No one could deny that Ari was an active listener, and for what short time she’d known him, she had never witnessed him talk over or tune out anyone who was attempting to express their voice and their thoughts, however much he might have disagreed. Personally, she always felt heard, and knew for a fact that he never failed to take her feelings and desires into consideration, but… but was she really reciprocating, on that front? Was she offering him the same courtesy in really listening to his needs and the way he wanted to proceed? Sure, she’d expected him to be uncomfortable with the notion of discussing a little bit of past pains, picking at a few emotional scabs that could lead to bleeding he wasn’t quite prepared to face, and she wasn’t yet convinced she was wrong in her belief that facing his past and giving it voice might help him to regain control over his own traumas. But was it really up to her how fast he approached that? Or how he chose to approach it at all, in the first place?
It was then, at Ari’s staunch refusal to go forward with his own healing and growth in the manner that she suggested, that Nia realized despite her good intentions, she really was going about this the wrong way. As much as the Canaveris lord claimed he was not fragile, neither was he strong enough yet to put into words what had happened to him, because that would force him to face memories that he would sooner forget. And it was not her place to force him to go against his own will; it was not her scab to pick, not her bandage to tear off. She had made a mistake, and he made it clear that he was not willing to proceed any further under the pressure she was exerting--and he was entirely in the right to do so. Sheesh… whatever had happened to her endeavor to start respecting boundaries?!
“...you’re right, Ari. Of course you’re right; and of course, I respect your decision.” Nia let her arms drop to her sides and sighed quietly. “Look, I can’t deny that I stand by my method because it worked for me… but I suppose that doesn’t mean that it will work the same for you. I’m sorry; I’ve been really pushy, haven’t I? You destroyed all of those busts resembling Chara Rigas for a reason, and I should have realized sooner that you’re doing your best to forget about her, and not dwell on her. I do still think that you should get it all off your chest one day, but…” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug and let them drop. “That's up to you, not me. And if you trust me not to hurt you, then hell, that’s probably more than I can ask for. But the thing is… I think, even you’ll agree, you can’t heal a wound unless you’re willing to put up with the gorey task of draining all the pus and infection. That’s all I’m trying to say, here. It’ll continue to be there, at the back of your mind, lingering in the shadows, until you can show it you’re not afraid of it anymore. That’s why I’ve been asking; if for no other reason, so that I can know how not to trigger any of the bad stuff. If you can’t talk about it, not even to me…”
The Maser Alchemist’s eyes wandered to the statues and statuettes that decorated the room with a distinctly aristocratic flair, the paintings on the walls, and the empty spots where Chara Rigas’s face had once existed to glare at the world through sightless eyes. That was when it dawned on her: maybe he didn’t have to talk about it for her to understand the details! There was more than one way to convey what had hurt him and how it had affected him. Sharing through words and dialogue could hit too close to home, in many cases, but… but what about through art?
“...could you paint it? Draw it? Not right now; not if you aren’t in the right frame of mind. But when you’re feeling safe and stable and up to it… could you put it all on paper or canvas, using pictures instead of words? Talking is way too direct; of course that’d be humiliating for you. But if you could convey it in a more indirect way… Do you think you’d be able to stomach that? Just give it some thought. I just figure that if you sculpted Chara Rigas again and again to get her out of your system, and you felt so empowered to destroy those sculptures afterward… then maybe you’re already on to something. Sketch out what hurt you, however you feel like representing it, and then destroy it. If you want,” a half-smile curled at the corner of her lips, “we can destroy it all together. I had to go through facing my own demons alone, but that doesn’t mean you should have to.”
Realizing a little too late that she’d inserted herself into a narrative that should have focused solely on him, Nia held up her hands and shook her head briefly. “Hey--I didn’t mean to make this about me and my own baggage. Honestly, that’s all dust in the wind! Long gone and on the way to being forgotten. Please don’t feel sorry for me or anything, Ari; I don’t want pity. That’s just a huge slap in the face to everything I’ve overcome and accomplished. It’s all in the past, and I have to say, I think I’ve got a pretty good life, now! I’m totally okay now, and that stupid scar is all that remains. Could’ve easily gotten rid of it long ago. The only reason I kept it was as a reminder to myself to be cautious, but… well, that was before. Before all this--Locque and Galeyn and really finding a home, again. I think it’s finally time I let my guard down, now that I’m finally in a position where no one can hurt me, anymore.”
It was so easy to say all of that, and to even believe it to an extent. That she had come so far and mastered her own destiny, regardless of what had befallen her in the past. But perhaps she only had constant distractions to thank for that: Galeyn, new friends, a new romantic interest… Ari wasn’t wrong. There was a good deal of value in trying to move forward on a positive note. If that was the first step that he was willing to take, then she could only support his individual efforts to pave a more positive future for himself, and learn that intimacy could have more ups than downs if he was willing to give it a chance. Truthfully, she hadn’t expected him to take her up on her suggestion just then, as an experimental precursor to future intimate encounters. Since it had become blatantly clear that her prying had tried his patience to its penultimate degree, in fact, she half-expected him to suggest she send for a carriage and return to Locque as early as that night, having already overstayed her welcome. It was nothing less of a surprise that he so readily agreed to share a bed with her, and although she’d failed to encourage him to open up about the sore spots in his past, this was still… something. Progress, a positive step in the right direction, even if it didn’t address the demons lurking in the darkness of his memories with Chara, waiting to strike if something triggered them just the right way.
“I mean… I guess you’re not wrong about that. Though I do promise to be less pathetic and needy this time around, now that the world doesn’t start spinning if I sit up for too long.” With an encouraging smile, Nia followed him to the bedroom where she’d been sleeping these past few nights during her long-winded recovery. Given that she hadn’t prepared to stay for nearly as long as she had, the Master Alchemist had only the clothes on her back in which to sleep, so finding somewhere modest to change wasn’t necessary. She did, however, remove the belt cinched at her waist to allow for a little more breathing room while she slept, and pulled her hair down from it’s half-braid, coiled into what looked like a rose at the back of her head. Brunette locks tumbled down her shoulders in soft waves, and when she turned to take her place on the bed, she was doubly surprised to find that Ari--who was most comfortable dressed to the nines, with every possible inch of his body covered--had removed more than half of his clothes and had climbed onto the mattress, completely naked from the waist up. On one hand, she almost felt compelled to reassure him that there was absolutely no need to move faster than what was comfortable for him, but on the other hand… He did seem particularly at ease, and had removed most of his clothes of his own volition. Perhaps he simply did not find it strange or uncomfortable, given the number of times Nia had already borne witness to his bare torso in order to assist him with his flare-ups.
“You know, for what it’s worth… you’re easy on the eyes, Ari. And I am sure I’m not the first person to say that; or at least, not the first person to think it.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and, sliding off her boots, climbed onto the bed next to him. “Just thought I’d mention that, in case you need a confidence boost.”
The Master Alchemist went silent for a moment, bearing the awkwardness of utter lack of conversation as the two of them reclined side by side, with only the moonlight spilling in through the window to illuminate the details of the room. “You know… believe it or not, this is a first for me, too. Not sharing a bed with someone, but I mean, actually sleeping next to someone. I… I haven’t done that, before.” Nia wasn’t sure why she’d decided to confess, completely unsolicited. Perhaps to help him to feel less awkward in his own insecurities; or to at least make him feel less alone in them. “Weird, I know. That I can have sex with a person without any hesitation, but not fall asleep next to them… It’s just never been safe. I guess it’s a survival thing; keep one eye open at all times. Not sure if it makes you feel better or worse that this is new to both of us.” Her bare arm brushed against his beneath the sheets, and she couldn’t help but let her fingertips linger at the inside of his forearm. His skin was soft… and he was warm. Nothing about him felt dangerous in the slightest.
“That said… I also don’t know what kind of sleeper I am. So if I get too close or steal all of the blankets… I’m afraid you’re just going to have to veer from being such a courteous gentleman and elbow me in the ribs.” Nia flashed a teasing smile and turned from her side onto her back. “Sleep well, Ari. And if you can’t… then kick me out, and we can try it again some other time.”
While Hadwin slept, however fitfully, Teselin didn’t; she couldn’t, not when the Gardeners admitted they could not discern the source of his pain, and therefore couldn’t treat it. Of course, Breane did deduce that this must have had something to do with the fact he had taken Rowen’s fears right from her eyes and now suffered them himself, only as a manifestation of physical pain, but even with this knowledge… the young Gardener was at a loss as to how to treat that pain. “I’ll see if I can find something… anything in the Night Garden,” she promised Teselin, likely as a means to placate her. “But as it stands, he is not in danger from his… condition. The only thing he seems to be suffering is pain, which in and of itself is significant, just not life-threatening. I’ll see what I can do, but it would also be wise to contact the healers at the palace. Something tells me…” She glanced at the sleeping form of Rowen, who mercifully did not awaken with this new disturbance. “Perhaps being in close proximity to his sister, at the moment, may not be the most conducive route toward healing.”
Breane wasn’t wrong, and it was almost as if she knew of Hadwin’s preferences before the faoladh woke up. When at last he opened his eyes, no sooner did he register his surroundings that he insisted he needed to leave--and with no Gardeners around to suggest otherwise, and with Teselin entirely unable to restrain him, she was helpless but to comply with his wishes and help him out of the small dwelling that expedited healing. She might have put up more of an argument for him to stay, but it was already obvious that the sanctuary was doing little to alleviate his pain, and even the Gardeners had been left scratching their heads as to how to proceed with a patient who experienced pain but such a… strange means.
“Hadwin… Hadwin, what is going on? Is all of this because you took Rowen’s fears? What are they doing to you?” The young summoner didn’t even find a chance to get a breath in until the faoladh couldn’t stumble along any further, and collapsed against a tree. “You need to talk to me. You need to explain what is happening, because what does rest matter if it won’t help you? How… how do you expect to function like this?”
Her heart sank when the answer became clear to her: he didn’t. He had no intention of fighting this, and was dead-set on holding fast to Rowen’s fear of darkness for as long as he could, for as long as his sister needed to heal in ways that mattered. In ways that would prevent her from returning to the bloodthirsty, hopeless, desperate being that had been lured in by Locque through breach of her own insecurities and weaknesses. And for the first time… Teselin wondered if stepping in to help Rowen Kavanagh had been a mistake. Because was anything really worth putting Hadwin through such agony? Especially when there was no telling how long it would take before he could safely let go of that fear?
Despite the ache in her heart, she took a deep breath to assuage her own fears and anxieties, knowing that Hadwin was already at his limit. She had to be strong for him, now. To keep her own emotions contained for his well-being. “Hold tight.” She said, standing up from where she knelt next to his crumpled form. “I’m going to get help.”
With the assistance of a handful of Dawn Warriors, within the next hour, Hadwin was transferred from the Night Garden all the way back to the palace infirmary, where Elias and Daphni had been made aware of his condition. Perhaps the Night Garden could not help him or his symptoms… but more conventional pain management still had a chance, at least for the time being. After quickly assessing the extent of the shapeshifter’s agony, it was quickly decided that he did need rest and a reprieve from the pain, and the only way to accomplish that would be to sedate him… at least, for now. So that was the tactic they collectively decided to employ, in the short term, until Elias could find something that would allow the faoladh some extent of relief, while also permitting him some consciousness. “Surely, Elias… there must be something?” The sleep-deprived summoner asked the Clematis healer, as she remained adhered to Hadwin’s side, loathe to leave him in case he did wake up in pain, again. “What if my brother helped to customize something for his pain? We can’t… I can’t just let this be his reality. Sleeping the day away is no way to live… what does it matter that he’s helped his sister if he cannot be there for her?” Wiping an errant tear that threatened to trickle down her cheek, she bit the inside of her cheek. “There has to be a solution…”
Suddenly, it dawned on her. The Gardeners and the physicians of the palace might have been drawing a blank… but there was one other person, one other healer, who could possibly shed some light on a feasible treatment that neither compromised Rowen nor Hadwin. Without offering an explanation, the young summoner was on her feet and hurried out of the infirmary, making her way toward Isidor’s bedchambers.
After all, he was one of the few people whom she knew to have a direct link to Alster Rigas.
Despite his refusal to deliver the specifics of his and Chara’s botched sexual encounter, Nia wouldn’t leave well enough alone. In a sense, she respected his boundaries and promised not to prise open his fused-shut clamshell and glimpse into his greatest humiliation to date, but neither had she dropped the subject at all. Although she meant well, fending off her undesirable suggestions to embrace a moment not worth remembering was fast becoming an exhausting endeavor, fraying the threads of his waning patience.
“Nia, please. I said to stop.” He threw her an uncompromising look, one not up for negotiation or argument. “Dwelling on the details—this does not serve me. I destroyed all of Chara’s sculptures. In so doing, I made a promise to myself; I resolved to move forward, refusing to linger on instances where I felt powerless and not in control. I am actively putting forth the work. I escaped the destructive mindset holding me at bay from my potential. The wound is draining and, as such, there is no longer a need to brood over an immutable piece of my history. I will not ask again; cease this dialogue.” The edge in his words bordered on authoritative, but he maintained enough command over his pitch and timbre to preserve civility. After all, he wasn’t interested in losing her companionship over differing ideologies concerning the healing process. However, Nia was not wrong in her assessment; Ari often used art as an outlet to channel his blackest emotions.
At the height of his emotionality, he’d even stab stone in positions of murderous intent, or violently spatter a canvas in many shades of red to represent carnage, anger...despair. During those rare phases, he would barricade himself in his workshop for days, venting out his many frustrations through various creative mediums, a much more desirable alternative to exposing his ails to unsuspecting family members, who would feel scandalized by his tell-all tales. Alas, his ephemeral projects (for he always destroyed them), were for his eyes only, never for public purview. What Nia had asked of him was akin to pulling down his privies in the wash-room and defecating in front of her. For how raw and bloody his private art intimated, unveiling that bleak landscape to any soul other than himself was...revealing. Naked. Petrifying--on both the mental and physical front. As Canaveris Head and D’Marian leader, he had a responsibility to his people. Like Casimiro before him, he needed to exude rock-solid impermeability. In so doing, Ari refused to publicize his innermost affairs, not even to his bedroom companion. It was enough that she bore witness to his destruction of Chara’s sculptures, an oversight on his part, given how he displayed the series for general observation and scrutiny, and for a petty reason, at that: he wanted Chara Rigas to see just how much her cruel legacy still affected him.
Fueled by drunkenness, Ari invited Nia, no better than a pleasant stranger at the time, to partake in pulverizing the sculptures to grist, thereby setting a bad precedent for future interactions. It was little wonder, then, that Nia misinterpreted his wish for privacy as an unwillingness to confess his traumas when before he had, in a rare moment of vulnerability, confided in her about Chara. In her eyes, he normalized his fragileness, and now, she could not view him as anything less than a wound that denied its injury. For confusing her expectations of him, he had only himself to blame. Contrary to what she may have believed, Ari cared little for evaluating and reevaluating his past relationship with Chara, not when he’d just barely wrested free of her merciless grip. Can we, for once, not focus on her? He yearned to say aloud. This is about us. I will not have her taint this moment. It is not hers. Please do not give it to her, Nia.
To drive home his point, that he would not abide any further discussion, he headed towards Nia’s chambers in silence, refusing conversation unless she dropped the subject entirely. Finally, they moved on to other, more important matters. In commemoration—and relief—he happily met the new challenge she presented him, throwing his wholehearted enthusiasm into their chaste nighttime engagement. Compared to their scrapped, trauma-ridden discourse, he welcomed the half-naked strip-down, a baffling choice when, in any other situation, removing his clothes amounted to public indecency, regardless of environment or audience. But in weighing the two very different humiliations, exposing bare skin, especially to a woman who both understood his stone malady and saw him in a state of partial undress several times before, presented little risk and embarrassment. Deflated and disrobed as he was, Ari’s mouth curved into an appreciative smile at Nia’s flattering compliment.
“You are not the first person, no, but you are the first person to say so while I am removed of my frills and collars. Certainly, the quality of accoutrements plays a major factor in the public’s opinion of my general appeal. I’d say, Nia, you are quite striking, yourself.” It was not an empty compliment, meant merely to return the favor. Ever since he beheld the Master Alchemist at the gala, a vision in spring-green and flower petals, his opinion of her rose exponentially, flitting towards the realm of physical attraction. “If this does not sound too forward of me, I would one day love to paint you. Perhaps even sculpt you. Your strong, full features demand a canvas, or a ready slab of marble.” His hand traced the contours of her heart-shaped face through the air. “You radiate a peculiar, but no less beguiling esprit, a trait difficult to encapsulate through inorganic means, such as with staid paint and rigid rock. Nonetheless, I would seize the opportunity to attempt a capture of your likeness, per your approval, of course. But that is neither here nor there.”
Nia’s confession about never spending the night alongside her previous sexual partners, while a detail not to be belittled or dismissed as unnoteworthy, provided Ari a sense of comfort...and warmth. If her admittances were sincere and not an effort to ease his nerves, then the unspoken implication was that she either felt safer in his presence, or fancied him more than she feared the unknown. Trust. She trusted him. It only felt right to reciprocate.
“I do not find it weird. As you say, safety is paramount.” He propped himself by the elbows, a far from relaxed posture; nonetheless, he did not balk or shiver at the light pressure of Nia’s fingers as they tickled the crook of his arm. Unfortunately, there was no concealing his elevated heart-rate from the Master Alchemist’s truth-seeking touch. “You honor me, Nia. I hereby promise to bestow upon you a bastion of security within these sheets,” he pledged, rising to an upright position to place a gloveless hand over his pitter-pattering chest. “Let no harm find you on my watch. There is a fair chance I will not sleep tonight, but worry not. This means you are welcome to steal the quilts to your heart’s desire and you will find no retaliation from me.” Most definitely not an elbow to the ribs, he thought, almost clutching his own from the stab of phantom pains. “After all, you have guest rites. I am but a visitor to your bed.” Once Nia sank into her pillow and grew comfortable, Ari reached over to the bedside lantern and blew out the flame on the wick. “Good night, Nia. I shall see you in the morning.”
Having exceeded his mental and physical capacity, Hadwin’s shivering muscles released from clenching and fighting to remain propped against the tree and deposited him, corpse-like, to the ground. When Teselin returned with a small contingent of Dawn Guard soldiers in tow, the stricken faoladh gave no one trouble, as promised, particularly because he had drifted into a half-conscious state of shock, an alleged defense mechanism to manage some modicum of pain through the body’s partial shut-down. While still awake and aware, albeit partially, Hadwin may as well have been asleep for how unresponsive and limp the normally active and spirited wolf-man appeared in the helpful arms of his soldier’s procession. Upon his arrival in the infirmary, Daphni and Elias, who were notified beforehand, prepared a corner of the room especially for their new patient. Accounting for his sensitivity to light and loud noises, the two healers rigged up thick, sound-dampening curtains from the ceiling, surrounding the perimeter of the cot in impermeable black velvet.
As the small company of Dawn Guard arrived, Elias drew aside the curtain and guided the crew to deposit the ailing shapeshifter, with care upon the sheets. During the transfer, a low moan and whimper emitted from Hadwin’s usually loud and garrulous mouth, a susurrus of surrender so uncharacteristic of the rambunctious mongrel that the Clematis Healer realized exactly how unwell Hadwin Kavanagh must be to sound like a wounded animal and not an obnoxious man. While he never treated him for sickness and disease, Elias had approved a few pain-lessening tinctures and herbs for the faoladh, who would often burst through the infirmary doors demanding remedies for headaches. Never certain that his many requests were sincere and not just a hankering for a fix, Elias, hesitant, only prescribed to Hadwin the most regulated and seldom-abused drugs in his arsenal, supremely disinterested in enabling bad habits. Now, he wondered if he’d brushed-off Hadwin’s requests a little too quickly. Seeing firsthand the extent of Hadwin’s oft-referenced ‘headache,’ Elias had to give more credence to the addiction-prone rabble-rouser...at least, marginally so.
“He’s burning up.” Elias placed a wet cloth over his forehead, an unforgiving landscape of heat and perspiration. Hadwin’s head of ruddy hair, soaked through, clung to his temples like seaweed washed ashore, bunching together in wet, noodly hanks. Upon receiving the cool, inviting pressure, Hadwin’s eyelids fluttered and his mouth twitched, as though yearning to speak. Knowing him, it would likely be some witty remark blathered aloud, at the expense of obliterating his health and wellness. “Oh no you don’t,” Elias scolded, brandishing a syringe filled with a bilious orange liquid and inserting it into his arm. Hadwin’s brow, twisted and furrowed in gulleys so deep, it nearly dislodged the cloth from his forehead, smoothed and loosened. In moments, he succumbed to forcible sleep.
“The sedative should last for about four hours. It is our strongest formula yet,” Elias said, setting the syringe in a bowl marked for cleaning. “In the meantime, I’ll consult my collection of herbs and determine the best fit for our hypermetabolic anomaly, here.” To clarify his statement, he delved into a more detailed explanation. “As a result of his expedient healing, your wolf companion,” he turned to Teselin, “purges chemicals from his body at near double the rate of a typical human. The sedative I mentioned has, in actuality, an efficacy of about eight hours, but for Hadwin Kavanagh, if he is fortunate, it will last for half the time. Because of his ability to metabolize anything, from alcohol to extremely potent, mind-altering substances, treating his condition through normal, medical means will not be most prudent, given how swiftly he will consume our best resources. This explains his insatiable appetite for, well, most everything. He simply requires more to reap the benefits and effects. Regretfully, I can provide little in the way of long-term relief if his body continues to resist my treatments. I do not have to explain an alternate method, for you seem to have reached the conclusion on your own.” He gave the summoner a favorable nod. “If medicine cannot help, then magic-based healing is Hadwin’s next best source for treatment.”
With promises to provide as much comfort to the incapacitated wolf as medicine could afford, Elias returned his attention to the unconscious patient while Teselin exited the infirmary in search of a means to open communications with Alster Rigas. Meanwhile, at the farmlands, the Rigas caster jolted from his slumber to a middle-of-the-night buzz. The resonance stone sparked and danced across the nightstand, threatening to walk off the edge in its exuberance. Catching the stone just before it thumped to the floor, Alster, trading sleepiness for alertness, rose from the bed and slunk into the next room so as not to stir Elespeth--though he had a feeling she had also been awakened.
“Isidor?” He spoke into the stone receptacle. “Is that you? Are you alright? I heard nothing for days and thought the worst--”
A soft and youthful feminine voice spoke in his place, taking Alster aback for a moment. “Teselin?” He tried to drain his confusion before it carried through the stone. The last time they interacted, they hadn’t exactly ended in amicable terms. Granted, he wasn’t in his right mind, but that was, tragically, a common occurrence for him nowadays. “What’s wrong?” She immediately delved into a hurried explanation about Hadwin using his newly-minted fear siphoning ability on Rowen, which had left him in a compromised and agonizing state. Not only that, but the faoladh was determined to cling to the pain until his sister could again handle the fear on her own. “That could take weeks, or months!” he exclaimed, disbelieving. “People can’t be rushed into healing. What is Hadwin going to do once he reaches his limit? He could barely handle a short carriage ride under similar circumstances.”
Therein came Teselin’s earnest request. The severity of Hadwin’s headache left Gardeners baffled, and his natural faoladh healing resisted the duration and efficacy of pain-numbing medicines, leaving the summoner little choice but to seek a different option. Again, she looked to Alster for help, a questionable move on her part, but so steeped in desperation, he couldn’t ignore the cries for his assistance. I’ve failed you several times already. ...I can’t fail you anymore.
“I’ve had some success in relieving his headache,” he said, leading with the positive. “I stimulated the affected area using celestial magic. According to Hadwin, it combatted the pain significantly. He was able to relax for the remainder of the carriage ride. However,” he bit his lip, circling to the caveat, “it’s a magic I must consistently employ, and if he’s suffering so acutely, I would have to sit at his bedside for hours at a time, performing the spell. This is not to say I can’t devise a workaround,” he assured before her hope in him deflated. “I’ve been able to transfer my magic to stones and other such inorganic materials. Perhaps I can craft a healing talisman that passively borrows from my magical stores. I’ve done so, before.” While joining forces with Isidor would undoubtedly create a better, more effective talisman, as they’d crafted for Vitali to deflect against his curse, Alster chose not to volunteer the Master Alchemist, knowing his general hatred for the faoladh. Worse yet, he had yet to hear any updates about his friend’s current status. Was he well? Injured? Out of commission?
“I plan on relocating to the palace. I’ve spoken with Nia about this desire just today, in fact. Can Hadwin hold on for another day or two? Though I’m apparently welcome at the palace, I don’t want to pop in without giving Queen Locque advance warning,” he said warily. He learned his lesson the last time he invaded her space uninvited. “Nia should be returning in the morning to relay my message to Queen Locque. Once she does, I’ll head on over posthaste. And when I’m there, I’ll make Hadwin a priority. You have my word.”
Although they had yet to so much as attempt a moment of intimacy, as per his request of her, Nia couldn’t help but feel that in a way, she had already failed Ari in her inability to convince him to open up about the hardest parts of what haunted him. Were she a more patient person like Alster Rigas, or someone who sought what needed to be known through more indirect means, like the Gardeners, perhaps he would have been more willing to commit himself to her suggestion that he get the details off his chest once and for all. But that just wasn’t Nia; she wasn’t a particularly patient person. Nor was she subtle, in any sense of the word, and instead of coaxing the details out of him gently like she probably should have done, she had flat out invited him to tear open a wound and bleed all over himself. It was no wonder he was not receptive to her subsequent suggestion of painting or sculpting the dark secrets of his past that he kept so detrimentally close to his heart: he was already spooked, already too deterred to pursue the topic at all, and once again resorted to tactics of denial and avoidance. Tactics that Nia herself was sometimes guilty of employing, and wasn’t that just ironic that she didn’t walk her own talk! But that was just the nature of reaching out to others. After all, it was far easier to deal with someone else’s demons than to have to face your own.
Having made it clear that the discussion was over and that he had no intention of revisiting it that night, the Master Alchemist could do no more but concede with a soft sigh, and follow the Canaveris lord out of the room, and back to the bedroom where she had been staying these past few nights. Perhaps, somewhat selfishly, a part of her was akin to Ari’s sentiments and also loathe to dredge up his past any further, because this night--this first baby step in a more positive direction--did not belong to his trauma, or to Chara Rigas who had inflicted it. It belonged to him, to them; to the potential for a new beginning, and Nia knew that he didn’t want his efforts tainted by thoughts and feelings that would otherwise hold him back. Destroying those busts of Chara had been a start, that much she could acknowledge, but it was not the answer… and yet, at least for tonight, it would have to suffice. Even she did not have the right (nor the ability, really) to force him to revisit pain when instead he had his sights set on pleasure.
As she unbound her hair and loosened the tunic from around her waist, Nia was at first inclined to believe that Ari’s reciprocated compliment was just that: reciprocating of a kind gesture, a pleasantry. Like him, it wasn’t the first time that someone had referred to her as being attractive in some sense, but considering that compliment had always come from a virgin she had either previously deflowered (or was about to), it had never held much weight. Of course a man would say that to the first woman he fucked, or intended to fuck. After all, arousal played a key role in the perception of physical attraction; but in reality, Nia considered herself rather plain, or at least no more attractive than any other mousy-haired, brown-eyed woman. She didn’t sport golden, shining blonde locks like the Rigases, nor their oceanic eyes of green or blue. Nor did her features boast a sharp, attractive sort of intelligence, like the ridiculously attractive Kristeva bloodline (or the Tenebris genetics, at that), or the rich hues of the Canaveris skin tone. In every sense of the word, Nia Ardane couldn’t describe herself as anything more than rather unremarkable, certainly such that she did not serve as an adequate subject of someone’s art.
And yet… here, an actual artist was inclined to disagree.
“Striking? Me? Ari… c’mon, I’ve seen the women you’re surrounded by. Those goddess-like Rigases and the rest of the D’Marian aristocrats? You can’t really be suggesting that I compare to all of that.” A visible blush painted her cheeks in the candlelight. Damn, hadn’t Hadwin even gone so far as to suggest that one day, Ari would want her as a model? Not once had she considered that he might ever be right. “I’m pretty plain; I can’t imagine that anything about me would yield a decent piece of art, on your part. Though, I must say… you did someone manage to make those busts of Chara look far more appealing than she actually is. ‘Course, could be her personality that puts a damper on her looks.” Her mouth curled into a crooked grin as she ran a hand to her now loose locks of hair, which cascaded down her back and shoulders in gentle waves. “Honestly, I’d be damn curious to see what could come out of your own rendition of my less than remarkable appearance. So, if you’re ever inclined, count me in.”
Nia was aware of the spike in his pulse practically before she ever climbed into bed next to him, and before her hand brushed the exposed back of his arm. If only he knew that he wasn’t the only one bringing anxiety with him beneath the soft quilts… For all she trusted him, and would bet her own life that he’d never lift a finger to harm her, it didn’t occur to her until she fully committed to the act of sharing a bed with another person to sleep that it wouldn’t be as easy as closing her eyes and drifting into blissful slumber. “Yeah… I’m not sure how ‘restful’ this is gonna be for me, either, if I’m being honest. Hell, most nights I spend more time awake getting stuck in my own head than I do actually sleeping.” The Master Alchemist confided, turning on her side to face her bed companion. “But… I guess that’s the point, huh? Gotta keep at it until it becomes easier.”
In the darkness that enveloped the room as soon as Ari extinguished the light, Nia--who suddenly felt far from tired--couldn’t help but watch the Canaveris lord’s silhouette against the moonlight. Oh, when he was finally ready to proceed, there certainly would be no chore in introducing him to intimacy, and she shamefully found herself wondering at what the rest of that silhouette hid beneath the trousers and blankets. To think that someone with such exquisite looks and physique had gone the majority of his life, almost literally untouched… And although he invited her safe and gradual touch, she was so very afraid that she would break him. Because he was far from over what he had suffered in the past, and could see all of those old wounds continuing to fester in the rapid fluttering of his pulse, the spike in stress chemicals when she drew close to him on the bed. How are we gonna do this, Ari? How are you going to move forward if you’re too afraid to face your past to let it go…
“I’m not sure I’m doing you much of an honour if it’s putting you in such an uncomfortable position,” she mentioned, politely calling out his niceties. “But we’ll figure this out together. I don’t feel like I’m going to die if I close my eyes, so that’s a start. And you’ve got nothing to fear from me, on your part. Especially not when we can easily deal with any flare ups in minutes, should they occur. After all, thanks to Alster Rigas, I’m no longer getting splitting headaches, so I can assure you I’ll be at your service in a heartbeat, if it comes to that.” Relaxing her shoulders against the pillows, the Master Alchemist made a conscious effort to keep to her own side of the bed, to allow the nervous Canaveris lord the space he needed in order to acclimatize to having another living, breathing body so close to him. “...and do try to get some sleep. When I have trouble sleeping, I revisit a song that I used to play on the harp, over and over in my head. Calms my nerves when I can’t ground myself… Just a thought, but that might help you, too. We’ll talk again in the morning, hm?”
Nia closed her eyes, genuinely tired and ready for a night where she wouldn’t be roused by wave after wave of headaches, but as she suspected, sleep did not come easily to her. Perhaps it had something to do with knowing that the person next to her, just a few inches over, was struggling just as much, and that they had knowingly put themselves in a difficult position where comfort was not a given. For fear of disturbing Ari throughout the night, she would carefully move her limbs one by one when she felt the need to shift or stretch, often holding her breath in case he had, by some miracle, managed to fall asleep. Keeping this courtesy in mind cost her at least an hour and a half of slumber, but at some point late into the night (or early in the morning, however you chose to perceive it), it stopped, and her form finally found a comfortable position where it remained until morning. It was amazing, how simply being near another living body could make the temperature in the room rise, and despite the early spring chill, Nia’s unconscious form found itself too warm beneath the covers. At some point during the night, she ended up kicking the blankets off of her legs entirely, which wouldn’t have been much of an issue if she had been wearing something a little more suited for sleeping. Unfortunately, the billowy tunic she’d arrived in several days ago managed to bunch itself at her waist, just above her bare thighs, and the wide neck had slipped off of one shoulder, almost down to her elbow, ultimately sabotaging any attempts she might have made at modesty.
And that was how she ultimately awoke, clutching a pillow with her hair fanned out behind her, and her pendant hiding somewhere between fabric and flesh when at last the sun peeked over the horizon. Nia cracked her eyes open, but realized that Ari had beat her to it… if he had managed to sleep at all. “...hey. Did you manage to get any rest?” Her voice was raspy with sleep when she spoke, and the fingers of one hand splayed out in front of her brushed the top of his wrist. The golden hue of sunrise complemented the warm undertones of his skin, haloing him with a golden aura against the window, and it was suddenly a wonder to Nia that he had never sought to paint a portrait or craft a sculpture of himself. There wasn’t a single line or angle of his form that seemed odd or out of place, and she fought the urge to reach out and trace those lines with her fingertips. Too soon. “...if you’re exhausted and need some time to yourself, alone, I don’t mind taking my leave. You’ve successfully put up with me for days, and you spent the night next to me--all without turning to stone, even a little bit. I’d say we made something of a breakthrough, wouldn’t you?” She smiled, then brought up a hand to stifle a yawn. If he hadn’t found adequate rest, he certainly wasn’t the only one. “I hope I wasn’t too obnoxious… If you weren’t sick of me before, you must be eager to get rid of me now to get your space back.”
Teselin had known before Elias had said anything that conventional healing was just as unlikely to provide a solution for Hadwin as the Night Garden. She had brought the faoladh back to palace knowing full well that whatever treatment he happened to receive would be temporary, at best, but temporary was better than nothing when Hadwin was completely incapacitated by his agony. So the dose that the Clematis healer had given him would keep him out for a handful of hours, provide him with a temporary reprieve from pain that he could not otherwise escape… but it was easy enough to read between the lines of Elias’s words: this could not continue. Keeping him sedated was hardly a bandage, let alone a solution, and it would only serve to negatively impact his health in other ways. Why was this happening? Why save one Kavanagh wolf, only to have the other suffer? Why couldn’t it be that he and Rowen could both win, in all of this?
