“Nah, you’re entirely right, wolf-girl. I had siblings just like almost every other bloke in this universe, but doesn’t mean it all unfolds the same way. No more than we both have eyes but see different things in entirely different lights.” The Master Alchemist acknowledged and validated Bronwyn’s comment with a nod, casually dropping her partially gloved hand to her side when the faoladh woman shook it off her shoulder. For someone whose hands could read more into the world and the people around her than her own eyes could, she really was a little too liberal with casually laying them upon people without permission. Not because she intended to be so invasive and learn things that others might otherwise wish to keep to themselves, but because she had always been someone who responded positively to touch, herself (at least… when that touch wasn’t intended to harm). It had always been so difficult to wrap her head around that others might not feel the same way. “Honestly, I have no idea what goes on in your wolf clans or how the dynamics work. Hell, looking back, I’m not sure I even really understood how my family worked. I just kinda went with the flow, y’know? And I mean, I can’t exactly claim that we were a typical family, either. Probably the same goes for you, I’d assume.”
Nia twisted a tress of hair on her finger, brown eyes pensively staring into the dark night ahead of them, the only source of light being the moon and stars. “I had a brother, too. Older brother--Daryen. I honestly don’t remember him much: he died when I was still just a kid. Well… technically, everyone died when I was still just a kid, but he was the first to go. Not all Master Alchemists are born resilient. But anyway,” she lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “What I do remember of him is that he was kind of a jerk. Never really nice to me--but to be honest, I never really got the chance to know him. And I’ll never have that opportunity to get to know him. But you, Bronwyn… don’t look so glum, it isn’t too late! Yeah, both your bro and your sis are dealing with some real heavy shit right now. For all your little sister is a huge pain in the ass and wholly unlikeable, I can’t even blame her for it. Not when I’m fully aware her whole fuck-off attitude is probably due to the fact she can only see the bad in people. Just like I can’t blame you for being suspicious as fuck because you can only see the good in people. But the biggest difference between you and me is that I had siblings--but you have them. Still here, living and breathing and stirring up shit. Sure, things aren’t ideal at the moment, but why can’t that change? Just ‘cause you didn’t get to know Hadwin and Rowen very well growing up doesn’t mean you can’t start now. Yeah, things are looking pretty bleak at the moment, but think for a second. You’ve got the Night Garden--the only healing garden that this world has known so far--and the Gardeners tending to your little sis. And for your bro? A whole array of casters, Alster and Teselin and hell, even Elespeth, and two Master Alchemists trying to figure his shit out. Literally, your family couldn’t be in better hands, if I do say so myself. What reason do you have to assume that things won’t look up, huh?”
She couldn’t help but smile at taking Bronwyn off-guard with her suggestion to go and grab a bite to eat. Anything that wasn’t flat out rejection was a welcome reaction, in her eyes. “Yeah, I’m serious! I don’t fuck around when it comes to food, and it doesn’t look like your brother or anyone else will be requiring my services at the moment. So I might as well get my fill before Locque decides she wants to put me to work, again. And I have a feeling that you will feel a hell of a lot better with something in your stomach. After all, how can you expect to think with a clear head without a full belly? Come on.” Nia took the lead, and beckoned for Browyn to follow. “I know my run of eateries in the kingdom by now. We can eat and be back at the infirmary with time to spare, you have my word!”
Deciding it was safest to drop into somewhere close to the palace, Nia chose a small inn that happened to serve food late into the night, for late-arriving travelers (though not so much of late) and soldiers or guards either preparing for or coming off nighttime duty. It wasn’t the tastiest food, and at this time of night, the menu was limited to whatever was leftover from that day, but the hungrier Nia was, the less picky she became about food in general. And Bronwyn desperately needed to eat something.
“We’ll have a little bit of everything you’ve got left over; though this one’s got a taste for meat.” The Master Alchemist gestured to Bronwyn, as she made her request to the young inkeep. “Sorry to trouble you so late--I’ll make sure it’s worth your while in the weight of coins!”
Taking a seat at a table, it wasn’t long before their food arrived, and Bronwyn was in luck insofar as there appeared to be no shortage of smoked fish, tonight. Yet she was slow to pull food onto her plate, and even slower to eat it, her mind appearing to drift elsewhere. “So… say things don’t work out so smoothly with your family. I think it’s impossible to tell right now, so early on in the game, but I’m not denying it’s a possibility.” Nia took a sip of ale, which she’d opted to order to calm her own nerves among all of this mayhem surrounding the faoladh clan. “So say it’s not so rosy, after all--that doesn’t have to be the endgame for you. It’s not like Hadwin and Rowen are all you have… if you’re willing to see it that way. I know I’ve seen it.” She raised her eyebrows and set down her stein, as her knife sawed into a particularly tough piece of fish. “Young Teseling seems to give a damn about you. On top of that, so does Alster. And Elespeth… wasn’t she trying, like, really hard to be a friend to you? I know you’re thrown off by your fear of magic and whatnot, but do you not think that might be worth working through? Because if I had to rank folks on how scary they are, your little sister comes in waaaaay before the Rigases or the summoner, even if they are all-powerful. If you reached out to those folks expressing concern for you, I’m sure they’d reach back. Because, here’s the thing I’m learning about ‘family’ and ‘home’.”
Nia took a moment to thoughtfully chew her food, not hungry enough to inhale it like she was wont to do after fasting for several days. “My family’s gone, completely. There’s no getting them back. My home would be my prison and place to die if I ever returned to it. And I’m not so sure that Galeyn can be my home because no one wants anything to do with me.” There was a pause after that thought. As if the truth was really sinking in for the first time that the place she had hoped to call ‘home’... would never actually be a home. “But, there are a select few--very few--people who have decided I don’t need to be defined by the fact that I work for Locque. Your brother happens to be one of them. And I really enjoy their company, y’know? Over the past few days… I think I’ve come to realize that ‘home’ and ‘family’ aren’t exclusively the place where you’re born or the people you grow up with. It’s the place where you feel most at peace, and what makes you feel most at peace are the people in that place. You don’t need to feel all alone just because you’re without your blood kin.” Her smile turned soft. She thought of Ari, and the way he had met her eyes and suggested that one day, she return to Stella D’Mare with him. It still baffled her why he would propose such a long term and permanent idea, and… for what? Because she had helped him out a few times? Promised to get him to a point where he could comfortably lose his virginity? Nia couldn’t wrap her head around why he seemed to care about her at all, beyond that. It wasn’t as though she had been raised to believe that she was someone deserving of unconditional love and acceptance. Hell, she wasn’t even yet convinced that unconditional love existed, but… but that didn’t change the fact that she felt at home in the Canaveris estate. With Ari; even with his hulking manservant glaring daggers at her. It made her believe that finding some semblance of peace and belonging wasn’t so impossible.
“The fact is--and I’ve seen it, too--people are reaching out to you, Bron. Teselin and Alster did; hells, Elespeth Rigas was having a bit of a hard time accepting the fact she can wield magic, and for a brief time, she turned to you for a reprieve from her troubles, didn’t she? I’d say she genuinely likes you. Hadwin mentioned it once when I got him drunk.” The Master Alchemist sipped her ale with a cheeky half-grin and sought Bronwyn’s golden eyes. “It’s okay; your Sight doesn’t freak me out or anything. And if you need reassurance, I’m happy to tell you all of the awful things I’ve done in my lifetime to balance out whatever angelic lies your eyes are telling you. But anyway, if you ask me, try spending more time around these people. Yeah, magic canbe fucking terrifying, but so can alchemy, and you’re here with me, aren’t you? And you don’t even like me.” She couldn’t help but laugh, slamming her now empty stein back down upon the table. “I could set this whole table on fire in a heartbeat. Sorry, didn’t mean to get you riled up; just making a point. Try spending some time around the mages. Maybe the more about magic you understand, the less terrifying it will be for you--not to mention, the less lonely you’ll be with a few friends. But that’s just my take. I know your kind don’t do so well when you’re not among your own kin, but in the event Hadwin and Rowen just don’t turn over a new leaf… It’d sure as hell be healthier to surround yourself with people than to waste away in your room. And speaking of people…”
With her plate now clean, Nia stood, and shoved her hand into her pocket to retrieve a handful of gold coins that she set upon the table. “Let’s get our arses back to the infirmary to check on your brother. See what the ‘scary’ mages have come up with in terms of a treatment plan, hm?”
“Apologies, Hadwin. I didn’t mean to make it sound as if you’re already gone.” Briery shook her head and took the bowl and spoon from Teselin before the young summoner followed Alster Rigas out of the infirmary. “I’ve just… my troupe and I have gone through a great deal of loss, these past few months. It’s difficult to see someone else I care about suffer in such a condition.” The acrobat did not lay layers upon layers of fond memories on the stricken man; there was no point, when he could not recall them, and it would only sound disingenuous coming from a woman he couldn’t remember. But neither did she deny her feelings for him, and how she cared just as much as if he were a part of the Missing Links. In a way, he was an honorary member, who was free to come and go from the troupe as he so pleased.
Dipping the spoon into the soup broth, Briery slowly funneled the meager sustenance into the faoladh, with the utmost patience for his less than stable condition. Her hand paused when he made mention of finding the name ‘Cwenha’ familiar. Could it be… Was it possible that the late Silver Fairy might somehow be a key element in unlocking is memories? “Cwenha was an acrobat, like me. And a singer. There was no soul that her voice couldn’t reach. In fact, she hailed from Collcreagh, just like you. But she came from less than ideal beginnings: her father had sold her into prostitution, and a brothel was her prison since she was just a girl. Upon our first meeting, I was barely successful in intervening before she managed to take her own life.” A sigh escaped from her lungs, and she sounded just a little more deflated. “She chased death for years after that. But lately… in the past year, she really began to get better. To see value in life, before… before she was murdered.” By Rowen. But that bit, Hadwin, in his condition, certainly did not need to know.
“Alster… what is it?” Pressing the door to the infirmary firmly shut, the young summoner furrowed her brow in concern. Taking someone aside to speak was never meant to impart good news… “Has something gone awry? Can I help…?”
As it turned out, she could… somehow? Teselin couldn’t heal Hadwin for the aforementioned reasons that Alster had listed. How healing magic required small, steady, patient doses, and her powers were far too volatile and unpredictable to yield favourable results, even if she did learn to harness them for healing purposes. But maybe it wasn’t her magic that could make a difference for Hadwin. Maybe it was… her, just as she was. Her presence. Hard to imagine that that would be enough to remedy such a complex condition as the sort of amnesia he suffered, but Alster’s confidence in his proposal was encouraging. “You want… to go into his mind? And me with you?” It wasn’t until she said it aloud that her heart sank. “It does sound like an idea worth pursuing. And one that just might work, but Alster… Hadwin barely trusts any of us. He seems to like me, but there’s still that possibility at the back of his mind that I’m just putting on a show to get him to lower his guard. I don’t know that even I could get him to agree to this, and I have a feeling that it wouldn’t be very successful without his agreement. He’s so suspicious… but I guess we won’t know if we don’t try, right?”
