiming peace in this kingdom. So far, you’ve been as good as your word and relayed any pertinent details that you’ve gleaned to Alster. And I get it--the Ardane woman somehow got injured on your watch, so she’s been holed up here for a bit. I don’t care about how or why. But if you have really taken some genuine liking to someone who is inherently dangerous to all of us, and for multiple reasons… then I don’t know how we can continue to trust you. And before you go and try to tell me you’re putting on an act to save your hide and keep in Locque’s good graces… I was there when you summoned Alster using the resonance stone. I was there when he asked why we must meet the Master Alchemist here, of all places. I was there when you explained that she is injured and requires strict bed rest…” It was impossible to keep the suspicion from her green eyes when she searched Ari’s for answers. “And even through the distortion of the resonance stone, I know concern when I hear it. For whatever reason, you care enough about her to be concerned for her health and well-being. I am not so flippant as to call you a traitor just yet, but if something is going on… then I hope you will tell us.”
“Hadwin is also a wolf. So is Bronwyn--and they do not kill the weak. I know you think that you are a victim of your nature, Rowen, and maybe there is some truth to that. But it does not mean that you cannot live alternatively from what you know. And I think… part of you believes that.” Teselin made no comment to Rowen’s insistence on their similarities, knowing better than to be baited into empathizing with her. Her story was far different from the she-wolf’s… and unlike Rowen Kavanagh, there was no chance of it being solved by the Night Garden. “Because if you didn’t think it was possible, then you would not have approached me for help.”
Taking a step back, the young summoner made her way quietly toward the door, so as not to disturb the sleeping forms of Haraldur and her brother, and offered her hand. “I can’t make any guarantees, but if you want my honest opinion… there is more hope for you than there is for me, currently. My existence has resulted in destruction. But I didn’t want that destruction, Rowen, and I think…” She met the faoladh girl’s golden eyes. “I think you wish that you didn’t want it, either.”
As uncomfortable as she was making direct contact with the murderous she-wolf, Teselin focused on locating the particular Gardener whose name Senyiah had passed down when she’d inquired about both Rowen and Locque’s desires to fundamentally change. Walking perhaps a little more quickly than what she was accustomed to doing, she at last came across the person she’d been hoping to find. Teselin expected that Rowen might have the same reaction that she’d had upon meeting this specialist Gardener, for the person they came upon was both smaller and appeared younger than both of them. If Teselin had to guess, the girl was maybe, maybe thirteen or fourteen years in age, with long black hair that could have benefitted from a braid, and freckles on her sunkissed skin. “Breane. Have we come at a bad time?”
At the sound of her name, the Gardener called Breane looked up from where she crouched before a tree, one hand in direct contact with its roots. She sported a pair of round spectacles propped on the bridge of her small nose, which was dappled with freckles. “It’s never a bad time, Miss Teselin. I’m happy to help if you need it.”
“Well, this is Rowen… the person I told you about the last time we met. Senyiah spoke very highly of you and your skills. The treatment she needs… isn’t of the physical sort.”
“Of course. Some time ago, we Gardeners might now have been able to help illness or injury that wasn’t physical. But the Garden is changing. It’s been changing since Queen Lilica roused it from its slumber. Miss Senyiah thinks it might have something to do with all of the mental and emotional despair the Galeynians have suffered since they too were awakened. So many opened their eyes, only to find they were alone, for their families did not survive the longevity of the spell. What is most needed right now is not necessarily healing on the physical level; and I believe the Garden is recognizing that.” Adjusting the spectacles on her nose, as they were so apt to slide down, the young Gardener turned to Rowen with curious eyes. “The process is different and unique for everyone, and it most definitely requires supervision on the Gardeners’ part since, with all healing, it’s not without discomfort. But if you’re committed to it, Miss Rowen, I am happy to be of service.”
After learning of Tivia’s disappearance and failing to locate her, Alster never wanted to feel so helpless again. Although he justified his failure as interference from the heavens, the incident forced him to reevaluate his position on elements still within his control. Following the bad news dispensed to Isidor via resonance stone, Alster went for a solitary walk to process the loss, an hours’ long jaunt that demanded he face some hard-hitting questions about himself before he was allowed to return to the farmhouse. What did he aim to accomplish in the Galeynian countryside? How could he be of help to anyone if he deliberately cut himself off from helping? Yes, he recognized the need to recover in relative isolation, away from the source who aggravated his ability to think reasonably without revisiting the scene of his near-fatal plunge into oblivion. But it had been well over a month since relocating to the farmhouse for the necessary reprieve to revitalize his mental, spiritual, and physical soundness and reconnect to the earth. During that interim, he had no dealings with Locque, no chance encounters, nothing to trigger unpleasant memories or bubbling feelings of rage and vengeance, the very same that literally split his soul apart. Once removing the subject of his trauma from the equation and traveling far from its epicenter, recovery was...achievable.
In a few short weeks, he gained weight and added muscle, sporting a physique he hadn’t carried since his days in Messino’s camp. From long days spent outside, his natural light-olive skin reclaimed its warm complexion, bringing out the blue of his eyes, while the sun added golden highlights to his sandy hair. Ironically, the land-locked Galeyn had reintroduced aspects of the ocean to his outward form. By each passing day, he looked less breakable and more capable, better apt to skate on the waters than crash on the waters. Everything came a little easier: eating, sleeping, magic, good cheer, and optimism. However, his gains demanded their price, and the price slowly began chipping away at his newly-polished sanity. You can’t ignore the truth forever. You know there’s nothing you can do from afar. One day, you’ll have to return. One day, you’ll have to meet her in person. The price whispered its promises, caressing past his ear like the wind. It’s impossible; you cannot turn your back for long.
It was right. He’d been absent long enough. Now was the time to rejoin the narrative, and stand before Locque in place of the comrades who currently could not act. I’ve had my time to convalesce. Now, it’s time to pick up the slack.
After returning from his long, thoughtful walk through the farmlands, he returned that evening to float his musings over to Elespeth. She supported his decision, likely because she, too, grew restless from inactivity, but had kept quiet so as not to disrupt Alster’s needful rest, aware that flashing any anticipatory signs might encourage him to betray their waiting game and act prematurely. For, while patient and methodical, Alster was contradictorily guilty of harboring bad impulses capable of supplanting many of his well-laid plans.
When they settled on their tentative trajectory forward, Alster first contacted the palace using the resonance stone linked either to Chara or Isidor, depending on who currently possessed it, but received no response. Setting aside his worry for his friend and the probable injuries he sustained in his search for Tivia, Alster next contacted Lord Canaveris. Through his network of pebble golems, the new D’Marian leader would know of Nia’s whereabouts, and he had the means of reaching her, as well. Much to his surprise, not only did Aristide house Nia at his villa, but she had taken a rather nasty tumble on the marble floor and was consigned to bed rest until deemed safe to move. Fortunately, she was receptive to a meeting, provided he travel to the D’Marian village and lend his services as a healer, a request he agreed to honor. Only when Nia face-to-face rejected his offer did Alster realize that Aristide had made the request, and it stretched beyond the Canaveris Lord’s obligations as a hospitable host to ask a man he disliked to heal his guest. Despite Aristide’s past assurances of maintaining a professional relationship with Nia, Alster suspected differently. The evidence became apparent during one of their many information-gathering sessions, during which Aristide spent a great deal of time detailing the grave disservice Locque had wrought on Nia through crafting an illusory stone to trick the hurting alchemist into seeing her dead sisters. While he had succeeded in convincing Alster to look upon Nia less as an extension of Locque and more as an unfortunate victim of circumstance who could be swayed from the witch’s grasp, the Rigas mage couldn’t help but wonder why Aristide sounded so inordinately invested in Nia’s case.
Swallowing his suspicions for now, Alster withdrew his hands from the Master Alchemist’s proximity, choosing, instead, to transfer his energy into pulling up a chair to align at her bedside. Respecting her space, he positioned it an arm-and-a-half’s length from her, too far for him to reach a comfortable stretch. “Understandable, Nia. You don’t trust me. And that’s fair; I haven’t given you any reason to trust me. But if this means anything, I take my healer’s oath seriously, to the extent where I even aided in the necromancer’s recovery--much as I, at the time, wouldn’t have been too heartbroken if he spontaneously caught fire and turned to a pile of ash at my feet. But words and promises mean nothing to the recipient if they hold no personal credence, and I,” he scratched the back of his ear, a self-conscious tic he failed to hide, “well, to any outsider, I look positively villainous, or at the very least, unstable. With that said, may I hope to alleviate some of your impressions of me, with what I’ve come here to discuss.”
Leaning forward in the chair, he clasped his steel hand over the other, a study in disparate materials, organic and inorganic, operating as one cooperative, fluid unit. “I’ll admit, last time we spoke, I...was still raw over what had happened to me. It was nigh difficult to abandon my bias and even consider a solution amenable to both parties, because nothing short of her prompt removal would suffice for me. I was overcome with bitterness and it carried over in my outward disposition. But time away from the palace has not only given me perspective, but a sense of calmness and acceptance. If peace is to be achieved, then it must start with the individual. So,” he separated his hands, opening before Nia like a late-spring bloom, “I would like to extend that peace to you, Nia. To start anew, in friendship and solidarity. In so doing, I would also like to assist Locque in making this peace achievable for the entire kingdom. Of course, this necessitates that I and Elespeth return to the palace, pending your lady’s approval.”
He nodded along to Nia’s question, having prepared a response. While obviously rehearsed, it was no less genuine in its delivery. If nothing significant came from relocating at the palace, then he could be assured of one thing: togetherness among his allies. “To be honest, my change of heart stems from loneliness. I miss my companions. Perhaps if I were there, at the palace, I could have prevented Tivia’s hasty departure, tried to appeal to her, as I’ve been able to do, before. But she’s gone.” Concerned wrinkles folded at his brow and crinkled the edges of his eyes, prematurely aging his youthful, boyish sheen. With one guilt-ridden statement, he diminished, his short-lived late-blossom succumbing to the ravages of time and old age. “As former Rigas Head, I still feel responsible for all Rigases. Much as I’ve betrayed them, I can’t shake the sentiment: that they are under my care, and I’ve let them down. I don’t want to let anyone down anymore. So I’ll embrace Locque’s vision and your vision, and actively contribute to the well-being of this kingdom as a collaborator. I just hope that you’ll forgive my animosities towards your lady.”
He placed an earnest hand on his chest. “Please understand that at the time, I could not remain in the palace bearing such a heavy and wearisome load on my heart. Seeing her regularly cross my line of sight knowing the pain she inflicted on me, on my wife, on the deaths of my friends for which she is partially responsible, it,” he lowered his gaze to his lap, “it would have twisted and scored at fresh wounds. That wound, not properly healed or treated, would have continued to fester if I had stayed. Since treating the wound with time, distance, and care, it has finally scabbed...and I can continue forth with clarity for what needs to be done. You see, my time away from the palace was necessary, because I never would have come to this conclusion. Without the proper isolation to truly reflect on what I find most important and precious, it wouldn’t have been possible. Therefore, I would appreciate it if you could relay these words to Locque.” Scooting his chair an incremental distance forward, he extended his steel prosthesis for her to shake. “Let’s set aside our differences, our sins of the past...and build ourselves a home. Consider my expertise welcome and available to her.”
To give Nia and Alster privacy during their peace talks, Ari and Elespeth congregated in the hallway, a decidedly awkward spot for the two of them to occupy. Given they were too far from the parlor or the dining room, it thereby spoiled Ari’s attempts to divert the awkwardness through excessive hospitality. He couldn’t ladle his controversial guest with food and drink and cushion tensions through buoyant chatter about the weather or some other inane subject. No; they were forced to contend with each other’s company, bereft of distractions and niceties.
Fortunately, Elespeth broke the silence. Unfortunately, she broke the silence by confronting him about his and Nia’s relationship. It wouldn’t do to lie, not when he’d invested the energy and resources to recruit Alster and Elespeth as allies. So he told her the truth. “I regret to inform you that the situation has changed, Lady Rigas,” he said, in a whisper. Despite its low volume, his voice lost none of its control or poise. “I am on very friendly terms with Nia at the moment. Through oversight, I allowed her to cross the boundary I marked in the sand and she inexplicably became most dear to me. This was never my intention, but do not misjudge me, Lady Rigas.” His brown eyes met her challenging stare, undeterred. “I am no traitor. Would you call your wolf friend, a scoundrel who has done naught to hide his high regard for Nia, a traitor? Who has done everything in his power to sanctify our union? Or, better yet, would you call your own husband a traitor?” A casual head-jerk towards the Master Alchemist’s bedchambers dislodged a few strands of hair from his ponytail. “Through various conversations on the telepath stone, he has agreed with my assessment on Nia Ardane. She poses little danger. In fact, it is a far more lucrative strategy to befriend her; the lonely woman is starved for people and causes to believe in and to trust. Presently, she has expressed doubts over Queen Locque’s sincerity towards her welfare. Her convictions are wavering; I saw so in her eyes. Given time and the continued support of people who actually care, her bond and loyalty to the callous sorceress will wear thin. Make no mistake, Lady Rigas,” he pivoted on the wall against which he rested, standing statue tall under Elespeth’s scrutiny, “I am fully committed to deposing Queen Locque, not only on principle, but on a personal level. You may scoff at this personal wish of mine, but I desire to free Nia from this woman’s grasp. The best method of success calls for her complete and utter eradication. In this task, you can trust me implicitly, so long as you agree to spare Nia the same fate.”
Rowen shot one eyebrow so high, it threatened to fly off her face. “You’re telling me that Hadwin does not kill the weak? You would think that, huh? When you’ve only witnessed him acting on his best behavior?” Were she in a performative mood, she would have laughed to express the ludicrousness of the summoner’s wildly optimistic statement. “I’m sorry to disappoint, Teselin, but Hadwin has spent his entire life exploiting the weak, targeting their fears, knocking them down to their lowest, basest forms--and yes, even going in for the kill. The man you so adore possesses a cruelty streak.” She threw a hand towards Isidor’s sleeping form. “He assaulted your dear half-brother with his long-buried, deep-seated traumas, leaving him to pick up the pieces. His dreaded Sight contributed to the destruction of a tavern and all the people inside it. He tortured and killed the two shepherds responsible for our mother’s death. Yes, he’s most definitely a wolf. A dangerous one. And Bronwyn,” she breathed a long, dismissive stream of air from her mouth, “if my father ordered it, she would kill anyone, no questions asked. She was nearly ready to kill Hadwin if it convinced me to return home. We wolves have no place in human-structured society. Our two choices are to integrate, or to flee into nature, and look at the piss-poor job we’re doing at the former. Before you get a big, hopeful head about this, I’m only going with you to explore the slim to none chance that change is even possible. At birth, we’re assigned our roles. There’s no altering what fate has planned.” But...what if fate had planned something else for Rowen? Something beyond the pall of hatred and the indiscriminate elimination of the darkest, most irredeemable, or conversely, most pathetic souls she could find? What did such a reality look like, free of the faoladh curse and its vising lunar shackles? How would it feel to open her eyes, clear of their streaks of scum and miasma, and see an uncorrupted view of the world?