If medicine cannot help, then magic-based healing is Hadwin’s next best source for treatment. That was Elias’s advice, and the young summoner already knew who she had to turn to before leaving the infirmary. When she sought out Isidor, who appeared exhausted, bruised, and with a few minor cuts from wherever his failed expedition to find Tivia had taken him, she felt awful for not asking after his well-being, but there was just no time. Not when the more Elias used his medicine, the more quickly Hadwin would eventually develop a resistance to it, at which point it would probably cease to have an effect altogether. “Isidor. I’m sorry to be in such a rush… but your resonance stone. I need it to contact Alster immediately.” She spoke hurriedly, and the dark circles beneath her eyes spoke more than her words could. Whatever was amiss had already cost her sleep. “Please… I won’t bother you with the details, but it has to do with Hadwin. Alster may be the only person who can help him.”
The Master Alchemist, while visibly confused, did not deny her request, and stood aside as she took a seat at his desk and spoke to the Rigas mage through the garbled cadences of the stone. “Alster… it’s Teselin. I’m sorry to bother you, but I’ve no one else to turn to, and it’s… it is an emergency.” Taking a breath, she proceeded to go into detail regarding what had happened to Rowen, and what Hadwin had done to ‘expedite’ his sister’s recovery… and the consequences of his interference. “He’s currently sedated… but his body purges substances so quickly, it won’t last for long, and we can’t just keep him asleep. And he can’t… he won’t return Rowen’s fears to her. Not until he deems it safe. Alster, please, I know… I know I have no right to ask anything of you, but I don’t know what else to do. The Night Garden can’t even help him. If you need a guarantee that no harm will come to you at the palace… then I will approach Locque, myself. She’s asked for my help to reconnect with the person she used to be--just like Rowen. And since Rowen is already showing progress… the new Queen of Galeyn is going to want to listen to what I have to say. And permitting your relocation to the palace in return for my help is no grand request.”
“Alster. If you require assistance in creating a talisman that is tailored to the faoladh’s biology and genetics… then you can count on my help.” Gently, albeit abruptly, Isidor took the stone from his younger sister’s trembling fingers. He did not like Hadwin; and he had no reason to want to help him… except that he saw what it did to Teselin, and how much that wretched man meant to her. If he could not be of assistance in any other way to his own kin, then what good was he? What good was he… when he couldn’t even find Tivia… “Teselin is right. Locque has more to gain in keeping my sister happy than in refusing your relocation to the palace. If we send a carriage now, you can arrive before dawn by Night Steed, and I promise you will meet no resistance since we sent for your help. Besides…” He expelled a soft sigh and raked a hand through his hair, which was long overdue for a wash, after being found face down in the woods. “It has been wretched here, without you… and I miss your company.”
She wasn’t sure what had impelled her brother to step up and help. Perhaps it had something to do with his inability to solve the mysterious disappearance of Tivia Rigas… But whatever his motives, Teselin was infinitely grateful for Isidor’s volunteer involvement. Between the stress, the sleepless night, and this sudden burst of hope, she had to fight the urge to cry. “I will go and speak with Locque right away.” She spoke loudly enough for her voice to pick up on the resonance stone, and sprang to her feet. “Rumour has it… she doesn’t really sleep, anyway.”
“Goddesses?” Ari’s mouth stretched into a disapproving line. “I am not interested in goddesses, particularly if the goddess is blonde,” a snort of contempt smeared the appearance of one Chara Rigas. “I’ve already sculpted and painted my fair share of conventionally-perfect women, a designation deemed by Stella D’Mare’s cultural standards: round eyes spaced just so, bodies winnowed and tempered into sinuous, ocean-eroded shapes, skin golden, either sun-browned or birthright brown, hair like waves of sand or thick molasses—the concept of ‘perfection’ does grow quite trite and old when every beauty standard copies from the other. As a port city, Stella D’Mare boasts an impressive range of diverse peoples; alas, the extant noble and elite set the fashions and customs for the rest to adopt and follow, causing a staid homogeneity to spread wildfire across the city, despite its claims to welcome the latest trends brought via ship from afar.” Bereft of coat and cravat, he sank into the bed, wearing the sheets as makeshift clothes, unaware of doing so. “I have been a lifelong denizen of Stella D’Mare and I must say it is refreshing to behold a different aesthetic outside of the nobleman’s sterile and stale perspective. Too little have I been offered the opportunity to explore beyond the upper rungs of my social stratum, but now that circumstances demand I do, the experience thus far is certainly a humbling one. There is so much I’ve yet to understand about the world and its unique holdings.”
I digress, of course,” he tossed his head, removing the longer pieces of silken black hair from his eyes, “but the reason I detoured down this peripherally-linked backroad of a story is to make a connection between the stagnant pool which is D’Marian beauty, and the fluid stream which you represent.” So as not to draw uncomfortable attention to her image, he gazed at her askance, not at all staring or ogling to an excessive extent. Still, he acknowledged her via eye contact, memorizing the shapes and colors that comprised her wonderful geometry. “Your beauty stems not from a city-sanctioned document of listed requirements, but from a personal style as influenced by your many geographic wanderings. Whether this is a conscious choice or a side effect of your forced habituations, you embody change, you’ve lived change—and I personally find that irresistible.” Carefully, he leaned closer, considering a kiss, but quickly reneged on the idea, given how his heart refused to settle and too much excitement could stimulate slabs of flesh into stone. As soon as he drew forward, he withdrew. “Ironically, I started to notice this irresistible aspect of your outward appearance during the gala, donned as you were in a D’Marian gown and styled by a D’Marian. Perhaps I am not as nonconforming as I like to believe, to see you only when you were aptly hidden in D’Marian guise,” he said, almost in an apologetic hush. “But I see you now, Nia. And my attraction has far from waned. Therefore, it would be my delight to paint or sculpt your captivating likeness.”
Following his pronouncement to enlist Nia as an art subject, Ari scrubbed his shoulders against the plush mattress and closed his eyes, emulating the perfect sleep form in a bid to trick the body into falling unconscious, despite the foreign weight emitting heat and bellows of breath scant inches from his face—to no avail. Slumber refused to grace his tired eyes. To borrow Nia’s advice, he flooded his mind with the melody from a popular waltz, but his fluttering heart pounded drum-beats so loud and asynchronous that tracking the original tune proved impossible. Incorporating the heart’s improvised rhythms into a new tune did naught to regulate or calm the clamor, either. His chest stubbornly percussed and clapped like an over-stimulated hummingbird flitting amid a thunderstorm. Every few minutes, Ari redistributed his weight on the bed, ritualistically checking his skin for pockets of petrifaction that the irrational in him feared would bloom if he didn’t take vigilant investigative measures at regular intervals. Worried about disturbing Nia with his constant ministrations, he resolved to lie flat and still on the furthest edge of the bed, offering his guest free rein of the territory and the sheets—not that he required either in his current anti-sleep throes. Perspiration slicked his hands and forehead, threatening to encase his body in night sweats. By then, Ari wasn’t certain if he’d somehow reached a limbo state of not-quite slumber and not-quite wakefulness, a place inhabited by the resounding presence of his physical body.
Whenever movement on his other side shook the bed, he ceased to breathe, all-too conscientious of Nia’s nearness, of her existence, and of their mutual decision to exist together. Tonight was merely a trial, a test to gauge his readiness to embark on the broader, more complex stages of intimacy. If he failed to relax over a simplistic sharing of sheets, how would he accept and allow the culmination of their bodies as they entwined in the act of sex?
You’ve done this already. You’ve been here before. With...Chara. Nia poses no trouble. You are safe.
That was the problem. He first explored his sexual avenues with Chara, tainting an innocent sleepover with another woman. Even in a position of rest, he obsessed over the haughty blonde Rigas and their catastrophic union almost two decades ago.
Nia will not hurt me. A flinch rankled through his limbs when a slight vibration jiggled the bed. Reflexively, he curled into a defensive ball. She is not you, Chara. She is not you…
It was the last thought to pass his mind until morning. When his eyes shuttered open to the feel of the warm sunlight throwing its sunbeams through the break in the curtains, he realized, somewhat bafflingly, that he’d managed to find a modicum of rest. Better yet, nothing adverse had happened. To confirm, he checked and double-checked his body for any signs of stone-hardened lumps of flesh, but he encountered nothing out of the ordinary. Despite the horrible, Chara-centric memories plaguing his psyche, he successfully navigated through the night intact! See?! Nia is not Chara. She would neither take advantage of nor belittle you.
So why did he feel...a little disappointed? Like he had been anticipating danger and, receiving none, wondered what he had done wrong. Was Nia, still convinced of his fragility, refusing to initiate any form of physical contact? He was not fragile--but alas, he hadn’t exactly been signaling confidence and certitude, and the faulty image he projected was his own failing.
Be like Casimiro. Be like Casimiro. He never faltered. Never collapsed into weakness. Never…
By the time Nia awakened, Ari was prepared and ready to greet her. “Good morning,” he announced, his disposition as bright as the sun-rays that encompassed his person. “Yes, I slept well,” he exaggerated. As well as I could manage, he thought, but chose not to specify aloud. “I do hope the same can be said for you. Exhaustion has little affected me. Besides, I have not scheduled much in the way of meetings today, so I’ve plenty of time to recuperate.” Boldly, he reached for the loose sleeve of her tunic and repositioned it over her shoulder, concealing the slip of breast and nipple he’d noticed, but was too polite to address aloud. Nor would he address his desire to strip her bare of the pesky garment and revel in her half-naked collective of connected parts: namely, her bosom and the swan-curve of her neck, which fanned out to include the slope of her shapely shoulders. “You do not have to leave straightaway. Please, allow me to provide you some breakfast before you depart. But before then--” pressing his hands upon those wonderful shoulders, Ari propelled forward and met the cupid’s bow of her full lips with his hungry mouth. “Let’s go as far as we can,” he broke contact to whisper, his mouth only a hair’s breadth away. “Touch me however you would like, Nia. I can handle it.”
Despite Teselin’s determined plea, Alster hesitated in his reply. While loath to defer his assistance and prolong the suffering of a (somewhat) trusted ally, the Rigas Caster harbored practical reasons for delaying his palace-return for another day or two. Aside from avoiding Locque’s incapability to handle surprises that potentially undermined or threatened her, Alster needed a little more time to finalize his failsafe against mental interference, an advanced shielding spell able to protect the mind from alerting the demi-queen, and especially her she-wolf assistant, of any kernels of borderline deceit and hostility. By far Locque’s biggest detractor, Alster couldn’t lower his guard. Though he no longer aimed to lead an all-out aggression campaign for her elimination, preferring first to wait, observe, and lend his healing capabilities before resorting to a more forceful approach, he could easily slip-up and allow hatred to boil over his carefully-constructed artifice, revealing a premature truth: that he didn’t believe in Locque’s ability to heal and only offered help in order to parse the sorceress’s weaknesses and evaluate her limitations and blind-spots. Not to say he would disrupt or undermine her healing process if she sincerely wished to embark on a journey of self-improvement, but it didn’t hurt to gather some leverage on her, should she reveal a profound ineptitude and indifference for redemption beyond the selfish desire to control the Night Garden.
Alas, leverage-gathering would not occur at all if his less-than-honest intentions were divined with immediacy. To disguise his negative energies meant constructing an impressive psychic partition that, if not entirely impregnable, could at least scramble any emotional reading and energy signature into something obscure and undetectable. After all, if Alster couldn’t pass as compliant and cooperative, then the second-best option was to present as an enigma to Locque and to Rowen. A very attractive defense mechanism against discovery--but if he left for the palace that evening, he’d have to rush the spell to completion and hastily cast it upon himself, and by extension, Elespeth.
His hesitation faded when a different, second voice sounded from the resonance stone’s muddled feedback. “Isidor. It’s a relief to hear from you. Have you been injured? Not too horribly compromised, I hope?” By nature of the call and its emergency status, Alster didn’t linger on the Master Alchemist’s condition for long before perking at his offer to assist in creating a talisman for yet another divisive and controversial figure. “Whatever you can contribute will be a huge help. As a man who also shares wolf genetics, Hadwin’s composition is understandably complex. In addition to his fast regeneration ability, it’s difficult to discern how long-term healing magic will affect a shapeshifter’s body. In producing a talisman specific to his physiology, there’s a higher chance it will succeed in catalyzing my magic. Yes,” he enthusiastically paced the farmhouse’s dark living area, skirting the loose and creaky floorboards, the majority of which he memorized their locations. “I think this just might work. Isidor, Teselin,” he cleared his throat in anticipation for his final decision, “if you arrange for a carriage, you can expect me at the palace before daybreak. Please let me know Locque’s reply. Upon her approval, I’ll make my departure. Isidor,” he smiled, and although the other man could not see, Alster hoped the expression conveyed itself through the stone, “the feeling is mutual. I’m looking forward to catching up in-person. Long-distance communication does us little favors.”
Deactivating the resonance stone, he faced the backroom in time to watch Elespeth emerge from the curtained-off doorway and join him near the kitchen. To brighten up the space, Alster waved a palm over the nearest lantern and set the wick aflame with a flick of etherea. The farmhouse spurted alive in a spurt of ambient blue light. “Sorry for waking you.” He indicated the resonance stone. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I received a request to relocate to the palace a bit earlier than planned. Hadwin siphoned a core fear from Rowen and he’s incapacitated by excruciating headaches. Little can be done to alleviate his pain short of returning the fear to his sister, which he will not do. As you can gather, Teselin is distraught and desperate for my aid. I asked for her to wait, but she’s adamant that I come now and I couldn’t say no, so,” sighing, he pulled back the curtains over the doorway to the bedroom, “I’m heading there tonight. You’re under no obligation to join me, of course, but I’m sure you will...and I can’t very well dissuade you.”
Inside their bedroom, he lit another lantern aglow and hastily rummaged through a chest full of clothes stashed in the far corner, halfheartedly selecting a few matching outfits and folding them to pile inside a nearby knapsack. “I’m sure we can return later for our other belongings. Take what’s necessary. If I want to work toward a solution for Hadwin’s headaches, we’ll want to reach the palace before dawn so our Night steeds can expedite the journey. But,” he paused in mid-pack, “before we leave, I need to cast a mind-shield spell over us and I’m not sure how long that will take, or how well its level of efficacy. I’m afraid to delay the casting, though, in case I won’t have an opportunity to do it covertly at the palace. I mainly devised the spell with Rowen in mind, but according to Teselin, she’s under a Gardener’s care en route to a long recovery period and I can’t say how it will affect her duties to Locque. At any rate, it’s best to be at our maximum level of preparedness.” Rising on his knees, he closed and sealed the knapsack’s drawstring. “Unfortunately, the time for relaxation is over.”
It took about a half an hour for the couple to ready their departure, during which Teselin buzzed the resonance stone and confirmed Locque’s approval concerning their impromptu relocation. Despite living comfortably in the farmhouse for the better part of two months, they managed to gather the majority of their belongings in a very short timeframe, an amount small enough to carry on their backs. Alster seldom acknowledged it before, but he could scarcely remember a period in his centenarian life where his lifestyle didn’t resemble that of a nomad’s—couldn’t remember a moment where he accrued the wealth, assets, and material belongings to surround himself in the luxuries his station of nobility demanded he enjoy. Compared to the lavish Aristide Canaveris, who dared not travel without his stately menagerie of trinkets, Alster and Elespeth resembled peasants, albeit well-adjusted ones, comfortable in their conditional poverty.
“Now I know how Tivia must have felt, leaving this quiet place,” Alster said, scanning the farmhouse’s simple but charming layout for quite possibly the last time. His organic hand lingered on the arm of his favored chair, which once belonged to Vitali, and before that, the original owners, an aged couple who, according to the kindly farmers next door, had perished during Galeyn’s one-hundred-year sleep. “But,” his hand drifted from the furniture, “it will be good to see everyone once again.” He tilted his head to Elespeth. “We have some time before the carriage arrives. I suppose now is my only opportunity to figure out how best to psychically wall our minds from outside interferences. If I am successful, the spell will effectively conceal our unsavory plottings and uncooperative attitudes that we’ve harbored towards Locque and her faction over the past few months, blocking them from discovery. As far as she, Nia, and Rowen will know,” he smiled conspiratorially, “our tenure at the farmhouse has changed and mellowed us to a significant extent.”
For all Ari reassured her that he had, in fact, slept relatively well that evening, Nia was too fixated on the Canaveris lord’s face not to notice the subtle droop of his eyes, which suggested a restless night, contrary to his claim. Of course, that was to be expected, and she would’ve been very surprised to find the man as well-rested as he would have been, had he not succumbed to sharing a bed with another body. The important thing was, he had done it! While the Master Alchemist had half-expected him to fall victim to his own fears and withdraw to his bedroom in the middle of the night, it was enough to note that she hadn’t awoke alone. This was never a test of how easy it would be for him to bask in another person’s company for the duration of an evening; that would only come with time and repeated exposure. No, this small challenge had for the most part been a means for her to gauge just how dedicated and determined he was to find a way out of his own arrested development. It was a matter of do or don’t--and, well damn, he had done it!
“Well, here’s my honesty for the day: it wasn’t easy. Not even for me. I didn’t realize… it really isn’t as simple as just falling asleep next to another person. There’s more to consider than I thought.” Like what is and isn’t appropriate to wear, a judgmental voice at the back of her mind taunted when Ari reached out to adjust the wide neck of her tunic, that had slipped down to reveal more than she’d intended to, for his sake. A faint flush coloured her cheeks, but she chose not to make mention of it, in case it was symbolic of moving just a little too fast for him. “But I did have some wildly vivid dreams--so I know I did sleep. That’s something. And so did you, by your own words! But hey, even if you hadn’t… you still came this far. You slept next to another person, and, while I can only assess as far as I can see right now…” Her brown eyes scanned his body, still half-naked from the waist up, for perhaps a beat longer than what was necessary. “I don’t see any evidence of anything having gone awry. You’re still flesh and blood. You should feel good about yourself, Ari--you’re making strides faster than what you probably thought you were capable of! Hard to imagine that just a few months ago, you almost wouldn’t take my arm to let me help you all the way up a hill when your foot had turned to stone.”
It only stood to reason, however, that whatever courage it had taken him to stay the night and not succumb to the temptation of an empty bed in another room, he had probably used up any and all mental and emotional stamina at his disposal. As much as Nia was not really in any hurry to leave and return to the palace to immediately resume her work for Locque… she also couldn’t assume that he’d have anything left to give with regard to tolerating her presence. And the last thing the last Ardane alchemist wanted to do was overstay her welcome. If she had learned anything during her stay in Galeyn, it was that bridges were so difficult to build, and yet, so easy to burn. And she didn’t want to burn this bridge; it was too precious to her. It meant too much to her… he meant too much to her, and she had already pushed him far enough, against his wishes. “That said--I imagine you’ll sleep much easier tonight by yourself. Nothing to feel bad about! Hells, why wouldn’t you choose to have an entire bed to yourself, right?”
Nia chuckled, and made to move off of his bed and out of his space, but before she could throw her legs over the side of the bed, he insisted that there was no reason for her to leave so quickly. She had half a mind to assume that he was, as always, just being polite, until his hands came down on her shoulders, and she felt the press of his lips against her own… at which point it was her turn to be startled and surprised. Well, this was moving at a pace far quicker than she had anticipated, or would have even suggested. In fact, a nagging feeling warned her that this was too much and too fast--not for her, but for him. Who was he trying to convince that he was ready for a sensual touch? Her, or himself? But, on that point… who was she really to deny him or question him? He’d said it himself, he did not agree with her methods of bleeding out the infected wound and letting it heal before building up to this. Nia would never in a million years have pegged him as someone to benefit from a trial by fire or to dive in headfirst, but… none of that mattered. She had agreed to help him, and if this was what he wanted, then she would go along with it. As long as it did no harm.
“...you’re sure about this, Ari?” She murmured, reaching up to cup the back of his neck. “I’ve already been all the way, many times. You know I will go as far as you want, today… if you’re sure you are ready.”
With his permission, Nia gently pulled him close and captured his mouth in a long, slow kiss. Her free hand slipped up the slope of his bare shoulder, gently kneading the knots out of his muscles, which had--probably beyond his own awareness--gone tense. The trouble with her uncanny ability to read a person’s body was that whatever she perceived often lacked context, especially in such a case as sex, where spikes in chemicals and heart rate could mean a number of things, good or bad. She most definitely picked up on an elevation in adrenaline, but was that fear, or excitement? The hum of testosterone beneath his warm skin hinted at the latter, a sign of eagerness and desire. He wanted intimacy… or at least, he wanted to want it. His words urged it, his body tried to comply, but the stiffness in his shoulders, the way he held his breath, and the rapid fluttering of his pulse stated otherwise.
Nia thought back to the abundance of nervous virgins she had taken to bed with her: all different and with different needs, some more open and adventurous than others, but all of them, with complete certainty, ready to commit their bodies to pleasure with another person. And her experience alone was enough to confirm for the Master Alchemist that Ari’s body and mind might not be on the same page. However, now might not have been the ideal time to talk him out of it; to make him realize he was probably trying to run before he could walk, biting off more than he could chew. To pull him out of the moment and tell him he was wrong would only sour the experience and possibly turn him off of any future ventures or attempts. If this was going to be successful, if he was going to experience the good in another person’s touch… then it was up to her to gently nudge him in the right direction.
“Ari. You’re holding your breath…” She pointed it out with a chuckle, her voice sultry in his ear as she planted light kisses along his jawline. “Listen to me. This isn’t about what you can handle: it’s about what you can enjoy. If you don’t know what you can or can’t enjoy… then that’s up to us to find out together. As little or as much as you want.”
Trailing one hand down his chest, Nia drew back just enough to shrug off the neckline of her tunic again and take one of his hands to place just above her left breast, which was now completely, and unabashedly, exposed. “Do you feel that? My heart?” She asked him in a warm whisper, not once taking her smouldering eyes off of him. Intimacy was, after all, one part being touched, and one part being comfortable to touch another person. He’d have to become comfortable with both. “Focus on that. That’s the rhythm you want. Strong and steady.” Get out of your head for a while, was the unspoken message. With her hand still covering his, she trailed the fingers of her opposite hand down his abdomen and past his navel, but stopped as soon as she found the waistband of his trousers. “And make sure you let me know… what feels good. Or when it stops feeling good. I think you’ll find I’m a pretty good listener, and fairly attuned to my partners.”
But at that point, she felt well aware that she was already talking too much, and as important as communication was, they’d both done enough talking--and Ari had already made it clear he was ready to put words into action. I’ll go as far as you want me to go, was the message conveyed when she captured his mouth in another kiss, no less gentle than the last, but hungrier, all the same. But I won’t hurt you. If it starts to hurt you… I’m going to stop.
True to his suspicions, Elespeth had been awake and listening in on the conversation between her husband and Isidor, almost as soon as Alster had awoken to the buzzing of the resonance stone. A light sleeper on a good day, the former knight was primed to believe that nothing positive could ever come from a call from the Master Alchemist, especially not in the middle of the night… and not when, according to what Alster gleaned from Ari and the tiny golem strewn about the palace, Isidor Kristeva had also gone missing for a short period after setting out to find the lost Tivia Rigas. When he was found, several hours later, he’d been unconscious and sporting injuries, although neither of them were clear on the details.
To her surprise, however, it was not only Isidor, but Teselin who begged Alster’s help in the wee hours of the morning. The girl’s speech was already so hastened with panic and despair, that paired with the distortion of the stone itself, Elespeth could not quite make out the gist of whatever crisis they were suddenly faced with. She waited patiently for Alster to conclude his conversation and fill her in. “No need to apologize; I was already awake.” She assured her husband as she joined him in the kitchen. “Even in the quiet farmlands, I can’t help but sleep with one eye open. What is the trouble, now? Is Isidor all right?”
Hadwin… It was Hadwin, of all people, who was at the crux of this dilemma. Not Isidor, not Locque, but the damned faoladh. You idiot… you huge, reckless idiot. The ex-Atvanian sighed through her teeth and raked a hand through her hair. “I told him to be careful around his sister. To get out of the water before it got too hot. Now he’s put himself in a position where no one can win...” The stubborn set of her jaw said more than her words did when at last she confirmed, “Of course I am going with you. You can’t believe for a moment that I’d let you traipse into Locque’s territory alone. I don’t trust her for a second… and I think Teselin is naive to think that that witch has a chance of changing. But…” She exhaled on a sigh, upon the realization of what she’d just said. “But she’ll know that, as soon as I cross the threshold to the palace. And she’ll know your thoughts, too. Nothing is safe within those walls…”
She should have known to leave it up to Alster to remedy that very problem. While the Rigas mage voiced his doubts that weaving the spell so hastily would cause its efficacy to deteriorate, he had already agreed to lend a hand to Teselin as soon as possible… they didn’t have any more time. They’d have to work with what was already at their disposal. “I’m not entirely convinced Locque is a mind-reader. The most deadly weapon in her arsenal is Rowen Kavanagh, and if she is, as you say, being overseen by Gardeners and on her way to some sort of emotional and mental recovery… then I do not foresee her being much of an issue or a danger to us. Do what you can.” Elespeth squeezed his shoulder affectionately. “Every little thing will help. There is no need for Locque to be present while you are working with Isidor to help Hadwin. If things seem to be taking a dire turn, and if it seems as though our presence is not sitting well with with the new Galeynian authority… then we will leave. I think…” She paused, and breathed audibly from her nose. “I know Hadwin would not want us to put ourselves in danger. He’s already made it clear he is too invested in seeing that we make it out all right. And I know Teselin and Isidor would feel the same. Help as much as you can, Alster, and for as long as you can… but not at the expense of our safety. I will ensure a carriage is prepared for us to leave at any moment.”
Since her first say at Messino’s encampment, what seemed like a millenia ago, Elespeth Tameris-turned-Elespeth Rigas had gone from bearing little more than a blade and the clothes on her back, to acquiring an abundance of clothes and jewelry that she never would have dreamed of owning, even back in the days of being a proud Tameris of Atvany, and coming full circle to touting little more than her clothes, weapons, and a wedding band on her left hand. It was already clear that leaving things behind was, for the former knight, not a difficult feat. She seldom grew attached to objects, and her intent was not to pack light, per se, but to pack efficiently. To that effect, with the exception of Atvany, which would always be a wound in her heart, so too did she not become attached to places, which perhaps made this sudden uprooting far less difficult for her than Alster. “I thought you were growing bored of this place.” She teased him with a gentle nudge, as they awaited the carriage of Night Steeds that had been sent for them. “And were growing tired of everything I was putting your body through with physical training. You’re not Isidor, Alster. You don’t thrive in hermitude the same way he does--and I’m not convinced that he thrives at all, to be very honest. Besides,” she looped an arm around his waist and smiled, “Galeyn is a small kingdom. We can be back here in a heartbeat at nightfall. Unfortunately, no matter how far you travel… it doesn’t change the fact that you are someone who is needed, constantly, and indefinitely.”
Just as she had claimed, the ride from the farmhouse to the palace did feel like little more than a heartbeat, and they had frankly spent more time in deciding what to bring than they did on the road to the heart of the kingdom. Though she bore no visible weapons, Elespeth most definitely did not arrive unarmed, with blades hidden throughout her layers of leathers, but to her relief, no one asked her about her weapons at the gates. Isidor was already standing there, ready to receive them. Whatever had happened to him in his search for Tivia, he sported a long gash across his forehead that looked just barely, newly healed, and some visible bruising at his temple, but since he did not bring up his injuries or how he’d acquired them, neither did Elespeth or Alster. “I’m glad the both of you were able to arrive at such short notice,” he mentioned, gesturing for them to follow as he turned down the corridors and made his way to the infirmary. “And I do apologize for Teselin’s urgency in the matter. I am no friend of the wolf’s, but… I suppose I can see her reason for concern.”
When they arrived, the infirmary was all but empty, save for Hadwin, who lay unconscious on one of the cots, and Teselin, who stubbornly hadn’t left his side for even a second. As soon as she saw their shadows in the doorway, however, the young summoner jumped to her feet, and relief flooded her dark eyes. “Alster! Thank you… thank you so much for coming.” She cast a furtive glance over her shoulder at the patient in question, who, even in slumber, looked troubled, with his brow furrowed. “Elias’s serums can’t keep him under for long… but this is the only means by which he can get any relief. He should be awake again within the hour…”
“Faoladh biology is rather foreign to me.” Isidor confessed, pressing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. “I’ve already told Teselin, I don’t know how durable I can ensure this talisman will be. It was simple for Vitali; I, unfortunately, happen to be thoroughly familiar with his genetics. There was no question that what we crafted for him would be successful. But, with any luck… we can both make up for one another’s short-comings. Craft something to tide this scoundrel over for long enough to find another, better, solution. Certainly,” he looked at Alster with the same, familiar relief that Teselin had, just moments before, “this is not something I am capable of doing alone, Alster.”
Contrary to Nia’s beliefs, Ari was well-acquainted with the concept of a trial by fire and could confidently admit it was his preferred method of handling affairs. For the majority of his life, people, mainly of the Canaveris name, overlooked his importance as a potential successor due to his “delicate constitution,” as quoted by his mother and perpetuated by her heir, Casimiro. No one put any stock or faith in the second brother of a successful line of matriarchs and patriarchs, preferring he stay consigned to the background and encouraged not to pursue politics or anything of true familial importance. You have a gift, his mother would gently remind him. A very rare and beautiful gift. Please do not squander it by dirtying your hands in such trite and unsightly matters.
But everything changed when Casimiro died. Raised and reared to one day replace their matriarch mother as Canaveris Head and maintain power in their bloodline, the first brother was ladled with the attention and the tools to succeed, whereas Ari and his art-specific accomplishments were...humored. The tragedy of his brother’s demise stripped away the pretense, however, and revealed the truth hidden all along. The truth that no one dared speak aloud. Aristide was weak. Aristide was fragile. He was not his brother. All hope for his mother’s enduring bloodline of power died with Casimiro. Instead of turning to her second son, she surrendered the bid, and receded to a quiet retirement.
You need Casimiro. I will be Casimiro. The weak and fragile Aristide stepped out of the family-enforced shadows, reinstated the bid for rulership, and tirelessly campaigned for a position as Canaveris Head by stating what they all wanted to hear: “I am Casimiro’s only true successor. What he embodies, I too possess. Follow me, and I shall lead us to victory!”
In a few short months, Ari the Artist transformed into Lord Canaveris, 47th Family Head. His peers-turned-subjects, out of desperation, reprocessed their love for Casimiro under a new name. Ari had escaped his shadows, only to live forever as his brother’s shadow.
As above, so below. Again, he seized the opportunity to test his limits in fire, ready to burn away the weakness and rise fully-fledged as the Aristide Canaveris everyone desired...and who he desired. Past mistakes would not dominate his successful narrative, would not mar his journey of reinvention or undermine his achievements. For him, touch aversion and sexual intimacy were two more beasts to defeat. And he would overcome the challenge, as before. Neither his stone condition nor Chara Rigas would hold him back. Not any longer.
To counter Nia’s soft, gradual pecks for kisses, he broke free and whispered, “We can go further. Do not go slow on my account. I’m breathing now.” He let loose a long stream of hot air, decompressing his stiff body one muscle group at a time. Shoulders loosened, arms followed suit, torso folded forward, unburdened by tension. He experienced beginner’s nerves, sure, but as he acclimated to the process, they would fade. In his overeagerness, Ari squeezed Nia’s breast and jerked it around in uncoordinated circles, not heeding nor hearing her advice to listen to the natural rhythms of her heartbeat.
With his unoccupied hand, he gripped her wrist and relocated it to his head of unbound hair, which had fallen into spools in front of his face. “Do not be careful,” he instructed in a low rumble of a mutter. “I said I am not fragile. Yank it. Hard. Or,” he pressed his shoulder to her mouth, “bite. Anywhere. I’m not stone; it will not chip your teeth.”
She wasn’t going quickly enough. Too much hesitation, too many questions. Didn’t she understand? This was how intimacy was supposed to go; a fast-paced assault where one or both parties escaped with bruises. How pathetic must he have appeared to her, to keep at a snail’s crawl for his sake?!
“I am fine,” he reiterated, almost testily. “What can I do...for you?” Figuring that he would have to command the lead and illustrate exactly how prepared he was to go till the very end, he rose to his knees and eased down his trousers, exposing his erect manhood. Lowering to his hands, he kicked and bucked away the rest of the fabric. Sliding them down his legs to bunch at his ankles, he threw the lingering thing completely off, finally removing the final barrier separating him from total nudity. If one were an astute observer, they would detect a faint, white scar running a ring around the shaft. Almost tempted to look at it, himself, Ari refrained. This is not about the past. This is not about Chara Rigas. I am investing in my future—a future free from the fears that I’ve allowed to undermine my development.
Unburdened from his clothes, Ari launched at Nia and locked lips with her once again, setting the breakneck rhythm he believed was the standard requirement for a good, fulfilling tryst. His fingers dug into her flesh as he suckled and nibbled on her lips...just how he remembered Chara to kiss. And oh how Chara had clawed, marking skin in swelling, half-moon slits, how she crushed his lungs with her forceful grip, how she overtook every aspect of his senses and sanity and vowed to break him, grind him, pulverize him and brush away the detritus...
Mid-stride, he froze, hesitating.
It was enough. In that several-second window of doubt where he slowed down and gave the fear a chance to catch him, something crackled and spread in his nether regions. To his horror, his pelvis, including his upper thighs and hip bones, began crystallizing to stone.
Not a half a minute later, Lazarus burst through the door and cast livid eyes upon Nia.
While Elespeth lambasted Hadwin’s frustrating, albeit in-character behavior, Alster quirked a knowing brow at her, aware of the subtext of concern hidden in her words. “Honestly, this is Hadwin we’re talking about. He’s a profligate risk-taker. Knowing him, he probably scoffed away your warnings to be careful. And though we have little context regarding what he did, it seems like he might have bought us some time. If his antics truly set Rowen on the path to heal, then she will be too preoccupied receiving the Gardeners’ help to discern our motives through her Sight. For now, we have a window. A narrow one, mind, but it is large enough for us to slither through.” He almost flinched for referencing their movements as comparable to a snake’s. It was enough that he’d never shake the title of Serpent Bane from the collective D’Marian mindset--not like he didn’t deserve the unflattering moniker.
Own it. They were words spoken to him not long ago by none other than Nia, upon their first disaster of a meeting. And maybe he should. Defeating Locque required cunning and deft, deceptive maneuvering. Their tactics depended on precision and a lack of hesitation. A lack of regrets. As Elespeth had referenced during their short recuperation in the sanctuary, there was no time or luxury to spare for dwelling on his status as a monster, not when the longer they waited, the more people would inevitably suffer from Locque’s careless and uncaring rule.