“Don’t try what? What did we miss?” Nia and Bronwyn turned the corner just in time to catch a handful of words from Teselin and Alster’s secretive conversation. “Anything we can do to help? Sorry we’re late; grabbed a bite to eat after checking up on Rowen in the Night Garden. Here’s hoping that we can get this shit sorted out for Hadwin soon, because she expects to see him in a few days… and I’m not sure how well that will go over if he isn’t recovered. I’ll tell you this, losing her fear hasn’t made her any more likeable.” She wrinkled her nose and folded her arms. “So what’s the plan, then? Or are we not supposed to know, what with your hushed tones? Oh, and Alster--don’t spare a thought about Locque. She knows you’re here, and it doesn’t look like she could care any less… which is probably a good thing. So whatever you need to do to help Hadwin, you won’t find any trouble from her.”
Losing a significant amount of weight and muscle mass didn’t make Bronwyn any less spry. Her long legs easily maintained Nia’s stride as they emptied out of the Night Garden en route for a nearby tavern. Upon entering, she lowered her head and ducked behind the Master Alchemist. During her year-long quest to find Rowen, she actively avoided public venues unless necessary for food, resources, or information-digging. Now, she still felt the same, even when the tavern they entered contained only a sparse amount of people, mostly drunks who didn’t bother to raise their heads at the newest patrons. Following Nia’s lead, she took a seat at the table, acknowledging the inkeep with a mere nod and a murmured ‘Good evening.’ When a plate of salted fish arrived for her to eat, she scooped slices of it into her mouth in an attempt to placate Nia’s concern, though she wasn’t hungry. Over the last few weeks, she’d gotten used to eating very little and her stomach adjusted for the meagre portions of food she consumed. Amid eating, Nia unsurprisingly launched into some long-winded pep talk about never giving up on her siblings--typical fare--and Bronwyn was almost inclined to ignore the unsolicited comments, but something she mentioned had caught her attention. Wait--did she imply that moving on without Rowen, Hadwin, or clan Kavanagh was a legitimate option?
“You can’t mean that,” she said, immediately dropping her hungry pretense by dropping the fillet she diligently gobbled like a starved dog. An appropriate analogy, considering her new, shriveled aesthetic. “This is who I am. I represent Clan Kavanagh. I am Clan Kavanagh. Branching off from my duties to my sister and to my family...I can’t stray. If I stray,” ...If she strayed, then what? Chief apparently didn’t care whether she lived or died, thus rendering her fears of succumbing to faoladh madness completely void. If he effectively abandoned her, by default, she was a stray, and would, like her brother and sister, lose her mind as her Sight grew stronger and out of control.
Yes, she’d already strayed. She strayed when she treated Teselin as more than an ally, both during and after the ‘incident’ at Apelrade. She strayed when she listened to Elespeth Rigas’s identity troubles, commiserated, and openly offered a hand of friendship out of her own impending feelings of loneliness and isolation. She strayed just earlier, when she boldly approached Isidor Kristeva and told him not to give in to despair. She’d accepted Briery’s kindness, modeled her clothes, and trusted her to guide her through a busy marketplace in the company of her brother. But hadn’t people opened up to her because of Hadwin? Because he got there first, swept in like a tornado, and altered the landscape of everyone he touched, for better or worse? If so, were any of those relationships truly hers to claim? Didn’t they come with caveats? We’re reaching out to you because you’re Hadwin’s sister and we pity you. Were that the case, did she want table-scraps? Hand-me-downs and hand-outs?
Her Sight revealed that the actions of Nia Ardane, Alster and Elespeth Rigas, Briery Frealy, and Teselin Kristeva were all genuine. They genuinely wanted to invite Bronwyn into their circle. But what her Sight couldn’t reveal was why they cared, and she could only speculate the truth. I’m just an extension of my brother. Not my own person. I never was. Didn’t I just say it? I am Clan Kavanagh. Nothing more.
But wasn’t that the meaning of a clan? Hadwin had intentionally formed one, a bloodless one filled with disparate people and backgrounds. For her to reject his efforts because she didn’t earn the honor herself...perhaps she really had been selfish all these years. It turned out, she didn’t look out for the interests of the clan, but for herself and her morals. She adamantly rejected whatever didn’t align with her narrative.
Rowen had been right about her, yet again.
“I’ll consider your counsel,” she conceded, fiddling with the handle of her unused dinner knife. “But...magic is horrifying and dangerous. I’ve seen its devastating effects firsthand. And if you saw what I saw, perhaps you’d change your mind about it, too.” She shuddered, remembering, with crystal clarity, the crumbling city sundering into the inky sea, all civilization lost. Lives—snuffed. She surrendered the knife. It slipped from her fingers and clattered atop her half-eaten plate of fish. “Teselin, Alster, Elespeth—they’re good people. I’ve even trusted Alster to heal my brother. But...it’s so easy for them to lose control, and it wouldn’t matter how sweet-natured any of them are, in the end. They’ll become just as dangerous as Rowen. Moreso, even.”
At Nia’s offhanded comment about lighting the table on fire, Bronwyn rose from her chair, now eager to look for the closest exit. “Thank you for speaking to me tonight, and buying me dinner, but we should be heading back to the infirmary before everyone wonders where we are.” An unstable smile twitched on her lips. “Make them wait any longer, and they’ll probably think I’ve turned tail and fled the scene.”
“You care, huh? You and everyone else, apparently.” Hadwin released a sound somewhere between a sigh and a chortle. “I mean, I can’t say I’m not loving the preferential treatment. If it turns out you’re all pulling my leg in some long-con organ harvesting operation, then you lot are providing top-notch service cuz not even my family treats me like I’m anything else but a fuck-up and a degenerate. In the end, when you all reveal your true colors and milk what you want outta me, I figure, hell; you deserve my organs for putting on such an ace show and being good sports about painting me as some well-liked bloke who everyone’s desperate to save. I’m sure one of you is so close to breaking character out of the sheer ridiculousness of the premise. Al’s wife—El-what’s-her-face—she seemed ready to crack! I wonder; who’s next?” In its transit, the vegetable broth had turned luke-warm in temperature, easy for sipping and swallowing, but lacking in flavor. To satisfy his hunger pangs, Hadwin accepted each spoon-full without complaint, for he’d be damned if his stomach conspired with his head to aid in his neverending torture.
“Y’know, I can probably coax the truth out of you. I have that effect on people. Drive them absolutely mad with my incessant shit-talking and they’ll say anything just to get me to shut up. But,” his shoulders landed against his pillow, deflating in resignation, “you really are like that girl, Teselin; all wound up and grieving something fierce. I can’t fuck with that. So Cwenha was murdered, eh? Real tragedy,” he clucked his tongue, a noncommittal click indicating pity, but revealing little to no recognition. His mouth hooked downward into a distant frown. “That shit tends to happen when you’re in the business; less so when you’re out of it and doing something a mite more respectable. Did an irate client chase her down and do her in? Eh, I don’t expect you to answer that.” He shook his head, rejecting the next helping of thin broth, too unenthused by its taste and substance to continue eating. Deprived of his smell sense, anything he consumed registered as bland and flavorless. The solitary tongue, without its olfactory companion, could only discern the basics: a touch of salt, a hint of sweet, embedded in slime and slipperiness. A textural nightmare. Nothing worth eating more than a few scoops. He promptly abandoned any consideration he bore for his stomach. Let it suffer with the rest of his wretched body.
“Your Cwenha sounds a lot like the Cwenha I’m thinking about. Didn’t know her, not personally, but her name’s floated on the tongues of some of my clients who liked to frequent that brothel. One helluva songbird, they said! Far as I know...she’s still there. So what’s this about her having a stint for years as an acrobat? And ‘hailed from Collcreagh, just like you’?” His eyebrows shot so high, they triggered a new volley of icicles to stab their frostbitten missiles into his eyes for the audacity of triggering his facial muscles to react. Once cresting the loftiest heights, his brows swooped downward at a cutting, suspicious angle. “Shit, I’m not in Collcreagh? Then where the hell am I? None of you speak like you’re from the isles but I just figured you were all foreigners. So I really was swiped off the streets, huh? Bron and I both? You’re...you’re all Mollengard, aren’t you?” His mouth curled into a sneer. “I knew it—I fucking knew it!”
On the other side of the infirmary door, Alster and Teselin continued to discuss options for Hadwin’s recovery. “I would love to implement this plan sooner than later,” while he is still coherent, he thought, but did not share aloud, careful not to alarm the summoner prematurely. “But you’re not wrong, Teselin. Hadwin is suspicious of us, and this presents an obstacle. We won’t be able to venture far into his mindscape unless we receive his express consent. Knowing what we know about Hadwin, going forth without it...” he paused to knuckle a finger under one eyelid, blurry and heavy from lack of sleep, “I imagine we’ll encounter plenty of hostility. Even with his cooperation, I have a feeling his mind will be a challenge to navigate. Taking his Sight into consideration, it’ll be like journeying into the heart of fear, itself.”
The approaching echo of footfalls alerted him to the arrival of Nia and Bronwyn. Despite his mild state of exhaustion, Alster refused to lower his guard while traversing the palace, no matter how much assurance he was given in regards to his and Elespeth’s sudden change in residency. To prepare for the worst, he requested Elespeth train his reflexes, whittling down his reaction time to the size of a needle’s point. In those brutal months spent learning a warrior’s regimen, Alster’s resting stance had shifted. No longer did he stand heavily favoring his right leg. Now, his feet were spread at a wider angle in even distribution, his hands positioned near or in front of his abdomen, fingers set into a near-permanent curl and tingling with a low, imperceptible hum of always-activated magic. He wouldn’t let himself be attacked. Never again.
“Teselin’s energies may provide a calming buffer for Hadwin, making it possible to access his mind and memories,” he explained, turning to address the two newcomers. “We’d like to proceed, but we’ll require Hadwin’s permission and he might not be too agreeable.”
Before he could continue, Hadwin’s distinct, gravelly tones bled through the closed infirmary door, loud and furious. At once, everyone flooded inside, concerned about the random outburst and its source. The stricken faoladh, teeth gnashed, growled at Briery, his unfortunate target. At first, the reason for his grievance rang clear, as he threw around relevant words, names, and places. Not Collcreagh. We’re in Mollengard. What did you do to Rowen?! But the argument devolved into strings of curses and nonsense sounds too garbled to decipher. In his frenzy, Hadwin kicked himself upright, fully intending to bound—or roll—out of bed and make his daring escape.
“You know what? I take it back. I take it all back. I ain’t dealing with any of this bullshit. You fucking liars can’t have me! Not until I’m good and dead!” He roared at the acrobat, disentangling his legs from the sheets and throwing them to the floor. Jaw clamped tight, he stumbled to his feet, not allowing the pain to immobilize him. He swiped away the acrobat’s bracing arms of support, took two steps...and collapsed. By then, everyone had gained their distance and grabbed him before he succumbed to the floor. In moments, they were hoisting him to the bed, a slow and careful conveyance, while the faoladh, stunned into shock, ground down on his lip so hard, it gushed blood. Whatever level of pain he previously endured, his impassioned stunt had pushed it past the brink of tolerance, rendering him a limp, unresponsive vegetable for the better part of an hour. With the combined efforts of Nia’s fever-siphoning alchemy, Alster’s touch-generated symptom relief, and Teselin’s presence, Hadwin, shaking off his catatonia, had stabilized. Cracking open his sightless eyes, he tilted his head against the pillow, perching his right ear in the direction of his exhausted company.