The ‘What if’ pulled her feet forward. The ‘What if’ impelled her to take Teselin’s outstretched hand. The ‘What if’ brought her to...a barely-pubescent girl who couldn’t have experienced much hardship, judging by the very limited spots of darkness peppering her short--sans the century of slumber--life. “This is the Gardener?” She didn’t even try to hide her open distaste and skepticism. The condemnation sneered off her lips. “The one that so glowingly recommended by the Head Gardener? You can’t know what you’re doing. And you can’t be serious.” She retreated a few steps, reconsidering the entire venture. “I’ll only agree to it if we’re accompanied by an actual expert and not just a...a child. Tell me, child,” Rowen said, disregarding her name, “how many people have you actually helped--successfully?”
Since their last attempt at establishing a friendship--or at least some form of amicable relations--had ended so poorly, it was impossible for Nia to face Alster Rigas once again without some skepticism. Surely, the man must have some ulterior motive for wanting to get into her good graces, and vicariously, Locque’s, that did not stem from belief that the sorceress could bring about the peace that this kingdom so wanted. Hell, even she was no longer convinced in the vision that Locque had for the future, with that single, tiny seed of doubt planted by those words that Ari had dared to pose the other night: Have you perhaps stopped to ask yourself why she wanted to help?
Nia had tried not to think about it too much, because she was afraid of what answers her mind might yield. It was easier to assume the first conclusion she’d jumped to: that Locque’s fuck-up was borne of concern for her, without quite knowing how to deal with that concern, since it was not a sentiment that was familiar to her. Whatever loss and anguish the sorceress had experienced in the past, she had successfully compartmentalized all of that pain to the point where it was no longer relevant in the framework of her life. However, she knew it was relevant to and very actively experienced by her own Master Alchemist, which led her to wonder… had that cruel trick with the cinnabar stone really been a sign that she was developing empathy, when Nia had yet to really witness concern for others on the new queen’s part?
It bothered her, and the more she tried not to think about it, the more pervasive those thoughts became in her mind. She wasn’t even sure that she caught the entirety of Alster’s plea that she reconsider his position to the new Galeynian queen, as well as make a second attempt to establish the friendship that she had hoped for upon their first meeting. But either the Rigas lord was a master manipulator, or he was, indeed, genuine in his change of heart, as referenced not only by his words, but also his demeanor. Unlike their fateful meeting at Osric’s pub, before she had been banished from crossing its threshold, Alster’s countenance had remained stiff and unyielding, and whether or not he’d realized it, it was as though he’d meant to establish as much distance between himself and Nia as possible, because the avenues of friendship were not open. But now he inclined his posture toward her, had even been ready and willing to heal her head injury. Perhaps it was just as he’d said: that time spent far away from the palace had allowed him the space and silence to finally come to the conclusion that it was better for everyone if he chose to work with Locque, as opposed to against her.
“Sounds like you really did sit down to think about what you want.” The Master Alchemist observed, looking at the proffered hand, solid steel that moved and acted like organic flesh and bone. Damn, was Isidor Kristeva good at what he did! She wasn’t convinced that she could manipulate metal and flesh to marry so well as that. “But I’m sure you already knew that you won’t find any opposition from me, Al. I’d hoped we could have come to this consensus months ago.” Nia smiled as she leaned forward and took his hand to shake it. Her eyebrows shot up at the contact, as her touch instantly read into the change in the Rigas lord’s physiology. “Wow… countryside life really did do you good! Last time we shook hands, all I could get a read on was your weak constitution. But now--look at you! Looking better on the outside, and stronger on the inside. Good call on your part, taking some time away.”
When they broke their contact, Nia sat up straighter in bed, ignoring the throbbing at the back of her head that wax and waned throughout the day, sometimes just a slight nuisance, while other times it left her incapacitated for hours as she waited for it to fade. “I’m glad we had this talk. And of course, you can count on me to relay your message to her Majesty. I’m sure she’ll want to hear it from you as well, in good time, but I’ll plant that seed. After all, she wants nothing more than for everyone to be working toward the same goal, too. While her… past tactics to claim the throne are questionable--and yeah, even I can admit that--she’s done with the violence now. I mean, no one else has fallen at her hand. Not now that she is where she wants to be--and on the path to remembering herself, at that--there’s no need for it. So consider your request accepted, my new friend. Here,” she threw her legs over the side of the bed and stood, as if to throw shade at her less than stable condition that threatened to throw off her balance without any warning. “Let me walk you out. Knowing Ari, I’m sure he’ll want you to stay for a drink or something to eat.”
The two left her room, Nia strolling close behind Alster, as they made their way toward the two figures at the end of the hallway. “Elespeth! Good to see you again.” She grinned at the former knight, who appeared a little less certain regarding their relations, despite her husband’s change of heart. “You’re looking damn good as well--but I guess that goes without saying, given you were a knight and all. Hard not to be in shape with a position like that! Anyway,” she flashed a smile between the former Atvanian and Ari, “I’m happy to say that we’re finally all on the same page, now; and I’m more than happy to call Al, here, an ally. You too, Elespeth, as I’m assuming you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t already open to the idea?”
“You’d be correct,” Elespeth confirmed with a brief nod. After her short discussion with Ari, which had resonated truth to the extent that she did still believe the Canaveris lord was on their side and working toward the same goals, she finally felt reassured that she and Alster--and Ari, for that matter--were making all of the right moves. And while she did not have to like Nia Ardane, it stood to reason that eventually severing her from her servitude to Locque could prove very beneficial for all of them. But she couldn’t help but add, “Provided that you promise not to eviscerate any more of my armor with your alchemically enhanced blades… That damage proved unsalvageable.”
“Ah, yeah… definitely not one of my proudest moments.” Nia lifted and dropped her shoulders, and placed one hand against the wall--just in case vertigo took away her balance, again, since she knew well she probably still shouldn’t be standing in her condition. “Hey, I’m all for eye for an eye, so if it makes you feel better, you’re welcome to take a stab at me to make things even! A non-lethal stab, that is. And preferably quick, because let me tell you, I’m not a fighter and I’m kind of a wuss when it comes to pain… but as a show of friendship, consider that offer on the table, if it helps us turn over a new leaf!”
Raising an eyebrow, Elespeth lifted her hands and shook her head. “I’m… not going to stab you, Nia. I happen to have a bigger moral framework than one that fosters petty revenge. Consider that transgression… on its way to being forgiven, on the condition that it won’t happen again.”
“Phew… well, thank you, because I was actually really hoping you weren’t going to take me up on that offer.” The Master Alchemist chuckled and shook her head. Bad move; the throbbing escalated, and it was all she could do not to wince. “Anyway, like I told Al, here, you can count on me to relay your message to Locque. I’m sure we can have the two of you back in the palace in no time. I know she’ll be more than happy to finally have your coopera…”
She didn’t manage to finish her sentence before the room suddenly spun at a dizzying pace, and she lost the strength in her legs to keep her upright. Damnit… it had been days, already, and her equilibrium had yet to return! Had forsaking her bedrest just twice really contributed to an extended recovery time?! Al over a little bump to the head…
Nia didn’t hit the ground. But it wasn’t Ari who’d prevented a second dangerous tumble, this time. Instead, she found her frame supported by none other than Elespeth, who had sprung to her rescue the moment she’d noticed the Master Alchemist was losing her footing. “Alster, did you not treat her injury?” She heard the former knight ask her husband in confusion. Before the Rigas lord could answer, Nia offered her own confession.
“...not his fault,” she murmured, still dizzy on her feet as Elespeth supported her standing position. “I hesitated… wasn’t sure that I could trust him. We didn’t end on good terms, last time, so…”
“Well, you seem convinced that those circumstances have changed. Come on.” One arm around her waist, Elespeth helped her to a chair situated on the way to the parlor. “As someone who is all too familiar with bedrest, I can’t imagine you’re going to want to extend it for longer than what is necessary. Ari asked Alster to treat your injury on your behalf; and I think it stands to reason that if your dear Canaveris lord can trust my husband with your health, so can you.”
“Yeah… you’ve got a point.” Nia agreed, and shut her eyes against the way the room spun. The darkness behind her eyelids was far preferable. “Again--I’m a crybaby when it comes to pain. So hey… if it’s gonna hurt and you’re able to make it quick, Al, I’d really appreciate it.”
“Rowen…!” Teselin all but hissed, embarrassed on the wolf girl’s behalf, and genuinely sympathetic toward the young Gardener, who only blinked curiously at Rowen’s outburst. “I’m… I apologize, Breane. Can you give us a moment?”
Brazenly taking Rowen by the arm, the young summoner stepped aside with the faoladh girl and lowered her voice. “The Gardeners do not choose to become Gardeners, Rowen. It is the Night Garden that chooses who will speak for it, and who will help the kingdom. According to Senyiah--the Head Gardener--when Breane awoke from the spell the kingdom was under, she awakened with the ability to hear and interpret the Garden. It chose her, and it does not choose unwisely. Breane awakened… without her family. None of them survived the spell. And she was among many in the same position. But she was drawn to the Garden in a way that other Gardeners were not, and yes, she has helped people. A good deal of them.”
Teselin let out a breath and relaxed her shoulders, suddenly all too aware that she might have been talking to the wrong person in exactly the wrong tone. Wasn’t this a ruse, anyway? Rowen Kavanagh didn’t really believe in any of this because it wasn’t her intent to change… was it? At least, that was what she had thought. Until just now. When Rowen had agreed to go and meet with this particular Gardener… something about her willingness hadn’t seemed like such a ruse. Was there then some truth to this? Had there been all along, and she had been too jaded to notice…?
“Listen… I know she is young. But I’ve spoken with her, and she is knowledgeable in what she does. She know the Garden; she listens to it because it speaks to her. She interprets it as it responds to everyone as an individual. And if she says that she can help you, Rowen… then what is the harm in giving her a chance, if this is what you really want?” She met the faoladh’s golden eyes, almost daring her to say otherwise. “This is what you want, isn’t it? A chance to experience life without the darkness in every corner of your vision?”
Breane, for all she was young, was not stupid, and both realized and understood Rowen’s hesitation. Adjusting the spectacles on her face, she brushed some of the Night Garden’s soil from her knees and took a step toward the two young women. “It isn’t uncommon for Gardeners to become what they are at a young age. It just so happens that I currently happen to be the youngest, given Galeyn’s… reduced population. Not all of its Gardeners returned; not all of them were able to wake up. I am a child; but I am also a Gardener. They are and have never been mutually exclusive. But… I understand your hesitation.” She gave a respectful nod and brushed her long, dark hair back over her shoulders. “I doubted my abilities, too. For the longest time, I thought that the Garden was wrong. That Miss Senyiah was wrong. But the truth is, I have helped people--at least, I have allowed the Garden to help people. A handful, but I haven’t counted. Predominantly Galeynians who have lost their families and are struggling to move on, but also, some D’Marians struggling with identity and loss since their departure from their home. Rest assured, each and all of these individuals’ treatments were overseen by other Gardeners--yours would be no different. Of course…”
The young Gardener clasped her hands in front of her and exhaled slowly. “If it is my qualifications that cause you to hesitate, Miss Rowen, then I would be happy to direct you to Miss Senyiah. But if you are uncertain because now does not seem like the right time… then I implore you to think on it. As I said, the Garden is new to healing that is not of the physical nature. It is often not an easy process, and if you go in unprepared, it can make it all the more difficult. So please--think on it. Speak with Miss Senyiah if need be. And if you do decide that you are comfortable walking this path, then I am more than happy to help. In fact…”
Breane paused, tilting her head curiously as she studied the faoladh in front of her. Then, wordlessly, she stepped past her, and plucked a blue flower with wide, coiling petals from the base of a tree. When she straightened up, she turned to Rowen and handed it to her. “Boil this into a tea and drink it before you sleep. If you… no, I don’t need to explain. You will know if and when you must return to the Garden--and I’ll be here. Along with Miss Senyiah and the other Gardeners.”
If Ari’s—and previously, Hadwin’s— analysis on the Master Alchemist’s general disposition was any indication, she would agree to Alster’s proposition, especially as it promoted peace and cooperation. Given how their last encounter went, he worried she’d reject his offer, seeing through his guise to its deceptive core. To carry through his appeal, he convinced himself that he hadn’t deceived Nia. Truly, he strove for harmony; he just failed to mention the specifics of achieving it—namely, to undermine and defeat Locque. He also hadn’t lied about seeking Nia’s friendship when doing so was always his intention, albeit a poorly-executed one. But, gifted with the luxury of time, he really had come around to reviewing the most important steps of deposing a tyrant and securing Galeyn’s safety, and it was in part a strategy he preferred to play, because it came naturally to him: be helpful and kind.
Tightening his steel digits over Nia’s outstretched hand, Alster’s lips spread into an amiable smile. “Countryside life is, to be honest, a little dull and drab for my taste. I have no knack for gardening, so that left me little option but to focus on my body to pass the time. Of course, I can’t take all the credit for my sudden surge in fitness; Elespeth is an excellent trainer.” As he lowered his arm, Alster almost cautioned Nia not to move around too liberally in her current condition, but in case she didn’t take direction well and resisted his warnings by overcompensating as proof of wellness, he said nothing, not interested in unintentionally inciting risky behavior.
“Not to get ahead of myself, as mine and Elespeth’s status is pending per her Majesty’s approval, but if she is truly invested in remembering the person she once was, I have a little experience working with the mind and its intricacies—memory in particular. Emotions can often serve as a pathway into shunted or forgotten tomes, tossed aside in some dark corner or collecting dust under the bed—if you excuse my trite analogy. If it pleases her, I’m receptive to lending my specialized aid.” His suggestion, too, hadn’t come entirely from malice or as a means to sabotage the recovery of a woman who sincerely wished to transform into her best self—granted she actually desired change, and not because change would, as she believed, help her reclaim control of the Night Garden. Only proximity and frequent interactions would reveal her intentions, otherwise. Nonetheless, if Locque subscribed to the idea that she could revert back to the innocent, well-meaning Gardener of her youth, she was already setting herself up for failure. No one could undo their history, just as he couldn’t undo the multitude of mistakes he incurred along the sinuous path of his less-than-straightforward life. Reverting to one’s purest form was impossible unless they eliminated all memory of their basest, most sinister misdeeds accrued through the decades and started a clean slate. At best, they could hope for a hybrid Locque, a penitent aware of her sins and willing to make amends. Even so, in spite of this hypothetical and optimistic outcome, Locque would never be pure again, and likely would never be accepted by the Night Garden as before. Were she equipped with that indisputable knowledge, would Locque abandon her self-improvement pursuits and accept her rulership of Galeyn as an unstable, cold-hearted, capricious tyrant?