“So we’ll slither,” he concluded, his tongue both cutting and decisive as he hissed the words. “That said, I’ll cast the spell before we leave and observe the results. I can make the necessary adjustments, granted we have any semblance of privacy at the palace. It will be important to include Lilica and Chara, as they will benefit most from my shielding spell. What’s more, the proximity will be easier to establish a link for us to communicate via dreams or through other, telepathic means. I think I can replicate Aristide’s telepath stone without requiring any materials to do so. There’s much to be done. But,” he sighed away the accumulating stress associated with the upcoming load of busywork and returned her shoulder-squeeze with a tender arm around her waist and a wry smile, “you’re right about this farmhouse, El. I have been bored. To think, I would look forward to our training sessions. Yes, even the ones where you worked me until I collapsed into a puddle of my own sweat and vomit.” He swept an arm in front of his face, admiring the definition peeking out from beneath his tunic sleeve. However much he despised undergoing brutal physical training, it was he who had pushed for it, and the results were well worth the struggle. “I don’t count the ones where I got to shoot lightning at you to deflect because I quite enjoyed exacting a little revenge on my hard-ass training instructor.” His wry smile turned cheeky. “No harm done. Never any harm.” Lowering his arm, he kissed her softly on the mouth.
“Nonetheless, I can appreciate the isolation and simplicity of this place. It hearkens back to the days when I traveled around the continent with my parents.” Something approaching wistful fondness passed over his features. “We occasionally stayed in rustic lodgings such as these. Despite the tantrum my mother would throw for being housed in less than palatial quarters, it was...nice. Peaceful. Maybe not for the longterm, but I won’t argue the benefits of taking in a few lungfuls of fresh air. I also can’t argue the fact that,” his shoulders drooped in shame, “I really needed this. No matter how I paced and chewed my fingernails and eagerly awaited any messages from the resonance stone or the glyph slate, if we had stayed at the palace, I...I’m not sure I’d have been in the right mindset to help anyone. Not that it would have been readily possible; our friends have been playing a tension-filled waiting game in Locque’s company, and my following suit would only have agitated my fraying patience, to the point where I’m sure I’d have made another grievous mistake. Escape was...necessary. But who am I to step aside, claiming ownership over an extended reprieve, when everyone else is so desperate for the same? It’s no longer right to stay here, because it’s as you say.” As they relocated outside to the chilly spring pre-dawn to wait for their carriage, Alster dispelled the etherea-fed interior lantern lights, plunging the farmhouse into smoky wisps and midnight. “I’m needed. Constantly. Indefinitely. Thank you for that reminder.” A firm, resolute smile straightened his guilt-burdened shoulders. In the muted darkness, an internal glow seemed to gleam in his blue eyes, like the moon glittering on the calm ocean. “I’m glad to have you at my side, El. Thank you for your enduring patience and support.” He kissed her again, in earnest. “I could never do this without you.”
By the time a carriage arrived to convey the couple to the palace, Alster had already cast his prototype spell upon himself and Elespeth. Far as he could glean, no adverse effects sprung up during the casting process, a sign Alster interpreted as hopeful—or at least not disastrous. At worst, the spell was unsuccessful. While he could feel a psychic barrier materialize and fortify his darker ruminations from outward scrutiny, it was too early to determine if they blocked any Locque and Rowen-centric musings. Until he could confirm his spell’s efficacy, it was best to hold off on introducing it to Lilica and Chara’s minds.
In one moment, he and Elespeth were stepping into the coach. In another, they were pulling into the palace entranceway, the speed at which they departed the farmhouse too disorienting to bid a proper farewell before they inevitably had to step out and bid proper greetings. A one-person welcoming party met them at the entrance, and Alster couldn’t be more relieved that its number didn’t include Locque. Perhaps she still doesn’t view me as a threat. ...Good.
“Isidor,” he clasped his dear friend’s arm with his steel prosthesis, trying not to react to the rather grisly gash marring his brow. “I’m relieved to see that you are well, considering the circumstances,” he said cryptically, electing not to elaborate on his meaning, in case the subject was still too delicate to broach with the dejected and forlorn Master Alchemist. “By all means, lead the way. If Teselin is beside herself with worry, then we won’t tarry in the hallway. We’ll have plenty of time to catch up after we address Hadwin’s condition.”
As they entered the infirmary, Alster spotted Teselin seated near a dark, shadowy corner lined with thick curtains, a makeshift sanctum to provide the light-sensitive faoladh some sheltered rest. He smiled and dipped his head to the summoner, a reciprocal, and more subdued, greeting in acknowledgement of her enthusiastic welcome. “It’s good to see you again, Teselin.” His gaze darted to the patient in question. Even in repose, the faoladh periodically twitched like an animal in distress, pain twisting his perspiration-drenched brow in less than restful contortions. Whatever respite the sedative provided, it wasn’t enough to grant him a peaceful slumber.
“Like you, Isidor, faoladh biology confounds me,” he admitted, pulling up an unused chair and angling it beside Hadwin’s ailing head. “Are we treating an animal or a man? Or both? You would know this answer better than me. All I can contribute is some unsubstantiated observations and hearsay from the faoladh’s mouth, himself.” Hunkering on the seat, Alster carefully pressed his organic hand against Hadwin’s forehead. It radiated a heat so profound, it was as though his skin tarped over a subterranean nest of hot coals. “As a human, he exhibits heightened senses and certain aesthetic holdovers from his wolf heritage. As a wolf, he exhibits some human qualities, such as above-average intellect and complex problem-solving capabilities seen primarily in hyper-intelligent creatures—namely humans and humanoids. It can be assumed, therefore, that his parts of his brain chemistry remain largely unaffected by his transformations and act as the link between beast and man. This is fortunate, seeing as the brain controls all superior functions of the body. We need only to find the lobe or gland that primarily operates his Sight and stimulate it with just the right amount of vibrational frequency for magical healing.” Closing his eyes, he sank into a stance of concentration. “If it comes to it, we may need to take a very small sample of the affected region of his brain if we’re to be successful in creating a talisman capable of targeting the specificities of his pain. But that’s only an extreme, last resort option. If it can be done with blood, then that's what we shall use as the conduit. I do have experience with blood magic, so I believe we’re more than able to compensate for our shortcomings, Isidor.” He tilted his head at the Master Alchemist in warm agreement, but did not otherwise stir from his closed-eyed, pre-meditative state. “But first, before we proceed, let me locate the source of his ails so that we have a broader picture of exactly what we’re dealing with.”
Via his celestial magic, Alster explored the faoladh’s nervous system, riding the universal pathways with generated electricity, careful not to disturb any delicate areas of the brain. Through his quickfire mapping of the afflicted organ, he was surprised to discover that not just one or two sections had flared into ugly, red swells, but well over half of the brain had succumbed to the near-viral spread of Hadwin’s Sight-generated infirmity. Unsure of where to narrow his focus, Alster tentatively traveled towards the brain’s pain receptors, hoping to loosen their cloying grip-hooks through gradual, gentle stimulation. Next thing he knew, he had jolted awake at the infirmary to a trio of concerned, expectant faces. Rejected by the hyper-defenses of Hadwin’s war-battered body, Alster had been identified as a hostile intruder and unceremoniously vaulted out before he could inflict further damage.
“His brain is overreactive...and horribly inflamed,” he said, curiously out of breath—as though he’d been holding it in for the last few minutes. “There are so many synapses firing off at once, that most of his brain is lit-up. I tried to send a healing wave to relax some of the pain, but I lost my connection. I was seen as an assailant, and the brain is already at its maximum pain threshold, so I was ejected. It won’t allow internal interference of any sort. I’m,” he lowered his eyes, briefly avoiding contact with Teselin, “I’m afraid his condition seems much more profound than when I alleviated some of the symptoms during our carriage ride. To whatever extent we end up treating him, he will still suffer until he returns the fear to its rightful place. At best, we can make his suffering a little more tolerable. But that is merely my initial diagnosis. Let’s get a blood sample...and see what we can do.”
But before anyone could grab Elias to administer the bloodwork, the cot creaked, and Hadwin seemingly shifted awake—an hour too soon.
“Fucking hell...what did I drink last night?” The faoladh moaned aloud, slow-motion clutching for his forehead with languid, uncoordinated limbs. “Who’s there?” His attention twisted to the small group gathered at his bedside. “Can’t see or smell shit.”
“Hadwin,” Alster whispered, maintaining a soft cadence so as not to agitate his splitting headache. “It’s Alster. Teselin, Elespeth, and Isidor are here, too. How...are you doing?”
“Yeah? Hm, never heard of you lot. But that ain’t nothing new. When you slug down a whole tavern’s worth of swill on the regular, that shit happens. Do I owe you money or something?” He hissed through his teeth. “I mean, you could put me outta my misery if it’ll settle the score and make you happy. It’ll make me happy, too. Hurry it up, cuz I’m about to croak.” His back arched when a particularly nasty wave almost sent him into convulsions. “Yeah, I’m fucking dying. Your money’s gone as the grave, m’afraid.”
Alster didn’t have time to exchange alarmed glances with everyone else before quickly replacing his hand over the faoladh’s forehead and slowly generating a light surge of healing magic. “How about now? Do you feel better?”
The faoladh ceased struggling and sank back to the bed, the wrinkles in his brow smoothing in increments. “You know what? It’s just a mite duller around the edges, now. I can actually think straight! Say,” he broke into a grin, “I like you! What did you say your name was?”
“Alster. If you don’t mind my asking...what’s the last thing you remember?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he sighed, as though the topic was one he wasn’t keen on broaching. “I’ve been knackered for days. Time’s a little fuzzy. Couldn’t tell you anything important—and you can go ahead and torture any details outta me but this torture’s plenty, and I got nothing for you!”
“Let’s start with an easy question, then,” Alster said, exuding a professional’s patience despite worrying about the answer. “How old are you?”
“Strange-ass interrogation if you ask me. But sure, I’ll bite!” Eyes fused shut and with little hope of opening, the faoladh directed them towards the ceiling. “I’m nineteen. Looking for the birthday, too, huh, Al? And the year? Time of birth?” He cleared his throat, his voice taking on a self-important, storyteller’s cadence. “On a brisk winter’s night, the cliffs of Collcreagh came alive at the tremble and quake of a babe being born. His screams of fury could wake the most strident of banshees and strike terror into her fae soul!”
Amid Hadwin’s “tale,” Alster faced the others, his features silent, but grim. There was little doubt that the faoladh’s sudden memory regression had something to do with his headaches--and the overwhelmed brain, as a defense mechanism, was shutting itself down.
This wasn’t the first time that Nia had found herself faced with an overeager virgin; nor was it the first time that an overeager virgin had some very profound misconceptions about sex and foreplay. Nor was it the first time she had encountered someone who, even for their first go at intimacy, preferred a little roughness and pain. None of that was foreign or alarming to her, it and of itself. What gave her pause to hesitate in reciprocating this pace and handling was knowing what she already did of this particular virgin--of Ari, and of what little she knew of his experiences with Chara Rigas. He feared touch for good reason (many reasons, in fact), and how just a couple of days ago, when he had agreed that taking it slow was a sound and reasonable plan, had suddenly turned into this urgency to test his limits and see how far he could go, how much he could take… The Master Alchemist didn’t need to feel the rush of adrenaline in his veins to know that this wasn’t really what he wanted. This wasn’t about trying to push past the mental blockades he had set up and try to enjoy sex; this was about trying to prove something. To her, but most importantly… to himself.
It was somewhat startling when he pulled away from her kisses, demanding that they go further, move faster. This was a delicate game… and she found herself in a very precarious position. “I’m not really taking it slow, Ari,” she tried to explain in a gentle tone, without breaking the sultry spell of their union. “This is an average pace that I’d take with just about anyone. This is all about enjoying yourself… and enjoying another person.” Her mouth quirked into a half-grin. “Move too fast, and you’ll miss the best parts. You’ve got this. Just try to let yourself enjoy it; that’s the real endgame.”
Whatever headspace Ari’s mind occupied did not seem to be allowing her words to sink in. Somehow, this wasn’t about enjoyment to him… not at all. In some sad, misguided way, it was a show of strength to himself, some reassurance that he was not a lost cause so he could stop thinking that way. It just so happened that he needed her to help prove this point… and Nia knew, then and there, that that was when they should have stopped. When Ari’s touch was so hard and sharp and rough that for a moment she wondered to whom, exactly, she was making love. It was hard to believe that this was the same courteous, generous, gentle Ari that had taken such a risk to stand up to Locque’s orders on her behalf, so that she could have the time to properly recover. This… this just wasn’t him! She couldn’t believe it, not for a second. This wasn’t Aristide Canaveris.
This was a half-formed thing that Chara Rigas had tried to make him out to be.
Nia’s hand hesitated on Ari’s inky locks of straight hair, and she hoped her alarm did not show on her face. She didn’t pull, didn’t tug. Instead, she brushed it away from his face and cupped the back of his head, sighing through her nose. “You’re not fragile at all. I don’t think that for a second, Ari. If you want it a little rough… we can do that. But we need to work our way up to that. It’s a process, not a marathon.” Or else it isn’t just sex, anymore, she thought dismally, sadly. It’s just abuse… “One step at a time.” She placed her other hand on his shoulder and moved it away from her mouth, giving it an affectionate squeeze. “Look--I understand. You’re trying to prove your resilience to yourself, right? You don’t need to do that by rushing. When I said this is a process… I didn’t mean that just for you, and your circumstances. It’s the same for everyone. Start off gradual, experiment a lot, and that way… you can find out what you really like--”
Ari cut her off unexpectedly, visibly aggravated by her reassurances and guidance. That was when she realized he didn’t care for her advice anymore, and nothing she said was going to reach him. It hadn’t even been five minutes, and already, he was stripping himself completely bare, as if the sight of his stiff manhood was all the proof she needed. Literally, on any other occasion, and under any other circumstances, this would have been more than enough to rouse interest and anticipation in Nia; after all, Ari was an attractive man, with and without clothes, and this reveal did not disappoint. But instead… she was afraid. Not for herself--for him.
Perhaps she should have been a little afraid for herself. If Nia was being honest… she hadn’t let anyone disrespect her body since the day she had almost died as a result of surrendering to intimacy. When other hopeful virgins had taken teeth and nails to her skin without warning, without seeking permission, she had been quick to put them in their place, and if they did not listen, then the event was over, with no second chances. And maybe… maybe, when he dug his fingers into her skin, grazed her lips with his teeth until she tasted blood, she should have pushed him away. Set clearer expectations, at the very least, and redirected. That might have evaded the misfortune that was yet to come, but… but she couldn’t do it. Couldn’t make him feel lesser for his bold misconceptions, because this was Ari, still Ari, and he would never intentionally hurt her or disrespect her. Just as she would never hurt or disrespect him. “Ari,” she managed to gasp, struggling to figure out how to put a stop to this without harming his confidence and newfound courage, “Ari, this… it isn’t you--”
That was when he stopped all of a sudden--but not because of what she had said. To her horror, Nia could feel it before she saw it, both through the receptive palms of her hands, and also as his skin began to harden against her at an alarming rate. No… this was Ari’s fear, the one thing he dreaded! And to think she had laughed when Hadwin had told her about it… this was no laughing matter!
And to make matters worse, they were not left alone to bask in this emergency for long. The door slammed open, and Nia jerked her head to meet Lazarus’s withering gaze. Of course he thought she was to blame, that she had done this to him… There was no fucking time to convince him otherwise. “Don’t interfere!” She demanded, caring little that he had caught her naked from the waist up, and before he could counter her words, she bent her torso and reached for one of her boots over the side of the bed. From a pocket inside, near her heel, she withdrew a tiny, familiar knife that she kept on her person, specifically for this purpose. “I am not going to leave him like this, and you know I am the only one who can help! Ari… Ari, listen.” Taking one of his hands, she nicked his warm, brown skin with the tip of her knife to draw some blood, the Master Alchemist let her other hand drift to his hip bone. This was possibly the worst flare up she’d born witness to as of yet, and reversing it would take some time. “I… I understand, now. You don’t need to tell me about Chara. You don’t need to talk about her ever again. I understand what happened to you. And I want you to know… you didn’t do anything wrong, okay? We just went… a little too fast, and in the wrong direction…”
Breathing deep, Nia concentrated on turning stone to flesh again, a centimeter at a time. It was more difficult than usual, more slow-going, due to the Canaveris lord’s shocked and frazzled state. She only hoped the hulking form of Lazarus at the doorway would let her finish before throwing her out of the estate. “Some people like it a little rough. That’s okay; nothing wrong with it. And, maybe you’ll find that that’s the way you like it, too… but you need to let yourself discover that for yourself, Ari, by experimenting, trying new things. Not by using Chara’s way as a template. That woman did not have your needs and desires in mind. I think we can both agree on that, huh?”
Her hand migrated from his hip to the top of his thigh, as she sought to re-mobilize him at the very least before tackling the currently permanently erect organ at the center of his groin. “So… this is the worst that could happen. And it did, but we’ve got it under control, right? You’re fine, Ari. This was a mishap; it doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean we can’t try again. Or… that you can’t try again, if you’d prefer a different partner.” Watching the grey stone turn brown and pliant back to flesh, a little bit at a time, gave her an excuse not to look up and meet his eyes. Otherwise, he’d see she was tearing up. For what Chara had done to him. For how he had carried that around with him for so many years. For the visible white scar across his shaft, which she only began to notice when she moved her hand to gently turn that appendage back to flesh and blood. And for her inability to give him the experience that he deserved.
“The reality is… it isn’t supposed to hurt you unless you want it to. But… I don’t think you want it to, Ari. Am I right?” Blinking away the mist in her eyes, she looked up, into his stricken face. “You want to show yourself that you can have an intimate life beyond your experience with Chara Rigas, first and foremost. But don’t forget… intimacy is something to be enjoyed, not endured. It should never be an ordeal. Whoever you are with, your partner should have the utmost respect for you and your body. Don’t ever let anyone disrespect you, ever again… promise me that. You’re worth so much more than that.”
Several long, careful moments later--the longest she had spent thus far on treating one of Ari’s flare-ups--there wasn’t a trace of stone left anywhere on his body. Nia felt light-headed and winded from what she had exerted to carefully and efficiently return Ari to an entirely flesh-and-blood state, and restore mobility in his hips. “How are you feeling?” She asked, her own voice sounding far-away to her ears. “Please don’t let this get you down, Ari. No, it wasn’t a success… but it gave me a better understanding of what you’ve been through. It was eye-opening. You’ll have a better idea how to proceed next time.”
Finally taking the time to pull her tunic back up over her shoulders, she returned her hands to her lap to give him some space, and trained her brown eyes on her knuckles. “I don’t think your big manservant is very enthusiastic about my presence… I can go now, if that’ll make things easier. Just, please tell me… you’re alright?” Genuine concern lined her brow when she looked up. She wanted to take him in her arms and hold him until she knew for sure that he was okay… but she wasn’t convinced that was a boundary she was allowed to cross. “Because if you aren’t… then I don’t want to leave you like this.”
“Your guess is as good as mine. A being that shares both human and wolf attributes… it makes it difficult to determine direct causality, and what it might mean for the other half of that duality if I were to change one thing about the other half of the duality.” Isidor sighed, already looking at a loss, much to his younger sister’s despair, he knew. “My experience in tampering with anything of his sort is… very limited, to say the least. I honestly can’t say I have ever worked directly with the complexity of brains. As much as it pains me to say it…” He clenched his jaw and touched the healing gash on his forehead. “...Ardane would be a more capable alchemist in that realm. That family was known for their expertise in manipulating biological matter, for better or worse. I am sure my training was similar in nature, but for all I was successful in helping Elespeth and my wretched brother, I did not practice extensively on people once I was on my own. So if you require working directly with his brain to form this talisman…” The Master Alchemist went a few shades paler and pressed his knuckles to his mouth, visibly sickened by the idea of working with brains, “then I’m afraid I must defer to the other Master Alchemist. But if we can work with blood, instead, then I will certainly do what I can to be of assistance to you in formulating a solution.”
Both he and his sister stood back as the Rigas Mage set his healing hands upon Hadwin’s head to explore the source and extent of his pain, but he was not engaged in the task for long before he jerked away, looking a little less hopeful than they’d wanted. “Maybe… maybe there is something I can do.” Teselin blurted, desperate for a solution as soon as Alster gave his partial prognosis. “I’m a summoner, right? Alster, you’ve worked with me before. You’ve helped me before. I haven’t been able to channel my powers into healing capabilities, but maybe… there might be a way. Anything to provide him with relief, or trigger something that will set his mind working the way it should, again…”
None of them had the time to explore that possibility, let alone to get blood drawn to work on a short term solution. All four of them, Elespeth included, jumped when the cot creaked, and the figure laying prostrate upon it opened his eyes. If Teselin had found it hard enough to bear witness to Hadwin in pain, it became clear all too quickly that it was worse than anyone had thought. After Alster intervened to provide a little bit of relief, it sank in slowly for the young summoner that pain was not the only thing they had to worry about. Whatever was going on with Hadwin’s brain chemistry not only left him without two of his most important senses… but he suffered amnesia. He didn’t know who she was. He didn’t know any of them… years of history with other people suddenly gone, with no guarantee that they would return.
Exhausted beyond belief, and already mentally and emotionally spent, Teselin crumpled against the wall of the infirmary, and buried her face in her hands as quiet sobs forced their way to the surface.
Elespeth, who had largely stood out of the way since arriving, finally stepped in and gently took the young summoner by the arm. “Teselin--go with Alster to fetch Bronwyn. Explain what’s going on. Even if she hates your guts and mine, I think she cares enough about her brother to bear with our company for a while.” She exchanged a look with her husband, knowing that he was far gentler and better able to console a distraught Teselin than she was. “Isidor and I will keep Hadwin company in the meantime. He’ll be fine.”
Met with no resistance from her husband, who was probably a little relieved to step out of the tension in the room for a bit, Alster caringly guided Teselin into the hall to accompany her to Bronwyn’s chambers--the room where he had been kept while he’d ‘returned’ to himself. When it was just her and a less than enthusiastic Isidor left, the former knight took a seat next to the cot. “Hey. So, I know you don’t remember me, but my name’s Elespeth. I’m Alster’s wife. I think you and I are friends now, but we weren’t always on good terms.” She figured he deserved the truth, and in any case, he couldn’t go on believing he was still a teenager! “Look… this is going to come across as shocking to you, probably, but you aren’t nineteen. You’re a grown-ass adult who just had something awful happen to him, something we don’t fully understand… and it seems to have taken a toll on more than just your sight and smell. You’ve lost years worth of memories.”
Sighing, she fixed her green-eyed gaze on the wall and folded her arms. “The girl who was just crying… her name is Teselin. She’s just a kid, and while you don’t remember, you mean a lot to one another. She cares so damn much for you… she’d destroy an entire village to ensure your safety.” Perhaps it wasn’t time, just yet, to confirm that that had, in fact, actually and already happened. “Anyway, I’m here with Isidor--he’s a Master Alchemist, and he and Alster are gonna see what they can do to help you. That’s gonna require drawing a little bit of your blood, so I hope you can cooperate to that length, at least, if you ever want to get rid of that headache.”
Meanwhile, Teselin managed to pull herself together with Alster’s help long enough to go and retrieve Bronwyn--someone who would surely be a fixture in Hadwin’s jumbled memory. She was still crying when they reached her door. “It’s all my fault. I tried to help Rowen, against his judgement… he’s like this because of what I did. If Bronwyn did not hate me before, then she has every reason to, now.”
Taking a step back, she wiped her tears on her sleeve, turning her bloodshot eyes to the ground. “You should knock, Alster. She’s afraid of mages, but she might be more receptive to you. She… hasn’t seen your destructive tendencies. But she’s seen mine.”
It happened again. How could it have happened again?! He did everything right! He engaged, set the pace, struck hard with an indefatigable hunger, wrested control to prevent her from establishing complete domination and ensured she would not inflict harm without his explicit say so.
Yet, he still hesitated. He hesitated, and it contributed to the sick crackling and spread of petrifaction on his lower body. Like lava, the eruption swept over his skin in gradual waves and, like lava, it cooled into a hardened, gray substance, bulbous and bubbling on the curves it trickled down to cover. Why had he hesitated? Why did he cease running forward, cease clambering out from under the rumbling cliffside, cease reaching for safe harbor before the quake overcame his gait and unmoored his footing?
Because you did not wish to be the victim. Chara Rigas sneered above him, her hands alight with flames. Throttling his member, the stone that encased it cracked and flaked to pieces in her grip, stone and flesh alike. The flame did not reconcile the differences and split the carapace all the same. So you became the oppressor. To protect yourself...from me. From the woman who will always ensnare that pathetic little heart of yours—and never let go.
“No!” Upon Nia’s gentle finger graze over his rock-solid hipbone, Ari backslid on the bed; but, owing to the newfound inhibitions of a muscle group essential for lower mobility, his uncoordinated scamper planted him against the mattress in a wide-legged sprawl. Not Chara. He wouldn’t let her touch him there; not ever again! Arms crossed to shield his face, he cowered, too frightened to look the woman above him in the eye. “Don’t harm me. Please!”
“Stop!” Lazarus banged the door closed and barreled through the chambers, unaffected by Nia’s warning to stand down. “He said ‘No,’ Ardane. Leave before you inflict further damage!”
“...Laz?” The sound of his manservant’s gruff yet distinguishable yell seemed sufficient enough to rattle Ari from his trauma-induced fog and guide him back to familiar territory. To a reality occupied by his oldest friend and a woman he had grown to trust. Safe; he was safe among them.
“Not to worry, Ari. Ardane is about to leave.” The hulking man’s mass of exposed arm muscles flexed as he reached for Nia’s arm, ready to forcibly eject her if she refused to comply.
“No, Laz.” It was a quiet request, spoken by a man too exhausted and dispirited to project with the usual vim and vigor, but despite the broken glass in his tone, the command was given in earnest. “She stays. As it stands, she remains the only one who can undo what has been done. Let her work.”
“But,” he clenched one fist, trying not to sputter in anger, “she did this to you!”
“No, she did no such thing. I did. Nia,” lowering his hands from his face, he nodded for the woman to resume the reversal process, “if you would. You will find no further resistance from me.”
Begrudgingly, Lazarus yielded and relocated to a corner, but not without aiming a dissatisfied glare in Nia’s direction.
Remaining in his wide-legged sprawl, as it seemed a position most conducive for Nia to operate, Ari offered his arm for pricking and, closing his eyes, mutely accepted her expert aid without much fuss. Aside from the reflexive flinch whenever she concentrated her alchemical arts on his member, to which he kept muttering apologies for over-squirming, Ari was as still as...stone. Perhaps it was for the best, not to have Nia bear witness to the frustrated tears he so desperately forced behind his squeezed eyelids, or his struggle to tamp down the instinct to leap out of bed and hide away in his workshop, denying the world for days, nay, weeks, until the shame and humiliation dwindled to a manageable degree. Alas, there was no honor in retreating, and whatever shame he suffered could not be managed if he refused to address his horrid mistake to the one who also suffered for his gross unprofessionalism, disrespect, and...hostile disregard. How could she be so forgiving? So understanding? Hearing her soothing timbre validate his experiences, however painful it was to accept the thoughts she plucked from his mind and spun into words he could never say, nearly caused him to lose his threadbare composure. Everything she said...was achingly true, and he didn’t know how to respond, or how to supplicate for her forgiveness.
“I...do not want it to hurt,” he admitted, winking one eye open to see the progress on his pelvis and promptly shutting it before any unsightly liquids could leak down his cheek. “But if I could control when, how, and where to feel harm, then I could anticipate every twist and sting, and no longer brace for the unknown. If it is always going to hurt, I’d rather be the one to direct the pain than wait for the pain. In...in doing so, I’ve harmed you and…” he bit down on his kiss-swollen lip, words like puttering things on his leaden tongue. How could he convey his regrets and rectify the dark turn in their intimacy when it was he who had caused everything to unravel? “Nia, I have done you a grave discourtesy, and you have my most profound forgiveness. I was so preoccupied in overcoming a decades’ long obstacle that I had forgotten the person who made overcoming it even possible. I looked so far ahead to the end goal that I skipped entirely over this precious, present moment and, ironically, circled back to the past I tried to avoid. There is no hiding it now.”
To facilitate Nia’s task, he pressed his hands on either side of him, stabilizing the side-to-side rocking of his body. “I’ve been dishonest, deceitful. I brokered false promises and summarily broke them. For my part, I failed to uphold communication and trust and dismissed you as my partner and equal. I let this happen because I refused to listen to you, and I would love to state, with confidence, that I will not repeat this grisly performance, but,” his fingers gripped the mussed-up sheets, “I cannot be certain of this commitment. I cannot be certain at all. It seems I am fundamentally cracked, despite my best efforts to buff and remove the flaws. I cannot guarantee another stone-resurgence or another line-stepping transgression will not occur, given my flagrant ignorance of how sex is supposed to feel. And thus, if I cannot guarantee my ability or capacity to change, then…” While the terrible pressure on his hips eased, freed from their prison of stone, Ari felt a swelling in his chest and stomach. Fearing the worst, he held his breath until the sensation lessened. It refused to abate or vanish, striking him with the unnerving possibility that they might turn next. “...Then I should withdraw my proposal,” he concluded, shakily. “I do not want to do to you what...what was done to me. You, too, deserve better. Much better.”
What are you doing? The disapproving whisper of Hadwin Kavanagh funneled into his ear. You’re vulnerable. At your damn lowest. It’s perfect. You’re at the threshold; so close. Keep going!
No, Ari snapped at the voice. This has gone too far. Someone is bound to get hurt if we continue!
It’s gonna hurt either way. Wouldn’t you say that cutting ties is bound to hurt more? For you and Nia both?
But—
Is this what you actually want? To let her go? You sank hellishly low and she still wants to be with you! Isn’t that something special?
It...it is.
At the completion of Nia’s long, daunting project, Ari carefully sat up and flicked open his eyes to view her handiwork. His member, no longer held hostage within a chamber of stone, returned to flaccidity, taking a much-needed exhale by deflating. The surrounding region, too, followed suit, shrugging away the repressive bind constricting flesh and bone and breathing thankful gulps of fresh air. No signs of persistent stone clung stubbornly to his thighs or undersides like an untreated disease. She had removed everything—and in so doing, likely surveyed everything. His nether-anatomy no longer remained a secret to her.
“You did it again. I cannot fathom how many times I have thanked you and will thank you. That is…” With his eyes open, the dammed-up tears burst and emerged, marking unavoidable steaks on his face, “if I am still a desirable partner to you. I know I’ve said I should withdraw my proposal, but...it is not what I want. Is it what you want?” His glassy, overbright eyes met Nia’s, which were also curiously misty. “I will respect your response, of course, for you have been nothing but respectful to me—and yet, I have rewarded your respect with egregious behavior. In wrongfully assuming you would transform into Chara Rigas, I...I became her.”
The out-loud confession generated a wave of lightheadedness so stiff and biting, it destabilized his core balance. To prevent himself from toppling over, he gripped her arm for support. When the wave passed, his fingers relaxed, but he hesitated in releasing her. “Don’t go. I’m…” I’m not alright, his mouth quivered to say, but failed to vocalize. His eyes pleaded for her to understand the unspoken confession. “I’m...about to call for breakfast,” he said instead, the frustration apparent on his pursed mouth. “Before you return to the palace, care to join me? I cannot in good conscience send you off when you are weak with hunger, no thanks to the demands of my condition. Please,” he dispelled the frustration and smiled gently; a timid hand drew forward to touch the side of her face, “it would be my pleasure. Isn’t that right, Laz?”
The burly man, surprised to be included in the conversation, merely grunted in reply.
Hadwin, whose keen ears hadn’t yet deteriorated, caught the guttural gasps and disjointed breaths reminiscent of someone gently weeping. “Damn—here I’ve gone and frightened one of you to tears with my awe-inspiring tale of birth! Which is what I’d say without a lick of doubt, but I wouldn’t know one way or the other.”
“You wouldn’t?” Alster, healing hand still resting upon the faoladh’s brow, cocked his head in curiosity. “What of your ability to see fears?”
“Alright, I take it you’re telling the truth and we all know each other. Must’ve clonked you pretty bad with a pretty destructive fear or something, for you to have this inside information. Speaks levels for your character that you wanna heal me after all that!” He guffawed and instantly regretted it, for the shooting pain it delivered behind his eyes. “Well,” he said between clenched teeth, “you’ll be glad to know that it’s gone, right now. Yup, I can’t see, in more than one meaning of the word. Looks like I’m at your mercy, Al.”
“Looks like it.” When Elespeth suggested they fetch Bronwyn, Alster hesitated. Withdrawing his hand and its funnel of rejuvenating magic meant Hadwin would go without its incremental relief for an extended time-frame, forced again to convulse and struggle not to black-out. “Is that really the best idea?”
“Wait wait wait—you’re leaving? I was kidding!” He flopped his arm towards the Rigas Caster in entreaty, but it fell short of its mark, jerking far out of reach like a thing possessed. “Don’t do me dirty like that, Al! And for what? To get Bronwyn? She’d sooner stick her fingers into my eye sockets than help! Don’t fucking bother!”
Seeing the desperation of the faoladh who had become his patient, Alster was inclined to suggest Elespeth join Teselin in his place, but softened when his eyes settled on the distraught summoner, fraught with sobs. “Alright,” he whispered his compliance into Elespeth’s ear. “But be careful what you say to him. It’s possible his brain has cleared away some of his memories to lighten the load and ease his burdens. Forcing him to remember or forcing too much information on him at once might be counterproductive to his recovery.”
He turned back to the patient in question, who no doubt overhead the exchange between husband and wife, but Alster chose not to elaborate on the details. “You’re Hadwin Kavanagh,” he said, rising from his chair, the movement removing his magically-treated hand from the wolf-man’s brow. “You can handle a bit of pain.”
“Gee, professional advice, doc,” he growled, spitting sarcasm, as Alster retreated down the hallway, Teselin in tow. Whatever barrier of pain the Rigas caster had walled off came tumbling back, a tidal wave of destruction made deadly by a typhoon under an overgorged moon. The force of the wave thrashed Hadwin one way, then the other, crushing his flailing body against the cot as a shipwreck would slam into an outcropping of rocks offshore.