“I thought...I thought I’d—“
“Give yourself a rest,” Alster advised, his hand reprising its role upon the faoladh’s forehead. Thanks to Nia, it did not glisten with nearly as much perspiration. “Try not to speak for a little while.”
Hadwin licked at the crusted, congealed blood around his lips and ignored Alster. “I guess I’m truly cooked, hm? I’m at odds with my own damn body. There’s no getting out of this.”
“Yes, there is,” Alster chose a level, easy-to-follow cadence, for what he was about to say required the faoladh’s utmost attention. “I know you don’t believe us, but we’re trying to reverse your body’s malfunctions. In fact, we think we’re able to restore your sense of sight and your ability to see fears. But that’s entirely up to you.”
“What, like the power of suggestion or some bunk like that? If I believe in myself hard enough, l’ll miraculously shake it off?”
“No. In order to help you, we—Teselin and I—need to go into your mind. Your memories. But we can’t do this without asking for your permission, first.”
“So it’s not enough to fuck around my outsides; now you wanna fuck my insides, too? Yeah,” Hadwin exhaled noisily, “that’s gonna be a hard pass, Al.” He shrugged at Teselin. “You, too, cardsharp.”
“Ah, so it’s fine for you to be the voyeur, dealing out unpleasant truths for gain, but the second the roles are reversed and you’re the one being probed, you can’t hack it.” Bronwyn emerged from the far end of the room, her go-to spot when the mages occupied Hadwin’s bed-space. With faltering strides, she placed herself in between Alster and Teselin.
“Oh ho ho; Brownling gained a backbone,” Hadwin mocked, a low and quiet rumble. Since howling at the top of his lungs had reduced him to an almost comatose state, he opted for conserving his energy, starting with adjusting his volume. “Fuck off, yeah?”
“No,” she challenged, planting her hands on her hips and bending to his level, their faces almost touching. “I’m not fucking off this time, Hadwin. For all these years, I’m going to, for once, give a shit about you. And before you go off and say this is one of my typical self-righteous speeches, all talk and no action, I’ll prove it.” She looked over her shoulder, at Alster and Teselin. Don’t back out now. This is what I need to do. What I’ve needed to do all along. “Let me in. Your memories. Let me see what I’ve been too blind to see. What I’ve refused to see. Give me that opportunity.” She placed an earnest hand upon his arm. “I don’t understand you, but I want to understand. ...Please.”
The novelty of the situation drove Hadwin into uncharacteristic silence. Then, “Damn, Bron,” he tittered, disbelieving. “What did Mollengard do to you?”
“I’m serious. You know I’m a horrible liar and I know you can tell I’m being sincere.” She lowered to one knee, already at her emotional and physical threshold. What else would it take to win over his cooperation? She had crumbled into begging. If her humiliation wasn’t enough to satisfy him...then she didn’t know what else to do.
“Am I really that bad off? So close to death that you of all people are making some last ditch effort to connect before I croak? You wanna feel good about yourself and our patched-up relationship while you got the chance; I know how this works. Psh, I’m inclined to say ‘No,’ out of spite and let you live out your days regretting how this ends, but,” a sadistic smile spread on his blood-dried lips, “something about you getting whipped around in my mind brings me ridiculous levels of joy. So if you wanna go and torture yourself, have at it.” He raised a feeble hand and manipulated it into a thumb’s up. “I changed my mind, Al. After much deliberation, I’ve decided to give you permission to run rampant in my head, but only if you bring Bron along. And,” he made a face, “leave Tes out of it. She doesn’t need to see any of that shit.”
“Unfortunately, she will have to come along,” Alster explained gently. “She is the one who is going to make this trip possible. But she will not be walking alone. We’ll be together, all of us. No one abandoned or left to wander.”
“Ok, if that’s how it’s gonna be, then let me leave you all with a warning. You claim you’re going in there to restore my Sight, yeah? I mean, this’ll go without saying, but,” he closed his eyes, sinking into his pillow, “it’s all fucked up in there. Really fucked up. I see fears, and I see them all the damn time. Don’t be surprised if it’s one big nightmare world and not much else.”
“We’ve considered this possibility, but thank you for the confirmation. Now we’ll know better what to expect.” Alster rested his worried eyes on Bronwyn. “How about you? Not only will you be traveling with two mages, but you may see a very different version of events you’ve already lived through and experienced. Will you be alright?”
“Probably not, but,” she looked across to Nia and nodded, acknowledging the advice she offered at the tavern. “But...I can’t let my fears rule me forever. So I’ll take a page from Hadwin’s book and go all in. See where it takes me.”
An illuminating grin blazed across Hadwin’s face. “Fuck yeah, Bron! Small wonder; I’m actually rooting for you now!”
Alster, too, smiled at Bronwyn, a conservative, close-mouthed counter to Hadwin’s wide row of teeth. “Glad to have you coming with us, Bronwyn. Rest assured, we’re not going right away. You and Teselin will have some time to prepare. First, I need to collect your and Hadwin’s blood and then create a talisman for symptom relief. We want Hadwin to be as pain-minimalized as possible before we explore.”
“Of course magic is horrifying and dangerous. I won’t tell you otherwise; it confuses the fuck out of me, and let me tell you, alchemists and Master Alchemists alike don’t like shit that they can’t understand.” Nia took a long sip of ale and shook her head. “So I get it. And if I were in your shoes and had stuff magically exploding in my face time and again, maybe I’d develop something of a phobia of it as well. But if you ask me… there are worse things than being afraid. Like being alone--completely.”
The Master Alchemist swirled the subpar ale in her stein, watching the white froth hit the sides hypnotically. Something else regarding that topic appeared to be on her mind, but she didn’t care to speak on it, and either Bronwyn didn’t notice, or didn’t care to ask. “But I wouldn’t go on to say that Alster and Teselin are as dangerous as Rowen. Danger isn’t just what you can do, Bron; it is what you intend. And your sister--I mean, up until just recently, because word has it she’s getting rehabilitated by the Night Garden or some shit? Anyway, Rowen isn’t dangerous because she knows how to use a knife or can turn into a wolf. It’s because she uses those abilities with the intent to kill. Alster and Teselin… well, far from it. They don’t want to hurt you, and they’d sooner put themselves in danger than someone else. See where I’m coming from? But hey, I’m not here to rag on your sister or your clan, though about what I said earlier… I did mean it. And it seems to me like you need a change in perspective.”
Sometime in-between words, Nia had finally drained the remainder of her ale, and as much as she wanted to send for a refill to calm her own nerves amidst all this madness, the crew back at the palace needed her relatively sharp. Fortunately for them, she had a fast metabolism, and the alcohol would be out of her system by the time she reached the palace. “What will happen if you stray? Will your Sight get the best of you somehow, make you lose your sanity, like they say? Because if you ask me, I don’t think it’s staying with your clan that’s gonna keep you sane. Not among people like Hadwin and Rowen. Sure, if they can make a full recovery and the lot of you can patch up your relationship, all power to you! But you are not the embodiment of your clan, Bronwyn. That actually sounds kind of batshit crazy. No more than I’m an embodiment of the disgraced Ardanes of Ilandria--and I’m the last fucking one alive. Even then, my name doesn’t mean much to me. Just gets me in a whole lot of trouble. Listen.” Expelling air from between her lips, the Master Alchemist leaned back in her seat, feeling sated and just a tiny bit buzzed. “If you ‘strayed’, there are people who will keep you from wandering aimlessly and slowly losing yourself. That lot back at the palace? They’d go out of their way for you. Not just because you happen to be Hadwin’s sister, either. You’ve already proven you’re an ally, and you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. And if I know that lot--which I do, because I was lurking in the shadows long before I made myself known--they will do anything for friends and allies. All you need to do is reach back when they reach out. With or without you ‘clan’, you don’t have to be alone, Bronwyn.”
How much of her spiel actually took root in Bronwyn’s brain instead of going in one ear and out the other, Nia couldn’t say. It wasn’t as though she was the type that people ‘listened’ to on a good day, and she wasn’t even sure why she’d decided that Bronwyn needed to hear any of it, but it wasn’t as though she disliked the faoladh woman (although she wasn’t sure that feeling was mutual)... and she was no stranger to feeling a little lost and alone. “Hey, no problem. I think it’ll be a relief to everyone if you start putting a little meat back on your bones, huh?” She chuckled and laid a friendly hand on Brownyn’s shoulder--then promptly removed it when she realized what she’d done. “Sorry. I tend to violate personal space a lot, and it makes it twice as bad that my hands tell me too much. But--I dunno. Give the folks back at the palace a chance, huh? Yeah, they’re looking out for your brother, but they’re looking out for you, too. And, hey--you’ve offended faaaar fewer people. If they can care about Hadwin and all of the vices he brings with him,” her mouth quirked into a smile. “Then you’re absolutely golden in comparison!”
“You knew her, I think--well, in terms of knowing her before you got to know her. You knew of her.” Memories floated through Briery’s mind as she carefully spooned the vegetable broth to Hadwin, taking some comfort in the fact that he was at least willing to eat. “She had the sort of unique presence that was hard to forget. It’s entirely possible you two crossed paths before I took her into my company. She…” The acrobat hesitated with the spoon mid-air upon Hadwin’s inquiry into the details of Cwenha’s death. Not only was that subject still a terribly sore bruise upon her heart, but she had reasonable reservations for not opening up about exactly what had become of the Missing Links’ Silver Fairy. What would he think if she told him the truth? That Rowen, the sister he loved (and whose transgressions thus far he couldn’t remember), had been solely responsible for murdering Cwenha, ripping out her throat and leaving her for dead? Would he even believe her if she cared to divulge those details? It was doubtful, and she was more than a little relieved when he seemed to sense the discomfort within her and dropped the subject entirely. Well… almost entirely.
Putting down the now almost empty cup of soup as well as the spoon, the ringleader rested on hand atop Hadwin’s knuckles. “No, Hadwin, you are not in Collcreagh. It’s been taken over by Mollengard; I know this is difficult for you to understand, since you’ve lost years’ worth of memories… but you haven’t resided in your homeland for quite some time. Neither has… had Cwenha.” The distress in his voice was obvious, and Briery could tell that it was escalating. Whatever trust he’d invested in her to sit with him and help him take in some form of nourishment was rapidly dissipating. “You are in a kingdom called Galeyn. I realize that means nothing to you, if you can’t remember… but Hadwin, you are safe, here. You are among friends, and difficult as I am sure that is for you to believe since we all seem like strangers to you…”
There was nothing she could say to convince him otherwise, or to placate him to keep from harming himself. Whatever Hadwin believed in his fevered mind rang louder than reason… And she wondered if it was possible for anyone at all to reach him at this point.