“No—no need to get up,” Alster stammered, jolting out of his chair to meet her on foot. “I know where to go, and I’m sure Lord Canaveris won’t leave me wandering his villa unsupervised. If you’re not interested in my healing, then please get some rest.” But she wouldn’t take no for an answer and vaulted toward the door in some self-imposed challenge to test her limits. He trailed behind, both arms fully extended to account for any loss of equilibrium that may befall her during their trek to the hallway. Fortunately, Elespeth and Ari were a short ways off, and turned in unison when they approached.
As she chatted up Elespeth, Alster watched her movements carefully. Judging by how she tried to hide her wince, she was in obvious discomfort. About to suggest that she return to her bedchambers posthaste, an announcement Ari would definitely enforce, Alster stepped forward as the inevitable happened, and gravity sent her earthbound. Though he was too slow to act, Elespeth had stabilized her before she completed the fall.
“This is very true,” Ari perked up after guiding Elespeth and Nia to a chair and ascertaining the latter’s condition once she was seated. “If you remember, Nia, I specifically requested Lord Rigas’s healing expertise. This is no trifle, considering how asking anything of Lord Rigas leaves quite the horrid taste in my mouth.”
“I’ll pretend I heard nothing, Lord Canaveris,” Alster knelt by Nia’s chair, but not without first casting Ari the side-eye. “I can’t promise you this won’t hurt, Nia,” he admitted, experimentally placing his hands on her shoulders en route to her head. “But if we compare this quick session to the days you’ve spent in near-constant vertigo, what I’m doing is a pinprick taking only a fraction of your time. If it helps,” his mouth quirked into a sly smile to assure he was merely joking, “whatever discomfort you feel will be considered payback for injuring Elespeth and destroying her armor. After this, we’re even. Not that I’m going to hurt you on purpose; I’d rather this procedure go as painlessly as possible. Relax, if you can.” Slowly, he transitioned his hands to the sides of her head and closed his eyes.
As promised, the session elapsed briefly, a few minutes of on-and-off throbs in a tender region centering just behind her left ear. Once completed, Alster removed his hands, opened his eyes, and scanned Nia’s face to determine how she fared. “How are you doing? Do you still feel any pain or dizziness? If you’re able to stand, we can find out for certain.” Circled by the three in case she lost her balance, Nia, standing, took a test walk from one wall to the other, reporting signs of stability and a clear head. Alster nodded, pleased by the results. “You had a very minor skull fracture, not a serious problem on its own,” he added, allaying any fears before they took root, “but I went ahead and mended the bone. No lasting brain damage. It would have healed in a month or two, but the symptoms of pain and discomfort would have persisted for another week, at least. Before you decide on a full comeback, though, I would advise you take the rest of the day to relax. But I don’t see why walking and light, low-impact activity should be a problem as long as you don’t move too fast and you’re always accompanied by someone else.”
“Why, this is wonderful news and cause for celebration,” Ari said, clapping his hands together in delight. “I had planned a dinner for us to partake in; now, Nia can join us at the table. Thank you, Lord Rigas,” he turned to his rival. “I might yet rescind my indecorous remarks about spurning your help.”
“Well, I suppose it can’t be helped,” Alster almost snorted his response. “Everyone fell victim to my Serpent stunt, so they’re allowed to lob some choice words at my head—though I do find them strange, coming from our host.” He cocked his head to Ari. “Aren’t you honor-bound to uphold some sacred rule of hospitality, even to your purported enemies?”
“Honor-bound?” Ari clucked his tongue in his mouth. “Yes. But nowhere do the guidelines state that I must hold my tongue against a political opponent, and you, good sir, are not only one, but have also been deemed an enemy of the village, and by the strictures of D’Marian society, I am harboring a fugitive, for you have not yet been exonerated of your crimes. Alas, it is not up to me, but to the newly-formed D’Marian council to decide your sentence. I am overlooking the law at risk to my station because I believe you act in the interests of all D’Marians, however questionable your methods. However, there is no doubt you are an exemplary healer.” He briefly shifted his attention to the Master Alchemist. “Would you agree, Nia?”
“How kind of you, Lord Canaveris,” Alster said, deciding to play along with the unresolved political drama between two lords. “Well, since I don’t wish to be an imposition, Elespeth and I will head on out. No need to invite us for dinner. After all, it’s dangerous to have Serpent Bane in your home, mucking your pristine reputation.”
“Nonsense. My current words notwithstanding, which I mainly spout in jest, I’d like to honor you, Lord Rigas. You,” he gestured to Elespeth, “and your wife. To new beginnings. Our D’Marian-specific squabbles hold little adhesion, now that we are all officially allies by Queen Locque’s association. At least, they can be shelved for now, to be revisited at a later date. For love of the alliance, I will appeal to the council to grant you clemency where applicable. If nothing else, I can extend an open door to my villa, neutral territory, starting today.”
While Alster wasn’t exactly looking forward to a dinner hosted by a man whose complicated feelings toward him ranged from division to uncertainty, he agreed to attend in a concentrated effort to continue favorable ties and to practice what he preached. To reject the invitation meant he didn’t actually believe what he told Nia, before: that he was ready to start afresh, to look forward instead of stewing in the past. “Very well...Ari,” he tested the nickname on his tongue. “Starting today. Please, lead the way to your dining quarters.”
Happy to receive such a smooth-going outcome, Ari ushered them into the small dining room and bade them all take a seat. But before they could settle down, they all noticed a fifth figure waiting for their arrival.
“Sylvie,” Ari addressed the teenage girl who lounged on a chair at the head of the table, “are you intending on joining us for dinner? I would advise against it. Please return to your mother; I am certain she is worried.”
“But I’ve been holed up for the last three days, Uncle Ari,” she complained, kicking her heels into the legs of her chair. “I’m sure Nia wouldn’t mind if I stayed for just a little while? Alster doesn’t mind, either!” She raised a hand to the Rigas Lord in greeting. “Hello! Oh, and is this your wife?”
Alster, reserving a smile for Sylvie, nodded and placed an affectionate hand on his wife’s back. “Yes. This is Elespeth.”
“I’m sorry,” Ari scratched his head, confusion plying his brow. “Do you two know each other?”
“Yes! On the wagon train to Galeyn from Braighdath, I fell into a deep trench off the side of the road and broke my leg. I managed to crawl out on my own, and that’s when Alster spotted me and healed the fracture.” She gathered her long, loose hair and spooled it over her shoulder, twisting it into spirals. “I didn’t want you or anyone else in my family to worry, so I never told a soul what happened. He was really nice to me, and patient, so I couldn’t explain why he sent the Serpent after us without a perfectly good reason why. But now I know why. “Uncle Ari,” her dark eyes rested on him, “I also couldn’t tell you he helped me because you would have felt indebted to him and there would go all your plans for rulership and I knew it meant a lot, to take on the mantle of my father, and carry out what he dreamed of doing. So I hope that it is acceptable to stay here and chat with some likeable people, and,” her head dipped equal parts contrite and defeated, “and that I may be forgiven for saying nothing and ruining your leadership,” she gestured to Alster, “and for almost ruining your bid for leadership, Uncle Ari, by nearly speaking out in Alster’s defense. That is mainly what I wished to say, so if you wish for me to leave,” she slid off the chair and lumbered to the door, dispirited, “I shall leave.”
Despite Teselin’s and the child Gardener’s rhetoric, Rowen remained unconvinced by the validity of the healing process. Even so, she reluctantly took the flower and returned to the sanctuary, where she needed to stay one more night for observation. It was beyond her why she didn’t skip out of the place altogether and discharge herself from the healing hut, to the safety and privacy of her palace chambers, but she chose to remain in the curtained-off bed in the corner. Perhaps she did so because she didn’t trust the Gardener’s dubious flower to induce anything significant but vomiting and nausea, and wanted to take precautions by staying where she would receive the speediest treatment. Whatever the case, she did as instructed. That evening, she doused the flower into a mug of steaming water, crushing the petals into the bottom with the butt of a spoon. If there was any consolation, anything consumed in the Night Garden, according to the high and mighty Gardeners, wouldn’t physically harm her. But mentally? Emotionally?
“What else do I have going for me in this dead-end place?” She muttered miserably. “Might as well take the plunge.” Closing her eyes, she upended the piping hot, bitter tea, and curled into bed.
“Rowen…”
She moaned at the voice. “Go away, m’sleeping.”
“Ro.”
She batted her hand at the persistent fly buzzing around her ears.
“Hey, kiddo!” Ro shot bolt upright in her bed pallet, glaring at the ruddy, stylistically unkempt figure crawling on all fours over her sheets. “Today’s the day! C’mon, aren’t you excited?”
“Today? What?” She groaned, heeling her hands into her eyes to rub away the lingering sleep goo.
“Don’t tell me you forgot? Breaking my heart, here.”
“I...I don’t-“
“Sheesh, Ro, it’s your birthday!” Hadwin beamed. “And have I got a day in store for you.” He sidled even closer to Rowen and whispered, “we’re springing out of here. Fiona’s gonna keep Chief distracted so we’ll make a clean getaway and be back in time for supper. And you’re not gonna get in trouble, I promise. I’ll say I kidnapped you. No one’s ever gonna blame you for shit anyway.”
“Don’t tell me we’re going into the city.” A blustery wind shot from her nostrils. “I don’t like it there. Too loud, too busy, too much. Can’t we just stay inside?”
“Not going to the city,” he announced in a singsong voice. “Or anywhere crowded and full of people, for that matter. C’mon, don’t make me spoil the surprise!” He shook her so hard she rolled out of the bed. “Get your lazy arse dressed!”
After they successfully escaped the grounds of Clan Kavanagh, Hadwin plunged them into a thicket of brush so dense, they had to hold their hands in front of their faces to prevent the sharp bramble from scraping at their eyes. The hike through untrammeled territory was arduous, a pointless labor, considering they weren’t even on a hunting expedition! Once the third hour passed, she begged Hadwin to head on home.
“Relax, Ro. We’re almost there! I can hear it; can’t you?”
As they traversed another half-mile in dense vegetation, they reached a clearing, beyond which tumbled a stately waterfall pouring from a narrow cliffside mummified in verdant mosses. A refreshing mist wafted through her nostrils, delivering the piquant scent of fresh rainwater and earthy musk. The sight alone nearly stole the balance from beneath her feet. The waterfall, a glacial blue-green, stood out so vividly from the rest of the landscape that it seemed to glow like a column full of starlight.
“You always said you wanted to cast your eyes on something beautiful and pure for a change,” Hadwin spoke through Rowen’s stunned silence. “Something untouched and unspoiled by humans. Something that can’t shoot out darkness and squeeze the life out of you.”
“But we’re spoiling it,” her eyes glistened with tears. “By standing here, we made it dark, don’t you see?!”
“We’re a special case, Ro. We’re human, but we’re also wolves. You’d never say that the birds shitting up on the cliffside or the fish fucking and mucking up the water are depurifying the scene. It’s nature. We’re part of nature. Hell, so are humans, even though they think they’re above it all.” He elbowed her playfully in the side. “There’s nothing to spoil, kid. So let’s enjoy something truly special, yeah?”
“O...ok,” she hiccuped, struggling to see the cascade lines past the blurry filter of her tears. “It...it’s beautiful. You really found something beautiful, Hadwin.”
Rowen came to in darkness, cheeks moist with salty brine. In the hush of the sanctuary, nothing but Haraldur’s intermittent snores and Isidor’s shallow, wakeful breaths filled the silence. Rustling out of her sheets, she snuck out the door, hurried through the Night Garden, and entered the palace, almost breaking into a run down the corridors until she reached Teselin’s door. Banging at the door with her fists, she didn’t stop until the summoner answered. “Teselin. I have to see him. Where’s Hadwin? Is he here?” She angled her head to peer over Teselin’s shoulder, into the room beyond. “I still can’t smell, dammit! Tell me if he’s here!”
“Well, if this calls us even for messing up your wife’s armor and gets rid of my splitting headaches… I guess I can’t refuse, huh?” Nia joked, laughing nervously, but in all truth, Alster Rigas very much had the power to make this as comfortable or painful as he wanted, and she wasn’t quite sure if she trusted him to be gentle with the person who had cut up his wife with an alchemically enhanced knife. “Alright, then. For the sake of better relations and new friendship, I’m putting my faith in you, Lord Rigas.”
Closing her eyes and taking a breath, Nia held it as Alster’s hands sought and found the tender, throbbing spot behind her ear, and her hands gripped the arms of the chair with such force that her blunt fingernails could have made impressions in the glossy woodwork. Different from the usual throbbing, stabbing ache at the back of her head to which she had begun to grow accustomed, a sensation that began as warm but quickly escalated to searing hot tore through the affected area, like something was forcibly being mended. The Master Alchemist couldn't help but wince, given her astoundingly low tolerance to pain, but the feeling was over soon enough, fading to a warmth before disappearing entirely as soon as Alster removed his hands. For the first time in days, her eyes wandered, scanning the room and its faces without making her feel dizzy. Experimentally, she reached behind her head to touch the affected area, and astoundingly found she was able to apply pressure without any pain.
“Hey… the room’s not spinning anymore! And I can actually focus on faces without giving myself a splitting headache.” Eager to see if this had also solved the problem of her unbalanced equilibrium, Nia stood and took a few paces toward the opposite wall, all eyes on her and hands outstretched in case she lost her balance again. She didn’t; in fact, she didn’t even require a hand on the wall to keep herself steady. “Well this is downright incredible. So you mean to say that crack on the head was really responsible for all of this pain? Damn your marble floors, Ari, they’re an accident waiting to happen!” She couldn’t help but tease, though made it clear in her demeanor that she really neither blamed the floor nor the master of the estate. “Didn’t think it was that serious… but I suppose it explains why I haven’t been able to stand upright for more than a minute at a time. Who has time to sit back and wait to heal for a month? I can handle needing an escort to make my way around for another day. Thanks, Alster. Glad I decided to trust you, after all.”
For the first time in days, the mention of food actually excited Nia, considering she was no longer at risk of feeling nauseated from constant vertigo. “Careful, Ari. I’m all healed with an appetite to boot, and fully able to consume twice as much as any woman my size should eat,” she joked playfully. “Though I’m more than happy to actually sit down at a table to take a meal. Breakfast in bed has been fun and all, but there’s something a little off-putting about eating in the same place you rest, huh?”