“What are you yammering on about?!” He seethed, cutting Elespeth off mid-sentence as the pain severely limited his patience for long-winded conversations. “You know me, huh? And my life is a sham? Lost years, you say? Noted. Even though my nose is clogged to hell, I can smell the bullshit a mile away! Wanna mess with me? That’s fine. Take your pot-shots now while I’m down and can’t fight. But once I’m up and going, you’d better fucking run.” His aggression petered off, however, when he caught snippets concerning the sobbing girl, Teselin, and their apparent relationship. “You saying that she’s my kid or something? Hah, she didn’t sound that young! I make sure I don’t bring any progeny into this world. And if you’re suggesting I took up a stray, that’s unlikely. I’m great with kids but I’ve got my little sis to look after. Anyway,” he sighed, enjoying a slight lull in his headache’s contractions, “whatever. Take as much blood as you need if it helps to shake this fucking deathgrip and get me to rights again.”
Alongside Teselin, Alster navigated the pseudo-empty palace corridors en route to the chambers that once served as, in no delicate terms, his dungeon. Why Bronwyn whiled away the weeks in a room that sported no windows, nor opportunities for fresh air, gave him cause for concern, but his train of thought was disrupted when Teselin paused at the door and unloaded her despair, tears gushing and untameable—much like her magic.
“Teselin,” he rummaged through his pockets and offered her a clean handkerchief, “you did nothing wrong. It is in your nature to help indiscriminately. I’m sure you felt especially invested in extending a hand to Hadwin’s sister, and doing so is certainly not a blameworthy offense. I’d say that’s the hallmark of a highly empathetic person. Relatedly, would you blame me for being the reason Hadwin unlocked the uncanny ability to siphon fears?” Not one to say the source of his fears aloud—namely, Locque—he elected for vagueness, certain she at least heard the story about how Hadwin’s fear-snatching technique developed. “Were it not for me, perhaps he never would have discovered how to do it. We could go around in circles casting blame all day, but we mustn’t forget that Hadwin is his own person, and, weighing the consequences, chose to put himself in this position. It seems pretty clear that he compromised his health because he saw a sliver of hope for his sister, and decided it was worth the risk. We’re here to assure that his risk doesn’t keep him immobilized by pain. Memory loss or not, he needs you, Teselin. He needs you to be strong.” He laid a soft hand upon the summoner’s shoulder.
“I know you want to lend your magic for this cause, and you have near limitless potential, but,” he paused, hoping she wouldn’t interpret his analysis as rejection, knowing how it sometimes incited her to take bold, reckless actions to prove herself; “healing with magic requires nuance and precise control by a steady hand and a clear mind. Any influx, wayward surge, or emotional reaction could disrupt a delicate process and potentially cause great harm to the patient. It has been said that people who possess limited or passive magic have the makings of a great healer, as it is a discipline that requires micro-movements and deliberate, careful emissions of highly-regulated energy—something that comes easier when you have less of it, to start. Or conversely, in my case, when you have spent much of your life training under a ruthless taskmaster who allows absolutely no margin for error.” Debine Rigas, he often thought, would have thrived as a military commander. Motherhood, by her admission, was never her calling. “If you have the aspirations to become a healer, we would have to first control your energy input to a vast degree, diminishing it to tiny streams on command, and there simply isn’t any time to undergo such specialized training when Hadwin requires care now,” he said, eyes tingeing with regret as he gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Besides, I’ve heard you have an obligation to Locque. Would she allow you to take a leave of absence from assisting her? Even so, I think I know another way you can help. See to it that Rowen is given the best care. Continue to help with her recovery goals. The more support she has, the sooner Hadwin will return the fear he took.” If he can, he thought, remembering the faoladh’s claim that he could no longer see fears. “I don’t think he would balk to hear that you’re supporting his sister when no one else would dare. In the meantime, if I find some healing-related task that is apropos for your magic, I will not hesitate to inform you. Does this sound like the beginnings of a plan?”
Before he could clinch an answer, the door swung open to reveal Bronwyn, her chestnut locks in wild disarray and the straps of her too-large sleep frock falling off her shoulders. By a cursory look at her exposed neck, collarbone, and arms, she had lost an alarming amount of weight. “I heard you mages whispering at my door,” she slurred, still half-asleep. “What’s this about my brother? What did he do now?”
Despite her seemingly unfazed response to entertaining the likes of a summoner who destroyed a city and a Rigas caster who yanked an enormous serpentine beast out of nowhere, Bronwyn, gaining wakefulness by the second, eyed them warily and refused to meet them in the hallway. The protective sigils that scrawled her room would guarantee that Alster, at least, would do her no harm.
“Good morning, Bronwyn,” Alster took a courteous bow. “To make a long story short, Hadwin manifested the ability to absorb another person’s fears via eye contact and convert it into alarming headaches the likes of which are...unprecedented. As we speak, his brain has shuttered his sense of sight--fearsight included--his sense of smell, and years of his memories. He believes he is nineteen years old. He will remember no one else but you and Rowen. And seeing as Rowen was the recipient of his fear-siphon, she is currently unavailable to visit. We ask that you come with us to the infirmary, Bronwyn, because you may be able to help your brother.”
“Doing what?” Her hand clutched at her temple and flinched, as though she, too, suffered a grandiose headache. “I couldn’t help him in Apelrade. What makes you think I can help him now? Hadwin at nineteen hated my guts. Honestly, it sounds like you’re talking gibberish out of your mouth because I can’t even fathom the possibility of what you just said. But this is Hadwin we’re talking about,” she conceded with a dark mutter. “Of course he can siphon fears now. Next, he’ll sprout wings and fly. Why not? Even so,” she cleared her throat, hoarse from disuse, “I don’t think I can help you. He’ll be petty and flat-out refuse to see me. You’re better off asking that pretty little acrobat to keep him company. He may not know her currently, but oh I guarantee he’ll want to know her. Believe me,” she rested her hand on the door, prepared to close it, “I’m doing you a favor.”
“If you don’t want it to hurt, then it shouldn’t. Plain and simple.” The Master Alchemist confirmed gently as she focused her transforming the stone back to flesh, as the tiny pool of blood in her hand succumbed to dust as a trade-off. “I understand where your mind is going. Take the reins and no one can ever hurt you again--that’s it, right? See, I understand that very well, because… I’ve sort of done the same thing, over the years. Just in a different manner.”
Perhaps it didn’t look it at the surface, but holding a conversation while performing alchemical acts, particularly on organic organisms, was quite the feat--and certainly not recommended. Under other circumstances, Nia would have kept her damn mouth shut and just concentrated on her job, but with Ari in such a fragile position, and given the aftermath of a disastrous attempt at a union, she feared silence would do more harm than good. So she kept talking; kept reassuring, kept validating his feelings and experiences. She’d wished someone would have done the same for her, all that time ago. “Like I said before, it’s why I’ve only ever bedded virgins. Because I am the one in control. Someone with no experience doesn’t have much of a chance of pulling the wool over my eyes long enough to hurt me. And it’s why I always choose to be on top; the one setting the pace to my partner’s liking. Looking down from above so that they can’t look at me like a pinned target. Though… maybe that’s too much information, huh?”
She attempted a self-deprecating smile, but even that was shaky around the edges, and as soon as her hands moved to restore flesh and blood flow back into Ari’s more delicate anatomy, Nia shut up and simply listened, letting him speak until the task was complete. “So I know you probably thought I was just nagging, trying to get you to open up about the details of the last time an attempt at sex ended so poorly…” With gentle hands, she pressed around his hip bones and thighs, to ascertain that all felt the way it should, and she hadn’t missed a single fragment of stone, inside or out. “But I wasn’t just trying to be a pain in the ass. I wanted to know so that I could know what to look for, so that I could understand what was happening, in case things started to veer in a bad direction. See, these things don’t make me quite as all-knowing as you might think.” She held her hands up, palms facing forward, the silver scars of runes almost seeming to catch in the sunlight as it streamed through the windows. “Believe it or not, I’m actually quite limited when it comes to understanding what’s going on with someone. I can feel adrenaline, or a spike in heart rate and blood pressure, but those can all mean a million different things. They can mean excitement; or they can mean pure, unadulterated fear. That’s why I asked about Chara Rigas and what she’d done to you. So that I could glean a better understanding of how you flow in these situations; so I’d know when to pull back, before disaster struck…”
Unfortunately, with her limited knowledge of exactly how Ari responded during sex, she was very much left at the mercy of playing it by ear. She thought she’d been on the right track by allowing him to lead as he liked; she thought that she’d be doing more harm than good to veer him in a direction contrary to the pace that he had established. Why hadn’t she gone with her instincts? That they had been moving far too quickly, and veering into damaging territory that would only cause him harm? This was her fault as much as it was Ari’s. They had both been so afraid to screw this all up, that they’d fallen into their own traps. “I think part of me knew it was getting too rough, and that it would only hurt you… so I didn’t reciprocate. But I didn’t stop you, either, when I should have. But I couldn’t be sure… so I didn’t wrest control from you. You aren’t the only one to blame here, Ari. The big guy is right.” She gestured feebly to Lazarus, who stood way too close for comfort. “I did do this to you. At least, in part, because I hesitated to stop it before it got this bad. I’m complicit by neglect. And I’m sorry.”
The Master Alchemist sat back on her heels, satisfied that Ari’s body had returned to a state of normalcy. “Don’t beat yourself up over this. Hells, we might even have made something of a revelation: I mean, the fact that it was that part of your body that flared up in such a specific situation… doesn’t that tell us something? That maybe these episodes aren’t as random as you might think. Could be something to investigate further. But, I mean…” She rubbed the scar on the side of her neck and averted her gaze, trying to hide how her heart sank at the thought that he wanted to give up. “We don’t have to pursue this any more, if it’s too stressful for you. Of course, I’d always encourage anyone who falls down to get back up and brush it off, but you’re right: there’s no telling how future ventures might turn out. I also can’t guarantee you won’t have another flare up even under more favorable circumstances, for how little we know about your condition. I can’t guarantee that it wouldn’t take any number of attempts before you feel comfortable enough with sex to not trigger any more self-petricifcation. Whatever you decide, I can respect that.”
But… what would that mean for them, then? If he was too afraid to pursue sex, did that also mean that everything they had built up to these past few months would also go out the window? Did that mean he wanted to return to sterile, formal relations, go back to when he called her ‘Miss’ and she addressed him as ‘Lord Canaveris’? I have no right to try and persuade him otherwise. Not for my own selfish gain. She thought dismally, her hand lingering on her neck, over her scar for several moments. See, Hadwin? I burned another bridge. I’m made of fire and just burn bridges before they have a chance to stand strong… you were wrong.
With nothing more to do, and no more excuses to stay since Alster had healed her head injury, the Master Alchemist prepared to stand up and leave Ari to his privacy… until he rescinded his near-decision to terminate the relations that they currently had going. Was he… crying? “Ari… hey. We were prepared for this possibility, weren’t we? That it might end badly? Isn’t that why you chose to be intimate with the likes of me?” A hint of a smile touched her lips, and in a bold move, she reached out to wipe his tears away with the back of her hand. Don’t forget about that part. You’re not here because he’s dying to take you to bed; you’re here because you’re the only one he can safely take to bed, under these circumstances. You’re as much a convenience to him as you have been every other virgin dying to get some experience.
That ever-grounding voice, the one that lingered in the shadows of her mind, only to emerge whenever she got her hopes up, was always in the tone of Felyse Ardane. The one person who would constantly remind her of her low-ranking place in her family, in the world, and to everyone who ever meant something to her. It never really went away; she’d just gotten better at ignoring it, over the years. But… maybe, this time, it held some weight. Even if that is the case… you can’t stop me from caring. She countered stubbornly. Nia never would have had the spine to stand up to her mother when she had been alive; but it was easy to tell her off when she was nothing but the remnant memory of her cold tone. I already know I’m nobody and nothing; it doesn’t mean I can’t change things for the better, even for only one person. “You can rest assured, Ari, you are very desirable to me. And I’ll tell you what I want: I want you to experience the adult pleasure you deserve. I want you to feel confident about it, and not worry about turning to stone. I want to help you get to the bottom of losing control when you start turning to stone, so that you can at least learn to channel it safely. But first and foremost… I just want you to be happy. And to not beat yourself up over a little mishap like this.”
Blinking away the tears in her eyes before they could fall and threaten to take her with them, the Master Alchemist expelled a steadying breath from her lungs. “Seriously, there’s no harm done. I’m not hurt; and you’re not stone from the waist down. And we can try again, whenever you feel ready… maybe with a bit less voyeurism, next time?” Nia shot a displeased glance in Lazarus’s direction and adjusted the wide neckline of her tunic so that it sat a little more modestly across her shoulders. “Whatever you might think of me, Lazarus, I am not that kind of girl! Sex is an intimate and private endeavour, you know. It’s also polite to knock.” She didn’t miss the meaning behind the way Ari gripped her arm, and the startled look glimmering in his dark eyes, and even if the burly manservant had forcibly removed her from the property, she’d have stood firmly on Ari’s doorstep until he himself asked her to leave. Once upon a time, following yet another tragic sexual venture, she, too, hadn’t been alright. And she wished she’d had someone to ask her that question, back then…
“Ah, you know I can’t turn down a good meal after working my alchemy.” Nia grinned reassuringly, but she was the one who felt reassured when he reached out to touch her face. How far he’d come from being afraid to once take her hand and dance with her! That felt like a millennia ago. “It’s not like I can get a carriage here any sooner than suppertime in the daylight, anyway. If Locque could wait a few days for me to return to her services, she can wait another few hours. Of course I’ll join you for breakfast.”
The look of displeasure on Lazarus’s face at the fact she was yet again extending her stay at the Canaveris estate was somewhat comical and entertaining, as Ari hurriedly dressed in what he had been wearing yesterday, and Nia replaced the belt around her tunic and slipped into her boots. She almost wanted to poke fun at him, but Ari did seem astonishingly connected to his manservant, and she didn’t want to offend him vicariously. At last, the big man left when it became clear that Ari was fine and well, and any crisis had been averted, leaving the two of them alone in the spare bedroom again. “I thought your family had something of a respect for Master Alchemists.” she couldn’t help but comment, drawing her lips into a pucker as her eyes trailed the path Lazarus had taken to leave. “Your bodyguard really doesn’t seem to like me. I realize he’s only got your best interests in mind and all, but I have no idea what I need to do to make it clear to him that I actually have zero interest in hurting you. Does he just see me as another Chara? Is that it?”
Afraid the inquiry might spark some unease in Ari, Nia leaned her cheek on the palm of her hand and waved away his concerns or apologies with her other hands. “Hey, honestly it doesn’t bother me. I’m working for a widely unpopular ruler; I’ve grown used to being despised, and it doesn’t bother me on a good day. I’m just curious--in that, if there’s anything I can do to get that guy to stop glaring at me, I would love to know!” But the topic did not last long with the arrival of breakfast, that consisted of an assortment of breads and cheeses, sweet cakes and jams, and chilled, thinly sliced meat with some fruit on the side. The Master Alchemist didn’t even have to pretend to be interested, as her stomach had been quietly growling since assisting Ari with his recent flare up. Without even a trace of self-consciousness, she loaded up a plate with whatever it could hold, and by the time she was finished, she must have eaten at least twice as much as Ari had consumed. Even if gluttony was her greatest vice, at least she had her craft to fall back on for an excuse. People were often either amazed, envious, or disgusted. At this point, Ari at least seemed used to it.
“So I know I’ve been monopolizing your time and attention for three or four days, now, and you’ve probably got a good deal of work to do and more important people to see… I’d like to come back soon.” Nia said to Ari after they had both eaten their fill, and let it settle in their stomach over a cup of tea. “If that is alright with you. I meant what I said, we don’t have to rush anything, and frankly, we shouldn’t. But there are other things we can try in the interim--beyond the bedroom, I mean. Insofar as helping you gain more control over your curse and how it affects you. What happened this morning was the most serious by far, from what I’ve seen… not like you can go days and days waiting for your entire pelvis to turn back to normal when bodily functions still have to happen, huh?”
Setting her now empty teacup back on her plate, she reached toward him, where he sat across from her, and gave his knee a gentle squeeze to allay any panic referring to that morning’s disaster. “Honestly, I feel like I’ve been of more use here than I have been at the palace, anyway. Locque is looking to get in touch with her former self through help of the Night Garden, and who knows if she’s even going to want or need me at that point? But that aside… I just want you to have a little more agency and control over what happens to you. You’ll return to Stella D’Mare, one day, and even if you didn’t, your lifespan is a lot longer than mine. Even Master Alchemists don’t live forever. So,” she withdrew her hand and tucked it into her own lap. “Let me help while I can.”
“Gods; if I had know you were a bigger pain in the ass in your formative years, I might’ve had a better opinion of you to start with.” Elespeth muttered, rubbing the side of her head. This was going to give her a headache. “No, your life is not a sham. In fact, you’ve got a hell of a lot of people who care about you--you just can’t remember them. Like the girl I mentioned. And no--thank the gods she isn’t yours. But she’s been like a sister to you for a while; and you like a brother to her. You’ve been keeping one another going at the worst of times, so even if you don’t believe me, please don’t completely blow her off. She’s already torn up about this…” And bad, bad things happen when Teselin emotionally shatters, she thought, but that was something that Hadwin did not need to know in his present state of mind.
“Oh--and here’s a hint. Don’t alienate the people who are trying to help you, huh?” The ex-atvanian would’ve rolled her eyes, but it appeared he couldn’t see, anyway. “Whether or not you think what I’m telling you is bullshit, there are a lot of people here trying to figure out what is wrong with you, and how to reverse it. So, sorry, but you really have no choice but to trust us.”
As Elias needed to finally rest for the evening, one of his attending physicians came to carefully extract a vial of blood from the faoladh’s arm. As soon as enough was procured, the vial was surrendered to Isidor, who was more than happy for the excuse to leave. “Tell Alster he is welcome to find me in my chamber. I’ll get a start on trying to get a grasp on this biological anomaly.” Was all he said, before taking his leave, no saying so much as a word to Hadwin. When the faoladh commented on the man’s silence, Elespeth was quick to fill in the blanks--to an extent.
“Yes… Isidor isn’t your friend. At least, he really has no reason to want to be, at this point. Just be grateful that he is willing to help. He’s already saved my life and helped Alster. When you get your memory back… you’d do well to actually apologize to him. You’ll know why.” Leaning her head against the wall, Elespeth tried not to take too much offense from the assumed ‘teenager’s’ biting remarks. It had taken so long to actually come to good terms with Hadwin; she didn’t want this bump in the road to bring them back to square one. It was far more exhausting to despise him. “Anyway… Bronwyn’s not going to hurt you. She’s had a rough go at life lately, as it is. I think it’s going to hurt her to see you this way, but… she’s the only one you actually remember. Maybe her being here is necessary.”
Unfortunately, Bronwyn did not appear to agree. Either she truly did not believe she could help, or she did not want to try. The faoladh woman looked worse than Teselin remembered, seeing her last. One of the frocks that Briery had crafted precisely to her unique fitting now hung loose on her body. She remember Brownyn’s muscles and athletic build, a woman who was in good shape overall, but as she had all but entirely confined herself to her warded room, it didn’t appear as though she’d been getting much exercise--which was another problem in and of itself that, sadly, none of them had taken the time to consider. That Bronwyn still needed help, but as far as priorities went… somehow, she had fallen between the cracks.
“Bronwyn, Hadwin won’t remember Briery, and he isn't in the right state of mind to try. He didn’t… he doesn’t even remember me. Please, you have to understand how and why this happened.” The young summoner placed her hand on the door frame before Bronwyn could close it. “Rowen… came to me, expressing interest in lifting herself out of her own darkness. A Gardener has shown promise in helping her, and when Hadwin saw hope and potential, he wanted to expedite her recovery by absorbing her fears of the world and its evil as they stand. And by doing that… he’s put himself in critical condition.” Despite Alster’s reassurances, she couldn’t help but feel the guilt for playing such a direct hand in that endeavour. What was the point in helping someone if it only caused someone else pain? As much as she hated to admit it, she’d have been better off leaving Rowen alone… stuck as a prisoner in her own darkness. “If he hates you in his current state of mind, at least he will recognize your voice. He’ll believe you when you explain to him what is happening, and that this isn’t all some wild ruse. Alster and Isidor plan to work together to try and use alchemy and magic combined to try and help, but the most they believe they can do is provide him relief from his pain. What he needs right now is a link to his past who can bring him back to the present, and you… you are his only option. Rowen doesn’t know what has happened to him, and he has made me swear not to tell her, lest it halt whatever progress she is making. Please, Bronwyn…” If she had tears left to cry, they might have wet her cheeks, desperate and exhausted as the young summoner was. But they’d gone dry on the way to Bronwyn’s room. “You could be helping both of them, if you’ll only agree.”
“Intimate with the likes of you?” Ari echoed, frowning at her wording. Was she implying he chose her as a partner solely because of her de-petrification skills? “Nia, I am afraid you are mistaken.” Were it up to him, he would never inconvenience the Master Alchemist with requests to routinely service his flare-ups. He may have been trying to poach Nia’s loyalty from Locque, but not her employment. For the most part, his curse rarely developed to the point of emergency, and the elephant-gray spots often vanished on their own after a day or two. While he certainly appreciated having gained her specialized aid, he had never fathomed their first act of intimacy would escalate to such terrible, debilitating heights. The thought existed, true, but he was convinced it would not manifest into reality because he did not fear Nia as he feared Chara, and thus, the circumstances differed. Here, he was in a safe place—his home—with a partner he chose, who respected boundaries and limitations far better than the surly blonde Rigas ever could. Yet, regardless of his ideal scenario, he had floundered so spectacularly that he wondered why Nia shouldered any blame at all. She had tried to reason him down, and he failed to defer to her expertise out of a misplaced sense of control and proving one’s mettle. Alas, he could prove nothing alone, not if he cruelly crushed her underfoot so he may rise.
“I chose you because I fancy you.” He bashfully lowered his head to hide the tears her fingers traced. Already at a level of raw vulnerability on par with the discovery and processing of Casimiro’s death, he was ashamed to reveal more, nevermind the benefits of sharing the moment with someone who truly understood. If he sank any further, there was no guarantee he would re-emerge to the surface; not if he transformed entirely to stone and plummeted to the ocean bed. “Setting aside the rarity of your skill-set, anyone could possess your talents, but I would not desire to bed them on that merit alone. You are special to me because you are Nia, not a Master Alchemist. I’ve endured this curse for decades. I will endure it again, when I one day depart for Stella D’Mare.” He muffled the urge to suggest she join him. Although he spoke in hypotheticals, he wasn’t sure it was safe to fantasize about an alternative history where they lived together, when she believed her commitment to serving Galeyn’s usurper queen would be lifelong. That, and, it was best not to frighten her with overzealous displays of kinship and...deep, deep fondness. For, after the events of today, he began to see her in a new light—and the light warmed him.
“You are as much a part of this union as I am, and I hope you are not making concessions for me, alone. It is my sincerest wish that you, too, find happiness and satisfaction. I cannot very well climb to the top without you, nor do I want to leave you behind. I regret that my actions from today did not reflect this. So please do not blame yourself for my misdeeds. I take responsibility.” After Lazarus marched out of the room, stomping his steps like a petulant child showcasing his displeasure, Ari pulled away from Nia, albeit reluctantly, wiped away his remaining tears, and rose to gather his discarded clothes. He met no resistance or discomfort from his formerly-petrified hips as he distributed his weight to a full standing position, a testament to Nia’s diligent and thorough workmanship. The joints operated just as a healthy body would: fluid and flexible.
“Laz is distrustful of outsiders,” Ari explained amid donning his trousers, tunic, long-coat, cravat, and gloves, intense relief replacing his nerves with every layer added. “As a golem, his superior function is to protect me from those he perceives as dangerous. Unfortunately, to him, your associations with Queen Locque outclass your utility as a Master Alchemist. Rest assured, he follows my orders, but he harbors his own opinions and biases irrespective of my personal views. His personality can only be described as cantankerous towards those he dislikes. Nonetheless, he is my dear friend and protector. He can sense when I am in danger, which explains his well-timed intrusion. Please forgive him. He knows not to harm you. Perhaps he will come around in the future, but he is quite gifted in stubbornly holding to long-standing grudges.”
If he heard Nia’s mention of Chara Rigas, he did not acknowledge her inquiry, instead redistributing his focus on procuring them some breakfast. As before, he instructed the serving staff to bring the food to the spare bedroom via carts. Still shaken from the morning’s affairs, he preferred a private one-on-one as opposed to potentially encountering Sylvie or another Canaveris in the dining room. Together, Nia and Ari complemented one another’s appetites. While Nia heaped up two plates’ worth and easily consumed her share of cheeses, jam-slicked breads, cakes, fruit, and meats, Ari selected a buttered slice of bread, a thin sliver of cheese, and two small slices of honeydew, scarcely finishing his sparse meal. After breakfast, he filled a cup of tea and drank it straight, forgoing the cream he often liked to add.
“Funny that; I would also like to see your swift return,” he mused, touching the bergamot-spiced tea to his smiling lips. “My sentiment still stands, Nia. You are always welcome at the Canaveris villa. Consider this room your own, if ever you need a reprieve from the palace. And,” he paused, shakily returning his teacup to the saucer, “I...will happily accept your offer. Whatever insights you can impart with relation to my curse will be a godsend. It is, after all, as you say,” a hint of disappointment darkened his voice. “I will return to Stella D’Mare, and will continue to age at half your pace. I was reluctant, before, to learn proper prevention and mitigation techniques, but it is not fair to rely on you so heavily whenever a flare-up should occur, especially when it puts such a strain on your health.” In an imitation of Nia’s previous gesture, he placed a hand on her knee. “Consider me in full agreement. I desire more agency. To control what I have the ability to control. And this time, I will yield to you and your expertise.”
“Oh, my bad.” In preparation for a deluge, Hadwin sharpened yet-to-cut words on his canines and let them all fly from his mouth in a flurry. “Forgive me for my rudeness, whatever-your-face-is. Not like I’m in excruciating fucking pain or anything, but sure, I’ll be on my best behavior so that my ‘guests’ aren’t inconvenienced by my hurtful outbursts. Cuz that’s what matters, yeah? And excuse me if I’m not grateful when I don’t have any fucking clue what’s going on! You lot could’ve taken me hostage for all I know—poisoned my drink so I’m all weak and reliant on you to ‘nurse’ me back to health or some shit while you mess with my head as payback for whatever I’ve done. How am I even sure this ain’t some elaborate revenge scheme? And don’t give me any bunk about Bron; I bet she’s in on it! You think she cares if I die? Psh, she’d throw a damn celebration!”
Whatever case Elespeth made in Teselin’s favor was either lost on him or irrelevant. The ‘kid’ in question was probably some prop to get him to lower his guard so his ‘captors’ could finish the job with an emotionally manipulative coup de grace. Why they thought some random kid would snap his heartstrings better than Rowen was anyone’s guess, unless she refused to take part in the scheme—or she ran off to safety.
“If you’re all so adamant about selling this ‘We’re on your side,’ bullshit, then I wanna see Rowen. Couldn’t give two fucks about big sis, but if little sis can corroborate your tall tales, then I might be inclined to believe them. Unless…she’s not on your payroll,” he snorted gleefully; even without the use of his nose, he smelt a grand conspiracy brewing. “I bet you’ll say she wanted to be here but couldn’t for some regrettable reason or another. In reality, you failed to get her to fold to your demands and play along, eh? What a fucking convenient excuse. Look,” another destructive wave of pain forced him to suck in his teeth, “if you’re here to torture me, just get it done and over with. Chances are you won’t get much more outta me anyway, the rate this monster headache is going.”
Though tempted to fend off the mosquito that buzzed around his bed to suck his blood through its artificial proboscis, Hadwin, losing the fight with every vocal jab at his questionable assailants, gasped from an invisible uppercut to his head, lay plank-still, and allowed a no-fuss blood extraction to take place. Slick with fever, he shivered upon sheets already soaked from his excessive body heat. Following Isidor’s hasty departure, he pulled back his lips and grimaced. “Hah...the truth, at last,” he said feebly, between pained huffs. “This is revenge for what I did to your alchemist friend. If I apologize, will this end? Cuz if that’s all it’ll take...I’ll do it. I’ll fucking do it.” Wounded pangs of desperation sent unstable twangs through his wavering speech. “I’ll shake on it. Take an oath. Anything to keep from...wasting away.”
Bronwyn, meanwhile, delayed her closing of the door to humor Teselin’s final plea--and not to agitate her emotions into a volatile lather of city-destroying proportions. “No, you don’t understand, Teselin. He won’t believe me. He didn’t believe me when we rescued him from that putrid dungeon. When he gets like this, when his mind betrays him, I am the last thing alive that can pull him from the brink and you know this. You were there. If you talk to him, he may not believe you, either, but he’ll believe in you. The people who mean the most to him,” her eyes trained dejectedly to the floor, “they have a way of reaching his heart that I will never match. Don’t take this the wrong way. I want him to get well. This whole time, I thought he’d given up on Rowen, but he never did. This gesture alone ranks head and shoulders above anything I tried to do for her...or will ever do. I wish him the swiftest recovery, but it will have to be from afar.”
Before Teselin either walked away in dejection or succumbed to a second fit of sobs, Alster stepped in, opting for clarification to bolster and support the summoner’s argument. “We don’t need to reach his heart. We need to reach his brain. It’s indisputable that you feature prominently in his early memories, and yours is a strong, undeniable presence. Even if he doesn’t trust you, he can’t excuse and dismiss you as a stranger. Good and bad, the feelings he bears towards you will give him a focal point and a connection the likes of which none of us have, as his condition currently stands. You don’t need to have a positive interaction, either. At this point, any interaction will do. Bronwyn,” he captured her amber eyes and spoke with deliberate articulation, “you are the bridge between his past and his present, because you exist in both timelines. If there is anyone he needs right now, it’s you.”
Against her careful judgment, as any involvement with Hadwin seldom panned out well for her, Bronwyn reluctantly caved to the demands of her ambuscade. Not like she could actually avoid the situation now that the grim news passed her ears. Even if she closed the door in her staunch refusal to pay him a visit, inevitably, concern and morbid curiosity would win out over resilience, resulting in her defeat. Since separating from her clan, Bronwyn had never felt so alone, confused, and afraid, too overwhelmed by the broader world rife with super-powered individuals, tyrannical overlords, and murder-happy sisters to ever attempt leaving the illusory safety of her chambers. She wanted to go home, but there was no more home; Collcreagh now belonged to Mollengard, and the clan had scattered as a means of protecting themselves. The only person left within her grasp, who had opened himself to her and acted as the bridge between past and present was Hadwin, in all his volatile, infuriating glory. And hadn’t he visited her multiple times during her self-imposed exile, providing, much to her bafflement, halfway pleasant company? It was clear, via her Sight, that he was trying to understand how to develop an amicable relationship around her, and she appreciated his efforts, however clunky his execution. He just couldn’t resist a jibe—or dozen—at her expense. One time, upon noticing her weight loss, he brought her a homemade loaf of bread made with the traditional Collcreaghan twist, and its sweet, buttery crunch was the closest thing to home she had tasted, such that when he left, she had broken down into tears. Another time, he brought in a deck of cards and proceeded to annihilate her at every game, laughing maniacally as he threw down winning hand after winning hand. Despite his irritating tendencies, Hadwin was capable of showing kindness and care. In his own unconventional way.
Although she agreed to go to the infirmary, she hadn’t agreed on accepting two dangerous mages as her escort. Provided they keep a wide berth from her, and agree to the accompaniment of at least two magically-resistant Forbanne soldiers, she would follow. As she briefly dipped into her quarters to change into more public appropriate, but equally-as-saggy clothes and pull her natty hair into a ponytail, she emerged, pleased with the seriousness in which they took her request, for, sure enough, a small guard of three soldiers awaited her outside the door.
“I’m ready; lead the way,” she waved at the two mages. “Who knows? This iteration of him may not be as aggravating. Without his sight and smell, he can’t rag on my appearance or hygiene, and he can’t see fears anymore. And he’s in too much pain to argue. There shouldn’t be any trouble.”
She was wrong.
“Piss off.” They were Hadwin’s first words to her as she entered the infirmary and tentatively made herself known with nothing more than a sterile greeting and a ‘How are you faring?’ “You’re in on this, too. Don’t lie! You’ve always been a shit liar!”
“In on...what?” She said, bewildered but nonetheless unsurprised by his quick-acting accusations. He was in horrible pain and it left him both perpetually agitated and...paranoid? Did that have something to do with his absent fearsight, or a malfunction in his brain?
“Playing dumb’s not gonna work!” He growled, curling his hand into a weak fist. “Get the hell away from me.”
“Or what?” She goaded, shocked at how easily she fell into an old role. “You’re going to spring up and attack me? You can’t even move, Hadwin.” She pinned down his wrist before he had the chance to jerk it towards her. “I had nothing to do with this. Use your damn head. You think I’m a scheming mastermind? Me? The person you once called so dumb that I’d walk into a lake thinking it was a stairway to the sky?”
But he didn’t listen. Using all his strength, he swung his uninhibited fist at her. She caught it with her other palm. “They’ve got you. You’re doing their dirty work,” he sputtered, struggling to break free of his sister’s grip and hissing through agonizing bursts that mounted with every frenzied movement. “You’re dumb as shit but even you can follow a script!”
Before the chaos could climb, Alster, who watched passively but closeby, weaved between the two and placed his hand on Hadwin’s forehead. “Do you want relief? Or do you want to fight?” Frustrated tears pricked from the faoladh’s eyes, but upon feeling the pointiest barbs recede into a dull ache, he nodded and advocated for relief. Bronwyn, realizing her proximity to activated magic, however healing and mellow, released Hadwin’s hands and scurried far away from the bed, a clamorous reaction that made the middle Kavanagh sibling gurgle with laughter. “Bron...you’re afraid of magic. Since when?”
“I thought...you couldn’t see fears,” She now stood, shoulders flattened against the wall across from Alster, who flashed her a look of apology.
“Oh come on; it’s glaringly obvious. Any idiot can hear your clumsy clambering and make the connection.”
“I see.” She released a harried breath and placed a hand over her rapidly-beating chest. “Good to know that you still take pleasure in another person’s pain.”
“Psh,” Hadwin snorted, “I take pleasure in my own pain, too. Just...not like this.”