“Huh. So you think the little summoner’s got that much sway over Hadwin? That just being in the same room as him will be enough to calm him down and agree to accept help?” Nia placed her hands on her hips, angling her head as she critically considered the young woman before her. Teselin Kristeva, with her bloodshot, sleep-deprived eyes, and her shrunken form, had certainly seen better days, and looked about as confident in her ability to help Hadwin as she was in her ability to control her explosive magic. What about this insanely powerful creature could have the ability to calm someone on the brink of completely losing his mind. “So what is it you propose, then? Gonna sing him a lullaby? Sorry--don’t mean to make fun or make light of anything. But last I saw that guy, his mind was faaaaaar gone.”
“That’s just it. Alster thinks… well, the problem is his mind, right? It’s the fact he’s lost his memories, and lost touch with everything and everyone he’s met over the past few years. So if his mind is where the problem lies…” Teselin dropped her gaze to her feet and shifted them uncomfortably on the floor. But Alster filled in where she fell short.
Nia’s brown eyes widened. “Wow. So, I’ve heard of this. People going right into other peoples’ minds… well, doing whatever it is they do in there. Not something that alchemy or even master alchemy is capable of, and I’ve never actually seen it done firsthand. So what do you think you’ll find? What do you plan to do? How do you access someone’s memories if they’re so damned unwilling? I thought only those Sybaian healers were able to go so deep, but I guess there’s nothing a Rigas can’t do, huh?”
Her rambling was cut off by a voice that could not be mistaken for anyone but Hadwin, Exchanging a glance with Bronwyn, Nia hurried inside with the faoladh woman, close behind Teselin and Alster who made their way in first. It was as bad as it sounded; whatever had happened, something had triggered anger and aggression in the stricken man, who had become verbally violent with Briery, of all people. The ringleader looked helpless and distressed, trying to talk him down, give him space while simultaneously reassuring him that he was safe and she was there for them, but it was of no use. “Hadwin--stop! You’re going to hurt yourself!” Try as she might to safely restrain him, Hadwin was strong for someone who had been terribly out of commission for the past twenty-four hours, and he pushed her away with such force that he nearly landed himself face-first on the floor. Fortunately, Bronwyn and Nia were quick to spring to the acrobat’s side, and caught him before he could make contact, at which point all of the fight seemed to go out of him.
“Hey, take it easy there. What makes you think you’re in any condition to throw yourself on the floor? Jeez, Hadwin, even you should have outgrown temper tantrums by now, even if you think you’re a teenager.” Laying a hand upon his brow, the Master Alchemist frowned and looked over her shoulder. “Get me some water, his fever’s back and it’s driving his heart rate up. No wonder he’s gone totally ballistic.”
This time, Briery went and fetched some cool water, into which Nia dipped one hand while keeping her other hand on Hadwin’s forehead. “Sheesh, how many times do we have to go out of our goddamn way for you to convince you we’re not here to dismember you? C’mon, Hadwin, you’re not that unique.” She tried to cut through the tension in the air with harmless teasing, but poor Briery was already on the brink of tears, and clutching her elbows like she was afraid she might fall apart.
“I’m sorry. I should go. This is my fault.” The ringleader blinked away tears before she could fall and tried to make herself smaller, sinking against the door frame. “I said too much… Too much that he doesn’t remember. And some things that he does--or might, I’m not sure. He knew… it’s possible he knew Cwenha, before we ever found her. After all, she is also from Collcreagh, originally. And when I alluded to the fact that he is no longer in Collcreagh… well…” She spread her arms and sighed. “Now he thinks we are Mollengard. I’m sorry, Alster, Teselin. I don’t think I can help, but it is possible that there is still something you can do for him.”
“Don’t give up yet, Briery. Alster… he has an idea.” The young summoner nodded to the Rigas mage. “You might as well explain it now, Alster. I don’t know how much time it’ll take to convince him that this might be the only way to help him out of this situation.”
Also proceeded to explain what he had in mind, which was (to no one’s surprise) received with snarky remarks and a doubtful attitude. It wasn’t looking good on getting him to agree until Bronwyn (surprisingly) stepped in. Worried that another fight between irate siblings might soon follow, both Alster and Teselin appeared particularly on guard, until… until Bronwyn insisted that she help him. Her offer easily could have yielded either of the two outcomes: either causing Hadwin to review even more fervently, or coax him into agreeing. It was no exaggeration that everyone in the room was more than a little surprised when her desire to be part of the solution was what tipped the scales for Hadwin, and at last he agreed to the invasive tactic.
“Hadwin, I know you can’t remember, but you’ve seen my mind, too… you’ve seen my fears. The worst of what floats through my head. I think it’s only fair that I experience what you’ve been subjected to since we met.” Teselin smiled faintly, despite that he couldn’t see it. “I’ll be alright. We’ll all be alright. Even moreso when you are finally alright.”
“Well, damn. Never thought perusing through someone’s mind could be such a field day.” Nia remarked, finally drawing her hands away from Hadwin’s forehead and the bowl of water. “Though by the sounds of it, this is an adventure that I think I’d rather just sit out. You can all have your fun and tell me all about it later--or not. I’ve got enough of my own shadows and demons to have to deal in someone else’s. In all seriousness, though,” the Master Alchemist stood, straightening her spine from its previously hunched position. “Should we, well, get anyone else in on this, in the event the three of you go crazy from bearing witness to all of Hadwin’s crazy? Or at least get some sedatives ready in case it’s not safe for any of you to be conscious because you’ll all be dangers to yourselves? Sorry, not trying to be the party pessimist, here, but it sounds like the lot of you are putting yourselves at risk without knowing what it’ll do to you. At the very least, we should be informing the people who can pick up the pieces of you all in the worst case scenario. Isidor and Elespeth at the very least.”
Briery nodded her agreement, and stepped away from the doorframe. “You’ll have my full support and that of the Missing Links. It isn’t as though I’m busy performing; whatever you need, if I can help, also consider me at your disposal, Alster. I owe it to Hadwin. He saved me life and doesn’t even remember… but I will never forget.”
Alster lowered his gaze at the prosthesis draped over his lap, its dark, buffed steel reflecting distortions of his calm complexion. “There’s nothing I’ll find in Hadwin’s mind that I haven’t already experienced in some capacity. I’ve lived out my worst nightmares. I still do. Every day.” Realizing his statement could come off as equal parts presumptuous, morbid, and too revealing to the wrong crowd—Nia, especially—he shook away his introspective gloom and coated on an apologetic smile. “I say this not to brag; acute human suffering is certainly not bragworthy, but if it will placate any reservations you might be having about joining this expedition, as it were,” he aimed his reassurances at Bronwyn, mainly, “—I’ve battled through my fair share of harrowing situations, and this is definitely not my first foray inside a troubled mind, either. I’ll keep you safe. The both of you,” he promised, staring at them with such unwavering conviction that Bronwyn was apt to believe him. “That said, we won’t be without failsafes in place. I’ll inform Isidor and Elespeth of our plans at once. They’ll stand by and monitor our vitals. Elespeth is able to sense if I am in danger and can reach me—and by extension, us— in the event of an emergency. Just stay by my side, and we’ll be alright.”
“What a touching pep-talk, Al. If my hands could clap, I’d be showering you with accolades right now,” Hadwin effused, his mouth all lemon-sour and full of bite. “I wish you the best of luck, oh Mollengardian overlords! I’m so troubled. So so troubled. Go ahead and take a shit in there; it’ll make no difference. No way you can fuck it up even harder.” On any other tongue, his statement would read as grim and defeatist, but the faoladh enunciated every word with masochistic relish. “And hey, go ahead and take your time. I’ll be here, enjoying my captivity and trying not to combust. Wouldn’t wanna be in flames while you’re tinkering around in my noggin; no, not at all.”
“Noted, Hadwin.” Alster stood from his chair, sliding the healing hand from the glib wolf-man’s brow. Bereft of its relieving touch, Hadwin flattened his head against the pillow. “With your permission, I’ll do just that.” Before the stricken patient could negotiate five more minutes under the low healing hum of his magical balm, Alster turned to address the small gathering of willing participants. However divisive and controversial a figure as Hadwin Kavanagh, he somehow amassed a loyal set of comrades, some of which would do anything to see him well again. I don’t know how you manage to be infuriating and invaluable at the same time, but it’s impressive how you pull it off. “Teselin, Bronwyn—try and get some sleep tonight. You’ll want a clear head for this venture. We won’t proceed with the plan until tomorrow anyway. I still have to extract some blood samples, design a holdover talisman for Hadwin’s headaches, and prepare Elias and his assistants for the possibility of sedating more than one person, in the event that we’ll need to,” he gestured to Nia, acknowledging her concerns. “Briery, any support you can lend is a godsend; thank you. His fevers will need to be regulated during the night. I hate to ask you to stand guard,” he cast Nia an apologetic glance, “but maybe I could convince Isidor to give you a few hours’ reprieve. Failing that,” he jerked his head to the medical table, where a variety of empty syringes and vials of bilious-looking vials of sedative rested. He did not need to finish his thought. Should Hadwin become too unruly and incorrigible, they would have to administer a dose.
After enlisting an attendant to draw blood from the Kavanagh siblings' arms, Alster, equipped with the samples, retired for the evening, but not to rest. First, he stopped at Isidor’s quarters to drop off the samples for examination and deliver an update on Hadwin’s recovery strategy, lightly suggesting, but not insisting, that he contribute taking turns with Nia to reduce the faoladh’s fevers—if applicable. Next, he headed to his and Elespeth’s old chambers. Inside, his wife was still awake, but dressed in her night things and lounging on the bed. Since last occupying the room several months ago, it remained untouched, but also unattended, and a thin layer of dust had taken residency on the surfaces and the curtains. As Alster entered, an obligatory sneeze escaped his throat, rattling his prosthesis like metal armor.
“According to Nia, Locque has given us permission to stay here indefinitely. So we can start to make this place liveable again—starting with dust removal,” he said, wiping his itchy nose with the back of his hand. As he approached Elespeth, he loitered near the bed, but did not join her. “I can’t stay long. There’s so much I need to do for Hadwin’s case, I have no time to sleep. Not that I could,” he muttered, a not-so-subtle reference to his fears of being watched by Locque and how sleeping would lower his guard and make him vulnerable to attack. He clutched at his twitching left hand, its fingertips still popping with the hints of etherea.
“Hadwin is allowing us to explore his mind and his memories. This wasn’t feasible at first; his body is in too much shock to accept invasive magical procedures of any sort.” Something to which Elespeth was all too familiar, given how her severe heart condition had also rejected even a touch of restorative magic. “But I have reason to believe Teselin’s presence creates a passive energy that is actually receptive towards Hadwin’s chaotic frequencies. There is less feedback, less noise, when she’s nearby. So if he is stable and not in terrific pain, tomorrow, we’re going to enter his mindscape—myself, Teselin, and Bronwyn, too, believe it or not.” He sat on the bed, folding his gently-tingling hand over her own. “She’s seemed to come around a little, but the prospect of entering her estranged brother’s head alongside two mages is understandably leaving her very skittish. I might have to keep a close watch on her in particular.” Idly, he twirled a lock of sandy hair around a prosthetic finger, frowning when it got caught between the segmentations of steel. Since Isidor’s modifications, Alster often forgot the hand was artificial until he performed some small, innocuous task that proved a mildly-annoying disaster. Sighing, he disentangled the strands of hair and lowered the hand to the bedspread where it posed, out of the way.