“We’re the fugitives--the exiles from this settlement--and you think that you are putting yourself at risk for having us here?” While Nia and Ari were ready and willing to put differences behind them, Elespeth still couldn’t help but find herself rubbed the wrong way by the Canaveris lord’s words--yet again. While she was aware that the majority of this back and forth was only for show, she also knew that there was still a modicum of sincerity behind what was said. After all, had Aristide not benefitted from Alster’s downfall? Was he not just a little relieved that the former head of Stella D’Mare had effectively been exiled from the settlement and therefore no longer stood in his way? “Alster came here on your--really, on Nia’s behalf, let me remind you. Because she was not able to travel in her former condition. You already know why Alster summoned the Serpent and that he is not, in fact, a menace to D’Marian society. You know that and you could tell your damned council that… but you won’t. Why are we even still here?” The former knight shook her head and rested her hand on Alster’s shoulder. There was truth to Ari’s sentiments, just as there was truth to her own. “Come on. We’d better not put Lord Canaveris ‘at risk’ any more than we already have.”
“Ah, Elespeth, Al, come on… you know Ari wouldn’t have had you over if he didn’t wish to show his infamous hospitality!” Nia insisted, and reached for the former knight’s arm before she could pull herself and her husband down the hall and out the door. “Forget grudges tonight, huh? If none of us are enemies, then there literally is no reason why we can’t all get along, am I right? Please… let’s just all have the nice dinner that Ari prepared.”
Remembering how slighted the Canaveris lord was when she had refused to eat at his table the last time she’d visited with Chara and Lilica, Elespeth knew that if they did intend to work together, they would not achieve any workable allyship if she continued to harbour hard feelings. Much as she hated to admit that the Master Alchemist was right about something… They weren’t enemies. And the only only things left to be hurt were egos, which really had no place if positive relations were to bud. “...I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to stay for just a little longer.” She confessed, letting her hand drop from Alster’s shoulder as she turned back to the hospitable sculptor and his slightly obnoxious companion. “We’ll stay for dinner… on the condition that you keep any more untoward remarks about my husband to yourself.
With that settled, the four of them made their way into the well-decorated dining hall, only to soon be joined by a fifth body as soon as they entered. “Ah--Sylvie, hello!” Nia greeted the young Canaveris girl, who, incidentally, also seemed to be acquainted with Alster. “Of course I don’t mind you here. Come on, Ari, what’s another body at the table? If dinner is anything compared to the spreads that you usually have, even my appetite won’t be able to make an adequate dent in it.”
As Sylvie went on to explain how Alster had helped her en route to Braighdath, the Master Alchemist couldn’t help but find herself further endeared to the Rigas lord. So she had been right about him; Alster Rigas was a do-gooder, someone who wanted to help others merely for the sake of helping them. Just as he’d been so keen on healing her head injury; someone who, up until today, he had hardly considered a neutral acquaintance, let alone a friend. Though it seemed that this had put poor Sylvie in the awkward place of neither bolstering either Alster nor Ari’s image, for she was fond of both men, and didn’t wish to take sides to make life harder for either of them. No wonder she hadn’t told Ari anything about knowing Alster… Had that been difficult to hold so close to her chest?
“Hey; come on, you’ll do nothing of the sort.” Nia interjected before Sylvie could leave. “Look at all the room at this table. And you live here, to boot. Unlike three of us who just happen to be some welcome intruders.” She winked in Alster and Elespeth’s general direction before turning back to the teenager in the room. “Haven’t you heard? We’re all friends here now, anyway. Right, Ari?” She raised an eyebrow at the Canaveris lord, who was understandably put between a rock and hard place. But she had sensed that he had been genuine in wanting to make amends with Alster--or to at least try. “No one’s gotta step on anyone else’s back to have the higher ground anymore. In fact, Alster came all the way here from the farmlands to heal my head injury, because let’s face it, I wasn’t recovering too quickly on my own. And as a show of good faith, I’m going to help Alster and his wife move back into the palace, once all the details are settled. Like you, I happen to owe it to both him and Ari for looking out for my health and well-being. So, sit back down! No one’s going to walk away with a long face, tonight.”
Although she had borne witness when Rowen had taken the flower from young Breane the day before, Teselin was hesitant to believe that the she-wolf would actually do as instructed and brew the petals into tea. Which was disappointing, because up until she had met the young Gardener, it really had seemed as though Rowen Kavanagh was interested in and open to changing for the better. Interested in shedding her darkness (and with it, her desire to kill her brother). But whatever faith Rowen had placed in her to direct her to the appropriate venue with people who would be able to help fizzled as soon as she realized the ‘help’ was younger than her, and relatively inexperienced as far as Gardeners went.
She didn’t even bother telling Hadwin about it when she returned to the palace that night, feeling that it simply wasn’t worth the conversation when she had such a sinking feeling that it was all for naught. When Teselin climbed into her bed that night, she had no way to expect that she would be rudely awakened in the middle of the night, with incessant rapping on her bedroom door… and a frantic, familiar voice on the other side. Immediately, Hadwin--who had, as usual, taken his wolf form--perked up his ears, about to go on the defensive, but the young summoner put a finger to her lips as she pushed back to covers. Let me handle this, her dark eyes seemed to say as her feet quietly hit the floor and she crossed the room, opening the door only on a crack to acknowledge Rowen.
“Rowen… it is the middle of the night. The entire palace is asleep.” She pointed out the obvious, before following up with an even more obvious question, but one that she could not let go unspoken. “What do you want with Hadwin at this hour? I’m sorry, but I’m sure you can understand why I am hesitant to tell you where he is.”
Though clearly irate and already flustered (which did frighten Teselin to some extent; Rowen could probably cut her down on the spot before she had time to react), the she-wolf surprisingly took a step back and offered a brief explanation that took the young summoner by surprise. “You… you followed Breane’s advice? With the flower petals? What… what happened?” Whatever it was, no doubt it concerned Hadwin, or else she wouldn’t be demanding to speak with him. “Okay… okay, listen. Go back to the Night Garden and wait. I’ll get Hadwin, and we will meet you there and find Breane together. Whatever you experienced could be the beginning of something good, Rowen, and I won’t take that from you. But given that the last time I led you to your brother, you nearly gutted him… then you’re going to have to understand why this must take place in neutral territory. I meant what I said before--I am interested in helping you. Let’s just do this one step at a time, alright?”
What surprised her even more was when Rowen agreed to meet them back at the Night Garden within the hour, with both Hadwin and Breane present. Whatever those flower petals had ignited in the faoladh girl must have been substantial, because she couldn’t see her making such a compromise under any other conditions. As soon as the she-wolf left for the Night Garden and the corridor was devoid of any other life, Teselin closed the door and exhaled audibly. In the interim, Hadwin had shifted and dressed, and was looking to her eagerly for answers. “...I attempted to help Rowen today. I’m sorry; she had me cornered, I couldn’t really refuse.” She rubbed the back of her neck and pressed her back to the door, feeling a little ashamed that she hadn’t made mention of this earlier. When Hadwin had commented that he’d smelled his sister on her, she’d merely replied that Rowen had been present in the infirmary when she had gone to check on her brother. It wasn’t a lie; but it was devoid of enough detail that it might as well have been considered one. “I just took her to a Gardener who has begun to specialize in healing beyond the physical… but she’s very young, and this is still very new territory for the Night Garden. Rowen brushed her off in almost every respect, and I didn’t… I honestly didn’t believe that she would follow her advice.”
Fortunately, Hadwin was too surprised to be angry, and too curious to see how this would play out. So he readily agreed to leave with her and meet with Rowen in the Night Garden, where they did find her about a half-hour later. She had already found Breane, it seemed, who appeared just as confused and sleepy. She wasn’t wearing her spectacles and seemed to have to squint to peer into the darkness. “We’re here… as promised.” Teselin announced, her gaze darting between Rowen and Breane. “So what happened, exactly?”
“Nothing extravagant. The flower just made her remember something that she has forgotten.” Breane offered a sleepy explanation, obviously having already briefly discussed it with Rowen. “Often, emotional wounds are a result not only of what we have experienced, but what we’ve forgotten that we’ve experienced. Once we have all of the pieces of the puzzle again… it becomes less mistifying. And it paves the way for healing. This is actually a good opportunity.” The Gardener looked up at Hadwin and cocked her head to the side. “The memory that flower triggered, it seems, was a memory of you.”
Sylvie’s confession took Ari aback, a physical reaction that no polished and unruffled facade could conceal from either Nia or his guests. For almost a year, Sylvie had harbored a secret. That she sought healing from the man who would become his greatest rival wasn’t even the most surprising part, but rather, the revelation behind her motivations. Her support of his campaign hadn’t been unconditional, after all, but done out of love and obligation to Ari as her uncle—and perhaps, out of pity for how determinedly he strove towards emulating the late Casimiro. How had she felt to watch, helpless, as Ari shamelessly transformed into a bastardization of her father, down to the specific turns of phrase he uttered and even the swagger of his purposeful steps. How could Sylvie stomach the sight of Ari appearing as some half-formed homunculus, a horror wearing Casimiro’s skin, and not voice disapproval, or even concern, much sooner? All this time, he’d wanted to pay homage to his brother by carrying his torch, his legacy, but hadn’t realized the fault in becoming the person an entire family, children included, still mourned. He could never be Casimiro, and the truth was apparent in Sylvie’s overbright eyes, the same eyes that simultaneously cheered for his gains and boasted a first-name basis with the previous ruler, who she seemed to prefer insofar as his ability to lead. How long had she indulged his selfish wishes for conquest without screaming out her frustrations that, by opposing Alster Rigas, he complicated an already tense situation? Who, in this scenario, stood out as the adult? Not him. Sweet Sylvie, mature beyond her years, sacrificed her own peace of mind...to make him happy.
“I...I had no idea you felt this way,” Ari managed, too stunned to elaborate on his words with the poise and eloquence he usually commanded.
“Oh dear. I made a mess of things by speaking my truth.” Sylvie flinched in mid-stride towards the door. “I did not intend to cause you any upset, Uncle Ari. You are doing a fantastic job running this village. And,” she glanced apologetically at Alster, “I’ve done you a disservice, too, letting everything happen and saying nothing to my family when I could have prevented this outcome. I was afraid my verbal opposition towards your usurpation would be construed as a disservice to the Canaveris name and...and to my father. I hope you understand where my loyalties must lie.”
“Lest we forget, Sylvie, I’m a Rigas. I’m painfully aware of the family dynamic. It’s...complicated, to say the least. And that’s on a good day.” Alster, who hovered closest to the door, stepped back to clear space for the teen in case she required an escape from the stifling atmosphere. “There’s nothing I blame you for. In fact, I’d even say you are a very considerate niece to your uncle and a dutiful daughter to your late father. I hope that’s not too presumptuous of me to infer,” he added, flopping both arms to his sides in an attempt to disarm. “You couldn’t have predicted such an outrageous turn of the tide as what I had wrought. So please, don’t think it’s a side-effect of your silence. I am squarely at fault for employing extreme measures that could have endangered everyone. Really, I’m just happy to see you haven’t lost your faith in me after everything I did. It’s a refreshing perspective and I’m not sure I deserve it. But,” he dipped his head in gratitude, “I thank you for your candor. It took a great deal of bravery to share your story with all of us. Won’t you please stay for dinner? That is, if it’s not a bother to your uncle.”
“No. It’s not.” Ari, still a little shaken from Sylvie’s disclosure, painted on a pleasant smile and gestured to an empty seat. “You’re always welcome, Sylvie. I do hope you know that. And please, if you ever do feel about to burst from whatever is weighing on your chest, I hope you can find a confidante in me. I,” he wrung his gloved hands together, bunching the cuffs into wrinkles, “I will never replace your father. I do not intend to. My apologies if I’ve overstepped my bounds.”
“Never,” her lips squeezed into a tight smile, a prevention against losing her composure a second time. “I am most thankful for you, Uncle Ari. Though I would love to detail my own inexhaustible list of reasons why, I realize it is indecent and highly personal information to share at the dinner table.” In a gesture of utmost humility, Sylvie dropped into a curtsy so deep, her knee nearly grazed the floor. “Do not think poorly of our host, Alster, Elespeth, Nia. The discomfort and shame is mine alone to carry.”
“Nonsense,” Ari balked. “Our audience is far from scandalized, nor are they obsessed with custom and etiquette. Come now, Sylvie, and sit with us. Dinner shall be grander with the addition of you as our most ebullient company.”
“If, if you say so,” she blushed at Ari’s glowing praise. Though not altogether convinced, she needn’t any further invitation to reprise her spot at the head of the table.
Dinner arrived in the dining room in short order. Servants carried in their first course, a sweet potato bisque garnished with mint. In accompaniment, a tray of breads and cheeses sat in the middle of the table as a centerpiece, to be enjoyed intermittently throughout dinner. The servants poured each guest a goblet full of sharp-colored red wine, its aroma heavy with the fermentation of grapes.
“Tonight, we imbibe on a special and rare D’Marian wine for the occasion.” Ari lifted one goblet and swished it around in his expert wine-handling grasp. “Oh, and Lord Rigas, do tell me if your stomach has a disagreement with tonight’s spread. I understand you suffer from a chronic digestive condition.”
“Thank you, Ari. I should be able to manage if I eat small helpings. Besides, anything produced by the Night Garden doesn’t seem to affect me as strongly. Oh,” he lifted a goblet in imitation of Ari, holding it aloft in an expression of solidarity, “please just call me Alster.”
“I shall drink to that, Alster. For healing my Sylvie, and for helping Nia, this salute is for you.” Together, they all sampled a sip of wine before officially commencing dinner. In between slurps of soup and dipping pieces of bread to sop up the remaining bowl’s broth, Sylvie looked across the table to Nia, her curiosity alight.
“Nia, how has the harp been treating you? I’ll have you know that I am waiting with bated breath for the performance you’ve promised to put on with Uncle Ari. He has since acquired a flute and sometimes I hear him practicing.” A sudden clatter of a spoon against a soup dish alerted everyone to Ari’s well-timed loss of his grip. With murmured apologies, he unfurled a napkin to clean the soup spatters that issued from the bowl, hiding a faint blush in his cheeks. “And—Alster!” She angled her excitement at the unsuspecting Rigas Lord, “you are quite the wonderful singer. Now that you are on better terms with Nia and my uncle, you should lend your voice to the concerto!”
“I, ah, that sounds lovely, Sylvie, but I am not looking to impose,” Alster, also trying to hide his discomfort, demurred with a polite bow of his head. “This sounds like a private matter between Ari and Nia.”