Felyse Ardane had long since imbued in her middle daughter's psyche her utter lack of relevance and significance to the world at large. Forced to grow up in Celene’s shadow, she was a presence that did her work behind the scenes, and received none of the praise, recognition, or compensation for what she did. It was difficult enough to pursue the life of a Master Alchemist, not only due to the survival and success rates of becoming fully recognized in Master Alchemy being so low, but for how taxing it was on the body, mind, and spirit. Celene had worked hard; she had endured so much. In Felyse’s eyes, her eldest child could do no wrong, and overshadowed even Daryen, the second oldest and only boy, who had succumbed to the practice at a young age. But so, too, did Anetania Ardane jump through the same hoops as her elder brother and sister. So, too, did she earn (and survive!) the runes on her hands… and yet, somehow, she was still nothing, and no more significant than the service she could provide. It hadn’t taken her long to come to believe in her mother’s toxic words, and for them to take root; unfortunately, it was much harder to unlearn, and uproot those beliefs in her adulthood.
You are this family’s poorest turn in luck. A mistake that should not have happened. Her mother had told her, on more than just one occasion. If you have to be here, then I refuse to give you the opportunity to bring this family down. So you will follow Celene, but only at her heels. Make her the best that she can be. Prop her up as the pride of this family. Outside of her, and beyond her, your existence means nothing, Anetania. Do you understand?
She had understood, and oddly… it had never bothered her. Not really. Because Celene had been kind to her, encouraging to her. Sometimes, on the harder days, she would even comfort her when Felyse otherwise remained unaware. Perhaps it was selfish to think so, but Nia had felt that Celene favoured her even over little Palla, whose birth had only cast the middle child’s significance further into the abyss. Nia had no minded living for her sister because, with or without Felyse’s encouragement, Celene was her confidante, her best friend, her world.
It had never been her intention or desire to overshadow her. It had never been her wish to be the only surviving child… and finally, the only surviving Ardane.
It was no mystery, then, that Nia had automatically attributed Ari’s interest in her to her unique skill set, and what she could provide for him. And even so, it never occurred to her as something from which she should derive offense. Hadwin was right; she was lonely, attention-starved from hiding away with Locque anonymously for the past year. What did she care if his friendship and affections were only borne of her ability to turn his body from rock back to flesh, blood, and bone? How was that really any different than buying Hadwin’s company for an evening by keeping him sated with ale? It made sense to her, and not for one second did she think there was anything wrong with a transactional relationship such as that.
So when Ari screwed up his face in confusion and expressed that she was mistaken… she had no idea what he meant. “But what about that lovely statue you crafted? The one of the dead acrobat that meant so much to the traveling performers? Don’t you remember? When you refused payment, Hadwin volunteered--well, I guess, more like voluntold me to help you with your ‘condition’ in exchange for his services. Isn’t that all part of what this is, sex or no?”
Evidently not. At least, not if she was reading into his words correctly. Whatever she did about his curse… he didn’t see this intimacy as part of this deal. This was something separate. So when he said he fancied her, did… did that mean he liked her? As in, liked her, beyond how one friend should like another? Unbidden, a flush crept into her cheeks, and she nervously rubbed the back of her neck. “Damn, Ari. When you talk like that, it makes me sad that I can’t go with you, when you venture off to your homeland again. Makes me wish that wasn’t such a farfetched idea. I owe my safety to Locque; and I’m not sure she’d be too happy if I up and left all of a sudden. Still...” Something wistful crossed her face that could have been sadness, but she mitigated it with a smile too quickly. “It does make me wonder if this place is really gonna feel like home when you and the D’Marians depart. I don’t seem to make friends too easily around here.”
As the conversation shifted to his manservant, Nia was not at all surprised by his explanation, and had derived as much before the Canaveris lord had confirmed it for her. “Yeah, he’s just like anyone else, I guess. I can’t really blame him with how this all came about.” She vaguely waved her hand in the air. “Locque wasn’t exactly subtle about her show of power, and hey, a lot of places hate Master Alchemists as it is. But, I mean, he must know that I’m not going to hurt you, right? Or does he think I’m playing some kind of long con? Ah, well. If his stubbornness is as great as his mass, I might never know.”
It had been only a few days since she had departed the palace at dusk to come to Ari’s aid, only a few days she had taken up temporary residence at his estate, and much of that time was clouded and fuzzy with pain and vertigo from literally cracking her head on the floor. And yet, it felt like so much longer than just a few days. Because in this brief period of time… Ari had made her feel more at home in his home, in Galeyn, than the palace had since the day she moved in. Hell, if it had been up to her, she’d be staying a lot longer, reveling in this rare feeling of belonging. But even if she wanted to, she was not a mage, and wouldn’t find the answers she needed about Ari’s curse on her own. She needed the expertise of someone who understood curses--and understood magic, in general--and it would be less suspicious of her to seek that information beyond the Canaveris estate, if she wanted to keep Ari’s secret closely under wraps.
“I’ve said it before, curses aren’t my domain; I’m an alchemist, not a mage, and I have no magic. But that doesn’t mean that magic and alchemy can’t go hand in hand.” After the two of them finished their tea, Ari escorted her out of the bedroom where she’d spent the remainder of her time for the past handful of days. It just so happened that Locque, anticipating Nia’s recovery, had already sent a carriage just before dawn to retrieve her (as a servant had come in to declare, just as they were finishing their breakfast). Unfortunately, it was finally time for this visit to come to an end. “Let me do a little bit of research. We’ll keep in touch via resonance stone; and don’t worry. I don’t intend to be a stranger. You might regret inviting me back!” She chuckled and made her way to the door, gathering the cloak that was too warm to wear in the spring daytime. “We’ll work it out. And of course, don’t hesitate to call on me if you have any more immediate concerns.”
Before stepping out the door, the Master Alchemist paused, then turned, and planted a light kiss on his mouth. “To think, the first time I kissed your cheek, your face went as white as a ghost.” She grinned. “But you didn’t even flinch, this time--and your face is full of colour. I’d say we’ve already made more progress than you might think.”
He wasn’t in his right mind. And not only that, but he was in unbearable pain. Elespeth had to remind herself of that as she made a futile attempt to get through to the belligerent faoladh who was bedridden with agony. Fortunately, past training as a knight did permit her tolerance when she chose to execute it. Now was one of those times when it was necessary. “Please. If we really wanted you dead, or wanted to punish you for something, you’d either be in way more agony than you already are, or already dead.” The ex Atvanian leaned her cheek into her hand, immediately regretting not being the one to take Teselin to retrieve Bronwyn. “Look, it’s a long story. And honestly, I don’t even know the whole of it, because Alster and I just got roped into this hours ago. But from what I understand… Rowen is the reason you are in this position, Hadwin.”
Be careful what you tell him. A voice at the back of her mind cautioned her to proceed, and for the fact that she didn’t have all of the details, there wasn’t much she could tell him to keep him happy. But she had to say something. “Her fear had gotten the best of her. And you… I don’t know how, but somehow, you’ve developed the ability to siphon other peoples’ fears. So you took hers to give her a better chance of recovering; to see the world as a good place again. And… it was too much. So you ended up here.” She spread her hands, at a loss, but remembered he couldn’t see the gesture and placed them back in her lap. “She doesn’t know you’re in this condition, and if we bring her here to witness your regression to your teenage self… I can’t imagine that will do her any good.”
Perhaps going as far to explain that Isidor was not much a fan of him had not been such a good idea, either. How he’d managed to jump to such conclusions at the mere mention that someone didn’t like him… he really was a mess! “Hadwin, no one wants revenge on you! Like I said, you would already be dead. We want to help you. Isidor wouldn’t know what to do with revenge if he was capable of feeling it, and believe me, he isn’t. Yeah, he isn’t your biggest supporter, but he agreed to help you, for Teselin’s sake. For all our sakes, really, because believe me when I say…” She lowered her voice, hoping that Alster’s spell would hold as she uttered the words, “we are not what you should be afraid of. There is a much larger issue at hand… and you don’t remember any of it.”
It was at that point that Alster and Teselin returned with Bronwyn… who looked as though she had seen better days. But when his sister stepped forward to ask after his well-being, the accusations just kept coming. “Hadwin, she has no idea what you’re talking about because there is no damned conspiracy, here!” Elespeth’s patience was beginning to slip. She took a breath to steady her frayed nerves, already on edge with lack of sleep.
None of them were prepared for the diminished faoladh woman to react with aggression, though, and perhaps that was the biggest shock when Bronwyn pinned her brother to the cot. This was not going well at all, and if it kept up, a good number of people were going to get hurt, including but not exclusive to Bronwyn and Hadwin. Anticipating explosive behaviour, Alster was quick to step in, and peacefully intervene. Even a glimmer of his healing magic was enough to make Bronwyn reconsider her proximity to her brother, and she sprang to the other end of the room. At least no one had suffered any injuries… “Alster’s just healing him, Bronwyn. Trying to provide some relief.” The former knight tried to explain, in a soft tone. “No one needs to get violent, here…”
“...it’s getting late. We’re all functioning on too little sleep.” It was Teselin’s small, teardrop voice that suddenly turned heads. For someone so devastatingly powerful, and able to instill fear in poor Bronwyn’s heart, she was so tiny in stature that her presence was easily forgotten when she was silent. “Alster, you should get some rest, so that you and Isidor have some energy to work together when the sun comes up. Bronwyn…” She sighed and glanced sadly at the faoladh woman. “I’d ask you to stay, but if you want to return to your room, no one will stop you. I… I think I just want to stay here, until morning.” She cast a tired glance at the door, toward the hallway, where just a few corridors away, she had grown so used to sleeping with her feet warmed by Hadwin as he curled up in his wolfskin at the end of the bed. “I’m not sure I could sleep, anyway.”
It just so happened that Nia, who arrived early the next evening, happened to have just missed all of the commotion from the night before. She returned to a palace that seemed… curiously subdued. After meeting with Locque, who seemed pleased with her recovery (but nothing more), she was surprised not to see the little wolf girl at her side, viciously baring her teeth. She thought to ask after Rowen’s whereabouts, but quickly thought better of it, realizing that… well, that she just didn’t care about what the little rascal was up to. Frankly, the most exciting thing she came across, around suppertime, was the other Master Alchemist tiredly making his way down the corridor, alongside none other than Alster Rigas, as the two talked in hushed tones.
“Are you kidding? The two people I was hoping to see, and here you both are, together!” The Ardane woman grinned broadly, and did not hesitate (to Isidor’s chagrin) to insert herself into the men’s space. “Alster, did you happen to talk to Locque before I could get to her? ‘Cause I just spoke with her an hour ago, but she wasn’t particularly surprised when I asked about your relocation to the palace. I had no idea it was because you were already here! Glad you managed to work things out. Say,” she tapped a finger against her chin and leaned in, “the two of you wouldn’t happen to know anything about curses, would you? Specifically the type that turns a person to stone? Hey--don’t look at me like I’m up to something nefarious, Isidor! I’ve got a little project on the side that entails helping someone, believe it or not.”
“Even if I chose to believe that, we don’t have time to indulge you, Ardane.” The Kristeva brother snapped, already short on patience from greater lack of sleep than usual. He and Alster had really only managed a few hours of sleep, before they were up and problem solving pain management for a man that he didn’t even like. “I’d say there are more pressing matters at hand, but really, they’re just more annoying matters. I’d also ask you to forgive my rudeness… but right now, I really don’t care.”
“What matters? Jeez, I wasn’t gone that long. How do I always manage to miss all the fun?” The cheeky woman raised her eyebrows and respectfully took a step back. “What’s got you two all agitated and sleep-deprived? Maybe I can help. In fact, I’d love to help. It’ll give me something to do while her Majesty decides what task to give me next.” Curiously, she didn’t bother to mask the annoyance from her voice. For all Locque had been so desperate to have her back, it turned out there was nothing she would have her do right now, while she was not so patiently waiting to confer with Teselin about the Night Garden and what it might do for her.
Isidor’s knee-jerk reaction was to tell Nia she was neither wanted, nor needed. But before he could speak his mind, he thought better of it. If it was possible that this woman could see something that they couldn’t… it would certainly take a lot of pressure off the two of them. “...you know what? Sure. Why not. Have another pair of eyes on the matter. Follow us--and don’t be so surprised when Hadwin doesn’t know who you are.”
The more Nia detailed her understanding of their service transaction, the more Ari worried he’d set a bad precedent for the future. “No; heaven’s no! Of course not!” He replied, too flustered to maintain his usually calm and eloquent demeanor. “This entire time, you thought I was propositioning you in exchange for a statue? That you were sold to me like...like a whore? If so, then our attempts at intimacy...you participated only to settle a debt? And not out of genuine want?” He couldn’t help it. His marble-smooth features cracked, registering hurt. And alarm. “Nia...did I fail to elucidate my feelings for you? Have I confused you? Used indirect wording? Failed to specify the difference between professional assistance and a pleasure gathering? Have I coerced you into this union? Did you agree to this proposal out of a perceived lack of choice?” The questions and their implications sickened him to the point where he tasted curdled milk and bile on his tongue. Did she view him as an oppressor, forcing her into an unwritten contract that never explicitly stated what he could ask of her—sex included? Had he unconsciously planned for events to unfold in such a perverse manner? Am I no better than Chara Rigas?
The room threatened to spin in nauseous circles, but he closed his eyes, dug his heels into the rug at his feet, and breathed himself steady before Nia would have to contend with reversing another petrified limb. “If you do not wish to continue...please, please tell me so.” Opening his soil-dark eyes, he looked at her with earnestness. “I will never fault you for expressing a disagreement or refusing to lend a specific ‘service.’ Nor will I make you do anything that can be construed as exploitative, or causes you discomfort and distress. Sex and intimacy should never be tangled in the nets of our professional agreement—unless the professional service in question is prostitution. Seeing as our agreement is between a Master Alchemist and an artist, prostitution is a non-factor.” Setting aside his teacup, he cradled her hands in his careful, gloved grip. “Please tell me you understand, Nia. If I am overstepping, if I used my position to take advantage of you, let me know, and I will unburden you from this unholy contract. You will not have to entertain my sexual needs any longer. That is not your job.”
Though Nia assured him of her desire for carnal engagement, free of whatever contractual obligations she cited as curse-related, Ari, not yet convinced, took a good while (and several cups of downed tea) to mollify back into normal conversation. Only, the conversation had not quite settled to normal. Still frazzled by Nia’s earlier misconceptions of their relationship, Ari, free of the polish and presentation that comprised his outward mien, blurted something rather bold. “Perhaps you can come with me. To Stella D’Mare. If Locque has no other need for you, then it makes practical sense to part ways--amicably--and seek employment elsewhere. Are you sworn to serve her? Are you bound by an oath? If not, and Locque is a reasonable woman, she will release you from duty with well-wishes on hand. Of course,” he hurried, stoppering his tongue from its run-away fantasies, “our relocation to Stella D’Mare may not yet happen for a while. Years, even. There is still time.” By then, you will be liberated from Locque. I will make sure of it.
“As you research, I ask that you use the utmost discretion,” he said, shifting the subject to something a mite more palatable to discuss. “Please be careful. My curse and its grisly details must remain confidential. Too many people already know, and I fear your wolf-friend’s lack of propriety. One day, he might find he is in a sharing mood. I hope the statue is enough to keep his mouth shut.”
Later that morning, Ari accompanied Nia to the villa’s front entrance where Locque’s carriage had waited since daybreak, a stark statement that rumbled its cold threat for him to hear: She is mine. Give her back. Now.
Despite the warm, sun-washed morning, and the layers of clothes he sported, he shivered. The sensation dispersed, however, when Nia planted a goodbye peck on his mouth.
“I daresay I am still flaunting a bit of an afterglow. Colorful, indeed,” he said of her kiss, touching the apples of his cheeks, which exposed their temperature even beneath the pads of his gloved fingers. “Safe travels, Nia. I look forward to our next meeting. I very much doubt it will be a regretful affair.” After she stepped into the carriage and waved her farewells, Ari scarcely made it through the doors before a servant accosted him, seemingly from nowhere.
“Ari--forgive my rudeness. We did not know when it was the appropriate time to inform you, but we received word from Lady Edira. She is en route to Galeyn and should arrive in approximately a fortnight--shorter if you are able to provide her a Night Steed.”
“...I suppose I have no choice but to send her a Night Steed,” he sighed, knowing exactly how she framed her orders: as ‘friendly’ suggestions. “Very well. We shall part with two steeds from the stables. I will arrange the details with her via resonance stone; no need to do anything. If I don’t personally interact with her, I’m certain to receive an earful about how I am deliberately ignoring her messages,” he rubbed one ear, in memory. “It is never wise to keep her waiting.”
As he withdrew to his quarters to make good on his word Ari shook his head from side to side. How fitting that his mother should choose now, of all times, to schedule her grand reentrance.
Hadwin was the type of person who, even on his death throes, would go down fighting with fists and flytes. Now was no different. No force of heaven or earth could restrain him from getting the last word in, short of clipping his tongue. “Yeah? You sure about that, whoever-you-are?” He bit, snapping his teeth at Elespeth for effect. “Y’sure I’m not at the peak of agony right now? Think you could handle this better than me? Let’s be real; you’d be fucking dead. Not only am I a lightning-quick healer, but you can’t best me on the lengths of pain I’ve endured and survived. So no, I don’t buy a word coming outta your mouth about ‘more agony.’ And you haven’t proven to me yet that you’re not some sick bastards who get off on torturing some poor sod for as long as he can hold out. I’ve heard tales of alchemists wanting to get their hands on faoladh for experimentation; y’know, find out how to replicate our regenerative properties and shapeshifting and implant ‘em on unsuspecting humans. Who’s to say your alchemist won’t do the same? Get what he wants from me first, then kill me?”
For a brief, quiet moment, it almost seemed like Elespeth’s information on Rowen’s whereabouts resonated with him. His mouth shut to ruminate on the possibility, however far-fetched, that he could have provided relief for his darkness-plagued sister, granted he had the power to siphon fears. It definitely sounded like something he would do. But then his mouth split open and an inaudible chuckle issued forth. “Almost had me there for a minute. I’ll have to say; you really did your research! Spying on my family, eh? Your bullshiting skills are top-notch. I have to applaud you on them because that’s a rare talent! I’m not even mad; just impressed. Damn hard to get the drop on me but I gotta give credit where it’s due. This scheme of yours was a long-time coming, huh? Well I sure hope you get everything you want out of me while I’m still kicking. Wouldn’t want my death to be entirely meaningless, y’know?” He hadn’t failed to hear Elespeth’s ominous aside about some broader evil lurking around the corner, but like learning of Teselin’s existence, the cryptic warning seemed irrelevant. What did it have anything to do with him?!! As long as people lived, ‘larger’ issues would always proliferate. Fear would always encroach in a big way, at a time of worst inconvenience. Elespeth revealed nothing illuminating, on that front.
On Bronwyn’s arrival, he shed any attempt at niceties (for, contrary to Elespeth’s accusation, he had tried to ‘appreciate’ his captors) and, against good sense, propelled his fists forward to extol some damage to the gutter-brain who had the audacity to ask if he was alright! Like her falsely-delivered line wasn’t a crock of bullshit! Bronwyn never cared for the likes of him. Luckily, she dropped the pretense the moment he aimed to strike her. While he never intended for his half-paralyzed arms to hit their intended target, at least they served his purpose; to pummel away her weak-sauce attempts to take the moral high ground with regard to their checkered relationship. Better for his enemy to act as his enemy than to front as a friend. Not that Bronwyn ever carried the esteemed title of enemy in his book; otherwise, she would actually mean something to him. Fat chance! She was a nuisance at worst, invisible at best.
But then something changed when the doc named Alster interceded by placing healing hands on his brow, and she skirted away so quickly from the scene that he could almost smell the cloud of fear-dust left in her wake. If she feared magic, did she also fear the people who professed to help him? And if so, was she less an enemy, and more a victim forced to abide their schemes on pain of death? The morally-righteous Bronwyn possessed strong convictions, but only when convenient. She was a coward when it mattered. Her strength, too, was a borrowed concept, sourced only from the Chief’s favor. Nothing internal. By herself, she presented as a puppet without its puppeteer; a hollow where the commanding hand should fit.
Hadwin, therefore, didn’t bother expending any more precious energy on pathetic Bronwyn and her pathetic hypocrisies. He asked her just one question: “Where the hell are da and Fiona?”
Silence. Hesitation. “They’re not...here,” she said carefully, tersely. He got the hint.
“Ah, say no more.” He would have winked conspiratorially, if he could open his eyes sans the shooting pain. “It’s a Rowen situation. Like her, they’re unavailable due to really specific reasons that they’ve instructed you to say. Props for refusing to read their script. Maybe you’re not so hopeless, after all.”
With the crisis averted, Alster, who didn’t bother to correct the faoladh’s paranoid interpretation of events so long as he remained cooperative—or at least not combative—released a tired sigh and took a seat beside his patient, mentally preparing to feed him magic for hours, if necessary. “It is late,” he said, echoing Teselin’s sentiment. “But Hadwin still needs my relief. I’ll stay until Elias returns,” to administer another sedative, he implied, but didn’t say out loud, in case Hadwin rankled at the idea of a force-induced sleep and pitched a loud, belligerent fit about it. He nodded to Elespeth. “Go on to bed without me. Sleep for the two of us. I’ll join you whenever I can.” Although his wife hesitated, she retired to their old chambers to salvage whatever sleep the circumstances could afford. Bronwyn, still huddled in a corner furthest from Alster, looked about ready to trace Elespeth’s route out of the infirmary, but she replaced her wandering foot to the wall and stayed put.
“We’ll take shifts,” she relayed to Teselin and Alster from across the room. “One of you will have to sleep eventually. Me? I’ve been sleeping too much. A bit of wakefulness will be good for me.”
As Bronwyn fetched a chair and propped it at a distance, albeit one that offered a clear vantage point, Hadwin cooed under Alster’s magical brain-massaging guidance. “Y’know, doc, you’re probably as diabolical as the rest of ‘em, and it’s likely I’m supposed to like you so I’ll relent to all the violent experimentations your alchemist mate is gonna do on me, but if I get outta this alive, ditch the wife. Cuz I’ve got a better proposition for you,” he effused, his eyebrows waggling flirtatiously.
Across the room, Bronwyn spluttered a cough. Alster, meanwhile, flushed a light shade of red. “I...ah...thank you but no thank you. I’m a happily married man.”
“Pity. Sound like you’d be a snake charmer. Hey,” he cut through the uncomfortable silence to address the soft-spoken third person in the room. “That kid’s here, yeah?” His head shifted imperceptibly in her direction. “They say I’m supposed to like you. How old are you, kid?” When she revealed her age, he scoffed. “You’re no kid. You’re not much younger than me! Could they not get a real kid to play on my sympathies? Whatever you’re doing here, it ain’t gonna work, ‘kid.’” Though he uttered the moniker in a mocking tone of voice, even his muddled brain knew to refrain from dispensing cruelties at her, lest she break. “Sorry you’re in this mess,” he paused, his face pinching but not in pain, but in an effort to remember the name he heard from Al’s annoying wife. “Teselin Yeah? That’s what they call you?”
Staying well into morning, Alster persisted in his healing spell whilst he monitored the long-term consequences of low-frequency magic on a subject. Pleased its efficacy hadn’t yet deteriorated, (or mutated into something harmful), he was hopeful that the chances of imbuing his magic into a talisman would be successful and lasting, granted he and Isidor cracked the faoladh’s biological formula. About two hours before noon, Elias returned to the infirmary, at which time Alster removed his hand from Hadwin’s brow and excused himself. By some divine providence, the faoladh had managed some semblance of slumber, but with the departure of the Rigas caster’s soothing hand, he was due to rouse in renewed jolts of pain. But before the patient could bolt awake, Elias injected a sedative into his arm, a stronger formula estimating about six hours of deep sleep under ideal conditions.
Speaking of sleep, Alster retired to his and Elespeth’s chambers, aiming to rest for an hour or two, but failing to do more than toss and turn in a bed that had become unfamiliar from months of disuse. With thoughts of sharing proximity to Locque refusing to settle the roiling of his anxiety-ridden stomach, he kicked off the sheets and, assuming Isidor would be awake, paid him a visit. So far, the initial run of blood testing remained inconclusive. The Master Alchemist would need to collect a larger blood sample from Hadwin and conduct a second, more thorough round of tests before they considered sawing through the faoladh’s skull for a clip of his brain, an endeavor Isidor staunchly refused to participate in. Just as Alster wondered when Nia was due to return from the D’Marian village and if she could, by Isidor’s admission, provide her Ardane-specific assistance, who should appear around the corner but the garrulous woman in the flesh.
“Nia.” In contrast to Isidor, who regarded the other Master Alchemist with casual hostility, Alster gave a polite dip of his head in greeting. “Glad to see you up and about again. I take it you recently returned from the Canaveris villa?” When she expressed curiosity over his earlier-than-planned relocation to the palace, he slowly waggled his head from side to side. “No, I have not yet spoken with Locque.” He tried not to shudder at uttering her name in such close quarters. “A bit of an emergency called me here prematurely.”
At her brief mention of wanting to help someone remove a curse of petrification, Alster’s head tilted, his interest piqued. Given her extended stay at the D’Marian village, he suspected her query pertained to a member of the Canaveris family. “I suppose I would consider myself a novice curse-breaker based on a few successes I’ve had in the past. More a code-breaker, really. Well, it depends on how broadly you define ‘curse,’” he retracted, frowning at himself for arguing semantics in the middle of the hallway. “Stone-borne curses can be traced to a specific source. If we can divine its origins, we can divine a cure. But,” his eyes darted ahead, to the infirmary, “I’m afraid we’ll have to discuss this later. The annoying matter Isidor speaks of consumes our attention. Any help at all is appreciated, Nia. In fact, this issue may be within your means to solve.”
As they reached the door to the infirmary, Alster stopped and briefly informed Nia of what she might expect upon entrance. “It’s Hadwin. He siphoned the fear of darkness out of Rowen and he’s paying a dear price for it. Not only is he suffering excruciating headaches as a result, but his overheated brain is shutting down key functions, including his sight, his fearsight, his sense of smell, and his memories. He thinks he’s nineteen years old and that we’re all out to get him. We’re trying to craft a talisman using his unique faoladh biology and my healing magic, a holdover to help him withstand the pain until he transfers the fear back to Rowen--at which point, we hope, he’ll return to normal. But here,” he opened the door and waved for Nia to enter, “see for yourself.”
Inside, the patient, having awakened from Elias’s powerful sedative, perked up at the sound of footsteps. One pair of footsteps, specifically.
“Al! Thank the moon’s arse-crack you’re here!” Hadwin shouted from his bed. Bronwyn, who had gradually moved closer to her brother throughout the day, spotted Alster and Nia, and slunk to the seat she’d previously claimed in the far corner. Teselin, on the other hand, hadn’t moved from her chair. “You’re my only damn hope. No one’ll give anything to drink or smoke! You’re poisoning me anyway, so why should it matter the method of poison?” The patient in question appeared no better than last night, all red in the face and sticky with perspiration. His limbs, wooden and deadened, rested at his sides in rigor, stuck into semi-permanent repose. “Whatever. Lay that wonderful hand on me!” As Alster, Isidor, and Nia closed in, his mouth folded into a frown. “Brought your mad alchemist for experiments, huh? I recognize his testy little footfalls. And who’s this new addition to the family?” He snorted. “Don’t tell me it’s the alchemist’s assistant. Or another damn alchemist. C’mon!” He barked, ready to cry foul play. “Don’t you think one is overkill enough?!”
Somehow, even when she was she was attempting to do just the opposite… somehow, Nia still managed to say the wrong thing. Of course, in hindsight, it made complete sense as to how he would interpret her words in just the way he had. Colour drained from her face and she hastily shook her head, realizing the terrible faux pas that resulted as her inability to articulate exactly what was amiss in her heart. “What? No--no, no, no, Ari! Come on, didn’t you hear me telling your big, burly manservant that I’m not that kind of girl? Seriously, I might have a lot of experience betwixt the sheets and whatnot, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say what I do is prostitution--not even in this circumstance! I… how can I put this.”
The Master Alchemist’s mind raced to try and piece together a sentence that wouldn’t condemn her, or make the Canaveris lord think twice about having any relations with her. Damnit all, she shouldn’t have said anything, let alone elucidate her confusion with regard to his desire to be intimate with her. Or… to be with her, at all. “I don’t… all of this, your kindness and your generosity and your tolerance… You’ve gotta understand, this is so far beyond what I am familiar with, Ari.” The young woman confessed, and turned her gaze to the floor, looking inexplicably uncomfortable with what she had to say. It was nothing to confess her sadness and despair for the loss of her family and her sisters, or to outline the one and only time she had very nearly died because she had dared to trust too much, too fast, but this… this particular topic made her feel raw.
“Look, from the day I was born, I was a very unwanted thing, Ari. I had to justify not only my place in my own family, but my existence by what I could do for other people. I have never been enough on my own to stand as someone who is important, or worthy of anything. And that didn’t really change when I fled Ilandria.” Nia worried the pendant around her neck, anxiously biting the inside of her cheek, feeling no other option than to put her carefully-concealed insecurities on a pedestal for him to see and understand. “My survival depended on what I could do for other people. Master Alchemy is my blessing and my curse. Sure, it came at one hell of a price, but it’s also made me invaluable to a lot of people, considering how few of us exist, anymore. I’ve done a lot to fill my end of a bargain. Simple things from changing someone’s skin, eye, or hair colour, to crafting actual gold and silver coins… hell, at my most controversial? I made it possible for a woman to carry a baby with a mixture of her own genetics, and that of her female lover--no man involved. Yeah, it’s possible. Extremely tricky and with a very low success rate, but I made it happen, and it worked. In fact, that was the longest I had ever spent in a place, before Galeyn. Nine months to see that pregnancy through, in exchange for food, shelter, and--like Locque provides now--protection. But… I’m getting way off track. Pardon that digression.”
Tearing her eyes away from a scuff mark on the otherwise pristine marble floor, the Master Alchemist exhaled heavily and met Ari’s eyes when he so boldly took her hands. Oh, she’d made him feel bad! This wasn’t at all her intent! “I’ve never had the luxury of being at ease anywhere long enough to just relax and make friends for the sake of friendship. Or any other sort of relationship. This… all of this is really new to me. So believe me, you’ve been very clear. And I believe everything you’ve told me. You’re a genuine guy; I think that’s part of the reason I’ve felt so drawn to you. It’s just difficult… I dunno, it’s hard to accept that I could be anything to you if I’m not useful, you know? I don’t wanna be a deadweight or some obnoxious elephant in the room that everyone wishes would just go away. And yeah, I guess this did all start out because Hadwin volunteered my services… except I wanted to help you before he did. Before you realized I’d already found out. So rest assured… I’m not doing anything that I didn’t already want to do. Sex included. Especially sex, because… well, I don’t think I need to explain the why behind that.”
Her discomfort eased up a little with the return of her smile, in hopes to alleviate some of the tension that creased Ari’s brow. “Sorry. I never meant to put you in a position that led you to second-guessing yourself, or what’s going on with us here… but I mean every word of it. Long story short, I’m not accustomed to this whole unconditional acceptance thing, based on who I am instead of what I can do, but I’m doing this because I want to. That statue really just gave me the excuse. The sex? Well… that’s just a bonus. So, please,” a mischievous glint flickered in her brown eyes, “Let me entertain your sexual needs. I want you to know what it’s like to successfully be intimate with another person, but if you want my full, unbridled honesty, I am also being very selfish because I happen to find you desirable beyond your benevolent characteristics. And it is not prostitution when I’d do it with or without some binding, transactional deal. Please rest assured, I do not do anything I don’t want to do, and I don’t feel any pressure whatsoever to be here, with you. In fact… forget I said anything about it in the first place. I guess…” Her mischievous grin turned a little bashful, and though she tried not to betray it through her body language, her eyes said it all before her mouth did. “I’m just having a hard time understanding why someone as upstanding as you would take interest in the likes of me, Ari.”
But it was not a ruse; Ari, while he had all the makings of a great politician by speaking the most convincing combination of words, he was also not a man to say what he did not mean, at least not in private company when he had no reason to gain favour since he already had it. And that suggestion, that invitation to join him in Stella D’Mare, stayed with her for her remaining hours at the Canaveris estate. They weighed on her mind and her heart, because in so many ways, it just sounded too good to be true. Had he really taken such a liking to her that he would have her join him back in his home? ...indefinitely? And did he mean it when he alluded to the fact it had nothing to do with the services she could provide him as a Master Alchemist?
“...do you mean it? About having me return with you to Stella D’Mare?” She asked later that afternoon, as he courteously showed her to the door. She fidgeted with the sleeves of her tunic, staring with disappointment at the carriage awaiting her just outside. “To answer your question from before… I’m not beholden to Locque by magic or anything. Like I said before, it’s all transactional. I’ve worked for her, continue to work for her, do whatever my skill set can provide, and in exchange, I’m safe. For the first time in a long time, I can breathe and fall asleep at night with both eyes closed. But… damn, I never thought I’d say this, but it doesn’t feel like enough. To just feel safe and not feel at home. For years, I was honestly convinced that I was looking for a place, but that isn’t really what makes a home, is it? It’s the people. And the people here… well.” Her smile wavered, and she shrugged her shoulders, pretending as though it didn’t bother her as much as it actually did. “They’re all a lot like your intimidating manservant. I’m not trustworthy to them, so they want nothing to do with me, and who knows if that’ll change?”
Turning away from the window to face her generous host, Nia reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder. To her astonishment… he didn’t flinch. Her heart swelled with pride. “I can’t see Locque wanting or needing me forever. Honestly, I was just a tool to get her where she is today and facilitate her transition to mitigate growing pains and whatnot. So… if you really think Stella D’Mare can accept a disgraced Master Alchemist and Ilandrian fugitive, then I’d like that. To go with you. Provided you don’t get horribly sick and tired of me, first.” Her smile suggested she was joking, but it was impossible to deny that this was a very real concern. That anyone might find her worthy… to commit to. Whether it be friendship or otherwise.
“And hey--don’t worry about your little secret. I know I blab, but I do know how to keep a secret.” Giving Ari’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, an affectionate warmth softened her features at his mention of an ‘afterglow’. “You have my word that I’ll be discreet. Nothing about you or your family will come up. Here’s the thing: I highly doubt you’re the only person who’s ever suffered what you have. There’s got to be something out there that addresses it, somewhere. I’ll do a little digging and get you some answers.”