“It’s not going to be a pretty sight, inside. Hadwin swears by this, and I’m inclined to believe him. It will be a place of nightmares, and not just his own. If we’re to restore his fearsight, then it’s possible we’ll be privy to every fear that Hadwin’s ever seen and internalized. We’re preparing for the worst. In which case,” he earnestly met her green eyes, “I’ll need you there, too. Watching me. Making sure I don’t...lose myself.”
“I might have made some bold assurances that I have the situation under control. But if I’m honest...I’m not so sure that I do. Or that I will. It’s been over two months since...the incident, but I’m still an open wound, El. If I’m not careful, I might bleed all over again and I can’t have that happen. It’s not…” It’s not safe to fall apart here, his eyes disclosed, conveying the rest of his message without speech. “But even when I’m at my lowest, I can trust you to pull me ashore. Be my anchor.” Leaning forward, he met her lips with a tender kiss. “Like you always have been.”
“If you can, watch out for Bronwyn, too,” he added, reluctantly breaking away from his wife’s intoxicating embrace. “She’s frightened enough as it is, and I doubt Hadwin will go easy on her, either consciously or subconsciously.”
As promised, Alster didn’t stay long. With Isidor’s go-ahead, he relocated to the alchemist’s dungeon workshop for the rest of the evening to construct the talisman that would contain bits of his healing magic. Using his half of the blood specimens collected from the two faoladh siblings, he managed to separate the blood’s life-essence, convert it to pure energy, thread it with skeins of celestial magic, and tie everything to a small piece of garnet he found in one of Isidor’s many scrap material boxes. It was an experimental creation, but it would have to do for now, until Isidor could input his own personal touches to the talisman.
Come morning, he arrived through the doors of the infirmary, not surprised to see Teselin sitting in the chair where he’d left her. “Teselin,” his brow creased with concern, “did you sleep at all last night?”
Before she could answer, a number of people trickled inside: Elias, followed by his assistants, Elespeth, Bronwyn, and finally, Isidor, who trailed in after them. Nia and Briery, like the summoner, were also found lingering nearby and he wondered if they, too, had shirked sleep.
Talisman in hand, Alster stood at the head of Hadwin’s bed. The faoladh, very much awake, perched his right ear at an angle most conducive to interacting with his guest. “Ah, Al, morning already?” He elongated his mouth in a mock yawn. “I mean, I would say that, but it’s felt like a few weeks of mornings have whizzed by since I last heard your lopsided footsteps. Say, you’ve got an injury or something? You’re all uneven. Sounds like you’re also carrying some armor that you never take off. You jangle a bit when you walk.”
“The ‘armor’ is permanently fused to my skin, if that’s what you mean. But I have to give you credit for your astute observations. It’s good that you’re noticing now,” he withdrew a small, red stone attached to a chain, “because I’m about to touch you with that armored hand. I have the talisman ready for you to wear. Let me just hook it around your neck—“
“Aww, you made me some jewelry?” Hadwin purred, angling his neck so Alster could attach it with better ease. “Well fuck, I haven’t given you anything but a hard time, but hey, if you want a good time, hit me up.” His smile widened, suggestive. “Hells, your wife can join, too! We’ll have a little ménage a trois, eh?”
If only you knew. Alster’s fingers shot back as though burned, but his face, red-ripened and sunburnt to a crisp, took the brunt of the damage. “I’m going to activate the talisman,” he coughed, clearing his throat. “Let me know if you feel any pain relief.”
“Oooh, yeah. Right there,” Hadwin managed to raise his hand and point it to the crown of his head. “Feels like a hot-oil massage, without any of the burn.”
“Good.” Alster contained a sigh of relief. “I’m not sure how long the talisman’s efficacy will last, so now is as good a time as any to enter your mind.” He gestured to Elias, who approached with a syringe. “To make this venture easier for all parties involved, including you, we’ll have to render you unconscious. By temporarily severing your connection to the material plane, you can better engage with and guide us whilst we explore your mind. Are you ready, Hadwin?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he slurred his words, seeming supremely indifferent, a significant departure from yesterday. “Mollengard’s gonna do what Mollengard wants to do. Hit me.” His laissez-faire attitude gave Alster little pause for concern. If Hadwin viewed them all as enemies and brought that idea with him into his subconscious, what did that spell for the people willingly entering his mindscape?
He won’t hurt Teselin. I know he won’t hurt her. And Bronwyn...deep down inside, he must want to reconcile. He appears to tolerate me. We’ll be alright…
Alster whirled his attention on Bronwyn and Teselin, both similarly bleary-eyed from exhaustion. Bronwyn, hands clasped tightly before her, clenched her arms and shoulders in a bid to stifle the shivers that traveled through her unsteady stance. “Have a seat.” A few chairs had been arranged in a semi-circle around Hadwin’s bed. The faoladh in question, pumped full of sedative from Elias’s syringe, slowly fluttered his heavy eyelids closed. “Are you ready?” He received quick confirmation from the young summoner, but Bronwyn, who transferred her standing shivers to sitting shivers, nodded with a faltering head bob. There was little he could do to reassure her when he, too, featured as the source of her fears. “Remember our strategy. Stay with me. We’ll get through this, Bronwyn.” Before he joined them on the empty chair reserved for him, he looked to Elespeth and Isidor. “You’re in charge, you two. Keep watch over our vitals and heart rate. If things begin to look dicey,” he gave Elespeth’s arm an affectionate squeeze, “you know what to do.” Taking a seat on the chair situated between Teselin and Bronwyn, he instructed his passengers to take a hold of him as he placed a hand over Hadwin’s forehead, closed his eyes, and concentrated. Obtaining a clear picture of his destination, he floated forward, his two charges in tow, and entered through the most receptive portal into Hadwin’s deepest, vulnerable inner sanctum: his last remembered fears.
Having succeeded in breaking the barriers without the overworked and over-inflamed brain flat-out ejecting them, Alster noticed an image, faint at first, blinking into view amidst the abyssal darkness through which he, Teselin, and Bronwyn traveled. A younger Hadwin, presenting as the age his amnesiac counterpart claimed to be, occupied a dingy, close-quartered room with an older woman, her bronze head alive with writhing curls down her back. Her dark amber eyes feasted on the teenager, predatory interest heightening. “C’mon, Hads,” she soothed, closing their distance. “You knew it’d come to this. You’re just too damn cute.”
Hadwin took a step back, but the wall met his stride, gluing him in place. “Fiona, you’re drunk, and—“
“Of course I’m bloody drunk! I’m always fucking drunk! Decades of my life, wasted!” She seethed, knocking an empty tankard off the tiny table to prove the point. “Blame your father. Your horrid, horrid father. He won’t fuck me. He won’t even look at me! But you,” she planted both arms opposite him, boxing his escape, “you look at me, and I feel seen. You’ve always been at my side. And my, have I watched you grow, blossom, mature, into what you are now. Irresistible,” she whispered into his ear. “No one could ever say ‘No way’ to your radiant charms. You look just like him, you know. Just like him. How he used to be.” Her hand curled into a fist as she swallowed back a sob. “I’m so, so sad, Hadwin. I can’t go on like this. I can’t. Please...just this once. Please. Give me what I can never have.” She pressed her desperate lips against him, forcing them apart. Hadwin’s shoulders slumped in resignation. He accepted. She led him to the bed, and…
The scene winked out. And when Alster checked for Bronwyn and Teselin, they were gone. No, no! Panic tried to worm his way through his senses, but he refused to let it take root. Hadwin fed on fear. It would grant him too much power!
Too late. A malicious laugh rang out of the darkness.
“Nice try, Al.” The familiar cadence of Hadwin’s voice echoed, but no form materialized. “Maybe I am a hypocrite after all, but I don’t like fucking voyeurs snooping in on my business. If I knew you were gonna stand by and watch my fucked-up family dynamic unfold, I would’ve locked you out for good, you sicko.”
“What did you do with them?” Alster asked, electing to stay calm and reasonable. “Teselin, Bronwyn. We have to stay together, Hadwin. You may not think we’re here to help, but—“
“Oh spare me!” the voice interjected, shutting down Alster’s argument. “Bullshit. No one’s ever here to help. But hey, don’t you fret. Bron is seeing what she begged me to see. Tes,” the harsh edges of his voice softened, “she’s fine, I promise you that. As for you,” he tutted. “What to do, what to do.”
Before he could speak another world, Alster plunged into the abyss, trapped in a nigh inescapable pit of his most insidious fears.
True to Hadwin’s word, nothing sinister had befallen Teselin. When the memory of Fiona’s assault abruptly dissipated, the summoner, separated from her companions, landed on a grassy expanse upon which stout, mud-colored cottages donning mossy rooftops dotted the overcast landscape.
“Welcome to Clan Kavanagh. Ain’t it lovely? Take a deep breath. You can almost smell the shit swimming off this dump heap.” The figure next to her snorted. Nineteen-year-old Hadwin whipped out a pipe and flared it to life with a click from his tinderbox. “Bron and peeping Al have gone off on a little trip. I’ll release them...eventually. Well,” he released a long stream of aromatic smoke, “depends on my mood. You’re welcome to loaf around ‘till then. I got nothing planned for you. Though I’d be careful.” He jerked his head to the sky, its innocuous cloud cover darkening to a dangerous shade of gray. “Nothing ever stays pleasant here for long. But I ain’t going anywhere, so you’re golden. I mean,” he gargled an ironic laugh as a clap of thunder shook the earth, “as golden as can be expected in a hellhole like this. I’m the best guide you’ve got for navigating the muck. See, the fears are still gonna come for you, no matter where you go in this place. Sounds like something found you.” A jagged flash of lightning exploded across the sky, saturating the land in a temporary slate of white nothingness. Hadwin affixed Teselin with an almost sympathetic glance. “The storm.”
Since returning to the palace, Elespeth hadn’t dared to venture too far beyond the room she and Alster had shared (which, to her relief, had very obviously remained untouched in their absence). The furthest she’d dared to stray from her supposedly safe haven in the room that Alster had reinforced with magic, she had briefly met with Vega and Haraldur, who were elated to have her back in closer quarters, but their meeting was brief and little was actually said. Locque had ears everywhere, and until she and Alster were certain of the extent and the efficacy of the spell he’d cast over their words, they’d agreed to keep their discussions as discreet as possible. So while Alster was delving deep into his venture to regarding Hadwin’s deteriorating state, the former knight was too nervous to so much as visit the training grounds to stretch her muscles and exercise her sword (nevermind her magic, lest Locque decide she had become too much of a threat).