“I would say; ‘The more, the merrier!” Not to leave anyone out of her recruitment, she flicked her hawk-like eyes on Elespeth. “Do you happen to be musically-inclined, Lady Elespeth?”
“Well, she failed to inform me that she plays the lute,” Alster said, looking slyly at his wife as if to say, ‘You’re not escaping the conversation that easily.’ “After coming across this valuable information, I’d say my curiosities have piqued and I would like to hear her play for myself.”
“Wonderful! Together, we have a merry band of bards! Oh, wouldn’t it be grand to hear your combined talents?” She closed her eyes, welcoming a dreamy, sugarcoated memory. “It would be like the old days of Stella D’Mare, the air always filled with the music of passing troubadours, floating down the streets! Such a romantic mainstay of the city I miss so dearly. Wouldn’t Galeyn benefit from uplifting music?” Her eyes snapped open, now training on Ari, the current leader at the table, and the one most able to make it a possibility. “It should be reserved not only for the elite, but for every citizen of this kingdom. Beyond the village, it should vibrate in the air, trickle towards the palace, the Night Garden, and bolster these downtrodden people with a little hope. Best of all, there is little expense. It is far cheaper to finance than a fancy celebration!”
“While I am, as always, enchanted by your enthusiasm, Sylvie, I do also hope you are not suggesting the four of us parade down the roads of Galeyn in collective jubilation. Besides,” Ari gestured to Nia, “that would be a mite difficult to do, considering one of the instruments in our hypothetical roster is quite immovable.”
Hadwin heard everything at the door. Knowing better to stay put, even without Teselin’s express directions not to interfere, the faoladh, who preferred taking a head-on approach to most situations, abhorred hiding when the summoner had to confront Rowen in his place. Too far away to defend from a swift and undodgeable knife-slice to the gut, he instead disappeared behind the bed like a fucking coward, poised and waiting for one tiniest misstep, one iota of a warning sign to manifest. It would be just like Rowen to injure Teselin in an attempt to drive him out, but from his partially-obstructed view of the doorway and the loud conversation ringing in his sensitive ears, no such thing happened at all. In fact, his sister...backed off. She listened carefully to Teselin’s instructions, peered one more time through the inky darkness the ambient hallway sconces refused to penetrate, and reluctantly agreed to meet them in the Night Garden. There was no acting, no farce in her desperation. Genuinely, Rowen exhibited fears that expanded beyond her normal experience. Those fears coincided with abandonment. She was confused, very confused, and needed sympathetic people to help her sort out whatever spurred her into such an emotional tizzy. But needs didn’t translate into wants, and it would fall on Rowen if she chose to accept and want the help she craved.
“Honestly, I’m floored,” Hadwin said, shortly following Rowen’s departure. Having shifted to his human form and dressed for decency, he listened to Teselin’s coverage of events from that day and gave a disbelieving shake of his head. “Ro’s trust threshold is damn nonexistent. Far as I know, she’s only ever trusted me, and even that took years. Don’t know where she draws the line with Locque, but that relationship sure as shit doesn’t account for how you managed to wriggle your way into her nubbly list of people she tolerates. I’d say it’s all bunk; she’s an expert at faking it. But,” his golden eyes stared at the door, his observances unfocused and elsewhere, “you can’t fake fear. Not to that level. Call me a chump, or a gullible idiot, but...I think she’s actually crying for help. And dammit,” he landed a fist of uncontained frustration at the door, “I can’t ignore it. Count me in; we’ll see her.” He took one decompressing sigh, emulating the calm his fist refused to demonstrate. “I’m ready when you are.”
Much as he was receptive to visiting his fractious sister, Hadwin refused to get his hopes up. For all he knew, she could be having one isolated moment of vulnerability, egged on by the strange flower she consumed. Coming from someone who frequently consumed plants of unknown origin and who hallucinated an array of colorful visits from different parts of his vast and very troubled brain, he figured the same could be true of Rowen. Judging by how she reacted in equal parts irritation and paranoia, once the hype of the flower’s revelations dwindled and she sobered up from the bad head-trip, she would return to her general, murderous, misanthropic self. And probably learn to hate him on a level never previously envisioned before the mind-altering blossom flooded her with the sublime possibilities.
After arriving at the Night Garden, Hadwin remained neutral and unfazed, a default mechanism best able to deal with any face-to-face situation involving Rowen. It helped that he made up his mind on how best to behave around her. I’m not gonna let her get to me, he recited to himself as a mantra. Not gonna let her moment of weakness break me down. Not yet.
When he and Teselin approached her sister, she was accompanied by a barely pubescent girl, who, according to the summoner’s brief accounts, was also the Gardener in charge of the emotional healing aspect of the Night Garden’s growing repertoire of skills.
“A memory of me, huh? Hey Ro,” he shifted his attention to the much smaller faoladh, “what’s this about horking down a weird-ass flower and hallucinating some memories?” In a near-comical reversal, she crouched behind Breane, using her as a physical barrier in fear that he would hurt her. He smoothed out the rough edges of his voice and dropped to a quieter cadence. “What did you see?”
Keeping her eyes completely fixed on the ground, Rowen fidgeted, rubbing her hands together in a mouse-like fashion. When she opened her mouth, she squeaked, furthering along the skittish mouse comparison. It was uncanny, how much she acted like the Rowen he remembered, the lone girl who isolated herself in a hut. His face, taut and guarded, slackened. One foot slid carefully forward. “Aw, kid, you don’t have to tell me,” he soothed, painting a reassuring smile on his face. “You’re trying to get better, yeah?” In the artificial, bioluminescent-fed gloam, she nodded, an incremental wag of her head. “And the flower makes you revisit good memories. I’m all for it, then. I think it’s high time you saw something that doesn’t make you wanna crumble with hopelessness over this cruel world.” He regarded the Gardener with a favorable head tilt. “Your name’s Breane? And you think you can do this? Help my sister see a little light for a change?”
“I...don’t know,” Rowen’s small voice wheezed out of her lungs, a whisper so inaudible, even he strained to hear. “It was a good memory. It felt real. It had to be real. In it, you showed me something darkness could never touch. You...of all people. You...who I can’t see. I can’t see you, Hadwin. Because...because there’s too much darkness around you. It blocks my view. I can’t see you.” She squeezed her eyes shut, effectively dousing everyone in darkness.
“But you can hear me, right? And feel that I’m close? That’s a huge step forward, Ro. Remember when you’d have to be near people and the darkness would overwhelm you? On those bad days, when you couldn’t see through the fog, I took your hand.” He dared to edge closer, and extended his hand. She shrank from the offer. “You’re shivering with fear, kid. We’ve talked about this before. Fear generates a lot of the darkness. If you could settle some of those fears, the darkness would be less scary, more manageable.” Before he could stop and consider what he was doing, he lowered his head until he and Rowen were eye level. “Can you trust me for a minute, Ro? Look at me...for as long as you’re able.”
To his surprise, she did. Slowly, her eyes opened, and slowly, she craned her head and made full contact.
In a brief flash of gold, he took away her fear of the darkness.
Much like Elespeth, who perhaps felt the most awkward in this situation given that she had the last information and familiarness with the company at hand, Nia found herself quietly on the receiving end of what was unfolding to be quite the revelation on young Sylvie’s part. So the young Canaveris teenager, while so grateful to her uncle for all he did in her father’s absence, had withheld her gratitude to Ari’s very rival for… what had it been, a year now? Caught between two family feuds, and somehow still managed to keep a smile on her face and a bright and bubbly disposition. Not wanting to cross a line with her own family, yet surely harbouring guilt for not stepping in to speak for Alster when she knew that he was, in fact, a good and genuine man… What had Sylvie feared? Ostracization from those remaining members of her family? To be cast out of their society, either figuratively or literally, just as Alster and Elespeth Rigas had been cast out?
And if she was… who would she have left to turn to? The amount of bravery that confession must have taken. Nia had liked Sylvie before, finding her bubbly personality entirely refreshing from the predictable stuffiness of aristocratic families, but the Master Alchemist suddenly had a good deal more respect for the girl in her truthfulness just now. “Okay, now, if I may just point out something that should already be painfully obvious…” Nia raised a hand, in hopes to break up a bit of the tension that had settled in the air, particularly upon the Canaveris lord and his niece, and also Alster Rigas, who handled it all rather diplomatically. “Look. I don’t fly in these circles, anymore--high nobility or aristocracy or anything. Used to, been there, done that, and I get it. All of the unwritten rules, blood doesn’t cross blood, no one is of more importance than your own kin, et cetera. I think we all understand that to some extent--you too, Elespeth, if I’m not mistaken?” She raised her eyebrows at the former knight. “The Tameris house in Atvany is very close to the crown, is it not?”
“You’d be right. But I’m afraid that my example is probably not one you want to elaborate on, or that settles with your point, Nia.” Elespeth shifted uneasily from where she stood, rubbing one arm below her elbow. She made eye-contact with no one. “My family would have first had me arrested; and when I escaped, then would then have had me dead. There is only blood loyalty within the Tameris house insofar as they decide there is.”
“Oh… that so, huh? Jeez, you and me, we’ve got more in common than I thought, El! But, ah… right. Okay, bad example. What I am trying to say,” Nia lowered her hands and gestured to everyone standing around the table, “doesn’t matter which name we bear, we’re all mortal beings, here. I’d say we’re all human, but Al, I dunno what to make of those pointed ears of yours.” She teased innocently and winked in Alster’s general direction. “And before what we stand up for with regards to family, I don’t think that anyone here has really decided they’re above and beyond mortal compassion. Sylvie, Alster helped you--niece of a rival family, at that--because you were someone in need. And when someone’s in need and we’re able to help, our mortal, vulnerable hearts are reminded that we could easily be in that very same position someday: at the mercy of someone who can help or under us. And it’s moments like that that really speak to someone’s true nature. Alster’s a Rigas, but for all he’ll live a hell of a lot longer than me, he still has a lot to lose. In fact, I’m sure he’s been in similar positions and has been at the mercy of other peoples’ help, as well. Hell, he helped me just now and healed a pretty terrible head injury, and let me tell you… our last little talk reeeeally wasn’t a promising or positive one. And your uncle, Syl…”
She briefly turned her attention to Ari, who perhaps looked about as shaken as he had the night it had become obvious that his deep, dark secret was no longer a secret to her. “He’s no stranger to loss. You lost a father, he lost a brother. Whatever he or you owes to the Canaveris name, you’ve both already lost too much. You really think he’d want to lose even more? That he’d condemn you over accepting the help of a rival? Come on, you think he’d really have preferred that you suffer with a broken leg than let Alster help you? ‘Cause that does not sound like family loyalty to me. Sounds kind of like tyranny--which your uncle has already adamantly declared he is against, many a time, in my presence. So to make a long story very short and finally shut my trap…” The Master Alchemist expelled a long breath of air, winded from her own monologue at this point. “Doesn’t matter where we stand: we’re all in this together, and we want the same thing, Rigases and Canaverises alike, am I right? We want peace. And that most certainly excludes watching others suffer needlessly when we can lend a hand. Don’t ever feel like you’ve gotta keep something so pressing close to your chest. Beyond the titles and heritage, we’re all just bags of flesh and blood, aren’t we? Take it from someone who used to live this sort of life and then fell from it very quickly. You come to realize pretty fast how we’re no one’s all the different at all, at the end of the day. So, that said, how about we all sit our arses down and enjoy a damn good meal on behalf of our gracious host, here? Oh, for anyone who hasn’t seen me eat and the amount that I can put away,” a familiar smirk curled the corners of her mouth. “Prepare to be amazed… or completely appalled. Both sentiments are completely acceptable, and I won’t be offended either way!”
As usual, Ari did not disappoint, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Nia felt like her old self in her vigor to consume at least three times the amount of food than, say, Elespeth, who was just a bit taller and more muscular than her. While painful, and slightly bitter feelings resulting from the discovery she hadn’t actually been communicating with her sisters still lingered within the tissue of her bruised heart, it did wonders to actually feel physically better, and to sit among people whom she could practically unanimously consider friends. Well… perhaps she’d have to work a bit on Elespeth, but the two of them had far too much in common for the ex-Atvanian to blow her off forever!
This time, when the Master Alchemist imbibed in wine to toast, she only barely took sips, no longer feeling the need to rely on the numbing bliss of alcohol to carry her through a meal with a modicum of normalcy. “Look at that; we’re all on a first-name basis. That’s so damned heartwarming.” She grinned, lifting her glass to clink it noisily against Alster’s. “It’s like I said before; we are our given names before we are our family’s name. All individuals in our own right. Oh, and Al, if you do find yourself a little queasy from the food, then I’ve got you covered. Wouldn’t be the first time I've put something together in a matter of minutes to make digestion run a little more smoothly.”
Nia set her glass down a little too heavily when Sylvie oh so innocently made mention of the harp. The harp… the one she hadn’t worked on it over a week. “Oh. Well, see, it’s still a work in progress… wait, Ari--you’ve been practicing your flute?” A smile to match Sylvie’s spread across the Master Alchemist’s face. “Well with that kind of dedication… I have to finish it. Especially with your vocals on board, Alster Rigas.” She grinned at the Rigas lord and popped a piece of bread in her mouth, entirely amused how both upstanding lords were suddenly so bashful about music. “I’ve dabbled in singing, myself, but alas… I only really sund half-decent if I’m singing in Ilandrian, for some reason. And--you too, Elespeth? Is everyone here so damned musically inclined and I never knew!?”
“I-I am only barely, vaguely familiar with the lute!” Elespeth protested, nearly choking on a single swallow of wine. She brought her napkin to her lips and narrowed a glare at her husband. “Believe me, I have positively nothing good to offer to a musical ensemble. Besides, if Nia plays the harp, you’ve already got your strings!”
“Ah, who says you can’t have a lute and a harp? I’m on board!” Nia smiled. “And sure, maybe we can’t move the harp around with ease, but that just means we’ll have to put on more than one performance in a few different venues! I’m on board for this. In fact… isn’t this just what the D’Marians need? To see the Canaveris household and the Rigas family cooperating in the most harmonious of ways? This is the peace--and the reprieve--that we all need. Please say you’ll be part of it, Elespeth!”
The former knight sighed heavily and stared down at her now empty plate. Unbelievable… I can’t believe I am being roped into this. “I do not guarantee that I am going to be presentation-ready. I only barely play. So that’s on the lot of you to take a gamble on my lack of musical inclination. And if it turns the entirety of the D’Marians sour against both families, then you’ve got only yourself to blame.”