Nia had meant what she said. Ari mattered to her, and so did his need for discretion. However, there was still no getting around the fact that she was not a connoisseur of curses, nor was she a mage by any definition. It was inevitable that she would have to consult those who were more knowledgeable in that niche field.
All the more reason to win over Alster Rigas’s trust and friendship!
“Emergency, huh? Well, if you haven’t smoothed things over with her Majesty, then I guess I still have my work cut out for me. Which is nice, since she seems to have very little for me to do around here, for all she wanted me back so damn fast. But, hey,” she took a sprightly step forward, her eyes bright with curiosity and eagerness. “What would a novice cursebreaker have to say about curses that turn people to stone?”
What Alster began to say did seem rather promising. So there really was hope for Ari! But she should have known better than to assume that here and now would be convenient for him to elaborate. “Right. So,” she furrowed her eyebrows, visibly concerned by the drooped eyelids and slouched shoulders of the two obviously exhausted men before her. Of course this would be bad timing. She should have known as much as soon as he’d explained why he was here. “What’s this emergency? No offense, but I’ve seen you both look much better, even when sleep deprived. This has got to be pretty bad. Lucky for you both, I’ve been back here less than twenty-four hours, and I’m already bored as shit. So,” she gestured widely with her arm, “lead the way!”
When Hadwin--this new (or, rather, former version of) Hadwin addressed her, Teselin was hesitant to respond. She knew this wasn’t his fault; she knew that the Hadwin she knew and loved would never say these things, make her and the others feel so diminished, like such liars. But lack of sleep wracked her already terribly frayed emotions, and to have her one pillar of support and stability suddenly cave in on himself like he did… She feared that if she opened her mouth, she would only start crying again. Hadwin had been there for her, all those times she had fallen apart… and she wanted to be there for him, now. When he needed her. Now was not the time to crumble.
“...yeah. I’m Teselin. That’s my name.” She spoke slowly, weighing each word to make sure her voice wouldn’t break. She wasn’t sure she was fooling anyone, though, even if he wasn’t able to see her fears. “You don’t have to be sorry. I… I’m the reason you are in this mess. I thought I was helping you. Well, I thought I was helping Rowen, and by virtue, you, but… this wasn’t supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen.” The young summoner rested her head in her hands, knees pulled to her chest. “I know this means nothing to you. You can’t remember, and you’re in too much pain… so I’m not going to try to ask you to remember me, or to like me, or any of that. Just… I just want you to be alright, Hadwin.”
She didn’t sleep much for the remainder of the night; not even into the morning, when her body still felt weak with exhaustion. Mercifully, Hadwin slept under the influence of whatever drug Elias had concocted, but the sedation never lasted for long. Through her delirium, the summoner could hardly keep track of what was going on, who was in the room, or whatever Hadwin was able to remember or to not remember. Everything amalgamated into a blur, with possibilities being thrown this way and that, with no resolution. Alster exchanging words with Elias, Isidor, Daphni, even Elepseth and Bronwyn… But that’s all it was. Back and forth, what ifs and maybes…
Until later that morning, a new person joined the fray, and Teselin suddenly felt more awake.
“Nia…” Springing to her feet, Teselin rushed toward the door. Two Master Alchemists and a Rigas caster… there had to be hope! “Nia… Hadwin is--”
“Not to worry, hon. Your brother and Alster here explained everything. This… damn. This is some real shit luck, isn’t it?” Along with Alster and Isidor, Nia approached the bedridden man, who looked positively… awful. Before she could open her mouth to say anything, to ask after his well-being, Hadwin lobbed accusations in all directions, causing her mouth to pucker in concern, and her brow to furrow in what looked like sadness.
“He thinks we’re all out to get him.” Isidor clarified, rolling his eyes. “The more he talks about it, the more I wish it were true. Don’t bother trying to convince him otherwise. He doesn’t know who you are.”
“Shit. All of this because he took away the little wolf girl’s fears? Hadwin. You’re not leading us all on, on some elaborate fucking joke, are you?” Approaching his bedside, the Ardane alchemist rested a hand on his forehead, and the furrow in her brow deepened. “Damn. You’re burning up from the inside out… Hey, one of you wanna be a doll and grab me a bowl of water? Cold water. As cold as you can get it.”
Teselin, who was perhaps the most eager to do anything for the man who didn’t remember her, hurried to the adjacent room to fetch the requested item. On her return, Nia dipped one hand into the chilly water, and the other, still resting upon Hadwin’s flushed, clammy brow, began to bring his temperature down. The temperature of the bowl of water began to rise as the shapeshifter’s temperature began to steadily drop. “This is barely the tip of the ice berg, but hopefully it’ll help. Can’t have you burning up like a cooked chicken and not do anything about it…” A sigh escaped her lungs, and her shoulders, almost imperceptibly, hunched. “...is this for real? You really don’t remember any of us?” His biting words confirmed this. Not only did he not know who she was, but he saw her as… just some enemy. The Ardane alchemist deflated a little more. “Really.” Her tone of her voice dropped to a shade of quietude. “This… really sucks. A lot. Here I was hoping we could sit down and get drunk on ale while I regaled you with stories of all of the insane developments of the past few days I’ve been away, and you don’t even remember who I am. I don’t exactly have a lot of friends around these parts, either.” A sigh escaped her lungs, and as the water in the bowl had at last grown uncomfortably hot, she finally withdrew both hands and folded them into her lap. The one that had been in the water was red and inflamed. “Well, that should do well for your fever for a little while, anyway. Isidor or I will have to come back later and take it down again since it’s sure to climb. More efficient than dunking you in an ice bath or shoving more medications into your body when it’s already struggling to maintain homeostasis.”
Standing up from where she’d perched at the side of the cot, Nia addressed the small handful of people in the room, all who were clearly concerned for the bedridden man. Well--almost all of them. Isidor was certainly not doing this out of concern for the faoladh, and Bronwyn… well, who knew where she stood? The Master Alchemist couldn’t really figure her out. “I don’t think there’s much we can do about his loss of memory at the moment, but if we can keep his temperature down, it might mitigate some of this delirious paranoia. You were right, Al, this really is an emergency. Here’s what I’ll do.” Clasping her hands in front of her, she straightened up and rolled her slouched shoulders back. “First I’ll go confirm with her Majesty that you’ve relocated to the palace, Alster, and the reasons why--don’t worry, I don’t think she sees you as a threat, so that should go relatively smoothly. And then, let me have a look on whatever it is you and Isidor are collaborating on to relieve Hadwin’s pain. I don’t doubt your work, Is! But just because we’ve trained in the same craft doesn’t mean we’re picking up on the same things. Now’s as good a time as any to collaborate, huh?”
The Kristeva alchemist huffed his displeasure and crossed his arms. “If it means some of us can actually get some sleep amid all of this bedlam… I’m willing to compromise and put up with you, provided you respect boundaries.”
“Done and done. Oh, Tes… honey, we’ve got this, don’t worry!” Noting the quiet tears spilling from the young summoner’s eyes, Nia wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Your brother is even willing to work with my disgraced ass to get this done. Between the lot of us, I’m pretty sure there’s nothing we can’t achieve!”
As a result of losing his sight and smell, Hadwin’s hearing, acute as a wolf’s and his second strongest sense (behind smell), sharpened at an exponential rate as compensation. From his bed in the corner of the infirmary, he heard elevated heart rates, changes in air pressure, the clinks of medical instruments, the subtle shifting of clothes, footsteps from across the hallway, and, in this case, emotions. When Teselin spoke, she sounded like the personification of hopelessness and despair, her voice so waterlogged, like it crashed on the shoreline and left to die alone, he couldn’t help but compare her to...Rowen. How they managed to find someone other than his little sister to elicit his sympathies was nothing short of impressive, but here he was, feeling bad for the not-kid! Though her so-called role as a dear and cherished sister-figure was all hooey, her emotions didn’t lie. They were genuine.
“Teselin...you’re right. I don’t know the hell you’re talking about, but you seem like a real sweet lass. And whatever happened to you to make you feel so glum—whether it’s related to me or not—I wanna...change that.” A smile graced his features, a smile not typically worn. In contrast to the toothy, wide-mouthed, grimacing displays of jubilation, mockery, aggression, and jocularity all combined into one predatory grin, this one stayed closed and conservative, a small upturn radiating reassurance—a smile he showed exclusively to Rowen. “If I get out of this alive, and you’ve got nowhere else to go, lemme help. Whatever dire straits you’re in right now, I’ll lend a hand, get you out of them, and we’ll figure out what to do from there. Sound good?”
Alster, privy to the exchange, silently observed the sudden shift in the rambunctious wolf-man’s demeanor with interest. Either Hadwin had made an unconscious, positive association with Teselin such that the inexplicable urge to protect her defied his memory loss, or his drive to help people who couldn’t help themselves existed even in his wild teenage years. Considering how strongly he cared for darkness-cursed Rowen, it made sense for him to offer support to other people who suffered from the caprices of a bleak, fortuneless life.
If Teselin had responded to Hadwin’s proposal, he didn’t acknowledge it; somehow, he had fallen asleep, having relaxed under the low hum and pulse of Alster’s magic.
Due to Elias’s powerful sedative, Hadwin didn’t reawaken until early that evening, a detail he wouldn’t have known if Bronwyn hadn’t informed him in a bid to be helpful. Not like the time of day meant a lick to him anyway. Bedridden, practically paralyzed, and reeling from near-constant head contractions, the faoladh jeered at his sister’s concern with the positioning of the sun and moon. “Thanks, Bron. This knowledge enriches me. Maybe it’ll even miraculously cure me! Actually, if anything, it’s killing me quicker. Nightfall, you say? Well fuck you, moon,” he yelled at where he thought the nearest window would be. “I bet you’re laughing at me, like you laugh at all the faoladh who suffer your curse!”
“So you believe what we’re saying, now?” Bronwyn lingered near the foot of his bed, a risky advance when Teselin sat on his other side, a mere arm’s length away. “That you’re in this state because you siphoned Rowen’s fear of the darkness and it’s wreaking havoc on your body?”
“Well this ain’t from a hangover, that’s for sure!” If he could open his eyes, he would have rolled them. “You already fucking know what’s happening, Bron. They’re poisoning me. That’s why I can’t move or see or smell and my head’s being squished like a grape in a giant’s clumsy, talony fingers. They want me prone and helpless so I won’t fight against their mad alchemist’s experimentations. They’ll come for you next, too! Don’t think you’re safe just because you’ve cozied up to them. If I don’t hold out, they’ll come for you, and your constitution’s shit compared to mine!”
“What are you talking about? My constitution is just as good as yours!” Like every single time before, she rose to his bait. No wonder why Hadwin thought her an idiot. For all he was combative, she was reactive. Together, they comprised the perfect storm of sibling conflict.
“Psh. I felt your wrist when you pinned me to the bed. Felt like the width of a piece of straw, and just as brittle, too. Are they feeding you, Bron?”
How the hell was he still so perceptive when deprived of two senses, his fearsight, and the better part of his mind? She drifted from his vicinity, afraid to apply any weight on his bedspread and erase all doubt of her diminished form. Thankfully, she was spared from providing an answer when three figures entered the infirmary—including Nia, a woman she hadn’t spoken three words to since Galeyn’s surrender to Locque. While Nia possessed no magic, Bronwyn considered Locque’s lackey to be as dangerous as a mage and harbored no desire to share her proximity. As before, she relocated to her favored corner, lowered into a chair, and watched passively.
“Aw, look! You scared poor Bron away. Tsk, tsk,” Hadwin said to the new arrival, yet another person who proclaimed to know him. Wasn’t this ploy of theirs getting old? He was obviously not convinced. If they told the truth, he could at least accept his fate and loosen up around them a bit, which would take a lot less energy than shooting barbs and calling their bullshit every five seconds. “If I was pulling some elaborate prank, I sure as shit wouldn’t pretend to live out one of my worst nightmares. Y’think this is fun for me?!” At first, he tried resisting Nia’s hand, convinced of her status as just another mad alchemist infecting him with a touch-transmittable virus capable of destroying some other precious function of his body, like his hearing or his speech. His limbs jerked and flailed, but hardly reached above his shoulders to defend. In a long, resentful sigh, he ceased the fight. Pointless. Everything was pointless. They had him; they won. Expending even a twinge of energy only contributed to the skull-pulverizing ache that rattled his bones and stole his breath. Like a fish, he gasped for air. Unlike a fish, his fingers grasped desperately for a hand-hold, but his grip failed to maintain purchase and hooked at nothing. Unable to brace for the pain of an unkillable beast headache, he ground his teeth, cursed, growled, moaned, pleaded for death or mercy—whichever came first. Thankfully, the latter responded to his entreaties. Similar to Alster’s hand of relief, Nia’s hand provided a similar service as the shivers that constantly assailed his body dwindled...and ceased. The uncomfortable heat bearing on him like a spewing lava flow diverted, and departed, leaving Hadwin feeling less like a self-destructive inferno and more like...a person.
“I don’t care if you’re poisoning me, new alchemist. I’ll be your friend; I’ll be whatever you want me to be,” he gushed, forgetting whatever scruples he bore towards her, granted she continued to offer him sweet release. “Hells, if you provide the ale, I’ll listen to your troubles and lick your cunt till it sings. Just keep doing what you’re doing.” His closed, sightless eyes tracked in Isidor’s direction. “Other alchemist can get in on it, too, if he swings that way.” He gave an ingratiating smile at his captor. “Or--want some blood? Hair? Spit? Toenail clippings? Piss, shit, or cum? Collect to your heart’s desire and build that beautiful, indestructible army of your dreams! Don’t let anyone else tell you it’s impossible. I’m happy to comply if you can ease back the reins on this hell ride through hurt mountain. I’m at my pain threshold here and it’s only getting bumpier. What did I do to you, anyway?”
But the three sets of footsteps retreated, withdrawing their company (and pain-soothing wizardry). “Hey, wait, come back!”
Another pair of footfalls followed the trio out of the infirmary. Collecting her courage, Bronwyn gave pursuit, a tentative, faltering pace at first, but, in fear of losing them to a closed door, she pushed her pace, eventually meeting them halfway down the corridor. When they turned to address the fourth person, curious eyes resting upon her, she froze and almost lost her nerve.
“I...might be able to help,” she said, kicking herself for her meekness. What would Chief think, to see his daughter reduced to a rabbit cowering before wolves? Embarrassing. Absolutely embarrassing. “See, I have a hunch. His change in attitude isn’t entirely because of the fever, the widespread malfunction of his brain, or the loss of his memories. I’m sure they’re all a contributing factor, but...I think what’s causing the most damage is the loss of his fearsight.”
Before she could resume her analysis, Alster encouraged everyone to move out of the hallway and relocate to Isidor’s study, preferring to discuss matters in private rather than inviting anyone, be it servant, passersby, or even Locque to listen in on a somewhat patient-confidential case. Bronwyn, not thrilled by the prospect of sharing a smaller space with the likes of two Master Alchemists, one of whom answered to Locque, and a powerful caster who could control an otherworldly Serpent, chose to stand closest to the door in the event where she needed to make a quick escape. Sensing her unease, Alster lowered into a chair, hands folded over his lap in as disarming a posture he could manage. He never made direct eye contact and when he addressed the eldest Kavanagh sibling to proceed with her story, he used a mellow soft-spoken tone to mitigate, or at least not agitate, her harried state-of-mind.
“Faoladh...change when they lose their ruling emotion,” she said falteringly, tugging on the ends of her uneven hair. “According to lore, we are moon-cursed, forced to stick together in packs and not intermingle with non-faoladh lest our ruling emotion grows too powerful and consumes us with madness. Hadwin already toes that fine line between madness and sanity. It’s no secret he’s gone mad before. Several times, if we’re counting.” She nodded at Alster, the only person in the room who she suspected knew most about the fateful happenings in Apelrade, Hadwin’s most destructive bout with madness to date. “It also doesn’t help matters that he relies on his Sight like another appendage, such that when it’s removed from him, paranoia is what’s left. When he was young, horror and terror were daily occurrences. We’d often find him curled into a ball, shivering, crying out for mercy.” Because she’d kicked him. Repeatedly. This is how you deal with cowards, Chief told her as she stomped her defenseless brother until he withered on the ground like a weed. Strike him until he stops mewling. We’ll make him strong, yet. “He eventually learned to live with and control the fears so they wouldn’t control him. Now that the fearsight is gone, he has nothing left to control--and the paranoia of his youth, unchallenged, returns. While I won’t pretend to know more than mages and alchemists who have a clearer understanding of his health and brain functions,” she gestured to the three of them, “this is my take, and for all I know, it’s just a guess backed in legend and hearsay.” She flattened her body against the door, cringing at the feel of her bony shoulder-blades when they contacted the wood surface.
“Hadwin is one of few faoladh who seems to thrive with his curse. He’s made it such a vital part of his survival and wellbeing that I don’t think he can be separated from it anymore. At the same time, he’s over-cultivated it to the point where he can perform unheard of maneuvers--like siphoning the fears from other people. Judging by his body’s adverse response, I don’t think he, or other faoladh, were ever meant to hone their curse to such powerful ends. It completely counteracts what a curse is supposed to do: inflict, not serve.”
She brushed a hand over her amber eyes. Among company, her range of vision was permanently cast downwards, sideways, or upwards, but never level; never in contact range. In direct contrast to Hadwin, she played it safe over her thirty years of life, seldom meeting a gaze aside from a cursory scan. Over-abusing one’s Sight led to trouble later on: seeing without looking directly at the subject, seeing with one’s eyes closed, seeing in one’s sleep, suffering headaches, nightmares, personality shifts, substance abuse, mood swings...madness. However, not all faoladh followed the same predictable patterns. Disparities existed. As was the case of poor Rowen, though she under-utilized her Sight, the tiniest glimpses rendered her so paralyzed by darkness, she had abandoned the world and turned to a life of practical hermitude, allowing only Hadwin to penetrate her self-made solitude.
“Perhaps this is why his body is punishing him,” she continued. “Depending on how long his headache persists, he could end up breaking the curse--losing his fearsight for good. If so, he’ll have no means of returning Rowen’s fear and he may stay trapped in this hellish condition for the rest of his life. I don’t know how it’s possible, but we must find some means of restoring his fearsight before it’s too late.”
“Never second-guess your concerns and contributions, Bronwyn. What you told us right now is invaluable information,” Alster looked askance to Isidor and Nia, to see if they agreed. “We know so little about faoladh biology or the nature of your moon-curse. Whatever blanks you can fill will go a long way towards helping your brother and perhaps all faoladh, your sister included. That said,” his mouth folded into a worried frown, “this sounds a lot graver than I originally thought. How certain are you that he is close to breaking his curse? Does extreme, prolonged pain somehow wear away its elasticity and snap it in twain, or does the curse act more like a living, hostile organism that attacks its host when most vulnerable? Or,” fingernails tapped against the back of his steel hand, thrumming the elevated heartbeat of his thought process, “is the curse apt to break when it is, as you’ve postulated, misused beyond its intended purpose as an agent of faoladh-borne punishment? And if the curse were to break, why wouldn’t his headaches vanish?”
“I...can’t say,” her brows stitched in regrettable contortions. “And I wish I could help more. There is one piece of concrete information I can offer, however. This does not originate in some oral tradition, passed down from a friend of a neighboring clan whose grandmam’s cousin twice-removed heard it from a very reliable resource. No--there is a faoladh who, for certain, broke the curse. My da.” She shifted from one foot to the other, not comfortable in referencing Chief’s legend to outsiders, let alone to people she didn’t trust. But what choice did she have? “He’s no longer afflicted by his Sight and he is healthy, functioning. Not tormented by headaches or any other related, ill-effects, save for one. No one can see his emotions. Not fear, not darkness, not sadness or regret, and not virtue and good deeds. He’s completely unreadable to all faoladh. It’s fascinating.” Before she could remark on Chief’s vaunted impassivity, an inspiration and envy to the clan who bowed in awe to him, she coughed out of her daydream and refocused on the present subject. “Unfortunately, he doesn’t remember how he ousted the curse. But we do know it’s possible. Aside from my da, Hadwin is the only other member of Clan Kavanagh to have lost his Sight. Whether it’s temporary, a result of his failing brain activity, or borderline permanent, I’m of the camp that we can’t let it be permanent...because,” she sighed, letting her worry slip free, “I’m not sure what that will spell for him in the future.”
Alster nodded, absorbing Bronwyn’s dire prognosis. “Our plan was to lessen the symptoms of his headache, hoping that if we lower the pain and inflammation to a bearable and reliable level of relief, he’ll regain core functions of his brain activity, such as his lost senses and, with them, his fearsight. But if this is indicative of a larger problem...we’re going to have to act quickly before there’s irreversible damage.” Raising his head, he turned to Nia. “We’re done bloodwork but the results were inconclusive. We’ve yet to conduct a second round of tests. I’ve considered biopsying his brain, but only as a last resort, if the blood avenue fails. If you have any suggestions for plowing forward, aside from symptom-treatment, then by all means, please share your insights. ...Something tells me a magical talisman won’t suffice, anymore.”
“Hey. Now, that’s sounding a little like the Hadwin I know and love. Except that if you knew me, which I’m sure now you don’t--or at least, you don’t remember me--you probably wouldn’t be making that offer.” Nia smiled, but it was a little despondent, under the circumstances. “Sex isn’t really my thing if you’re not a virgin--and I know for a fact you certainly are are. Something tells me that Isidor probably isn’t too interested in your offer, either, but hey, don’t let me speak for you, Is!”
“Far more information than I cared to know.” The Kristeva alchemist frowned, a crease forming between his brows as he folded his arms tightly across his chest. If he’d really cared, a part of him was inclined to call Nia a liar, and call her out for her hypocrisy since she had known well that while he was relatively inexperienced, he hadn’t been a virgin when she’d cajoled him into bed--something that had left a bad taste in his mouth, ever since. Instead of bothering to further engage with her, however, he chose to address Hadwin for the first time. “Believe me, wolf, if it was up to me, I’d have nothing to do with you, or any of this right now. I stepped in out of respect for Teselin, who happens to care about you a great deal. But now that there’s another Master Alchemist on this case, maybe I’ll…”
He trailed off when Teselin caught his eye, and he couldn’t bear the raw, exhausted, and desperate aura that surrounded the young summoner. This was bigger to her than her own troubles; she hadn’t even been this desperate when she’d approached him for a solution to her wild and erratic magic. The faoladh really meant so much to her that, without him, she had no pillar to hide behind as a means of taking shelter from her own storm. As much as he couldn’t stand Hadwin (even moreso in this delinquent, regressed state), the last thing he wanted was to be the reason for another tear to trickle down his younger sister’s cheek. “...I’ll yield to Nia’s expertise. I know your family. I know of the countless, innocent people they went through for generations upon generations, using and disposing of them like washrags, and all for the sake of training an elite bloodline of Master Alchemists. My specialization remains in metals and stones. But you… I suspect you know more about altering the functions and presentation of a living body just as much, if not moreso than the healers, here.”
Taken a little by surprise at Isidor’s borderline positive referral to her skills, Nia raised her eyebrows and wiped her hands on her skirt. “Are you actually deferring to me, Is? Damn, that’s a compliment if ever I’ve heard one!”
“I meant it as a fact; not a compliment. Although I am sure you no doubt condone your family’s research endeavours.” Isidor snorted, as Alster gestured for everyone to follow him out of the room. The point wasn’t lost on anyone: it wasn’t safe to discuss anything so openly, here, when anyone at all could walk in, or eavesdrop from the corridor.
“...I’d like to stay here.” Came Teselin’s quiet request, as the others began to head toward the door. “I’ll fill myself in later. Hadwin can’t get up in his condition; someone should stay with him.”
“Whatever makes you feel better, hon. He might not remember you, but he doesn’t seem to hate your guts, either.” Nia validated the girl’s decision and patted her affectionately on the shoulder. “We can catch up later, yeah? Don’t worry, we won’t keep you in the dark. You’re as much a part of this as the rest of us. Hey, Hadwin, I know you can’t remember her, but you’re one lucky bugger to have someone as pure-hearted as Tes on your side. She might not be Rowen… but I guess you’re just gonna have to take my word for it when I tell you, that’s a good thing. And, honey,” she cast a concerned look at Teselin, who looked as though she could disappear into her baggy clothes. “Not to get all invasive, but you’re dehydrated and your bloodsugar’s low. Have something to eat and drink; it’ll make you feel better in your body and your mind. Can’t think straight on an empty stomach, can you?”
The small party then left Hadwin and Teselin alone in the infirmary, the former bedridden and the latter dissolving into a pool of her own tears. Since last night, she had developed her own throbbing headache as a result of her ceaseless weeping and sleep deprivation. It was a small mercy that the others had left the room, as their cacophony of voices throwing ideas left, right, and center did no favour for her throbbing temples and the pulsing weight behind her tired eyes. Nia was probably right: neglecting bodily needs wasn’t helping, but…how could she stomach anything with Hadwin in this state?
“Believe it or not… you’ve already helped me a lot, Hadwin.” The young summoner sighed, sinking down to the floor with her back to the wall. As much as she wanted to sit by his bedside and wrap him in a reassuring embrace, like he had done for her so many times that she couldn’t count, it wouldn’t be the same, and it wouldn’t help him. Not when she was little more than some kind and desperate stranger to him. “My problems… aren’t ones that you can solve. Or that anyone can, for that matter. But you’ve helped me to not give up hope. You helped me find my family, although… well, I guess they haven’t been much of a family, since one of them didn’t know me, and the other doesn’t have the time for me. You… you’ve been more of a family to me than I think I’ve ever known, as pathetic as that must sound.”
Why was she saying all of this? In hopes that he would remember? That deep down, his true feelings for her would unearth whatever memories were buried behind pain and confusion? It probably all sounded ludicrous to him; maybe he just thought she was crazy, and he was out saying all of this out of pity for her. “...I’m sorry. None of this would mean anything to you if you don’t remember.” Teselin pressed her head against her knees and fought off the onslaught of tears. She couldn’t afford to keep crying in a dehydrated state, on lack of sleep and no food. And for that matter, neither could Hadwin.
Forcing herself to her feet, the young summoner fought off a brief bout of light-headedness where sparkles danced before her eyes, and crossed the room to fill a tin cup with some fresh water from a basin. When she returned, she slid a gentle hand behind Hadwin’s head. “Can you sit up a little? I’ll help.” With his fever broken (for the time being), the faoladh might have been weak, but not completely listless, and with the help of piling pillows behind him to add a slant to his recline, he managed to prop himself into a half-sitting position. Teselin pressed the cool lip of the cup to his lips. “Here; it’s just water. I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s dehydrated. You’ve been wracked with a fever for so long, your clothes are soaked through.”
While Teselin kept the stricken faoladh company at the infirmary, his sister, who had been so reluctant to help before, caught up with the Rigas mage and the two Master Alchemists. All of them were visibly taken aback when she offered her help, but it went without saying that someone related to Hadwin by blood had far more insight as to the particularities of the faoladh was invaluable. Nia even breathed a sigh of relief, “Oh, thank the gods, Bronwyn. If your dear older brother is too out of his mind to functionally cooperate, then all we’ve got left is you. ‘Cause I’ll admit, while I may be a Master Alchemist and that by virtue of my craft, I should know it all just by touching him… I’m kinda at a loss, here, probably due to the fact that all of this fuckery took place because of something he did with his ‘superpowers’; or Sight, whatever you call it. The ability to completely take away someone’s fear… that isn’t my realm. Correct me if I’m wrong, Is, but I doubt it’s yours, either.”
Isidor shook his head, as he held the door for the lot of them to enter his study, about which he apologized for the near constant untidiness. The clutter looked to have gotten worse in Tivia’s absence, but if anyone made that connection, they said nothing of it. “He is unwell. His body is struggling to maintain homeostasis; but beyond that, I cannot glean a causation.” He confirmed Nia’s assumption. “It’s not my domain, you’re right. If Hadwin’s Sight is a curse, then we are not the experts to consult. Like Alster has said, you, Bronwyn, are the true expert, and I am willing to take your word as fact. And if you suspect that breaking his curse will do far more harm than good… well, needless to say, I am more than happy to keep him cursed.”
Mention of making use of a piece of Hadwin’s brain seemed to visibly nauseate the Kristeva alchemist, and he took a seat, yielding the floor to Nia, who had been listening intently and taking in what she could, to make sense of this bizarre turn of events. “Honestly, had I been in on this from the beginning, I’d have done the exact same thing.” She said to Alster and Isidor, arms folded thoughtfully across her chest, and her brow furrowed. “Blood is always my go-to. It says a lot about genetics and physical health and the state of one’s body and whatnot. But it doesn’t say shit about curses or lack thereof, unfortunately, because that’s something entirely… other. So, yeah, you could go ahead and have me or Is take a good look at a piece of his brain, but the problem is, that’s a pretty damn risky procedure… and I can’t guarantee that I’d be able to glean anything from it, except for maybe a deeper sense of what we already know. That his nerves are all out of what and firing signals at one another too rapidly, or not at all in some cases. But, we wouldn’t have anything to compare it to. No perfectly preserved piece of his brain that was extracted while he was still functioning normally. So at the end of the day, we might find a way to mitigate the symptoms, but we probably won’t know anything more about the causation or how to reverse it. Does that make sense? At least, that’s my take. But hey, Isidor,” she nodded to the other Master Alchemist, “you studied under Zenech. Say what you want about the Ardanes, I know of that man, and he is brutal. Can’t imagine what you must’ve gone through or what he had you do, but hells, I defer to your expertise. Don’t tell me it’d be your first time dealing with brains. I’m not too proud to admit you were probably more thoroughly trained than I was; don’t sell yourself short!”
“Was brutal. Zenech is dead.” Isidor corrected her, but did not care to elaborate or acknowledge the look of surprise that registered on her face. “I’ll be frank, I don’t think I could… stomach that sort of procedure. Blood is difficult enough to deal with. But honestly, as for your reasoning… I think I am in agreement. There is no guarantee that anything could be gleaned. Unless, of course, you can confirm that the curse somehow resides in the brain, which is more Alster’s domain than my own… but it would be a difficult procedure to begin with. And not one that I’m convinced Hadwin can withstand, in the state he is in.”
“Well, you did say something along the lines of being more than a little acquainted with curses, Alster. What do you think?” Nia turned to the Rigas mage. “You think a faoladh curse resides in the brain? I know shit all about how curses work. If that’s the case, and the brain’s the source, then I say go ahead and take the risk and retrieve a piece of his brain, because if it’ll do him in not to proceed, then to me, it’d be worth the risk.”
Somewhat eager to get off the topic of brains and explore other possible avenues, Isidor looked to Bronwyn, who had fallen silent against the door. While he had not been debriefed on the reasons behind her fear of magic, he did wonder what had her so terrified that she looked as though she might run, at the first chance she got. “...I think you had a point, Bronwyn, among what you explained. So your father… he successfully rid himself of his curse? And he continues to live a perfectly healthy and functioning life? Well… do you happen to know where he is? If so, perhaps our best bet would be to bring him here. Even if he cannot glean exactly how he was able to overcome his own curse without being stricken with some sort of blowback, if he has any valuable insights at all that might lead to your brother’s recovery… at this point, anything is helpful. I feel we are all out of our element, otherwise.”
Bronwyn expressed a good deal of reservation with regard to involving her father, namely because Hadwin had been exiled (surprise, surprise!), and she was not confident that he would lend a hand even if they were able to contact him and receive Locque’s permission to allow an outsider entry into Galeyn. Which did not bode well, because for how little they knew of faoladh curses, and even less of maintaining a curse as opposed to breaking it… what could they realistically do for Hadwin? This wasn’t entirely a medical issue. Nor was it a mental or emotional issue, or largely, even a magical issue. It was related to something inherently exclusive to Bronwyn’s race, her clan, and absolutely no one in Galeyn specialized in faoladh healing.
But there had to be something. For all he was infuriating, Hadwin was still an ally, at the end of the day. He was important to Teselin. They couldn’t just give up, but… what could they do, realistically?
“Well. If we’re sure that whatever’s fucking Hadwin up real bad isn’t physical in nature, despite the symptoms… then maybe we do need to look beyond the physical, anyway. Maybe as opposed to picking apart pieces of the guy’s brain, we see exactly what these new wavelengths are emitting. I’m just pulling ideas out of my ass, here, but…” Nia pursed her lips thoughtfully. “If some talisman won’t work, and letting him completely break free from this curse isn’t the answer ‘cause it’ll do him in… maybe we need to be looking at it from the inside, here, in a more abstract way. Hey, Al.” She tilted her head curiously, studying the Rigas mage from the side. “I dunno the specifics of your magic, but word has it that Rigas mages are pretty fucking powerful. Are you at all capable of getting a glimpse into his mind? Maybe unearth the memories that have gotten buried in his overload of neurological activity? Who knows; maybe sorting out his thoughts or making him recall a thing or two might be enough to snap him out of his fugue, or restore his fearsight so he can give it back to his dear little sister. Which, in and of itself, could be a problem… especially if losing her fear has made her tamer.”
Stepping away from Isidor’s desk, against which she’d been leaning the entire time, at risk of upsetting a pile of books, the Ardane alchemist made her way toward the door, and waited patiently for Bronwyn to move her emaciated body to allow her passage. “Speaking of… it might not be a bad idea for someone to check up on that little rascal. Might as well see how she’s faring, if Locque intends to tread a similar path and let the Night Garden solve her problems. But keep me in the loop, yeah? Give me a heads up tonight, if any of you have made headway. You know where to find me. And Al?” She grasped the doorframe with one hand, making eye contact with the Rigas caster before her departure. “Leave the details of your relocation to me. Locque isn’t going to care about what’s got you occupied when things are looking up with the Night Garden. Who knows--this might really be her answer!”
“And you’d be absolutely goddamn right.” If Hadwin could nod, he’d be rattling his head in fervent agreement to Nia’s assessment of his anti-virginity. “Can’t even remember when I wasn’t a virgin. My first time must’ve been at nine? Ten? Lotta perverts out there who wanna fuck kids,” he muttered, his statement of fact steeped in meaning that, for once, departed from his boisterous, crude flippancy. “Anyway, that’s one fetish I can’t help you with, Lady alchemist.” Tilting an ear to listen in on the two alchemists, Hadwin contributed a devious grin to their light banter. “Ever think about the two of you hooking up? There’s definitely some unresolved sexual tension hanging in the air. What happens if you smash two alchemists together, hm? Will there be a chemical reaction? An explosion in the bedroom? That’d be something to see! Get on it, you two!” He shouted after them as they hurried out of the room, hearts aflutter in either agitation...or fear that he hit upon some uncomfortable truth between them.