Considering he had hardly slept since their arrival, this resulted in Elespeth spending the majority of her time, restless and alone in their shared room. She’d willingly decided to withdraw from whatever was going on with Hadwin for the fact that he couldn’t remember her, and her presence wasn’t making it any easier on anyone, particularly the stricken faoladh. So not only was she on her own, but particularly out of the loop, and all she could do was wait impatiently for her husband to return with an update. Finally, late one evening as she sat cross-legged on their bed examining a book she’d found written in old Galeynian script that she couldn’t understand, Alster finally arrived to provide her with that update.
“Alster.” His name was a sigh of relief on her lips. Tossing her braid over her shoulder, she threw her legs over the side of the bed and smiled. “You look exhausted. Have you even gotten any sleep since we’ve returned? Come to bed; you can’t run on empty fumes.”
But her husband made it clear that he wasn’t here to sleep. Moving aside, Elespeth took his prosthetic hand and guided him to the bed, before lowering herself next to him. “So he’s repelling magic. Just like I was. Well, you have two Master Alchemists at your disposal, and that was ultimately what saved me. Are Isidor or Nia able to help at all?” It quickly came to her attention that Isidor had assisted Alster in crafting a talisman to manage Hadwin’s symptoms, while Nia was making an effort to keep an eye on his body and help it manage homeostasis in his complicated condition. But what ailed Hadwin was more complicated even than what had wracked her body. Elespeth’s condition had been purely physical in nature, borne of her own negligence with a substance that had caused her heart to deteriorate. Hadwin… what he’d done, she was convinced anyone else could do. To take away someone’s fears and suffer what he was suffering--no, that was a very Hadwin-specific problem. And since there was nothing straightforward about that man, there wasn’t bound to be an easy solution.
“Bronwyn… you really convinced her to come out of her room and help?” Try though she might, there was the faintest hint of melancholy in her voice on mentioning Hadwin’s sister. Someone she had unintentionally alienated very quickly before any vestiges of friendship could form. Her attempts to reconnect with the faoladh woman had, frankly, been few and far between, but Bronwyn didn’t make it easy, considering how she had shut herself away in her room and never seemed to come out. Shortly upon returning to the palace, Elespeth had mustered the courage to knock once… but the faoladh woman did not respond. “That’s… I mean, that’s certainly more than I’ve been able to do. Whatever motivates her not to hide away is a worthy cause, and it is heartening to hear that she does care enough about her brother to reach out. I just hope that whatever she sees… it doesn’t drive her further into seclusion.”
That was the calculated risk, though, as Alster went on to explain. Just because Hadwin could see others’ fears (and evidently, take them away, of late) did not mean he was exempt from fears of his own. And while they were on good terms (or at least had been prior to his amnesia), Elespeth herself wasn’t so sure that she wanted to bear witness to whatever lingered inside his head. Alster and the others were more than a little brave to make this venture; Bronwyn, in particular, but her husband and Teselin were not exempt from that risk. And she was about to offer the very solution he proposed just as he said it.
“Of course I’ll be there. I’ll keep a close eye on you. We’re inextricably linked, and if anything goes awry… you need to tell me how I can pull you out. Just because I might not be venturing alongside you does not mean I am going to let you go through this alone.” Elespeth closed her fingers around Alster’s, looking--for the first time in a long time--like she felt like she had a purpose again. Time away in the farm house had not only worn on Alster and his eagerness to just do something; no amount of training or growing stronger could replace taking steps toward actually making a difference. “I’m not going to lose you to this or anything else. Whatever happens, you can count on me to be by your side the entire time. And… Brownyn’s, although I’m not entirely sure how much she will want or appreciate my help.”
Flashing a weak smile, the former knight cupped Alster’s face with one hand and sought his tired eyes. “But if you are going to partake on this venture, are you sure you can’t get some sleep? Even just a little? I don’t think you’ve had more than a few hours’ rest since we returned, Alster. How can you plan for success if you aren’t functioning optimally? You’re already putting yourself at risk… can’t you stay? Just for a while?” There was more to her words than her deep concern for her husband, however, and it wouldn’t be difficult for Alster to see the lonely gleam in her verdant eyes that resulted from falling asleep and waking up alone in that room. They had returned to the palace together, and Elespeth couldn’t dispute the fact that their hasty relocation had been for a specific purpose… but with her lack of involvement in the issue at hand, she couldn’t help but feel very alone.
Unfortunately, Alster was not exaggerating when he had said there was no time for rest. He had yet to work with Isidor on creating that talisman, which would take hours, and they couldn’t expect Nia to remain by Hadwin’s side to keep an eye on his temperature to manage his affliction. As much as she’d have liked his company for just a little while longer, Elespeth promised they would reunite in a few hours’ time, once the talisman was complete and Hadwin was stable enough for the plan to proceed. “I’ll be there for you. You can count on it. But Alster… please be careful.” She said, before he could leave. “I know you want to look out for Hadwin; so do I. But don’t forget to look out for yourself. Even if I have your back, there is only so much I can do.”
Alster and Isidor weren’t the only one who had entirely forgone sleep. In truth, Teselin had had every intention to shut her eyes and rest for a short period of time, on the condition that she remained in the infirmary with Hadwin so that she could be woken at any point in time, should he take a turn. She and Briery had agreed to nap in shifts, though Nia had scoffed at the both of them and suggested they both get some shut-eye on any of the vacant cots since she had agreed to sacrifice her evening keeping a close eye on Hadwin’s vitals, anyway. They met the Master Alchemist halfway and both lay down for a handful of hours, but closing their eyes was about as far as they got. Even when Hadwin stopped yammering and fell silent, succumbing to rest instead of carrying on a conversation with Nia, there was too much hanging in the silence that the young summoner eventually gave up and returned to the faoladh’s side, and Briery followed suit soon after. It was more comforting to see him resting peacefully, a small reprieve from his pain, than to entertain worries in the darkness behind their eyelids, and before they knew it, the sun had crested the horizon beyond the window at the other side of the room.
Nothing got past Alster as the Rigas mage made his way into the infirmary that morning. The young summoner straightened in her seat upon his entry, trying to look far more awake than she felt, but it was clear by the darkness under her eyes and her stooped form that whatever she had intended in terms of getting rest had obviously not gone as planned. “I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” was her only response, but she couldn’t help but add, “I hope Bronwyn was able to get some rest. One of us needs to go in with a clear head on their shoulders. Did you finish the talisman?”
“We did.” The reply came in the voice of Isidor, who pushed through the doors alongside Elias. Yet another casualty to lack of sleep. He rubbed his temples, massaging away the remnants of his own headache. “That wretched faoladh can’t say no one every did anything for him, even if he can’t remember. No one else in the palace save for perhaps Locque has everyone working around the clock for them--and for no reward or recognition.”
“I recognize what you and Alster have done, Isidor,” Teselin offered softly, and her timid voice seemed to bring down Isidor’s hackles just a little. After all, he had made it clear that he was not doing this for Hadwin: he was doing this for her.
“You guys are cute and all, but as one of those who’s been awake for far longer than I’d like to be… it’d be great if we could get this over with.” Nia mentioned from the other side of the room, finishing off a hot beverage that she’d brewed for herself and for Briery to help energize them on lack of adequate rest. Teselin had politely refused, unsure if it would interfere with her ability to follow Alster into Hadwin’s mind. “Not like I’m gonna walk away when half of the people in this room are going on a weird mind adventure. Someone’s gotta keep an eye on vitals and stability. Hey, Is,” she grinned from across the room, “you in this with me?”
“I’m in this for Alster, and for Teselin. I’m not with you.” The Kristeva brother frowned, but did not deny that he would be taking up the same task as her and keeping an eye on the trio and Hadwin. As would Elespeth, evidently, but exclusively for Alster. No one else in this entire palace (or perhaps the entire universe) would have a better understanding of what was happening with him than the woman to whom he was inextricably connected.
As the Rigas mage took a seat before the now sedate Hadwin, with Teselin and Bronwyn on either side of him in opposite chairs, Elespeth stood behind him and gently rested her hands on his shoulder. “I’m here with you, Alster. I’m not going anywhere.” She whispered her reassurances. “And if all goes awry… I’m going to pull you out.”
Her heart racing, Teselin laid a hand upon Alster’s arm and closed her eyes, afraid of what she knew she would encounter in Hadwin’s mind, but also knowing too well that this was necessary if she ever wanted to get him back. Before the young summoner knew what was happening, she went tumbling through an inky darkness, suddenly feeling entirely cut off from the world in everyone in it, inciting panic to set in. Where was she? Where were Alster and Bronwyn? Had something gone wrong already?!
Before that panic could continue to climb and come to a head, the darkness cleared, and she found her feet upon a solid floor. A small, cramped room, one that felt even smaller when she realized Alster and Bronwyn (mercifully) also occupied it. So she hadn’t separated from them: they’d all come to the same place, at the same time… which was a time that she had a feeling Hadwin struggled to face in the deepest depths of his memory. A younger version of himself, and that woman… that was his mother! A mother, who was supposed to nurture and encourage him, not… not solicit him to… to… Not all mothers nurture. Not all mothers are ever meant to be mothers. She reminded herself, and realized all too fast that while what she was witnessing was so inherently wrong on so many levels… it wasn’t uncommon to come across mothers who hurt--either intentionally or unintentionally.
“Hadwin…” Teselin breathed, and was about to reach out for the young faoladh, but suddenly--suddenly, he was gone. And not only Hadwin, but the room, his mother, and… “...Alster! Alster? Bronwyn? Alster! Where are you?!”
This time, she was alone, when just seconds before she had stood side by side with her two comrades. She was no longer inside, but stood on what appeared to be a glen overlooking a small village. Hadwin’s village--at least, that was all she could assume, until the very person in question confirmed her suspicions. “Hadwin,” Teselin gasped, turning and frantically grabbing the faoladh by the hand. “You have to bring Alster and Bronwyn back. They’re here to help--I promise you, they are here to help. I would never have agreed to let them do this if I thought there was the slightest chance that any of them were of ill intent. Please… please, Hadwin. You must have known that we would see… what we just saw. You let us in here. And we’re here to help--all of us!” She struggled to meet his eyes, but did not see the soft understanding that she usually did in the appropriately-aged version of himself. Just because he trusted her did not mean she was enough to put all of his fears and suspicions completely at ease. It was not enough to make him trust Bronwyn and Alster like he trusted her.
But it appeared that she was not entirely spared of this feascape, either. On the horizon, the clouds were dark, and quickly encroaching. Something was coming for her, and like all frightened people, her first instinct was to run in the other direction. But… no. No, because that was probably what Hadwin expected her to do. What he wanted her to do. And she had not come here to run from what she saw.
“...good. Let it come. In fact… let’s go and meet it halfway.” She didn’t let go of his hand when the young summoner began to make her way toward the darker half of the sky. It came as no surprise when the faoladh behind her faltered, clearly less inclined to go along with this idea. “If you think that I agreed to come here while Alster and Bronwyn saw all of the worst of your mind, Hadwin, then you’re wrong. I don’t know what awaits us up there, and I don’t know how it is going to affect me, but running away from it is not the solution. Not for me--and not for you.” She looked over her shoulder and met his eyes again, the vestiges of a smile curling at the corners of her lips. “Hey, I think the older version of you would be really proud of me, right now. This time last year, I was running far away from my own fears. And now here I am, running headlong into yours. It’ll be okay; we can do this together. And, Hadwin.” Teselin paused briefly in her step, standing just a little taller. Looking a little more challenging. “If I can face whatever is coming for me, for us, and if we can resolve it together, whether it means intervening or holding ourselves together while it all unfolds like some living nightmare… then bring Bronwyn and Alster back. You’re a betting man, right? So I’ll bet you what I can handle whatever your mind is about to show me, and if I’m right, I want us all reunited. So--what do you say?”