The rest of the meal went relatively well, as the awkwardness between the two rival men loosened and eventually gave way to the lull of wine and satiation from good food, and at last, Sylvie chose to retire for the evening, and Alster and Elespeth (the latter more eager than the former) seemed to think it was about time they returned to the farmhouse, with promises to correspond with Nia soon on working toward getting them back into the palace. With the table cleared, and Ari nursing a final glass of wine to finish the evening off, Nia took the liberty to take a seat on the wide arm of the chair he occupied. “Hey. Thanks for a great dinner; not a bad evening, if I do say so myself, hm? You’re so great to your niece, and I’m hella impressed with how you and Alster are smoothing things over in everyone’s best interest. I was wondering… can we talk? About… well, about you. What happened to you. I don’t mean your condition.”
Nia struggled to keep a gentle smile on her face under the gravity of the topic she was broaching. She hadn’t forgotten the way Ari had closed up during their intimate conversation the other day, and how he’d seemed to have gone out of his way to bring any of it up again, despite showing interest in losing his virginity. Something… something was not right. And it didn’t entirely have to do with his occasional flare ups. “I was under the impression a lot of your hesitation to get intimate with anyone stemmed solely from… well, your flare ups. But I got a different feeling the other night. Like it has more to do with that. And the more I thought about it… the more I started to think your condition isn’t the beginning and end of your troubles. Ari,” she rested a light hand on his forearm. “What happened? What happened… with Chara Rigas?”
Breane, who remained a passive and neutral observer as this interaction between what she had understood as estranged siblings took place, nodded at Hadwin’s inquiry. “I am still new to what I do. The Night Garden in and of itself is still new to healing beyond physical injuries and aliments. Before the past year, only the rare Sybaian healers were capable of anything of the sort. But while every case is different in its causes and complexities, so far, I have not seen any failure in what I do.” She adjusted the collar on her Gardener’s robes and glanced over her shoulder at Rowen. “Of course, I cannot help your sister without her willingness to commit. But… Rowen assures me that she is interested in taking the necessary steps. As a Gardener, I am also committed to helping her follow through with these steps, with the help of the Night Garden, of course. So in short… I see no reason why she cannot heal successfully.”
“Daphni herself has vetted Breane’s work as effective,” Teselin piped up, feeling the need to speak for the young Gardener who was willing to give so much, but had yet received so little respect and recognition. “Senyiah said so. And with our current and only Sybaian healer out of commission in looking out for her own health… we are fortunate to have Breane as an alternative.”
It was hard to believe that what she was seeing was real. Rowen, who prior today, would’ve slit Hadwin’s throat at the first chance she got, was suddenly… cowering from him. Wanting to be near him, but too afraid that the darkness would consume her again, and that she would ruin this fragile moment of hope. Still, like Hadwin, Teselin was hesitant to believe that such a drastic change had occurred in the bloodthirsthy she-wolf so quickly, and the darker side of her mind was cautious that this was somehow all a trap--a very clever one, at that, considering that it would be the opportune time to jump on the excuse that she wanted to change, and that it was actually happening. Teselin watched Rowen’s hands, scanning her body for the sign of a knife, some other weapon, or tells that would give away her true intentions… but nothing of the sort surfaced. Rowen was afraid; just plain afraid of herself, of Hadwin…
And that was when the young summoner saw the possibility. The possibility that Rowen would overcome her Sight and its burdens. That she would reconcile with her brother, and reunite them as a family just like he’d wanted… and that would be that. The Kavanaghs would find their clan, again, and the rest was history. And she… some impossible being, one with terrifying powers and who had been born without a father… What would she do without Hadwin? I’d never intended to take your place, Rowen, she thought to herself, feeling her throat grow tight. So it makes no sense that I should feel as though you are taking mine. I never really had a place; not when it was yours all along.
“Miss Teselin. Are you well?” Breane asked suddenly, startling Teselin out of her introspecting. “I am sorry to pry. But I’m suddenly hearing the Garden; the way it speaks when someone is in need, and points toward a solution. It is suggesting that you are… that you’re feeling lost. But…” Furrowing her brow, the young Gardener looked this way and that, as if she was trying to find something, but was not sure what that something was. “But oddly… I am not seeing a solution.”
“That’s because there isn’t one, Breane. Please, don’t concern yourself. I’ve been lost for a really long time, now. I haven’t found the answer to it yet; maybe there isn’t one.” Teselin gently shook her head and clasped her hands in front of her. “Don’t feel defeated that you or the Garden can’t help me. Even my own Master Alchemist of a brother couldn’t. Focus on who you can help.” She nodded to Rowen, who had yet to come out from behind her. “Someone who needs it more.”
Everyone in the room hushed to allow Nia the chance to offer her point of view about bloodlines versus loyalty, a speech that Alster found to be relatable, based on his largely negative experiences in dealing with the Rigas family. Their philosophies emphasized, above all, loyalty to one’s kin. Betray the family and suffer ostracization. But even when Alster had done everything correctly, followed the rules and bit his tongue among his elders, the Rigases never truly accepted him as an equal. As a tool, a scapegoat, a curiosity, and a magical artifact, true, but seldom as a human. Perhaps if they had shown an ounce of kindness to him instead of demanding he pay his dues for the privilege of being born a Rigas and starve in emotional debts, maybe he wouldn’t have turned to darkness as a comfort, and...Stella D’Mare might still exist. At a young age, he learned the true measure of elite family ties. Honor changed with the seasons, with those in power, with nepotism or bribery and political marriage proposals. He wanted nothing to do with the Rigas machine. Wanted no Rigas bride, no position on the council, no stint as Head of the household, even when Debine Rigas concentrated all her efforts into priming him for the role. It was why he was initially drawn to Elespeth. No Rigas. No associated drama. She would never call him Serpent Bane, never view him as a pawn, as less than human, as a raging disappointment or a dangerous being to be eliminated. By virtue of existing as a stranger hailing from a foreign land, she was spared the family indoctrination, and saw him, foremost, as a person deserving of love. Thus, his loyalties were given in homage to the people who celebrated him not as a Rigas, but as Alster. Just Alster. And saw worth in him as a person. Hence, he agreed heartily with Nia’s assessment, and it changed his initial perceptions of the brash and garrulous Master Alchemist by a significant margin. When all was said and done, compassion towards others mattered most.
Sylvie, conversely, read Nia’s sermon a mite differently than its original intention. According to her strongly-voiced beliefs, Sylvie should have informed Ari about the impromptu healing session that occurred between her and Alster as a return favor to the Rigas Head for his indiscriminate help. Duty or not, he aided in the recovery of a rival family member and bragged to no one about it for political accolades, respecting Sylvie’s desperate wishes to keep the entire transaction and its scandalous details a secret. For her part, she stayed mum when Alster’s reputation required defending, half out of fear that her family would discover the broader secret she hid from under their noses, and half out of respect for Ari. She loved him too much to ruin his dreams of campaigning against Alster Rigas in a decisive battle where he would rise the victor. In the end, she chose family. She chose blood. Because, if given the choice, it was Ari she would help--and save.
As dinner conversation transitioned to light and airy banter, a direction helmed and led by her, Sylvie tried to follow her own advice and settle down to the music in her ears. She already revealed too much inner turmoil, caused Ari visible distress, and nearly ruined an important dinner party due to her guilt-driven, ill-timed confessions. If she yapped about touchy subjects any further, she surely would have let slip an even more undesirable component of her confession that she mustn’t spill to anyone. Alster already knew--it was impossible to conceal from a healer--but she trusted him not to disclose, especially to Ari. If he knew...it would break his heart.
She only hoped Nia had not yet discovered her strange affliction.
“Oh, look at everyone!” She effused, making certain her enthusiasm did not sound too affected, for she was genuinely thrilled to imagine once-rivals banding together to, well, create a band of sorts. “What a beautiful gesture, don’t you think? And what an example it will set to further along peaceful amity among all of Galeyn’s denizens!”
“Wait, this is a serious proposition? In that case,” Alster almost shrank before Elespeth’s withering glare, “I didn’t mean anything from it! Sylvie,” he spread his hands on the table, appealing to the teenaged Canaveris, “it’s best we wait a little while before we make fools of ourselves. I am certain we are all woefully out of practice on our instruments of choice.”
“It is a matter we most definitely shall revisit, Sylvie,” Ari concurred, taking Alster’s lead with a strong nod to punctuate. “After a few thorough courses of musical instruction--and preferably with a bottle or two of wine on hand.”
Before Sylvie could protest, servants entered the room carrying the second and third courses; a mixed green salad and a layered eggplant and potato dish, smothered in cheese and sauce. A lull descended upon the table as everyone focused their attention on spooling the food from the plates into their mouths. When conversation returned, it sampled from a hodgepodge of different topics, ranging from farmhouse life and Alster’s failed gardening ventures, to Ari’s newest artistic endeavors, to a quick wellness update from Nia concerning Alster and Elespeth’s companions from the palace. Shortly following dessert, a custard dressed in Night Garden fruits and topped with nutmeg, Alster--who hadn’t suffered a gastronomical episode--and Elespeth stood from their chairs to announce their departure. Next, Sylvie reluctantly bid her uncle and Nia an air kiss goodnight and slipped out of the dining room doors, leaving the two alone. With the servants having cleared the remains of food and dishes off the table save for the wine, Ari, expecting no more interruptions for the evening, relocated to a cozier armchair positioned by the hearth. He gazed at Nia in time to watch her sit on the arm of his chair and tried not to flinch from the physical contact. “My apologies; I am still growing accustomed to the sensation as a regular occurrence. Please bear with me.” He leaned back on the cushions and sampled a sip of wine in a bid to relax. “I admit, I had abysmally low expectations for this evening, but Alster shares little in common with his inflammatory cousin, and his belligerent wife had fewer outbursts than usual. Granted, I am not innocent, either, given how I instigated one of those outbursts. But all in all, I have high hopes for a follow-up dinner.” His demeanor wavered at the words, ‘Can we talk?’ Seldom did that inquiry suggest positive or pleasant connotations. He was right to worry when Nia elaborated on what she meant.
“What happened? Why, a failed attempt, of course.” Aware that Nia would continue to badger him about the incident until she received satisfactory answers, he would supply them, as requested, in as detached a manner as possible. Helped along by the wine, he skipped the paltry sip and took a liberal gulp instead. To convincingly sell the story as inconsequential and uneventful, he needed to increase and expedite his alcohol intake.
“We attempted sex. During the act, my nerves caused a flare-up in…” he urged the sentence to completion, “in my groin-area, and Lady Chara paid a steep price. Unintentionally, I had harmed her quite terribly, and to no one’s surprise, the pain triggered anger, and her anger took on a physical manifestation. So she gave me my due. An eye for an eye, as the layman would say. There were no repeat attempts, afterward.” Though the story rang true, his flagrant omission of details did it absolutely no justice. He failed to document just how Chara retaliated. The obscenities she screamed at him, the ribs she crunched underfoot as she stomped and kicked until he lay bruised, broken, and bloodied. Later, when she calmed, and guilt replaced her thirst for vengeance, she explained, matter-of-fact, that her unnecessary roughness was but foreplay, and it seemed he was too fragile to handle her voracious furiosity, after all. You’d have no luck, anyway, she had scoffed at him, via concluding remark. Not when you are naught but a half-baked golem. No one wants to ravish a hunk of stone.
“You must forgive me for my overreaction the other day,” he drained the rest of the wine and set the empty goblet aside on the table. “At the time, I was ill-prepared for the quantity and quality of questions you had presented. The delay in response notwithstanding, I do hope my answer sates your curiosity. Is that all you wish to know?” Though posed as a question, it behaved as purely rhetorical, as Ari rose from the chair and drifted to the door. “It is getting late, Nia, and we have had a long day. I daresay it is in our best interests to retire early, wouldn’t you agree? We shall speak later in the morning.”
In the blink that passed between Rowen and Hadwin, a fundamental change overcame the two faoladh siblings. While Rowen stood taller, unburdened by the shadows that once drove iron spikes into her shoulders, Hadwin slumped and swayed, fighting not to drop to one knee. For Rowen, the simultaneous sensation resembled a fierce windstorm, but in reverse. Instead of knocking the breath from her lungs and unseating her balance, it pushed her upright, reinforcing her stability and restoring her stolen breath. Though something of hers had been stripped bare by the wind, she couldn’t remember if the lost item was ever essential or beloved enough to miss.
Hadwin, on the other hand, threw himself, headlong, into hellfire. Similar to when he accidentally purloined Alster’s fear of Locque and snuffed his rising panic attack, Sight rewarded the faoladh’s heroic efforts with a blistering headache so profound, there was no previous comparison to draw from. No doubt Hadwin suffered headaches; in particular, ocular migraines, an unfortunate side-effect of harvesting individual fears so regularly, that he could no longer shunt them from his vision, be it through closing his eyes or burying a pillow over his head. He dealt with the punishing blows in stride--with a little help from as many pain-killing herbs as he could stuff into his pipe and smoke at once. But even compared to the Alster-generated headache, this latest one was no joke. If its predecessor was akin to having one’s skull chiseled with an ice-pick, its successor did him a few thousand levels better and strapped his head to an anvil, allowing an entire school of apprentice blacksmiths to strike him relentlessly with furnace-heated hammers, each swing as clumsy and unprofessional as the last. Every blow sent his ears ringing, his vision spinning. On occasion, the tiny blacksmiths would plunge him into water, and nothing but distorted hissing and bubble-warped images floated into his ears and across his eyes. Whatever happened around him, he had nothing but contextual awareness and animal instinct to guide him. It would have to be enough--enough to fool everyone. For now. Until he hightailed it to somewhere quiet, dark, and pipe-approximate.
“Hadwin.” He felt Rowen’s wide-eyed stare upon him. “What did you do? I...I feel different, but I can’t explain--”
“Oh, that? Nothing to it.” He bit down his flinch. The mere act of speaking pierced a javelin through his eardrums, its shrilling rings liable to shred them into messes of pus, blood, and cartilage. “Learned a neat new trick not too long ago. I just borrowed one of your most debilitating fears, is all. I’ll give it back, I promise, but for now,” he commanded enough coordination to lift his hand and point a finger towards his temple, “I’ll hold on to it for safekeeping. You can pay me back by focusing on getting better. I’m sure this lovely young lass will take good care of you,” he winked at Breane. “She’s got my approval. Seems like she knows her shit and she’s got a long list of endorsements, to boot.”
“But--”
“No buts!” Hadwin shot a hand forward in objection. “Look Ro, despite the bad start, you know I’m still pulling for you. I didn’t wanna give up on you, but I figured you gave up on me, so...I left you alone.” He lowered his hands, exerting a great deal of willpower to utilize muscles for the task instead of flopping them to the side like dead things. “Let’s make the most of this new chance, yeah? I’m calling a truce. I’m gonna be here, but only if you want me, got it? And not as target practice. As a living body with all his pieces intact. So...truce?”