“Hah; maybe I’ve still got it,” he said shortly after Bronwyn followed the small delegation in pursuit, leaving him and Teselin alone in the infirmary. “Ah, tell me, Tes. How did they look? Were they flustered, a little out of sorts or out of sync? I gotta know these things. Call me a sadist but I love to see people squirm. Well,” he chewed on his admission for a moment’s consideration, “most people. Wouldn’t want that for you. It sounds like you’ve been through enough. Hey, maybe you should listen to that lady alchemist and get something to eat and drink. And some sleep, while you’re at it. I don’t think you’ve done that, either. If I need help with something, I’ll howl and holler so loud, it’ll stab through peoples’ nightmares and won’t shut up ‘till I’m answered, so I’m golden on that front.”
When she disregarded his advice and flopped to the floor, he didn’t press the matter, but he lent a sympathetic ear to her troubles, even if they didn’t make any sense to him. Could she be mistaken? Confusing him for another faoladh, however unlikely (he was pretty damn distinct, and unforgettable to boot)? Maybe she suffered from acute head trauma, explaining why she seemed bound to the infirmary—bound to him. Or, the simplest explanation: she recited from a script, but the guilt of deceiving him left her conflicted and beholden to his care. If Teselin was deceiving him, he didn’t mind. She was too sweet, too genuine, too helpful to despise. And her strong opinion of him, despite his unrestrained and unapologetic delinquency, was something too precious to disregard. If I’m not long for this world...then you’re not the worst lass to spend my final moments with. “Not gonna lie, but that sounds pretty damn bleak, Tes. No one can solve your problem? If it can’t be solved, can it be reworked? Y’know, approached at a different angle? If there’s no obvious solution, the way I see it, the game is rigged. So cheat your way into a solution. And if that ain’t possible, you don’t give the problem the satisfaction of besting you. Because if you’re still fighting, you’re still winning—winning the right to another day. And another day. Soon enough, they add up to months, years, a lifetime.”
He bit his tongue and arched his back as another wave of pain squeezed his eyeballs so tightly, they threatened to pop out of their sockets. “I’m gonna fight this, Tes. Gonna fight through. Cuz this ain’t my time and these ain’t my terms. Can you promise me you’ll do the same? We’ll fight together, yeah? Or else we’ll go down swinging. Never go quietly if you can help it! Here, take my hand.” The fingers of his weakly-wound fist opened like the damaged petals from a wilting flower. “Let’s shake on it. A two-way promise. Say these words and not cuz you wanna appease my sick and feeble ass. Say them for you: ‘No matter what happens, I’m gonna kick ass—because I’m resilient. If I fall, I’ll get the fuck back up again. And again. And again.’ Yup, the swearing is required,” he said, clawing the air in wait for her hand to make contact. “Gets the heart pumping. Makes an emphasis. A punch. Nothing wrong with a little attitude and anger if you’re directing it at a target. C’mon; you try. I’ve got all day to wait, y’know. Even if you don’t feel it right now, recite the words enough and you’ll start to believe it one day. Life is all about indulging in a healthy slice of self-delusion every so often. Yeah, that’s it!” She said the words as their hands linked; his fingers curled in as firm and hearty a handshake as his twitchy, uncoordinated muscles could muster. “Well nice to meet you, Teselin—even if it’s not for the first time.” He gave credence to the idea not because he believed it, but because Teselin believed it, and if it existed as part of her reality, then it rang true for her. “Sometimes it’s good to retread already trodden territory. So now that we’re here, we’re in the same, well-worn, familiar spot.”
As she fetched him some water and affixed the pillows behind his head for ease of sitting upright, Hadwin, taking a few sips from the proffered tin, wrinkled his nose at mention of his appearance. “Oh, so now I’ve got a permanent wet-dog look going for me? Tell me, and be honest! Do I smell like one, too? Go out and clear your nostrils of my rankness! Seriously; I can’t be responsible for any fizzled nose-hairs. And get something to eat and drink while you’re out there, huh? We don’t want the number of bedridden to double in a day.” With extreme reluctance, Teselin agreed to fetch some sustenance, promising the errand wouldn’t take long to accomplish. After finishing the water she provided, he nodded her along, nodding, nodding...until she left. His grin faded. The strong front he displayed for Teselin peeled off, layer by layer, unraveling to a shriveled core, within which a host of fears spilled out, their numbers incalculable. He considered them all...and curled, best as he could, into a terrified ball, like he used to do in his youth when the damning sensations grew too heady to bear. He was afraid. Afraid of the uncertainty, afraid of his body’s shutdown, afraid of the diagnosis, of the endless agony, of the people who claimed to help him. Afraid of never reuniting with Rowen or, hells, even Fiona. Afraid of the ‘What next?’ Afraid of the walls he couldn’t see. Afraid like he hadn’t been afraid in years. Not since he batted the living nightmares as a child, as meekly as one would ward off flies. Before he gave the nightmares concrete forms and defeated each one by name, he started as a whelp who squeezed his eyes shut and wished himself blind, because nothing was better than everything.
You’re not safe not safe hurt hurt you will hurt you can’t run from it you can’t hide we’re always here because we are in you a part of you. The world is full of monsters—monsters everywhere you can’t…
Survive.
Back then, it made him want to give up. Now, the circle spun its revolutions and landed back to start. Back to the beginning. Back to giving up. He couldn’t survive. Not like this. Not as an invalid, crippled by fears. His hands scrambled at his sides, grappling for a sharp-ended medical tool within his reach. One deep slice across his throat and it would be over. Death, on his terms. No wasting away on a bed, his coffin. No slow, diminishing surrender among strangers he couldn’t trust. One slice and he would be free.
Just one slice…
But his palm still tingled with the residual promise he exacted from a girl he didn’t know, a spectacle he created entirely for her benefit, not for his. As he had come to find, the message didn’t ring true solely for her.
In his head, he repeated the mantra.
I’m gonna kick ass…
Because I’m resilient.
If I fall…
I’ll get the fuck back up again.
He rested on his pillow. In spite of the pain, he was ready to deal with the ‘What next.’
Mention of Bronwyn’s father, and the possibilities of fetching him, impelled Alster to lean forward in his chair, his interest mounting. Before the Kavanagh sibling could process the implications of what they suggested, he seconded his agreement on Isidor’s plan. “Locating your father might not pose too much difficulty. With just a pinprick of your blood, we could glean his general direction. Granted, while Tivia was best suited for magical tracking…” he trailed off, realizing his twofold faux paus. Tivia remained a sore point, both for Isidor and Alster; broaching her name in conversation, so soon after her strange disappearance, didn’t bode well for the already tense mood in the room—for Bronwyn, after hearing the phrase ‘magical tracking,’ lost whatever remaining color lingered on her too-pale cheeks. “My sincerest apologies,” he said, directing his sentiments to the two parties most affected by his careless phrasing. “I got ahead of myself.”
“...My da is Chief of Clan Kavanagh,” Bronwyn spoke, a small voice hardly able to fill the cluttered space and defeat the awkward silence that pervaded like a stubborn mist. “Hadwin is an exile. As he is no longer Chief’s son, he is no longer his responsibility. Beseeching his help on this matter isn’t...he has better uses of his time. Even if we could find him, he’s busy holding Clan Kavanagh together and fighting against Mollengard capture of the faoladh. In fact, helping Hadwin at all is directly going against my orders. It’s Rowen he wants—who I was tasked to retrieve.”
As Bronwyn ran a hand over her brow, overwhelmed by the implications of her failure, Alster tried to put the situation into perspective. “I’m sure your father didn’t expect Rowen to kill so many people and swear her allegiance to Locque,” he said, a neutral statement with no implied emotion; only fact. “You’ve been doing everything in your power to help your sister, but she hasn’t necessarily made it easy for you—or for anyone,” he said delicately, neither ignoring nor excusing the atrocities she inflicted, but also not condemning the troubled wolf-girl’s desire to heal. “If temporarily removing her fear of the darkness propels her towards recovery, then all hope is not lost.” It was a vague, unfinished statement, but he thought against adding the possibility of Rowen reuniting with her clan, uncertain of how deeply entrenched her commitments to Locque ran—and if, in the event they succeeded in defeating the tyrant summoner, what would become of the young faoladh when faced under a tribunal of angry Galeynians and D’Marians demanding justice.
But Bronwyn seemed to read between the lines just fine and slowly nodded her understanding, not blind to the reality of Rowen’s crimes, regardless of whatever remorse she might later-on express for the lives she cruelly ended.
Alster turned his attention to Nia. “To answer your question, I have considered the possibility of accessing Hadwin’s memory bank to search for his lost, buried years. If fear is his ruling emotion, then it can be assumed his most prominent memories are fear-based. His last remembered fears should provide a gateway into his mindscape, past and present. From there, I can also explore the origins of his fearsight; its development, mechanics, sensations, first moments of use, the tertiary feelings associated with its use—whatever details are necessary to help reintroduce the function to his brain. What’s more, if we look at Hadwin’s neurological malfunction as largely an issue of memory, we can solve his other problems vis a vis memory restimulation. If he has forgotten how to see, to smell, to remember, a well-placed shock to the correct meridians should jolt the sensory organs back to proper working order. In theory, this sounds like a sensible plan.”
“Only,” he sighed and wrung his mismatched hands together, a marriage of flesh and metal, “his overworked brain’s defenses are working at a hyper-elevated rate. They will attack and eject any outlier they classify as hostile. At this juncture, anything internal and foreign poses a threat; even healing, thereby limiting my efforts to the external realm; namely, symptom relief. Before, all I did was scan his brain in an attempt to map it, but even such an innocuous procedure was enough to not only lose my connection, but rattle Hadwin from his sedation an hour earlier than expected. If this is this case, then I have to agree with you, Isidor,” he acceded to the man seated in the chair beside him. “Acquiring a brain sample presents too much risk to his health—and he might not survive it. On the less extreme end, I can’t see the feasibility of accessing his memories, either, as that requires applying my direct magical pressure internally, to his brain, using a significantly stronger wavelength than when I was merely exploring the region. The best I could do is try and access his memory through the less damaged sectors of his brain. His communication and language centers are resoundingly intact...which probably comes at a surprise to no one. Even illness can’t steal away his barbed tongue and love of witticisms.” Despite the rather grave subject, Bronwyn couldn’t help but smirk at Alster’s comment. Oh, wasn’t that the truth! In death, surely, his tongue would detach, gain sentience, and prattle on ceaselessly, leaving no living soul to sleep a peaceful night ever again.
Alster continued. “Alas, even with this method, I worry that my magical interference on those workable regions would incur damage there, too, as I’m certain the brain would scramble to defend and indiscriminately attack against invasion in any sector, no matter how untouched or unimpacted. From my cursory understanding of faoladh,” he casually studied Bronwyn with a peripheral, albeit meaningful, glance, “you are fairly magic-repellent. I daresay you even possess a significant amount of sturdiness in relation to magical influences of any type, be they offensive or passive in scope.”
“So, here is what I propose we do.” He laid a forceful slap on his lap in accompaniment to his call to action. “If there is any hope of reaching Hadwin’s memories, we must first stabilize his brain chemistry to the best of our collective abilities. Isidor and Nia, you will have to regulate his body temperature and check for fevers. The goal is to reduce inflammation, so if you can think of anything else that will help, please do what you can. Elias and the Gardeners are capable of concocting an effective tonic, I’m sure—even if it’s not long-lasting. I’ve also heard that the Canaverises carry stones suitable for quelling headache symptoms. Perhaps we can acquire some,” he looked to Nia, knowing she served as the best candidate for Canaveris-related errands.
“In the meantime, I will create a holdover talisman imbued with my magic in hopes that it will offer consistent pain-relief remotely, without my needing to sit at his bedside and press my hand to his forehead for hours at a time. Since blood is most accessible to us in terms of analysis, Bronwyn,” he appealed to the skittish faoladh plastered to the door, “it would help us immensely if you could part with a vial of your blood. As we’re unable to study Hadwin’s previously healthy cells, you are the closest genetic and biological match to your brother and therefore, our best alternative for comparison. If we can understand the makeup of a healthy faoladh, then we can apply that understanding to Hadwin and lay down the groundwork towards investing in a possible solution. No need to worry, either,” he added, catching the wide-eyed alarm she tried but failed to hide from scrutiny, “a nurse will take your blood. Not me, a Gardener, or Elias, if his brand of healing magic also gives you pause.”
She shrugged her shoulders at Alster, its exaggerated gesture connoting an unbothered, unruffled bearing. In defense of Alster’s attempts to accommodate her general unease, she overcorrected her behavior, choosing a poorly-acted coolness over edginess and anxiety. “Not a problem,” she said, scraping away the residue of self-consciousness. “I’ll contribute however much you need.”
“Thank you, Bronwyn.” Alster rose from his seat. “Let’s say we meet back at the infirmary in two hours’ time? That will give you plenty of opportunities to check in on Rowen and speak with Locque...on my behalf.” He fumbled the last bit, unable to filter out his own bout of nerves pertaining to the volatile summoner. Although his shield spell concealed ill-thoughts and devious plotting from detection, it didn’t hide his undeniable fear of the woman who nearly undid him. “Rowen’s speedy recovery is paramount to our success. If Hadwin’s fearsight should return, the man’s stubborn enough to refuse reinstating his sister’s fear if he’s not satisfied with her progress. She could also refuse to comply; the fear transfer is contingent on both parties making full, unwavering eye contact with each other.”
“I’ll go with you,” Bronwyn nodded to Nia, sliding her diminished form away from the door—not that she could fend off the Master Alchemist in her atrophied state if she had refused to move. “I can’t squander this opportunity. If Rowen can be reasoned with, if she wants to heal and she’s been set on the right path to start...then I’ll try again. Try to help her along.”
“While you do that, I’ll pay a visit to the Missing Links.” Alster tugged down on the sleeves of his tunic and folded his arms for warmth; he could have sworn Isidor’s study somehow replicated the gloom and draft of his tower to a chilling (and chilly) degree! “Someone should let them know about Hadwin’s status.”
With everyone more or less on board with their plan of attack and rendezvous at the infirmary that evening, they parted ways—save for Bronwyn, who lingered behind in the doorway, staring, transfixed, at Isidor’s shoes before working up the courage to open her mouth...and raise her eyes. Directly at him.
“I know what my brother did,” she began, her unsteady voice like deadfall swirling in the wind. “How he hurt you. I’m not condoning it, nor am I apologizing on his behalf. My apology is a little different. I’m sorry—because I’m partly responsible for the crooked path his development took. A faoladh’s Sight develops as a direct result of their upbringing. Hadwin grew up afraid because we made him afraid—and then he passed the fear along. The fear that we created. That’s not...what I came to say, though.” She looked as though she might burst out of her own skin at any second. “Despite the darkness, anger, and fear that you must believe dominates your mind in spades, I see...a great deal more, too. There’s love. More love than you think your heart is able to hold. There’s a sense of kinship for the summoner you barely know. You help a man you despise because her well-being burns brighter than your resentment. You have fellowship for Alster Rigas, and earned his lifelong respect for saving his wife’s life. There’s people you loved who are no longer here, separated either by death or distance—yet, they both hold a fond place in your heart. You’re not entirely wound up with guilt inside. There’s purity. Goodness. Good deeds. Good acts. Goodwill. You’re allowed to feel it. To feel more than guilt,” her amber eyes fell, releasing him from their hypnotic stare. Unbeknownst to her, they glinted; a faint flicker of warmth and light, so different from Hadwin’s oppressive, acidic-yellow gut-stab. “You’re free to see this as selfish. That I’m trying to butter you up because I feel guilty, too. You would be right. If my brother sows chaos and discord with the Sight I helped him acquire, then I should at least use mine to clear some of the damage he caused. If I...failed to do that, if I failed to even make a start, then please excuse my boldness. I thought that maybe...this was something you needed to hear. Forgive my presumption.” Before she melted on the spot from humiliation, she picked her shaky legs from the floor, marveling at their usability when she was certain they fused to the rug, and skittered out of the door like a deer fleeing a hunter’s nocked bow.
“Yeah; you’re right. I guess it is pretty bleak.” The young summoner’s mouth pulled into a tight smile of affirmation, while knowing full well he couldn’t see it. “I know you don’t remember, but believe it or not, I wasn’t always like this. Not so… devoid of hope. Not even when we’d first met, which occurred at a time when I’d sought refuge among you and your friends, fleeing for my life.” She didn’t bother to cover the details of what had once happened in that village, prior to her desperate arrival in Stella D’Mare. Somehow, those events seemed so far in the past that they had lost significance. Just as far in the past as the young girl, two or so years ago, who had been so filled with hope for a brighter future, and that all would turn out for the best. Where had that girl gone? What had happened to her? At what point had she ceased to exist, yielding to some ghost of what she had been? Part of her wanted to blame Mollengard, and how they had broken her and Chara almost to a point beyond repair. Yes, it would be so easy to assign all fault to that particular event… but Teselin knew better. She knew she had been on her way to breaking before that point; she knew that she had continued to break, a little more each day, after the fact. The truth was, hope could not endure with nothing to nurture it, and when each consecutive reach for a solution dissipating before her fingers could touch it--when Alster could not help her, nor Vitali, and not even Isidor--what did she have left but to look to the darkness as the only solution?
But even if she knew, deep in her heart, that a bright future for her was futile… Hadwin wasn’t in a position to hear it. Not when he was confused, afflicted, and in pain. If only for a little while… she had to become the bright and positive Teselin Kristeva that he had met, in that healer’s tent back in Stella D’Mare. And for him, she could pretend… for a little while.
“This isn’t the first time you’ve told me not to give up, you know.” She commented, careful to lift her voice a pitch or so, from the quiet, low tones she’d been speaking in. “A little while back… well, something pretty awful happened to me, and I wasn’t sure there was a way out of the darkness. You have me a playing card; you said it had significance, and that as long as I held onto it, I was holding onto my fight; holding on to hope. Well, I still have it.” From the pocket of her baggy tunic, her fingers folded around a stiff piece of coated paper, now bent and frayed at all angles, its sheen and image faded from exposure to the sun and to touch. That card hadn’t left her possession since the moment he’d given it to her. Even on days when she couldn’t quite bring herself to believe in the hope or perseverance it symbolized… somehow, it kept her from shattering completely. “Honestly, I’ve already promised you that I’m going to fight, even if you can’t remember. I don’t make promises that I cannot keep. So you’ll have to forgive me now for bringing you down; I didn’t mean to. I guess, what I meant to say is that at this point, I haven’t found someone who is able to help me, but that doesn’t mean the solution isn’t out there, right? It just means I haven’t found it yet. But I have the whole rest of my life to find it. Why give up when there is still so much time? Here; I’ll do you one better. I’m not one inclined to swear, but if it means that much to you, then sure. And in return…”
Teselin pressed the playing card into Hadwin’s clammy palm, and gently closed his fingers around it. “Hold onto this for me. It’s your turn to hold onto hope, now. It’s not the end for me, and it certainly isn’t the end for you, not after all you’ve endured and survived. And when you remember… or, at least, when you find a way to fight off what is afflicting you, then you can give it back to me. You were there for me when I was at my lowest and ready to give up… so I’m going to be there for you.”
For no other reason than to appease him, she repeated his mantra, swearing and all, and following his insistence, decided that it was both in her best interest and his to get something to eat. She wouldn’t be of any help to anyone if she was too weak to move… and he wouldn’t find his way out of this affliction if he did not try to at least sip on broth. So with the promise of returning soon, she left him with the playing card to grasp as his own anchor of hope in her absence.
Worn away from lack of sleep, water, and proper nourishment, Isidor only barely tuned into the conclusion of the conversation in his chambers with regard to how to approach Hadwin’s affliction. He caught the last handful of words that encompassed Alster’s suggestion to meet back at the infirmary in a couple of hours, after other parties had been notified or checked up on, but had nothing further to contribute as he silently watched the nefarious Ardane woman and the Rigas mage leave his room. Bronwyn, however, hesitated, and evidently had a few more words to impart before she accompanied Nia to the Night Garden. This was probably the first time Hadwin’s older sister had ever spoken to him, since neither of them really had any good reason to engage in conversation of any sort. They were worlds apart in terms of upbringing, history, and interests, and while he did not inherently dislike her, anyone related to Hadwin did have the tendency to make his skin crawl, just a little.
But, at the very least, she wasn’t nearly as threatening, and in her present state, along with the knowledge that she was terrified of magic… the Kristeva alchemist couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for her. And the words that she had for him were not cruel, or biting. They were… apologetic. Despite that she was not the one who should have been offering the apology. Though the apology was a different one, not for what Hadwin had done, but for her involvement in making him the person that would do such a thing. “You don’t owe me an apology,” he said to her, shaking his head slowly and rising to his feet on stiff knees. “Whatever influence you had on him, Hadwin made the choice to do what he did to me, in the end. But if I’m being honest… I despise him because it is easy to despise him. Easier to turn my anger and hatred on him than focus it all on… on myself. And what I’ve become. What I lack… it’s not him. It’s me. And he just made me realize how… how much I despise myself…”
It was the first time he’d said it out loud, and given those thoughts voice and words, but it was the truth. Isidor Kristeva was a joke of a human being who could help no one. He couldn’t help Arisza because he was a coward. He couldn’t help Teselin because he did not know how. He couldn’t help Tivia because… he just did everything wrong, and until Hadwin had opened those firmly shut doors of his mind, he had been far happier living in partial amnesiac bliss. But now that he knew… there was no avoiding that guilt, that pain of letting down everyone he’d ever cared for on a deep level, and even hating on Hadwin couldn’t rid him of that. Yet… something else did, temporarily. The way Bronwyn looked at him incited a shift in his mood, like something had unclenched in his chest. And for just a moment, that heavy, leaden guilt he carried felt somehow lighter. For just a moment, it almost felt like enough that he cared for those people he had failed, even if he couldn’t come through for them. This was something Isidor hadn’t felt since he had been on amicable terms with Tivia, once upon a time. The feeling that, despite all of these setbacks, something was still going right.
As soon as Bronwyn looked away, that beautiful feeling departed, along with her gaze, leaving the Master Alchemist to wonder just what he had experienced. “Did… did you just…” Just what? Why had her words struck such a chord in him? “Don’t… hold yourself accountable. Your brother didn’t cause any damage. The damage was already there; he just reminded me of it, since over the years, I’d somehow forgotten.”
“Hey, Big Sister Kavanagh. You coming to see Little Sister, or not?” Nia peeked her head in the doorway, having soon realized that Bronwyn was not following, despite her insistence on accompanying her. Sure enough, Bronwyn left Isidor’s chambers, and trailed her down the corridor at last. “Gotta make one quick stop before we head over to the Night Garden. I told Alster I’d clear things up with her Majesty about his relocation. Better to do it now then have her wondering why a self-exiled Rigas is suddenly wandering around, willy-nilly. I promise I won’t be long--and don’t worry, you don’t need to come in.”
Briefly leaving Bronwyn outside the council chambers, where Locque had a tendency to dwell (when she wanted to be found), Nia knocked once on the door before inviting herself in. The sorceress apparently already had words for her before she could even open her mouth. “Anetania. I would like news on Rowen.” Not a question: an order. If Nia didn’t know better, Locque appeared rather anxious, sitting at the head of the table without her faithful little wolf at her side. “I have not seen her in over a day. Word from the Night Garden stipulates that she is receiving some sort of treatment on… a psychic level. I have never known the Night Garden to be capable of healing anything beyond the physical.”
“You’re asking me? Pfft, I know shit all about the Night Garden’s history. I couldn’t tell you either way.” Nia lifted her shoulders in a shrug. While it was irrational, a tiny ember of resentment burned at the back of her mind. Rowen had been away for a day, and Locque was worried, but… she couldn’t spare her the same consideration when she had fallen and fractured her fucking skull? “Lucky for you, I was just on my way to check up on the little wolfling. Sounds promising, though; if the Night Garden can help Rowen, I don’t see why it can’t help you. Oh, and about Alster Rigas,” the Master Alchemist raised a finger, in hopes that the sorceress would listen before she saw fit to interrupt. “As I’m sure you’re already aware, Hadwin’s kinda having a hard time right now, so Teselin requested Alster’s healing expertise. He’s working the case as we speak, but it’s also notable to mention that he and his wife are hoping to relocate to the palace. I don’t blame them; it’s gotta get kinda lonely and boring, all the way down in the countryside. I told him I’d speak with you on his behalf.” Lowering her hand, she clasped her fingers in front of her. “Personally, I don’t see there being a problem. If he was going to stir up any trouble for you, he’d have done it by now. Neither he nor Elespeth have the makings of a farmer, really; this is a much better environment for them to thrive in. And anyway, I figure we have bigger fish to fry than to worry about people who aren’t even a threat to you. So, what’s your word, then? Can I tell him he can stop holding his breath and go and reclaim his old bedroom?”
“He’s free to do as he likes, if he has sworn not to be of any further trouble..” Locque waved a dismissive hand at the matter. Just as Nia had thought; she really didn’t care, or see Alster as a threat, at all. “Please visit the Night Garden and report back to me on Rowen’s condition immediately. And, Anetania.” She called after the Master Alchemist, just as she’d turned to leave. “Barring your injury, you’ve been spending a good deal of time at the Canaveris villa. I’d like to know what has been keeping you so occupied, there.”
“Tch. Like you don’t know? Really? This is Aristide Canaveris, we’re talking. You know… someone with very unique problems.” She lowered her voice, knowing that Bronwyn was not far away, just outside the door. “Problems that a Master Alchemist like me can fortunately solve… in the short term. And he is an ally, is he not? He’s surrendered to you. Why wouldn’t I help him in exchange for his loyalty? Here’s the thing you’ve got to understand.” She propped her hands on her curved hips and raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to maintain peoples’ loyalty by promising not to kill them or the people they love. That’s a start; I get it, that’s your power play. But if you want to be a ruler, if and if you want to have a real place here, make it a home, you’re going to have to provide for these people. And that means, among many other things, lending your Master Alchemist out to those loyal people in need--like Lord Canaveris. Make sense?”
Locque’s brow furrowed, like she was weighing the legitimacy of Nia’s words, as she rested her chin in her palm. At last, she nodded. “Perhaps it will make more sense to me, when the Night Garden has helped me like it has helped Rowen.”
“Hey, that’s the spirit!” Nia’s broad grin stretched from ear to ear. “Well, we’ll be sure to get on that as soon as possible. See how it works out for Miss Rowen, and take it from there. Sit tight, I’ll be back in a bit to fill you in!”
Rejoining Bronwyn in the hallway, she made no comment about anything said in the council chambers, but immediately turned a curious eye to the faoladh woman. “Hey, what did you do to Isidor? I saw the look that came over him. Like ice on a burn. I’ve heard that you can see the good in people and all, but I didn’t know you could project that onto them. You wolf lot never cease to amaze me!”
After a short trek to the Night Garden in relative silence (not to Nia’s surprise; she had no real reason to assume that Bronwyn cared to be friendly with her), the Master Alchemist knocked on the sanctuary door. She was surprised to find a girl--a Gardener, judging by the white robes--younger than Rowen on the other side, looking up through round spectacles. “Oh. Hey, there. Word has it there’s a certain Rowen Kavanagh who’s undergoing… some changes, of sorts. I brought her sister along.” She motioned to Bronwyn, who nodded from behind her. “Is she okay to see a few visitors? We just want to know how she’s doing.”
“I suppose so… she did manage to get a good deal of rest since last night.” The child-Gardener replied, and stepped aside to allow the two of them through the doorway. Sure enough, Rowen was sitting up in bed, a small plate of Night Garden fruits sitting, partially eaten, on a nightstand, and with a cup of cooled tea in her hands.
“Hey! If it’s not my favourite, cynical wolf. Sorry, Bronwyn, I’ll find a different ‘favourites’ category for you. Brooding, maybe?” Nia took a few steps forward and crouched near Rowen’s cot. Maybe it was all about the power of suggestion, but she did look different, somehow. Like there was more colour to her face, and less… hatred in her golden eyes. “How’re you feeling, by the way? Her Majesty Locque’s concerned for your absence, so I told her I’d come and check up on you to make sure all is well. You’ll have to excuse the hands--I’m here on orders.”
Foregoing permission, Nia rested one hand on Rowen’s wrist, for as long as she would allow it. It didn’t take long to register that… well, nothing at all was amiss. The faoladh girl’s body was not out of balance, she was well-fed and hydrated. No signs of distress, whatsoever. “Your brother? Oh, yeah, we just paid him a visit recently.” Having anticipated that Rowen would ask after Hadwin, Nia had already prepared an answer that would satisfy the girl without revealing too much. “He was bitching and moaning about a headache last I saw him, and he decided to sleep it off after making raunchy comments to Isidor--who I am sure you know did not appreciate it. So… what exactly is going on with you, then? Word has it that you took Teselin up on her offer, and it looks like the Night Garden is really coming through for you.”
Bronwyn Kavanagh was once a woman bristling with pride and integrity, a loyal, unwavering example of her clan’s brightest and best. Though she never received credit for her tireless contributions to the clan, be they through hunts, running errands in the city, replacing the thatching on the clan house and surrounding huts after the autumn storms damaged their structures, weeding the yards, sowing and planting crops of potatoes, pumpkins, squash, and rhubarb, and patrolling the borders for curious stragglers who stumbled into their territory, following the tell-tale rumors of wolves who wore human skins, she never minded the anonymity. Always of the belief that diligence and a strong work ethic would eventually yield the recognition she always longed for, Bronwyn kept her head down and waited for the day when Chief would acknowledge her as more than just a subordinate, but as a leader. A successor.
Fervently rejecting the out-of-control antics of her infamous brother and mother, shouldering their responsibilities while they begged off to get drunk, gamble, and whore around, the eldest Kavanagh daughter clung to the precepts of honor and duty, foregoing any frivolous flights of fancy or distractions that would compromise her dedication to the clan. Someone had to stay honest. Someone had to keep the Kavanagh reputation afloat when two dunderheads threatened their simple and insular way of life. Daily. And because of Fiona and Hadwin, Chief always landed his distant eyes on them. The problems clouded his periphery, and Bronwyn stood at his periphery. Overlooked. Unseen. Not there. She used to view it as a good sign. That no attention was positive attention and Chief’s brutal, heavy hand upon his constantly misbehaving son drove home the point quite well. Hadwin was the bad example. The what not to do. The cautionary tale. Everyone had to bear witness to his mistakes up close and learn wisdom from one, simple fact: Chief did not tolerate insubordination. As punishment, he ordered everyone in the clan to beat on his disgraced son while he lay, bound and defenseless—the scapegoat who absolved the clan’s sins because no one could ever be as depraved as Hadwin Kavanagh…
Conveniently forgetting that Fiona Kavanagh was worse. But as the Chief’s wife, she was beyond reproach. Beyond admonishment.
Why did it hurt? Why didn’t Bronwyn get paraded around the grounds and lauded as the model clansman? Because it was the expected behavior? The right thing to do? Why can’t you look at me, Chief? What do I have to do so you’ll see me? Do I have to be bad, too?
But the straight-laced, do-gooder Bronwyn, to use Hadwin’s terms, didn’t know how to behave improperly. Just one night among Fiona and Hadwin’s company left her scandalized, and she never again asked to accompany them on their “ventures” to the city. That wasn’t what she wanted. She didn’t want to change her entire persona, everything she stood for, in some petty, attention-seeking pursuit for a private audience with Chief. No. She would do things the honest way. One day, he would realize her worth. If she remained patient. If she worked hard. One day…
That day, and her moment, came. Over eight years later. Fiona was dead; Hadwin, exiled. Rowen, missing. The isle of Collcreagh besieged on all sides by the Mollengardian fleet. Only then did Chief turn to her for assistance. And what did he say? ‘Be my right hand’? ‘Help me lead everyone to safety’ ‘I realize your talents and appoint you as the next Chief’?
No.
He said: ‘Find Rowen. And don’t return until you do.’
One year after his directive and half a continent over, Bronwyn found Rowen. Somehow, she managed to accomplish a practicality inconceivable task. After strong-arming through Mollengardian soldiers and running, hiding, pushing her lupine legs at a rate of near-collapse, refusing to stop for food or water in fear she’d risk capture or worse, she finally caught her first lead in Braighdath and followed it to Galeyn, her end clearly in sight.
But Hadwin had gotten there first. And Rowen…
She was unreachable. Still, she tried. Strived and pressed and begged for Rowen to hear her desperate pleas. Come home. I’ll protect you. But she did everything she could and...what else was there for Bronwyn to do? She stayed out of obligation. She stayed because she had nowhere else to go. She stayed out of fear of magical retribution. She stayed because she was not welcome to return to Clan Kavanagh...if they had even survived Mollengard’s invasion. Her purpose had died, as did her pride, her integrity. Her everything.
What now? What had she worked for? To what goal? What end? Why did she try so damn hard?!
The world doesn’t give a shit about your black and white morality, Brownling, she could hear Hadwin’s snarking tone. It doesn’t care about what you’re doing ‘right.’ So fuck it. Just do what you want.
Easy for him to say! He always did whatever he wanted, damning the consequences. But she...she didn’t know what she wanted, not when the thing she wanted most no longer applied.
Perhaps it explained why she felt drawn to Isidor. The man appeared so shriveled, so uncomfortable in his own body, the internal struggle radiated off him irrespective of any Sight more aptly equipped than hers to inform of his turmoil. Whatever traumas he faced by simply existing among a hostile environment that failed to accommodate him, she could relate. Like him, she did not belong in this place, among these people. But then again...did she belong anywhere? Not at Chief’s side, and certainly not as some stray who elicited pity from everyone—even from her bedridden, memory-addled brother. Rowen had already dismissed her as useless and disposable, a cruel statement, for certain, but it rang true. If she died, would anyone care? Chief didn’t care. Rowen didn’t care. Hadwin only started to care. As of now, her only use lay in her constituent parts. Her faoladh biology. Even sadder, she didn’t mind her role if it meant that people had need of her in some capacity.
It was what she wanted Isidor to understand. If there’s no hope for you, when people obviously care about you and see you as essential...how could there ever be hope for me?