Of all the scenarios Alster calculated in his head, exile to a self-created void of nightmares neither surprised nor took him off guard. He might not see fears, but he understood fear, and all of the teenaged faoladh’s tells so far hinged on self-preservation and predicated on one simple proviso: Trust no one. The gruesome scene between mother and son had revealed as much. Hadwin had placed trust in a parental figure. During that delicate exchange of illicit, mismatched passions, the fragile trust lodged in young Hadwin’s eyes, reserves set aside for his mother, had winked out and died. It was no wonder, then, that what the trio witnessed signaled a significant turning point in the troubled faoladh’s life, one deeply branded on his soul with the gashes of trauma and fear, never healed. Though it was conjecture on Alster’s part, Hadwin’s amnesia regressed him to this age for a reason: to a time most regretted, most mourned, and where the vestiges of his innocence truly died screaming. No wonder why he sought to punish any interlopers who professed to help. In young Hadwin’s wounded perspective, it was far better to annihilate and subjugate a person’s ambiguity than to allow them the opportunity to betray him. Adaptation helped him to change his tune in the years that followed, but if no one could locate the older, matured aspect of the faoladh, what then?
We won’t fail. You can’t break me, Hadwin. The fears I revisit mean nothing when I’ve already dealt with the worst. When I’ve adopted the maddening consciousness of an ancient entity. When I’ve seen the advent and the fall of the universe. When my soul crumbled and became stardust. I’ve seen the other side. You can’t scare me.
As soon as Alster succumbed to the depthless quicksand and careened through the terrible familiarity of time and space-rendering infinity, the very same fate Locque had subjected him to, he called upon Elespeth, who, on the material plane, clutched his shoulders with an all-steadying grip.
I’m lost in the soup of my fears, he informed her via the psychic cables that constituted their bond. But you can guide me through them. Don’t pull me out. I can’t leave yet. All you need to do is lend me your strength. Your grounding energy.
His request had reached her in the nick of time. For all his self-assuring bravado, a large aspect of Alster Rigas was still very much human, and suffered very human problems. Human fears. And in the impenetrable darkness, his human fears whizzed toward him and encroached on his surroundings, hovering like a tenacious swarm of insects relentlessly probing for insert-points into his orifices. They came into view; wisps that threatened to materialize and engulf his senses, to trap him in a simulacrum of reality so convincing, he would fail to burst free from its cocoon once bound. Menacingly, those wisps stung on all sides, each unavoidable sting injecting glimpses representative of his mortal terrors and constricting him, round and round with spindle wire—squeezing him into a silken prison.
What are you most afraid of? The chorus of insect-like wisps trilled, gleefully pounding wingbeats against his face as they weaved their webs.
Unprompted, the images oozed from his puncture wounds, ropes of blood and thread and ejected venom. He struggled to break free, to no avail. With every evacuated drip, a new projection assailed his mind. Broken pieces of Stella D’Mare sloughed off the cliffside and drifted into the sea. Gone. The Serpent, the universe, ransoming his consciousness and soul, drained the dregs of humanity from his earth-bound vessel. His comrades, Chara, Lilica, Haraldur, Vega, Isidor, Sigrid, foundered beneath an oppressive shadow that presided atop the Galeynian throne--Locque. Debine Rigas’s judgmental stare mouthing the words: Failure. Always a failure. Elespeth spiraled further and further from his reach, gone. Vanished. The surety of their twin stars split in twain, her light swallowed and forever inaccessible to his outstretched fingertips. No no no. I won’t lose you, El. This isn’t real; you’re right here!
He reached for her and somehow, through the pockets of micro-dimensional space, she reached back. Their hands connected, scar to scar—and the fear wisps dissipated. The cocoon shrugged off, releasing his limbs, and the sting-holes closed, healing his wounds. The expansive darkness thinned out and lifted, allowing pockmarks to punch through the papery canopy until nothing remained but a gray, diffused light. Alster, unaccustomed to the sudden brightness, squinted through his new surroundings. A stage. He stood on a rickety stage crafted from wood and paste. Was this all a play, and he, its unwitting performer? If so, who was watching--and where? He looked over his shoulder at a shredded black curtain concealing backstage. As he parted the curtains, a child, no older than six, huddled in the fetal position on the floor and uselessly swatted at invisible creatures buzzing over his head. Alster had found it, the central core of Hadwin’s fearsight; a shivering little boy.
“They’re after you, too?” The child, flinching at the sound of Alster’s soft inquiry, shot out of his huddled ball, golden eyes training not on the visitor, but on the hole-bored wooden floor.
“They’re always after me. They never stop.” He replied in a whisper, too afraid to announce the extent at which ‘they’ affected him. “How...how did you…? How did you do it? How did you stop them?”
Alster stared at his left palm, tracing the comet-shaped oath scar emblazoned on its surface. “It’s something I wasn’t able to do alone. I had help. And I didn’t really stop them, but other forces pulled stronger, and I overcame the deluge.”
“Oh.” Disappointment overtook the boy’s liquid-gold eyes. He scuttled away from another invisible wisp. “I don’t want that.”
Alster crouched on one knee, lowering before the boy whose shoulders quaked from the unassailable horrors circling him. “Why not?”
“I don’t like the help I get. It hurts. There’s kicking and yelling and,” he folded his hands over his ears, “and I bleed. A lot. But it has to be done. I gotta get the fear beaten out of me. It’s the only way.”
“It wasn’t so different for me, either, when I was your age.” Alster took a seat next to the boy, gazing ahead to recollect a time so long ago. “And it’s wrong. That’s not how we’re supposed to receive help. Not when we’re so young. We can’t possibly benefit from a heavy hand of cruelty and violence--especially from the people who are taking care of us. Please know that this is not the only way.”
The boy’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “There’s another way? What do I do?”
“We look for the right help. And this may sound off or odd to you, but,” he chose his words carefully, “I think we should go and find Bronwyn.”
“Bronwyn?” His face paled. “No. No. I don’t wanna see her! She’ll hurt me like she always does!” The boy’s breaths sucked in shallow gasps of suffused panic.
“She won’t hurt you. I promise,” Alster soothed, carrying his voice over the boy’s loud protestations.
The boy fervently shook his head. “She will! She always does!”
I won’t let her.” Alster extended his hand for the boy to take. The child gawked in wonder at the burnished steel of his prosthesis. “Please take me to her. I’ll be here, beside you, if anything scary happens.” He gave the boy a disarming smile. “Does that sound fair?”
“You’re...strong? Stronger than Bronwyn?” He still stared at the hand, marveling at its design as though it were a weapon.
“I may not seem it if we’re looking at appearances—aside from this arm,” he wiggled its artificial digits for effect, “but yes. I am.” Alster’s bold statement was enough to placate the boy who valued strength in a potential ally and protector. He lurched forward and wincingly took hold of the proffered hand.
In one moment, Bronwyn was winking out of existence. In the next...she was inside a library?
Many tomes of variegated colors stood from floor to ceiling. In the center of the dome-shaped room, a lone table and its singular chair sat, as though beckoning for her to approach.
“This is very unlike you, Hadwin,” she said aloud, comforted, at least, by the sound of her voice reverberating off the high-vaulted ceilings. It felt almost...real. “You wouldn’t be caught dead in a library.”
No reply. Was she alone? Doomed to isolation and walled away—where? At the knowledge center of Hadwin’s brain? Would she remain as some strange fixture, a glorified librarian, serving ‘penance’ as her brother’s archivist? We’re behind all this, Hadwin. If only your god-awful teenaged self could remember that we were starting to get along! “Teselin?” She called out uncertainty. “Alster?” She carefully slid one foot forward, towards the chair. Dammit; why had she trusted in mages? They were so certain of success, determined in their faulty, unpredictable abilities. And now she was alone with no conceivable exit point. An invisible force pushed her to the chair. Sit!
Losing her balance, she grabbed for the arm of the chair and fell into the seat. A tome materialized on the table, a tattered looking thing with a broken spine and weak binding. It opened on its own accord. Slowly. Slowly…
And she was inundated with memories. With everything she wanted to know, and everything she didn’t want to know about her wayward brother’s violent and self-destructive life.
“Stop, Hadwin. It’s too fast! I can’t—“
The pages, the memories, flicked by faster.
“Stop!” She cried once more, feeling herself about to implode from the quantity of information preventing her from processing everything at a deliberate pace. “I can’t...it’s too much!”
Emboldened by her discomfort, the book expanded the length of the library—and engulfed her inside a memory.
In the memory, she saw herself, significantly younger in age. A mere child, amber eyes fierce and uncompromising. Through her perspective, she watched as her child counterpart stalked forward and yanked an arm into view. Hadwin’s arm. Beside her, Chief observed them as a quiet spectator, expression stern, but otherwise unreadable. She looked to her father for approval. He nodded.
“You have to learn!” Bronwyn shouted at her brother. “Get up. Don’t grovel. Get up!”
The boy feebly fought to escape Bronwyn’s solid grip. “Bronwyn, I’m scared.” His voice wavered with the onset of tears. “Stop. I don’t want to fight.”
“It’s not about what you want, Hadwin!” She roared and twisted his arm until it snapped. The boy cried out in pain. “You don’t get a pass!” She released his arm and backhanded him, sending him sprawling on the grassy pasture. “We all have to fight!” Without taking into consideration his limits, she proceeded to kick and punch him into the ground, heedless of his screams for mercy. Her boots came away with splotches of blood. Something came over her, then. Her brow twisted at her handiwork, confused. Sickened. She put her boot down.
“Did I tell you to stop?” Chief crossed his arms over his chest, his glare menacing enough to induce nightmares out of the mere idea of defying his order.
“No, but,” her eyes shone with pity at the whimpering boy at her feet. “Don’t you think he’s had enough?”
Chief’s eyes flashed his disapproval. She was challenging him. “I’ll tell you when he’s had enough. Keep going.” Lowering her head in supplication, she turned back to Hadwin, trying to hide the bubble of tears leaking from her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she mouthed. And she kicked him so hard, blackness overtook his consciousness.
That should have been your first clue, the gruesome scene before her seemed to scream.
Suddenly, as though receiving payback for her actions, she was unceremoniously thrown on the ground and dragged from one scene into another.
Out of Hadwin’s eyes, she scanned a room, modest in size and construction. Chief’s quarters. He sat at the tiny kitchen table, impaling a hunk of venison on a blade and shoving it into his mouth. Undisturbed. In control.
“Don’t touch her. Don’t you fucking touch her.” Hadwin’s voice growled with so much simmering rage and irreverence that Bronwyn almost chastised him for his insolence. You’re speaking to Chief. Our father. Show a little decorum! “And don’t sic your lackeys on her, either. Her problem won’t be solved with ritualistic beatings.”