Rowen glanced at her brother’s outstretched hand. It wavered, as though undergoing immense strain. “...Truce.” She pressed her fingers against his over-warm palm. No hesitation. Despite the horrific pain, Hadwin’s mouth widened into a jubilant grin.
“I’m gonna hold you to it, y’know.”
“...Thank you.” She severed their brief physical connection, returning the hand to its previous position at the crook of her arm. She swallowed back a few tears. “I can see...I can see more clearly, now. What you’ve done for me—“
“Again, don’t sweat it. But remember,” he cautioned, “it’s temporary. I kidnapped your fear. Snagged it against its will. It ain’t gone. It’s gonna wanna wriggle free of my arms and come back to you eventually. So use this opportunity to get a strong foundation before then, we clear?” She nodded. “Well,” he loosed a convincing yawn, “it’s the middle of the night, so this wolf needs some shut-eye. We’ll talk again, shorty. Try and get some rest, too, y’hear?” Waving farewell to Rowen and Breane, Hadwin joined Teselin on the long, sinuous track from the Night Garden to her chambers. I can do this, he thought in encouraging platitudes. One foot in front of the other, it’ll be fine. I bet I’ll even get used to it!
Distractions. Distractions. He draped an arm around Teselin, more for balance than affection, but the latter reason still factored in quite strongly. “So I never told you about that fear absorption skill. It’s completely new; learned it by trying to soothe Al out of an anxiety-fueled downward spiral.” He failed to mention the part where it produced ruinous headaches. Don’t think about it! His inside voice roared so loudly, it might as well be repurposed as an outside voice, privy to everyone in passing. A new wave of water-plunging vertigo urged him to a full stop. “Say,” he said, ignoring the fact that his body forced him to take an unscheduled break during the middle of their walk, “caught a glimpse of a fear of yours, before, and I’m here to put it to rest; I ain’t gonna toss you to the wayside or anything, scamp. Never thought I’d answer Ro’s distress call so quickly, but whatever just happened between us is never gonna negate the thing we’ve got, ok? I need you to know that, Tes. You’re in my pack, now. Blood or no—“
But he never finished the sentiment. In an attempt to place one foot forward, he lost his balance and swung against Teselin, taking her to the palace floor with him. Wait—how did they even travel as far as the palace? He had absolutely no memory of getting there at all! “Fuck,” he hissed, trying to scramble to his feet and check on Teselin for injuries, but failing to move a muscle out of his supine position. “You...you ok, kid?” He clamped his eyes shut, curtaining them from the offending sconce lights up above. “M’sorry,” he slurred, slowly losing control of his physical and mental faculties as his body initiated a shut-down. “It’s just...it’s just—a headache. Don’t...tell...Rowen.” Without another word, his head lolled to the side and he froze, unresponsive.
There was nothing easy or desirable about talking about trauma. It often meant you were either reopening an old wound, ripping a bandage off a wound that you thought had healed but still continued to bleed, or poked at old, sore spots that would never really be the same again. Nia, therefore, hadn’t expected that Ari would open up to her like a book, with every detail of his past laid out for her to see and examine. In fact, she was rather surprised, knowing she’d taken him off guard with her sour question to top off an otherwise positive evening, that he had decided to indulge her at all. He did provide some pertinent information that she had frankly already suspected, but had now clarified, and the more he said, the more that pieces began to fall into place, assembling a puzzle that began to reveal a grizzly image that she had hoped she wouldn’t see.
But before that image came together, he stopped, and brushed off the most important details. Just like that, just as they were finally making a little bit of progress, he shut the conversation down, and made as though to retire for the night.
And perhaps she should have let him. She was determined to respect boundaries, and it only made sense to leave him alone, except… except that the way he left it bothered her. And before the Master Alchemist could think twice, she encircled his wrist with her fingers. Not grabbing, not pulling, not even restraining him if he wanted to leave. But she made it known that she was not alright with this conclusion.
“My curiosity? Is that… is that really what you think this is about, Ari? You think I’m dying for you to spill all of the dark, dirty, awful things that you experienced out of some perverse fetish or something?” As irrational as it was, and as ridiculous as she was probably being, Nia felt hurt. Because he might as well have told her that he chose to rescind everything he’d told her the other night, committing trust and communication and--hell, trusting her with his virginity! Maybe he had simply bit off more than he could chew, and he was just hoping she would forget all about it as opposed to having to outright come and say it.
Uncurling her fingers from his wrist, Nia dropped her hand to her side. “You think I’ve always been so cavalier about this scar? You think the day after I was almost murdered, I was laughing about it or something?” She pushed her hair over her shoulder to reveal the raised, pink line at her throat. “I told you, I was reclusive for years afterward. To hell with sex, I wouldn’t talk to people. I trusted no one. And yeah, when I finally started opening up again, it was hard. It was really hard the first time I had to explain it, to some kindly old housekeeper at an inn I was staying at who was concerned for a seventeen year old girl sporting a scar like that. When I told her what happened, she was horrified--hell, I was horrified. I broke down and cried about it all over again, and she was so sweet and offered to stay with me that night, but I still wasn’t big on trust at the time. But you know what? It was after that night, after I finally got it off my chest, that I started to feel better; that I started to feel like I was in control, again. Sure, it didn’t do shit for all of my other baggage, but after that was when I decided that I wasn’t going to be afraid of sex and people anymore. I mean, yeah, I kept it safe with only taking virgins to bed… but the fact that I didn’t let it ruin my future was enough. Hell, I even learned to enjoy it! And the more I confided in people, strangers who I would never see again, the easier it became, and the less that incident had power over me.
“So, I get it. It’s hard, and it’s uncomfortable, and you already grew up thinking you have to keep everything to yourself. But I’m not asking because I’m curious, Ari. I’m asking because I fucking care--and because I want to know how to treat you. How not to hurt you. How to make you realize that you can have reasonable, successful, and satisfying intimacy with another person, and that whatever went down with Chara Rigas--your only experience, at this point--was obviously not fucking normal, and I don’t mean because of your little mishap with a flare up.” Crossing the room, Nia picked up a goblet of wine that Alster had refrained from drinking lest it upset his stomach, and downed its contents to calm her nerves. Pulling the glassware away from her lips, she pressed a long sigh from her lungs and turned back to her host. “I didn’t think much of it before, but from the few times I’ve been touching you when you’ve mentioned Chara Rigas, you get huge spikes in adrenaline and stress chemicals in your blood. I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be invasive; up until now, it was just kind of a passive observation. But it tipped me off that your condition isn’t the sole problem, here, and I don’t even think it’s the main problem.”
Setting the goblet back on the table, her demeanor shifted a little, growing less tense and a little more defeated in the way her shoulders sunk. “So Chara punished you. That’s a lot to unpack, and I can take that in a million different ways, if you don’t elaborate. My mind doesn’t go anywhere good with it, and I hope eventually--soon--you’ll feel safe enough to tell me. Not for me--for you. To get it off your chest, to hear yourself say it so that you can begin to process it, and move on. If you’re not up to it now, then sure, we can talk more in the morning, but for now, I’ve got a suggestion. And I won’t be heartbroken if you turn me down, but I hope you’ll pause to think before you say no: try sleeping with me tonight.”
The wording did not come out the way she intended, and she instantly regretted the way the colour drained from Ari’s face. It might have been funny if the tone wasn’t already so somber. “No--no, no, no, I don’t mean sex. I wouldn’t do that to you! I mean just actually, literally, share a bed with someone. Fully clothed, no touching if you don’t want it--hell, wear a suit of armor if it makes you feel more secure! I just think it’ll be a good stepping stone for you to realize you can fall asleep and wake up next to someone in one piece. And if it turns out you absolutely cannot relax and end up with a full blown panic attack or something, I’ll leave, no questions asked. So; what do you say?” She arched an eyebrow and spread her hands inquiringly. “Want to give it a try? I’m going to have to head back to the palace tomorrow; Locque will be expecting me. I’m just not sure how many golden opportunities to help you through this that we’ll have.”
It was incredible, the change that took place in Rowen Kavanagh before Teselin’s eyes.There had been something noticeably different about the young wolf when she’d approached her in her room not an hour ago, demanding to speak with Hadwin, something that the young summoner might have pegged as a little unhinged. Something had clearly been off, but she wasn’t sure what it could be. Now, however, as she hid behind young Breane and almost seemed to cower in the presence of her older brother, it was clear that what Rowen was experiencing was fear. New forms of fear, combined with uncertainty and bewilderment, for whatever the tea brewed from those flower petals had revealed had shaken the young faoladh’s foundation quite drastically. So it was true: Rowen was not lost, for all her Sight coloured her world in darkness. And if Breane’s brief recommendation to consume that flower had already had such an impact on the girl… What else was possible for her?
Something occurred between the siblings, then. Both of them, after locking eyes, startled, and Rowen jumped back, putting a few more inches between them. Had Hadwin… had he seen something in her golden eyes? And if so, how had it affected her so viscerally? Listening to his explanation, Teselin found herself confused by what she heard. It was no mystery to her anymore that Hadwin could see a person’s fears as clearly as he could see the colour of their hair or eyes, but had he… had he just made mention of taking away his sister’s fear, or had she misheard? Surely that was impossible, unless otherwise magically triggered. If he had that ability… wouldn’t he have made mention of it to her by now?
“Hadwin…” Just as bewildered as his sister (and Breane, for that matter), Teselin looked between the two siblings, trying to fathom just how long Hadwin had been able to perform this feat, and why he had never confided in her--or when he’d ever planned to, if at all. “That’s… unbelievable. To think that you could’ve done this sooner… but it just took Rowen’s willingness to let it happen.” To be in the same vicinity as you without threatening to destroy you, she thought, and then suddenly thought better of it and startled herself out of that mental betrayal to the faoladh girl. But… but wait. Did that mean… If Hadwin had taken away her fear of her Sight, of the darkness that she saw in the world and its denizens, then what did that mean for the world in and of itself? Did she still see every dark and awful corner of a person’s soul? Everything they feared and regretted and hated?
If she did, she certainly wasn’t paying close enough attention to the young summoner right now to be cognizant of that mental faux-pas. Rowen was too bewildered, so much so that she looked like she was shaking. Breane had put a hand on her arm in case she might fall. “So you are able to take away someone’s fears? That is quite the remarkable feat.” She commented, visibly torn between being in awe of such a rare power, while also keeping Rowen in her peripheral vision, considering this unique situation was not one she’d encountered before, and therefore was unsure as to what to expect. “Though it may be temporary, fear is a difficult barrier to remove to promote healing… with this reprieve, however short, I have a feeling that whatever the Garden intends for your sister, her recovery will be expedited because of your help.”
“Then… you’ll go ahead with this, Rowen?” Teselin turned to the faoladh girl, who suddenly looked far younger and far less manic than she remembered. “You’ll let Breane and the Garden help you heal? Help you recover the vision you’ve lost?”
Rowen didn’t need to say it; her tears and gratitude alone were proof enough that she was on board, and at least willing to trust Breane and her guidance if Hadwin gave her the go-ahead. “Why don’t you stay at the sanctuary for the rest of the evening? And for however long you feel safe, there.” She suggested, and then added, “The patients from earlier--the Master Alchemist and the Forbanne commander--have both recovered sufficiently to have been discharged. They left for the palace at nightfall, so you would have the sanctuary to yourself. Unless you’d prefer a Gardener remain nearby; our housing is not far from the Garden at all.”
With Rowen having surrendered herself to Breane’s care, Teselin left the Garden with Hadwin, still amazed at the difference between the she-wolf from that morning, and the she-wolf now… it was almost as if she was an entirely different person. “How long have you been able to do that? Just… absorb someone else’s fears?” The young summoner asked him. A sliver of concern settled in her heart when he slung an arm around her shoulders; he felt heavier than usual, and his gait seemed off. “What does that mean for Rowen, though? Can she still… see things she does not want to see? Is it just that it won’t bother her in the same way? And how long until her fear just seeps back to her and colours everything in darkness, again? I know the Night Garden expedites healing on all levels, but… it is still new to this kind of healing. What Rowen needs. How much time do we really have before we should start to worry…?”
But when Hadwin changed the subject and redirected it to something he had seen in her, heat crept into her face. Oh, Hadwin… of course he would say that. Of course he would say that there was and always would be a place for her in his life. But she hadn’t forgotten what had happened, the day that Hadwin had almost thrown himself off the cliff. She hadn’t forgotten what she’d said to Browyn… what she had promised. That if she did not find a way to harness her power… which she hadn’t, then one day, she knew she would have to remove herself. And now that Hadwin’s relationship with Rowen seemed to be on the mend, perhaps it wouldn’t be so hard to walk away, knowing that he would be well. That he had--that both of the siblings had--what they needed. It had to happen, someday, inevitably… and it was only fair that Hadwin knew. That their time as surrogate siblings would have to come to and end, and maybe it was finally a safe time to have that discussion.
“Hadwin… I need to talk to you about something.” Taking a long breath, the young summoner mustered the courage to say what needed to be said, grateful for the darkness that would hide the tears that she knew would spring to her eyes. “I’ll never forget everything you’ve done for me, but I don’t think… I don’t think that it is possible for me to be a part of your world forever. And maybe now… that you’ve got Bronwyn, and you’re getting Rowen back, I--”
She didn’t have time to finish before Hadwin abruptly lost his footing, his balance, and collapsed--taking her along with him. Teselin’s smaller body did not yield any great impact hitting the earth, other than having the wind knocked from her lungs, and her condition was not what worried her. “Hadwin! Gods, are you alright? W-what do you need? Hadwin… no, hang in there, keep your eyes open, okay? Just… Hadwin!” They hadn’t yet made it far from the Night Garden; that was the good news. But something was terribly wrong with the faoladh, and she was too small, too weak to move him… What was the point of even having extraordinary powers if they were never useful for the right reasons?!
Frantically calling for help, she managed to wave down two Dawn Warriors, whose joint effort managed to pick Hadwin up from off the ground and bring him straight to the sanctuary for the Gardeners to assess. Teselin trailed uselessly behind, but refused to leave Hadwin’s side. By the time they arrived at the sanctuary, Rowen was--astoundingly--asleep. According to Breane, who had volunteered to stay the night with her in case she needed to monitor any mishaps, she had given her a tonic to help induce some well needed sleep, which the faoladh girl had willingly taken. Her shock and confusion at seeing Hadwin again so soon woke her out of her own sleep-deprived haze. Before she could ask for details, Teselin scrambled to explain. “H-he just collapsed…! We were having a conversation, and he collapsed, said he had a headache… and he wouldn’t wake up.”