So she approached him—a victim of Hadwin’s callousness—to coerce his goodness to the surface, desperate for him to understand what she wanted for herself: assurance. That despite setbacks and failures, they were doing the best they could in an unforgiving setting.
“So do I,” she said, a whisper of admittance in case Chief somehow heard what had become of his once prideful daughter and disavow her out of disgust. “I’m nothing but a coward. By myself, I’m nothing. My own siblings detest me—and I’m quickly finding...that I detest me, too. I can’t stand myself or this place because….here, I don’t know...who I am. Or what I’m doing. Nothing makes any sense. I’m trying, but I don’t even know the rules. All I know is...our response to something that’s beyond our understanding to navigate and solve can’t be solely our fault. It can’t be. Otherwise, all we’d see is self-hatred and I don’t...I can’t live that way. You can’t possibly want that for yourself, either.”
Realizing she’d been staring straight into his eyes and most likely bringing him discomfort, she withdrew her gaze, and her Sight, but they nearly flicked back in his direction when he began to remark about something. Did his tone sound...lighter? Less burdened?
“Did I...what?” Her brows knit together in confusion, unaware of the glow in her eyes or how it affected Isidor’s mood. “I used my Sight to learn about your positive attributes, but—“
She almost leapt skyward when Nia’s loud caw from behind startled her out of concentration. For the offense of sneaking up on her so discourteously, Bronwyn had the mind to punch her in the arm, but refrained from the desire.
“I’m coming,” she said, sighing out her response. With one firm, parting nod at Isidor, who did appear a little uplifted (it couldn’t be because of her words; not at all!) Bronwyn gently closed his door and followed Nia en route to...Locque’s council chambers? Her first instinct was to head to the Night Garden on her own, vehemently rejecting any scenario that put her in proximity to the powerful sorceress. And she would have, if not for the fact that they were heading in the same direction anyway. Begrudgingly, she waited in the hallway as Nia wandered through the doors to discuss matters with the demi-Queen who allegedly never slept. While it made little difference, Bronwyn cocked her good ear to one side and listened to the bits of conversation shared between monarch and subordinate. She heard nothing of interest, caring little for one Aristide Canaveris and his ‘unique’ problems, for all mages were seemingly saddled with innumerable issues--except that now, her family and their Sight-related woes were no exception!
“What did I do to Isidor?” She repeated after Nia’s inquiry after the woman rejoined her in the hallway. True to her word, reporting to Locque hadn’t taken long. “I didn’t...I didn’t project anything onto him. That’s not...I don’t have that ability.” She faltered. Only stray faoladh learned how to project. If it was true and she had used her Sight to inundate Isidor’s mind with images, it meant...that her curse was beginning to advance. To expand and worsen like Hadwin’s. Like Rowen’s.
Not interested in discussing the implications behind the intensification of her Sight, especially with a woman of questionable affiliations, Bronwyn lapsed into silence for the rest of their walk, saying nothing more on the subject—or about anything.
On entering the sanctuary, a small girl, still into adolescence, welcomed their arrival. Judging by the white robes, she presented as a Gardener, a confounding designation, given her age. Her eyes flitted across the young woman’s robes to find a cuff, a collar, a vestment designating her as an apprentice or assistant, but she found nothing to indicate she was anything else but a fully-fledged Gardener. “Ah, hello,” she said awkwardly, but her halfhearted greeting fell short when she spotted the dark-haired figure sitting on the shadowed side of the cabin, away from the flickering lantern lights, watching carefully through her blanket of protection.
“Rowen.” By appearances and preferences alone, the petite faoladh read as unchanged, unaffected by the fear Hadwin pocketed away for safe-keeping. She tried to swallow her disappointment, knowing it was too early to make a snap judgement. In her hesitation, Nia spoke, initiating a dialogue between all involved parties.
“Brooding?” She cast the Master Alchemist an annoyed side-glare. Is that what people thought of her? Pitiable and broody?!
“Nia. And...Bronwyn,” Rowen dipped her head, though the gesture was less than enthusiastic, especially toward her sister. She set aside her tea and stood, edging closer to the light. While still marred by her customary gloom and stoniness, her youthful face no longer carried the weight of the shadows that clung to her eyelids and drew out her mouth in careworn lines. For once, she looked less like a drowned, malignant imp afflicted by the endless stretches of time, and more like a...person. Mortal. Present. Reachable.
Maybe I’ll get another chance…
“Where’s Hadwin?” Her first question. Bronwyn tried not to deflate. This was a good sign! At her healthiest, she asked for her brother, the sole person she trusted. She never professed to share the same level of concern for her eldest sister. At Nia’s roundabout explanation of Hadwin’s condition, Rowen met her gaze and shrugged off what she saw, free of the haunted look she always wore whenever she scried someone’s thoughts and memories. “That’s a half-truth. I know he’s not doing very well. But he’ll get better because I won’t be here for long. You can tell Locque I said that, too.” She held out her arm for the Master Alchemist to touch and observe, an automatic, uncomplaining answer to her request. “The Night Garden hasn’t done anything yet, but I’m ready for the healing. My first session starts tomorrow.”
Bronwyn bit her lip. While she displayed rare bits of optimism and, well, fearlessness, she worried about Rowen’s understanding of proportion relative to reality. “As liberating as it must be to have no fear of the darkness, please pace yourself, Rowen,” she instructed, taking care not to lecture or agitate the young faoladh when their last conversation had ended so explosively. “No one expects you to recover in a day or two.”
“I’m aware of that, Bronwyn,” she rolled her eyes and shifted so that her torso pointed away from her sister. For her, the conversation was over. “If that’s all, then, you’re free to leave. I’m doing well and plan on doing better once my sessions begin. Hadwin’s gamble will pay off.” She cast each of them a meaningful look. “That’s what you actually want to hear from me. Don’t pretend otherwise. I know I’m a hated figure in Galeyn—and Hadwin’s the popular one, anyway. Of course you want his recovery over mine. I don’t care if it’s the truth. I’ve never been very good at making friends.”
“That’s not true,” Bronwyn slid one step forward, but Rowen didn’t stir from her cold-shouldered position. “I want both of you to recover equally.”
“To get into Chief’s good graces again. Yes, yes, I understand.” Rowen waved a dismissive hand. Her entire bearing oozed overconfidence. “You and Nia have your answer. I will recover and promptly return to Locque’s side. And,” she gave a careless toss of her head to Bronwyn, “we’ll figure out an answer to your Chief conundrum so you can return to the clan, guilt-free. Everyone wins.”
After exiting Isidor’s chambers, Alster immediately headed towards where he believed the Missing Links were quartered. If arrangements hadn’t changed during the two months of his absence, then they should be occupying a suite on the far end of the southern corridor, a temporary lodging made semi-permanent after Locque’s move-in to the palace drummed concerns for each individual’s safety. The Missing Links, down one caravan, had neither found a replacement home on wheels to reside in camp, nor had their ringleader, still weak from her operation, recovered enough to put on regular performances for Forbanne and Galeynians alike. As Alster knocked on their door, he found that their status had little changed. Sure enough, Briery, donned in a night-dress and sleepy-eyed, answered his summons, confused at the identity of her visitor.
“Briery. It’s been a while. My apologies for bothering you at this hour,” Alster tried for a smile, but it flattened. “I wish I had happier news to share—like how I and Elespeth have returned to the palace, for one. Unfortunately, it’s an emergency that brings me at your door prematurely. It’s...Hadwin.” He delved into a hurried explanation, summarizing the key takeaways: namely, the faoladh’s newfound fear-siphoning ability, his decision to use it on Rowen, and the horrifying side effects that currently plagued him as a result. “He won’t remember you, but if you’d like to see him, follow me. He’s at the infirmary.”
Undeterred by his disclaimer, the worried ringleader took his lead and made haste to the infirmary. Inside, the afflicted faoladh lay, bolstered by pillows, trying and failing to flick a playing card through his uncoordinated and indolent fingers. Upon Alster and Briery’s entrance, he stopped and shifted one ear at an angle advantageous for discerning the patter and pattern of identifiable footfalls.
“Well if it isn’t Al! And he brought a lady friend. Damn, are you light on your feet,” he said of the stranger. “Like a cat. So what’s your story, eh? Someone else I’m ‘supposed’ to know?”
“This is Briery Frealy,” Alster said, taking a seat on a chair and laying a magically-laced hand upon Hadwin’s brow, pleased that Nia’s fever treatment had persisted in stabilizing his runaway temperature. “She’s an acrobat and ringleader of a troupe called The Missing Links. And yes, you do know her.”
“Oh?” An intrigued smile stretched across his face. Helped along by Alster’s pain-dampening hand, it spread easier, unhampered and untwisted by the grimaces that accompanied every grin, of late. “Always wanted to beg off and join the circus. Hard to tell now, when I’m all stuffed full of hay and bed-bound, but I sure as hell can move. When this shit blows over, I’ll gladly give you a demonstration, if you’d like.” He opened his sightless eyes just to land Briery a playful wink. Alster shook his head disbelievingly. Leave it to Hadwin Kavanagh to flirt while infirm and crumbling on the inside from pain.
The faoladh physically perked up in his bed when another figure entered the room. “Tes! You’d better be full of food and drink. Come close so I can hear it swishing around in your stomach!” As the summoner approached, shortening the distance between her and the faoladh, a strong, tingling sensation traveled up and down Alster’s spine. Teselin’s turbulent energy...changed in Hadwin’s proximity. It reached out and reversed the swirling maelstrom of Hadwin’s own churning energy output, relaxing the faoladh, unclenching his muscles, and slowing the frenetic noise that represented his person. He was chaos, and Teselin, chaos incarnate. Together, they should have bred more chaos, more instability. But instead, their energies...sang. A low, vibrational hum similar to a lullaby, or a cat’s purr.
Perhaps...Teselin did have the capacity to heal him.
“I mean, do tell me if I am overstepping, but is your brother ever doing ‘very well’?” Knowing better than to lie to someone who could see right through them, Nia opted to try and brush off the severity of Hadwin’s affliction to the best of her ability through her causal rhetoric and nonchalant attitude. “He sees fears and spends most of his time drinking to forget what he sees. Yeah, he’s a little out of sorts right now, but we all know how fast he bounces back. That faoladh healing and all. And speaking of Faoladh healing…”
The Master Alchemist’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at Rowen’s declaration that she planned to seek help and healing. The same Rowen who somehow always seemed so content with her own descent into darkness, because it gave her an excuse to care for and tolerate absolutely no one. What had happened to actually make her take Teselin Kristeva up on her offer and cause her to seek change? Whatever the reason, it didn’t appear to have shaken her loyalties to Locque by any means, but she did wonder… what would this mean for the sorceress’s opinion of her and her overall usefulness? Like Nia, Locque had taken Rowen under her wing because the vicious little faoladh girl would not hesitate to go to any length to do what needed to be done to secure the sorceress’s place in Galeyn and on the throne. In fact, Rowen would often agree to more than what Nia was comfortable with… and she couldn’t help but wonder if, with Rowen’s loss of fear, that would change. “Honestly, I didn’t think you’d take anyone up on their offer to help you become a changed woman, Ro. This is… well, surprising, for one, but also good news. Hey, I’m happy for you!”
And so was Bronwyn, at least, to an extent, from what Nia could see. But along with her relief that her younger sister was obviously doing well also came a good deal of concern--and Nia didn’t blame her. She had absolutely no idea what Night Garden healing entailed, particularly of the mental or emotional nature. A year ago, to her knowledge, the Garden hadn’t even been capable of that niche form of healing, and it could only be sought through and carried out by the Sybaian clan of healers--and, unfortunately, the palace’s resident Sybaian healer was out of commission. What had made her entrust her well-being to the Garden--and to this very young Gardener, whom she assumed was in charge of Rowen’s recovery?
“Speaking of rushing into things…” Nia withdrew her hand from Rowen’s person and turned to the small, barely pubescent girl draped in Gardeners robes that looked almost too big for her small frame. “How long do you anticipate this will take? How many ‘sessions’ before you’re happy with the progress?”
“I cannot say for certain. Healing and recovery is a deeply individual process.” The young Gardener explained, pressing her spectacles up the bridge of her small nose. “The process is not seamless, either, and there are bound to be a few setbacks; there always are. It also depends on how far and for how long Rowen can commit to the discomfort that typically accompanies healing beyond the level of flesh, but…” A small smile stretched her heart-shaped lips. “I foresee a favourable outcome. And there is no need to worry: myself and the other Gardeners will be here to guide and support her every step of the way.”
“Well… never thought I would see myself investing so much trust in someone who looks like they’ve barely hit puberty--no offense,” The Master Alchemist raised a hand, catching her own misstep, “but, whatever’s going on here, and however you plan to help this sullen teenager recognize sunshine again, I believe in you. What’s your name, anyway?”
The young Gardener didn’t look at all perturbed by Nia’s outspoken nature. “No offense taken; your reaction is common. My name is Breane.”
“Common? Well all the more reason for me to kick myself in the arse for being so rude. You obviously wouldn’t be wearing those lovely robes if you didn’t know what you were doing. And, hey, if Rowen of all people trusts you, then you’ve gotta be the real deal. So…” Nia squinted her eyes thoughtfully. “Just how young can Gardeners be? You’re barely a woman yet and you’ve already dedicated yourself to this career path.”
“I don’t really know; it’s hard to say who the Night Garden chooses to speak through, or why. But… I’m happy to be where I am. The Garden takes care of us.” Breane paused, tucking a slightly tangled tress of hair behind her ear. “My family did not awaken when the spell on Galeyn was lifted. But I stopped feeling so lost when the Garden reached out to me. I’m glad that it did.”
Right, the spell… the one that had been placed on this kingdom in the first place because of Locque. To keep her from finding it; to keep her out. All for nothing, really… this Gardener, among so many other people, had lost countless family members to what had ultimately been a futile endeavour. And while it had nothing to do with her, it still managed to leave a sour taste in Nia’s mouth. “I see… well, all power to you if you can help this kid change her attitude around.” She raised an eyebrow at Rowen and folded her arms across her generous bosom. “Who says we only care about Hadwin, here? I mean, yeah, he’s definitely the more likeable of the two of you, but I’ve personally always wanted to like you, Rowen. You just make it really, really hard. But hey, this might change things, yeah? I’m more than happy to start over after you get your mental and emotional make-over. And don’t be so hard on your big sister.” A small furrow creased her brow. “I didn’t make her come over here just now. She insisted; wanted to see for herself that you’re really turning over a new leaf. It was harder to convince her to go see Hadwin than it was to come and see you.”
Since they both figured they’d long overstayed their welcome with the young faoladh, Nia and Bronwyn left Rowen in Breane’s capable hands and left. While the Master Alchemist was sure that Bronwyn hadn’t any more inclination for amicable feelings toward her than did Rowen, Nia couldn’t help but feel… sorry for the eldest faoladh sibling. And not for whatever misfortune or otherwise had brought her here, or for being lured in against her better judgment by Rowen and Locque, or even for her newly-developed fear of magic. It was that palpable hurt in her eyes when she had reached out for her younger sister, and the youngest faoladh had dismissed her and her intentions without so much as hearing her out or giving her a chance. Even if it was true, and Bronwyn had only traveled this distance to get in good with her clan, or whatever her motivations had been, there was nothing fabricated about the fact she wanted to reunite with her family. To stop fighting with Hadwin and to not be dismissed by Rowen. After all, if you come all this way, and you push away any potential friendships, only to find that even your family doesn’t have your back… what do you have?
“Hey, that was pretty rough, huh? But don’t despair just yet. You heard her: she hasn’t even proceeded to find a way out of her own darkness. I have a feeling she’ll be singing a whole different tune to you when she wipes all of that mental and emotional grunge off and comes out shining like a brand new coin.” The Ardane woman smiled and clapped the faoladh on the shoulder, hoping to cheer her up--or at least get her to look up from her boots. “You know, I get it. I got to be both a big and little sister. Loved both of my sisters dearly, but I’m sure there were times I was a little shit to my older sister because so much about her was unreachable to me. And then there were times when I felt sad because I thought my little sister didn’t give a crap that I practically raised her like her own nanny ‘cause my mom was too damned busy with her preferred child, and that really gave me perspective… though it was a little too late, at that point.” Not that Celene had ever held it against her, but before Nia had found the words to thank her for looking out for her all this time… her oldest sister had left them. And left this world.
“The long and short of it is, don’t mope around and act like you’ve already lost her--or even Hadwin, for that matter. He and Rowne are currently going through some shit right now, but that’s not going to last forever. It’s going to clear up, and hey, maybe the lot of you can return to your clan together. Or whatever it is you faoladh families do. So just give ‘em both some time to work things out, and don’t take any of it personally right now, huh?” Letting her hand fall to her side, Nia smiled and gestured to the path that led to the village proper. “For now… why don’t you come and grab a bite to eat with me? I know Galeyn doesn’t boast too much meat which isn’t ideal for you carnivorous types, but I’ve gotten to know a few places that don’t disappoint, whatever they put on your plate. And, not to sound rude, but you could use a little bit of meat on your bones. What do you say?”
Bronwyn’s hesitation was anticipated. She had no reason to like Nia; she had no reason to want to have anything to do with her. So before she could outright refuse, the Master Alchemist put up her hands and clarified, “What I said to Rowen back there? About starting fresh? I meant it. Hadwin’s my friend; why wouldn’t I want to get along with his siblings? Same goes for you, Bronwyn. And you don’t have a lot of friends here either, so… why not let me treat you to a meal? No strings attached.”
Briery hadn’t slept well in the palace since Cwenha’s death. Her room was all too big, with ample space with which she had nothing to fill. A room for a luxurious, stationary being, but not a nomad that happened to thrive in a cramped little bunk amongst all of her costumes and make-up. Of course, she wasn’t sure if it was the room itself, or Cwena’s absence that made it so difficult to find comfortable (not to mention the latent pain from the surgery she’d endured months ago), but despite her early nights and late mornings, the ringleader was finding it increasingly difficult to feel rested. Knowing how frequently she found herself in a disheveled state, it wasn’t often that Briery answered any rapping on her door. But after finding herself sitting at the foot of her bed, and staring down at one of Cwenha’s costumes that she’d been taking the careful time to mend despite its current lack of an owner, this most recent knock brought her to her feet in hopes of a change of scenery--and a means of getting out of her head and putting her thoughts elsewhere.
“...Alster.” The acrobat wasn’t sure who exactly she’d expected to see when she opened the door. Aside from Hadwin and the other Missing Links, she saw relatively few people in the run of a day. And the last she’d seen on Alster, he’d been giving his temporary goodbyes as he and Elespeth made to settle in the farmlands, with Galeyn’s new ‘rulership’. “Please forgive my rudeness. I don’t mean to act so stunned. I’m just… how long have you been back? I haven’t heard tell of your return with Elespeth. These are things that Hadwin typically fills me in on.”
As it turned out, Alster had not been back long, and in fact had returned because of Hadwin… who happened to be in trouble. Which, frankly, did not surprise Briery in the slightest, until the Rigas mage went into detail about the specifics of this crisis… and she could feel her heart drop in her chest. “He won’t remember me… then I’m not sure what I can do to help, Alster.” The ringleader confessed, her tone quiet and sad. “But if you think that seeing him will somehow be helpful, then by all means. Just give me a moment?”
Despite being told that Hadwin had lost his sense of sight and smell, Briery felt altogether better leaving her room in day clothes and tying her hair off her face. After all, just because he might not see or remember her didn’t mean others wouldn’t, and she had grown so weary of being pitied since Cwenha’s death. But she wasn’t thinking about Cwenha right now, not when she saw Hadwin looking in rather rough shape on a cot in the infirmary. Not when, just as Alster had explained, he did not seem to remember her.
“We do know each other. We have for a while, actually.” Taking a seat next to his bed, Briery sifted through her memories with the faoladh, wondering if there was anything that would trigger an end to his amnesia. Years of friendship… had he really forgotten everything? “And you’ve already demonstrated for me, believe it or not. We’ve performed together a few times. I’ve always told you, there’s a place for you in the Missing Links. That won’t change. Our troupe has been… stayed, for circumstances beyond our control. We’ll still be here when your memories return, Hadwin.” She lay one hand over his knuckles and raised her brown eyes to Alster. “...it feels like just yesterday that I lost Cwenha.” She confided quietly, that steady, oceanic sadness in her doe-brown eyes never really having lifted since the Missing Links had lost their Silver Fairy. “Why does it feel like… like I’m losing someone else, all over again?”
Before anyone had time to reply, the slight form of Teselin Kristeva, who held a steaming mug of soup. “Briery.” She blinked, surprised to see the ringleader, but it made sense that all of Hadwin’s confidants would find out about his condition at some point. Biting her lower lip, she looked from the acrobat and back to Hadwin. “Did you…”
“It’s fine, Teselin. Alster put me in the know. And… well, Hadwin, you can’t say we’re not acquainted now, can you?” Briery removed her hand and stood up from her seat. “At least it seems as though he hasn’t forgotten you?”
“No… he has. But he’s been getting to know me again. Hadwin,” the young summoner made her way over to his bedside and placed the steaming mug in both of his hands. “I did have something to eat. And you could use something in your stomach as well. This is just broth from vegetable soup; it shouldn’t hurt your stomach, and you might feel better overall if you aren’t dealing with hunger pangs.”
“Very well. If you believe he’ll ‘bounce back’ so quickly, it shouldn’t be a problem for me to see him in a day or two,” Rowen challenged, but her red-amber eyes were not quite focused on Nia, a far cry from her previous intimidation tactics. While not looking to intimidate, neither was she looking to fake her way through a conversation based on lies and half-truths, either. Unlike her personable brother, she never had the stomach or patience for surface level twaddle—the Master Alchemist’s circumlocutory bullshitting in particular. “If you’re so concerned about my healing process, you can express them outside of the sanctuary. Too much excess noise is the exact opposite of what I need.”
Bronwyn almost opened her mouth to point out the obvious, but refrained from drawing attention to what Rowen might still consider a touchy subject. Noise never bothered you when it was Hadwin yapping in your ear and this woman can almost go toe-to-toe with him on the yapping front. For all Rowen claimed to extol quiet dignity and her preferences for a low-impact environment, she was the first to trade in quietude for sheer volume whenever she lost the threads of her composure. The strident stab of Rowen’s parting words had resonated, even weeks after she screamed them into Bronwyn’s face. Useless. Disposable. The youngest Kavanagh sibling cared about harmony only when it pertained to her; no one else. And perhaps it was due to her debilitating ability to see the worst in people, including her family, that Bronwyn had always let her selfishness and callous disregard for others slide. After all, how could she rightly contribute to faoladh society if she never trusted in her society? But Bronwyn now realized that disregarding her use by painting her as nothing but a victim was a bad move. Rowen’s dysfunction flourished after Hadwin’s exile, but no one cared enough to make note of the behavioral changes—because they had already discounted her as just another body. A number, devoid of characteristics or personality. Instead, she was collectively referred to as ‘Sight-damaged,’ and rendered as a lost cause. ‘There’s always one. At least one,’ the faoladh would shake their heads and tsk. ‘Chief’s got rotten luck, giving birth to two bad apples.’
But the shock value of Hadwin’s reign of terror, years distant, blindsided others from the subtle but gradually-evolving malice germinating in Rowen Kavanagh. No one could be as destructive as Hadwin, everyone figured, so the clan automatically wrote-off the smallest Kavanagh’s casual cruelties. How she tortured animals before slaughtering them. How she expressed a seldom-seen delight in eviscerating their corpses. Her sudden interest in knives, but not for their utility. The ‘incident’ involving an elderly faoladh, who narrowly missed an embedded blade to the chest, but was reassured when, Rowen, emerging from the brush, claimed to be partaking in innocent target practice. Nothing out of sorts about lobbing weapons at a painted target on a tree, she argued. The clan eagerly brushed off the affair.
And Bronwyn, of the camp that they’d flushed out the worst faoladh and that Rowen’s quirks indicated nothing alarmingly sinister, was none the wiser. What predator didn’t play with their food on occasion? As for the knives—she had merely embraced a new pastime, a development different from holing away in her quarters and shunning life. The fact that she began to crawl out of her confines and explore hobbies and activities in the open, under public scrutiny, showed so much promise and hope. Rowen was blossoming, coming into her own—so much so, that she, not Bronwyn, had drawn Chief’s attention. Once she did, no one questioned Rowen again. Her idiosyncrasies remained idiosyncrasies, never evaluated through a spyglass. She experienced growing pains, that was all. If Chief endorsed her, then who were they to challenge his decision?
Find Rowen. Bronwyn’s mission. The only mission she’d ever receive and the only mission that mattered for her to accomplish, according to Chief. All her life’s goals—to stand out and earn a place at her father’s side—diminished, her worth repurposed for one singular, throwaway task. And for what? To fetch a stunted, late-developed, murder-happy wretch who cared little for the miseries and aspersions she cast on the people who only wanted to help? Why? Why should she help the girl who ostensibly chose a cushy position with Locque rather a cushy position as her father’s...favorite? Who flagrantly took his recognition and respect for granted? She was not so far apart in temperament from the brother who raised her. They were both selfish, heedless of the numerous treasures that lay at their feet, unconcerned with the people who slaved day and night to earn a crumb of their good fortune. No doubt they suffered, but their suffering bore fruit, as did their perpetration of suffering unto others. Bronwyn, on the other hand...would always lose, no matter her choices; be they righteous or self-serving. Her tree was barren.
She wanted so badly to forgo her lowly rank and list Rowen’s many infractions and mistreatments, to rumble and roar her rage at being tossed about like a plaything and promptly disposed of out of boredom—but it was likely she already knew...and just didn’t care. Which hurt all the more. No one cared, because Bronwyn, even among the stratifications of merit-based clan-society, was nothing but a bottom-runged nobody. Her insignificant words and gestures, be they encouraging or condemning, wouldn’t mean a lick to Rowen, regardless of her stages of healing, because she held no clout or influence whatsoever. All the same, as long as she realized her faults and strove for self-improvement, Bronwyn would support her. And she would support Hadwin, too. If her only living purpose was to ensure her problematic siblings survived and thrived, despite their numerous abuses, criminal acts, and put-downs, she would carry-on as bravely as possible. For them.
“Forgive me for being so inherently unlikeable,” Rowen disengaged from Nia’s physical touch and returned to sit on the edge of the bed, once again cloaked in shadows the night-table lantern couldn’t reach. “I’m not here to earn your friendship or to entertain you. So like I said, I don’t care if you are only here because of my brother or because of Locque. Stop trying to like me.” Bronwyn recognized her tone. Hidden within those words was the message: You’re not worth my time. “As for Bronwyn,” she shrugged her shoulders into a noncommittal shrug, “she’s just following orders. Her duty.”
“I didn’t follow your orders the last time we spoke,” Bronwyn gently reminded her, not to antagonize her, but to pose an inarguable fact.
“So you didn’t. You have it in you after all, hm? To think for yourself. Except—I don’t think that’s true.” A shift in the shadows as she crossed her legs, one over the other. “You just don’t have what it takes to kill. To go on the offensive. To be exacting and ruthless. That’s why Chief always overlooked you. I was stupid to elect you for a task that goes against your morals. They’ll always be more important to you than clan-dynamics. Chief knew this about you—knew you would never compromise your values, even for him. Not for long, anyway. The things he’d make you do...you would have gotten cold feet and choked.”
“Chief is fair and honorable. Firm and decisive, not never intentionally cruel!” Bronwyn blurted, her face blooming to a feverish temperature. “After what he’s done for you, how dare you defame and disrespect him?!”
Rowen’s face loomed out of the shadows, but instead of her characteristic leer or deadpan distaste, she affixed Bronwyn an almost pitying stare. Not you, too! “Chief is an abusive man. Hadwin tried to protect me from him, from mam, and he got corrupted in the process. So I let him go. Then, Chief took me. If you think I’ll return with you to return to him—no.” Her reddish eyes narrowed into pinion points, reflective in the lantern light like glowing embers. “Never. Never again.”
“Rowen. You’re here to heal, not to make baseless assumptions.” Bronwyn forced her hands under her armpits to prevent them from shaking. “I’ll-I’ll leave you to it. We’ll talk again when you feel better.” Before she could properly say goodbye to anyone in the tiny, one-room hut, she rushed out, heedless to anyone who followed at her heels. And for the second time that evening, Nia’s presence took her entirely by surprise. She whirled around to see the Master Alchemist close in on her space, express sympathies, and place a chummy hand over her shoulder as though they were old friends and not barely-affiliated...allies? Ex-allies? Allies by association?
“No, I don’t think you get it,” she mumbled, gazing annoyingly at the unwanted hand on her arm. For someone whose touch revealed one’s biological makeup and body chemistry, including spikes in blood pressure and in stress hormones, she sure loved to get handsy. Forget establishing boundaries when innocent physical contact became, by default, invasive and probing. If she truly respected Bronwyn, she would learn to keep her hands to herself. For that reason, Bronwyn refused to raise her eyes and activate her invasive, sight-driven ability. “You have—had—siblings, but it doesn’t mean that our experiences were the same. You can’t get it because I don’t get it. I don’t...know them. They won’t let me. We were never close; we never had a relationship. So, I can’t lose them if I never really had them. Maybe...maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I never listened. And that’s why they never trusted me.”
Slowly, she wriggled free of Nia’s sympathetic grip, not wanting to alienate the woman who at least attempted to reach out in understanding. While it didn’t go unappreciated, it left Bronwyn a little confused. What were her motives? Contrary to her virtue-sensitive Sight, no motives were ever pure. Alas, if Nia’s admittance rang true—and it did—she considered Hadwin to be a friend, and making nice with his sisters gave her a tactical advantage on the friend-maintenance front. “It might be too late, but I’m trying to listen now. Nothing makes any sense, but...but Rowen wasn’t lying, in the sanctuary. She actually believes that Chief…” She trailed off, having trouble digesting the rest of her thought. “Why she would ever say something like that, it’s...it’s her madness. She must heal. I’m afraid this is her last chance. Her last hope for recovery. I don’t know for how long Hadwin can hold out, or…” If we’ll lose him. But she dared not speak the frightening possibility out loud. Given the choice between Rowen and Hadwin—which one would she save?
The swiftness of her answer surprised her. Hadwin. Setting aside her fear of how Teselin would respond to his passing for a moment, she had to admit, the rambunctious faoladh had inexplicably touched many hearts. His penchant for chaos notwithstanding, he knew how to do good and be good, even if he didn’t always partake. The potential was always humming at the surface, ready to take flight on wingbeats. Whereas Rowen...there was no guarantee she would climb out of her healing sessions a better person. Changed, perhaps, but even at her most contrite, could she enjoy any semblance of a fulfilling life, knowing the murders she committed, and knowing that some people would never forgive her?
Stop. Don’t even consider this morbid possibility. No one’s choosing one life over the other. If I have anything to do with it, they’ll both live. They’ll both recover.
When Nia suggested they go to a local tavern for a late supper, Bronwyn blinked out of her dark reveries, taken aback. “You’re serious? Right now? When we have to return to the infirmary in little over an hour?” She was serious. Even worse—Bronwyn was tempted to agree, and she didn’t know why. Was she that starved for company, however untrustworthy and annoying the company? She didn’t like Nia’s nosiness, her prying, her constant presence. No one could rid of her gnat-like peskiness. She hovered, everywhere, and considering her status as Locque’s subordinate, it was unnerving because no one could shake her for long. She always came back, buzzing, insinuating herself into everyone’s business. Prodding.
Dammit all. She practically described Hadwin.
“If you can guarantee we’ll make it back in time, then,” she hesitated, sighing, “let’s go. Before I change my mind.”
Meanwhile, in the infirmary, Hadwin listened to yet another woman proceed to fall apart at his bedside. Normally, the attention would have flattered him, but the rate and intensity at which people flooded in and professed their heartfelt affiliations was beginning to concern him. No doubt he enjoyed a good deal of popularity among certain circles in the cities of Collcreagh most frequented by him and Fiona, but these people sounded respectable—not at all like the shady types he often attracted. If this was all some elaborate scheme to break him, the researchers either selected the wrong actors for the part, or didn’t care about authenticity if they were still able to generate the same results. And he had to hand it to them, because inauthentic or not, Hadwin liked the caliber of characters that revolved in and out of his limited sphere of senses. For the most part. He wasn’t sure about Isidor or Elespeth.
“Briery, was it?” The clasp of her gentle hand radiated so much sadness, he wondered if she and Teselin were related to each other. “Sure, I don’t know you, but c’mon. None of that. I’m not losing! Do you see me bowing out? A little credit, here.” His other hand clutched the playing card Teselin gave him. “Gonna take a lot more than this...to off me.” He clenched his teeth, feeling another painful wave threaten to gouge out his eyes from the inside. Despite the agony, he chuckled feebly. “I’ll be out doing backflips in no time, circus or no circus.”
As Teselin entered with a bowl of soup and described its contents, Hadwin wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Vegetable broth? Where’s the meat? If that’s what’s available, I’ll drink it, cuz I trust you’re not poisoning me, but my hands are shot to shit right now, m’fraid, so one of you’s gonna have to spoon-feed me if you don’t want me to spill it all over my lap and make a big sopping mess.”
Alster nodded at Briery. “Will you help him? I have to step out for a moment.” With apologies to Hadwin, he withdrew his healing hand and stood, idly adjusting his tunic as he did so. “Teselin, can you come with me? There’s something I’d like to discuss.”
As the duo exited the room, Hadwin tilted his head at Briery, who had been given the bowl for soup-spooning duty. “So they passed the task to you, lass. What an honor, eh? Feeding this flapping hole? Hah! So tell me,” he anchored his elbows and carefully adjusted to an upright position, “who’s Cwenha? Not gonna lie but the name rings a little familiar to me.”
Having relocated to a quiet alcove far from the faoladh’s impeccable earshot, Alster turned to Teselin, his volume pitched to a low whisper. “Teselin, I think your magic can help Hadwin, after all. Just now, I felt...a strong resonance between his energies and yours. I can’t rightly explain it, but your magic seems to...calm him. When you entered the room just now, I felt a marked difference in his aura. It’s been in a fractured state, lately, but with you around, it’s less so. Less erratic and bruised. If this is true, then I daresay we can enter his memories without risk of endangering his brain’s delicate and overworked functions. I say we, because I believe our odds for success will double if you join me on the journey into his mind.”