“He’ll be safe and well here, Teselin.” Breane tried to reassure the frantic summoner, keeping her voice down so as not to disturb Rowen. “I will send for Senyiah right away, but he seems stable in his sleeping condition. I’m confident there is no reason to panic; we’ll have him looked at, anyway.”
“I need to stay. To make sure he’s alright.” As if she was afraid the young Gardener would expel any unnecessary bodies from the sanctuary, Teselin took a seat next to Hadwin, where he’d been laid upon a cot. “I’ll leave when I know he’s alright. Just… just let me stay, for now. Please.”
Ari noticed his faux pas too late to rescind it. In his mildly-sloshed state, he had pinched calluses onto the surface of the thick skin he erected as a barrier between himself and Nia, heedless of the insult—or harm—his frosty dismissal would cause to the woman who only wanted to help. She was not driven to his grisly history out of morbid curiosity, and his voiced frustrations seemed to forget exactly who he was addressing. She was not Chara, relentless in her probing and coercion, often needling him until he surrendered the buried knowledge she wished him to unearth from the private corners of his mind. He didn’t need to put up defensive walls with the sympathetic Master Alchemist. Nonetheless, the pace at which Nia desired him to open up and communicate the darkest avenues of his life came off, regardless of good intentions, as threatening. Concerning matters of surface-level sexual inquiries, he was happy to contribute his findings and observations. After all, their plans for intimacy required collaboration and cooperation to work. But truly, did Nia require the disastrous consequences of romancing a divisive and abusive Rigas woman? How would she disseminate this information, now that she beheld the outline Ari had sketched? Would she take his and Chara’s failed experiment as guidance and repeat the process in hopes of perfecting the formula? Would he have to relive the scene, again and again, until they made it to some breakthrough result?
He had gaffed. If only he never mentioned his attempt with Chara, then Nia wouldn’t have stressed the importance of his disclosure and they could have salvaged this conversation and any subsequent conversations focusing on the subject. Some topics should be considered off-limits, including failed trysts and the resulting body horror of uncontrollable petrifaction, shattered hunks of forcibly-chiseled stone, cracked ribs he never sought for treatment…
He wanted to enjoy sex, not relive and ruminate on the reasons to avoid it—and upset his guest in the process.
“Forgive me; I misspoke.” En route to the door, he stopped, acknowledging her request to stay put by pivoting in the opposite direction. Facing her, he lowered his gaze to the hand she’d captured in her light grip, watching her fingers press ever-so-softly on his bare, pliant skin. Somehow, she located the narrowest strip of exposed flesh, the in-between space concealed neither by the cuff of his glove nor by the length of his flared bell sleeve. Despite her prodding through the small chink in his armor down to the doughy, unprotected surface, Ari did not retreat from her touch. Instead, he stood, unwavering before her, a small consolation given his borderline rude statement from earlier. “I do not believe so, no. Please; I had not intended on aiming my resentment at you,” he bowed his head, supplicating. “But if I am honest, Nia, I do not understand why it is so important to focus on the blemishes of the past when we could be focusing on creating something strong and foundational; not with old, crusty clay, but with new, malleable clay. I have respected your inquiry by delivering an honest response, and I see how you may believe that my unique input will help you tailor and customize our impending encounter beneath the sheets. However,” his wrist slipped out of her grip, “I cannot agree with the method employed. While I am not arguing against communication and honesty, neither am I enthusiastic in sharing the frivolities of my youth. I daresay doing so is detrimental to my eagerness to engage. Dredging too many humiliations and insecurities is enough to manifest those humiliations and insecurities in the bedroom, and it is important to foster a positive, enriching environment--do you not agree?” He scanned her eyes, searching for her affirmative. “Can we reframe this conversation by veering towards solutions, rather than long-departed challenges and errs in judgment?”
But she wasn’t finished discussing sex-related baggage and, to prove a point, brought up her own traumatic experience that had befallen her almost a decade ago. Although she broached the topic, he hesitated to look directly at the scarring on her throat, concerned in appearing as rude or gawking too openly. He had wanted to assure she needn’t delve into the details if they bothered her, but he smartly closed his mouth and allowed Nia the platform to air out the supreme breach of trust that had left her grievously injured and close to death.
“It is horrid, what you have suffered,” he said. His hand clawed the air, as if to comfort her with a pat on her shoulder, but he hesitated to make the connection. She wasn’t looking for comfort over an incident that had since lost its power to control her. “And again, I apologize for causing you any offense. I also commend you for your bravery. Many people would avoid the source of their pain for much longer, perhaps for the rest of their lives, but you carried on despite your fears and progressed so far from that inciting conflict. I admire your tenacity.” This time, he closed the connection between his hand and her shoulder, changing the intent of his former gesture of comfort into a gesture of respect. He smiled to express the sentiment further, lingering on the affirmation before transitioning his speech into full-blown dissent. “But whatever you think I have suffered...it is not comparable. It did not affect me for years, nor did it plunge me into a fugue of reclusiveness. Simply put, the trial I endured does not rank even close to the level of your egregious, near-murderous tryst. Truly, I would not wish what you experienced on my worst enemy, and I deeply regret that it happened to you at all.”
In a daring move (for him), he carefully adjusted the chain of her pendant, which had become tangled in a tendril of brown hair. “I appreciate your degree of care, Nia, but you will not hurt me. I am not a fragile thing, contrary to what my family believes. You are furthest in disposition from Chara Rigas; ergo, I have the utmost faith that you will be both conscientious and considerate of my needs. In turn, I will do the same. That is of the foremost import: our contract. Be good to each other. Nothing else need matter.” As Nia retreated to swipe Alster’s mostly untouched drink from the table, Ari, hand once again left hovering awkwardly in the air, about asked if she preferred a new glass and a fresh pouring, one not affected by another’s backwash, but before he could say anything, she upended the glass’s contents into her mouth. Unable to help it, he voiced a sigh, mildly stung by his inability to provide, as a host well should, a clean vessel and a bottle ready for imbibing. Instead, his negligence drove Nia to seek a dirty glass because of the room’s current deficit of available wine.
“If you require more wine—“ but his thought was interrupted when she mentioned his body’s negative chemical response whenever he spoke of Chara. Now he needed more wine. “That should come as no surprise to you,” he dismissed, rolling his shoulders casually to work out some of the cracks and stiffness. “Lady Chara and I have quite the tumultuous history. If you recall, you aided in destroying the busts and statuettes I had sculpted in her likeness. I have seldom shied from revealing to you the enormous influence she had during my formative years...and now,” he added, in a low, whispery aside. “Back then, she remained the sole personage outside of my family who wasn’t afraid to touch me. I happily let her. When she suddenly departed from my life, no one else would make physical contact—aside from Lazarus, and only at my repeated request. Over the years, I quickly grew reaccustomed to the no-contact rule and learned to abhor touch whilst simultaneously desiring it. Alas, I cannot deny nor forget the decades spent in Chara’s company...complicated feelings included. You know this already, Nia. So why do you require more elaboration when I am certain you can deduce the implications?” he said, eyes almost pleading with her to cease the investigation altogether. “I needn’t say them aloud. In fact, you know more about the situation than anyone else alive, barring myself and Chara, of course. There is little else to elucidate. Details may paint the picture, yes, but broad strokes are enough to reveal the painting’s subject and background. You have the subject. You have the background. This is enough. So…stop.” Coming from Ari, the request was brusque and uncharacteristic of his genteel nature. “Stop, or we cannot continue.”
Fortunately, she quit trying to convince him to open up with the excessive, superfluous details of his and Chara’s relationship, and respected his ultimatum—insofar as she wouldn’t refer to it anymore that night. “Thank you. Now...it is getting late; I would be more than happy to escort you to your bedchambers.” But Nia had another idea, and its utterance rendered his fluid, flourishing movements towards the door into a solid hunk of immoveable iron. “Pardon?” Heat rose in his cheeks, but his neck had rusted and was too stiff to crane in Nia’s direction for clarification. Blessedly, she clarified, and it freed him from the rust. Sleeping in the same bed together...it wasn’t an outrageous step forward. “Considering how I stayed at your bedside for the night whilst you held my hand, and I filtered through several stages of sleep in the interim, this would technically be our second time sharing a bed. I…” he chewed on the inside of his mouth, silently deliberating, “this is certainly manageable, yes. Come, then,” he opened the door and proceeded down the empty hallway. “To your chambers.”
Once inside, Ari wasted no time in getting comfortable. Pulling out the cord that cinched back his hair, he let his raven locks fall down to their appropriate shoulder-length and loosened the cravat at his collar. To prove his unflinching commitment and unhesitating agreement in spending the night at close proximity, he unbuttoned his brocade coat and the tunic beneath, peeling off all layers until revealing his brown, naked torso and arms. For modesty’s sake, he did not remove his trousers. Splashing some much-needed water across his face from the basin on the nightstand, Ari turned to Nia. “I’m ready,” he said, wiping away the rivulets that ran down his cheeks with a nearby cloth. If he felt nervous or exposed, he did not outwardly show it. Calling upon the strength of his deceased brother to guide him through the night, Ari climbed into the right side of the bed, the side he sat upon the other night, and waited for Nia to join him.
For hours, the unconscious Hadwin remained unresponsive and, therefore, compliant as his body transferred hands to the sanctuary, the very place where Rowen arrived moments before to sleep. As though noticing the disturbance and his new location unconsciously, Hadwin stirred awake long before he even gained a full night’s rest. Not like the army of novice blacksmiths alive in his head would grant him the honor of a painless slumber, anyhow. A sharp anvil clang jolted him back to unmerciful wakefulness, a wakefulness that was also steeped in mad clarity; for when he stirred, fully aware of where he was and what exactly had transpired to leave him so agonizingly out of sorts, he immediately spotted Teselin in the hush and shadow of the sanctuary. “Pssst,” he called for the summoner’s attention, ignoring the monumental rattle that clamored through his ears whenever it processed the tiniest pin drop of sound. As a result, he spoke in whispers so low, even a bat would have trouble hearing properly. As a supplement to his hard-to-decipher dialogue, he waved a hand at her until she noticed he was not only conscious, but vying to speak. “Tes—we’re in the sanctuary? And Rowen’s here, too?” He ignored any questions concerning his condition and well-being, refusing to reply until she confirmed his suspicions. Yes, he had been taken to the same place where his sister convalesced.
“Kid…” he made a noise akin to a patient but frustrated sigh. “When I said not to tell Rowen, I also meant that I can’t be in the same room as her; she’ll wake and see how I’m doing and then she might worry, and if she worries, she can’t focus on getting better. I can’t stay here. Hells, I’m feeling pretty peachy! That nap helped, and if I take a few hits on my pipe, I’ll be back to rights. Don’t need to be here at all.” Scrounging up his reserve energies, he kicked his legs off the cot and flipped upright on his feet, an athletic feat someone with a debilitating headache would struggle to accomplish—if that someone wasn’t Hadwin Kavanagh, pain-tolerant faoladh extraordinaire. He clamped down on his jaw, hard, to prevent an agonized hiss from escaping his throat. “No Gardeners on duty; perfect. I’m busting outta this place.” He swaggered forward, the swagger in question a teetering limp in disguise. He gave Teselin a full-bodied wave in an invitation to follow, a pointless, energy-guzzling signal, given that the summoner would never leave him unattended in his current state and he needn’t have bothered convincing her.
Hadwin expected to meet resistance, her pleas to stay put, but he shrugged away her spirited entreaties and slipped through the door to outside. He didn’t stop walking until they were out of range of the sanctuary, however much the accomplishment cost him his precious lung capacity. Throwing out a hand, he clutched the nearest tree, gasping for air. “Look, Tes, I’ll make a deal with you,” he huffed, surrendering to a losing battle. Her concern for him was so palpable, it exasperated the levels of his already transcendent headache, adding a dozen more blacksmiths to batter away at his anvil-for-a-head. Far better to deescalate her worries rather than agitate them—for both of their sakes. Closing his eyes, he shuttered out every bit of offending light, from the moon up above, to the bioluminescence carpeting the Night Garden in its lambent blue glow. Everything was too bright, too loud, too present. Agitating tears welled beneath his burning, light-sensitive eyes, gluing his vision shut for the foreseeable future. “I’ll rest. Stay in bed all day and all night if it makes everyone happy. Get whatever help from the Gardeners I need. Be the best damn patient there ever was or some shit—and you know that’s a tall order cuz I’m no good at staying and rolling over on command like an obedient pup. I just ask that you don’t put me in with Rowen. She can’t be reminded of how much this little trick actually cost me. Because damn…” he pressed his back against the tree and slowly slumped towards the ground, tussling for control over his failing limbs. “This ain’t gonna be easy to nurse, Tes. But it’s not gonna help her to know what it’s doing to me.” He didn’t know the long-term repercussions of borrowing one’s greatest fear for an undisclosed amount of time, if any, but he kept that particular detail to himself.
“I’ve only done this one other time. And for the duration of a carriage ride. A few months back and entirely by accident. Never knew I could do this,” he chuckled low in his throat—a pathetic, wet hack—whilst trying desperately not to seize and choke from the pain. “Otherwise, I’d have done this shit years sooner. As she is now, Ro won’t fear the darkness. She can still see it, but my take is that it won’t rule her so strongly if she’s temporarily removed from its haunting effect. Maybe if she sees the darkness at face-value, as an inevitability that can’t be cut out of someone’s still-beating heart, then it’s possible she can navigate a way out of the trench she dug for herself.” His shoulders veered from their bracing squeeze against the tree, threatening to spill him in an unceremonious heap upon the forest deadfall. He caught himself before he tumbled. “‘Course, I gotta give the fear back one day. Its return is contingent upon how much and how long I can withstand...which ain’t a problem. I can hack it. According to Al, since I swipe fear through eye contact, it stands to reason I can funnel it back to the originator the same way, too. So, in the meantime,” he frowned, looking genuinely regretful, “I ain’t gonna be much in the way of company, kid.”
“Also,” his legs shuddered like a dying butterfly, wrestling under the paltry weight of sitting cross-legged, “I think this is as far as I go. Call back the Gardeners, do whatever you gotta do—but,” his voice deepened in warning, “as per our deal, do not put me with Ro. I mean it, Tes. I wanna be far, far away—so I’m not tempted to end this hammer-pounding party early. Shit,” he heeled a palm over his eyes. “Fucking shit pellets this is brutal,” he wheezed, too weak to yell out or growl. With no other means to alleviate the vice-grip on his head, he resorted to swearing—even more than usual. “Damn fuck...for the everloving fuck of all that is holy, Tes—get me the strongest fucking drug you can find or else I’m gonna light this damn-ass garden on fire and smoke it all to hell.”