“Oh? So you’re going to look after Rowena in my stead? Be my guest.” The words were as dead as the venison he consumed. “By all means, turn her into a fellow deadbeat. The devil knows she’ll thrive in your unhinged company,” he droned. “Go on and brand her with your mother’s stink. She can’t turn out any worse than Bronwyn.”
“The hell?” Hadwin’s shadow took an affronted step forward. “Bronwyn worships you. She’d do anything to win your favor. Disgustingly loyal. But that’s not enough for your narcissistic arse?! I haven’t seen anyone else in this godforsaken village work as hard as she does. How the fuck is she the worst of us?”
Chief waved a dismissive hand in the air, meat-slick knife and all. “I see you inherited your mother’s foul language and complete lack of filter, but I’ll humor it.” He set down the knife, deigning to grant Hadwin his full attention. “Bronwyn can never do what’s necessary. Her Sight prohibits it. She’s useless to me.” He tilted his head at Hadwin, golden eyes alight with interest. “But not you. You strike me as very capable. So let me offer you a deal. Do as I say...and Rowena is all yours.”
The memory crumpled away like a torn page thrown into the fire, but Bronwyn kept staring at what was no longer there. So it’s true? Chief always thought me useless? So useless that he chose Hadwin over me? Hadwin, of all people? No. That’s not...these are lies!
“You’re messing with me, Hadwin,” she growled into the darkness, but lacked the conviction to maintain her level of frustration. “These are biased memories. It’s not all true,” she whispered, cradling her head. Everything had grown so heavy, so leaden and unwieldy, like gravity was crushing her on all sides. Refocusing her gaze, she saw him, but not at the desired-for age. A boy, similar in years to the one she kicked until unresponsive glanced warily at her from a distance.
“See? She’s angry,” he said to a man standing next to him. Alster Rigas. “She doesn’t believe me. She never does! I don’t wanna go near her.”
Through blurry vision, Bronwyn regarded this young Hadwin, trying to interpret him in a new light. His whole body twitched and he always raised one hand to his eyes, as though anticipating a nasty blow, or a nightmare-infused vision. She’d scarcely remembered the existence of this boy, a boy who was once too frightened to function; who had, once, entrusted her to help, not harm. Even now, his terrified face carried hints of betrayal.
There was a point when they liked each other. Bronwyn, elated to hear about the arrival of a new sibling, had welcomed her baby brother into the world. We’ll have so much fun together! She crooned to the infant in his cradle. And they did. For a few good years, they did. Until...
You’re not to play with him anymore, Chief demanded. He wants my affections, and I can only give them to one of you. You’ll have to fight for them.
In fear of losing his love, she obeyed. And through fear, she and Chief cultivated their desired result. Within a year, Hadwin’s Sight manifested for the first time. Chief was pleased, but Bronwyn…
Did I do that to you? Make you afraid? So afraid, that it’s all you’ll ever see for the rest of your life?
“Hadwin,” she spoke aloud to the boy who clutched Alster’s hand. The blurriness of her vision intensified. How could she be crying in a place removed from reality? From the chemical reactions of the body? But here, she did. She cried. “I’m so sorry,” she managed through her tears. “I turned my back on you. For so many years, I thought Chief was right. Infallible. But I’m seeing now that that’s not the case. I’ve turned a blind eye, and for what? He will...he will never accept me. Can you…can you forgive me? Can you,” she swallowed, fearing the answer, “can you accept me?”
She wandered close to the two figures standing in the darkness. At first, Hadwin bristled, hiding behind the mage for shield cover. Then…
He bravely stepped forward, met Bronwyn halfway. She threw her arms out...and embraced him. In her grip, the boy stiffened, until his arms came around and circled her waist. He nodded.
“Bring ‘em back?” The teenage Hadwin scoffed at the summoner. “Now where’s the fun in that? Not like anywhere’s safe for them to go even if I did. This whole place is either a disaster or a disaster waiting to happen. You think it’s gonna be a good idea to gather everyone in the same spot? Then we’d be dealing with more than one head of fears and everyone’ll be at their wit’s end. Believe me; you’re not helping. None of this is helping!” His yell coincided with a clap of thunder. “And now you wanna go gallivanting through a storm.” He stopped, anchoring his feet against Teselin’s insistent hand-tugging. “I’m not afraid of what's out there. Hells, I once climbed a mountain in a squall and dared lightning to strike me down! That out there—I can handle it. But it’s your fear, and I can do fuck all for you once you get entrenched in it. But,” he conceded with a nod, “not like I can hide you forever, though. It’s gonna come no matter what. Better to meet it on your own terms.” A half-grin pulled up one side of his face. He met her eyes...and liked what he saw, there. “Y’know, you ain’t half-bad. It’s a shame I can’t ‘remember’ you, Tes. Well, c’mon, then.” He squeezed her hand and resumed walking. “Stick with me. Can’t say I’m interested in making a losing bet with you because with that attitude, it looks like you’ll succeed. But hey, I’m willing to lose if it means seeing you in fisticuffs with a rogue storm, so...consider it done!”
Together, they traversed the village of Clan Kavanagh, a hollowed-out place devoid of life save for the desecrated bodies of the fallen. Despite the muted grays and browns of their surroundings, splotches of saturated red marked the doors and splayed across the brittle grasses at their feet. During their trek to meet the storm, they passed the corpse of a young Rowen, blood flies feasting on her half-closed eyes. Near the clan-house, Chief slumped forward, a heap of contorted limbs, his neck curved in rigor. Fiona lay beside him, face down, a mess of matted curls and vomit. Hadwin ignored the massacred bodies, too desensitized to care. If anything positive could be said of decades of fear bombardment, it made the macabre look like a commonplace sight.
As they neared the epicenter of the storm, the winds picked up velocity, throwing the rain sideways and into their faces. Lightning spidered across the sky in pulsing blue and purple veins, so steadfast and frequent in occurrence, it had etched permanent cracks overhead. The thunder, in conjunction with the howling winds, rumbled and stripped the ramshackle huts and cottages to oblivion. Gritting his teeth, Hadwin plowed through the hurricane gale and hunkered low in a ditch with Teselin, tightening his hands over her shoulders to ensure she didn’t blow away. The lowering clouds descended, leveling trees and tearing out grass in fist-sized clumps, steadily destroying, steadily unmaking the world. Through the thicket of clouds, Teselin and Hadwin neither saw each other nor heard each other. His tenuous grip on her shoulders slipped, slipped...and released. Like the apocalypse of her making, he, too, was gone. Everything was gone, but for Teselin, standing in the wake of unprecedented destruction, and the storm, which soon guttered out and died, leaving her alone in vast, depthless space.
“Teselin!” a familiar voice cried. A light of etherea winked through the abyss, drawing closer and closer like an errant will o’ the wisp. Alster, accompanied by Bronwyn and a little boy, materialized in the nothing. “Are you all right?” He took hold of her arm for good measure. “We found Hadwin’s fearsight.” He gestured to the boy. “And his memories, but they’re still incomplete. We haven’t been able to locate--”
“Yeah, because you haven’t been looking hard enough!” A voice piped up behind them. When they turned, they saw the troublesome faoladh, thumbs looped behind his belt in a casual stance. His yellow eyes glinted with recognition. The version who presented to them was an adult--and he remembered them. “And I got bored of waiting, so here I am.” He loped up to Teselin and reestablished his hand over her shoulder. “I die so damn frequently in my own head, so rest assured, kid, you didn’t kill my stubborn-arse teenaged self in that storm,” he said, his words softening. “Actually, you knocked some sense into him--cuz in that moment when the world collapsed, you feared more about his--for my--safety, and he had no choice but to accept that something essential was missing in his memory because what kind of stranger would give a damn about him that much? So he found me, and I filled him in on the details.” He beckoned to the boy, who squirmed out of Alster and Bronwyn’s hold and scampered to his adult counterpart’s side. “Ah, much obliged Al, Bron. This little miscreant wandered off on his own. Good on you for fetching him.” He ruffled the boy’s head of hair. “Well, I’ve got it from here. Take ‘em back, Al!”
Alster, nodding obligingly, grabbed for Teselin and Bronwyn’s hand...and transported them home.
Thanks to being inextricably linked to one another, not only through marriage, but through blood, through magic, and through spirit, Elespeth who remained conscious and functioning among the land of the awake did not remain totally oblivious to what was going on with the trio in front of her--and the unconscious faoladh on the cot. She could not see images, and could not experience what they were experiencing, but when it came to Alster in particular, she could almost feel the change in atmosphere when suddenly everything turned on him. Aside from the changes in his body alone, the way his heart began to race, and the way he suddenly began to feel cold, her own heart was suddenly flooded with fear and trepidation. Something was wrong--something wasn’t going as planned.
“Something is happening.” The former knight announced to the room, all the while keeping one hand firmly on Alster’s shoulder. “Something is wrong… Isidor.” She turned to the Master Alchemist who, unlike Nia, was not keeping an eye on Hadwin’s vitals. “Can you confirm? There are changes in his body.”
The Kristeva brother nodded and crossed the room to gently lay a hand upon Alster’s other shoulder. He immediately frowned, clearly concerned with whatever it was he found. “Everything I can feel is pointing to distress. He is… whatever he is experiencing, it is as if it is trying to pull him away from himself. He is losing his grip on the reality from which he came. Elespeth,” he pressed his lips into a firm line. “I know that, for whatever godforsaken reason, you care about this wretched faoladh, but at what cost to your husband? It isn’t working. The plan was too tentative, and he clearly bit off more than he can chew. No one can survive whatever dwells in the depths of that man’s mind, not even Alster. If you want my advice, we need to wake him--wake all of them up immediately--”
“No.” Elespeth dissent came out far more firmly than she had intended, and in fact before she could really take a moment to consider what she was saying. Steading her heart and mind, she took in a breath through her nose and exhaled slowly. “No. He… he doesn’t want that. I can feel it. He wants to stay, he just… doesn’t want to be lost. I can reach him. I can reach him and anchor him. I have always been his anchor, and he has always been mine. This is no different than any other time we’ve had to reel one another in from peril.”
“If you ask me, pretty-boy--well, I know you’re not asking me, but I’m gonna say it anyway.” Nia nodded at Alster from where she was positioned at the head of Hadwin’s bed, keeping a close on on his own life signs throughout this whole ordeal. “I think Alster knows what he’s doing--and so does his wife. No one’s in any dire danger yet. Elespeth, I say do what you’ve got to do to. Everyone here’s keeping an eye on the situation, and we’ve come too damn far just to up and abandon shit when the kitchen gets too hot. You say he doesn’t wanna be pulled out? Then don’t pull him out. Instead,” she arched an eyebrow and gestured to the former knight. “Try reaching in. Reach him on the level that no one else can. I believe in you, Elespeth! Ever sour-faced Isidor does. He’s just worried, is all.”
“This is not about me not believing in Elespeth’s skills!” Isidor huffed, a typical reaction to being addressed by and responding to Nia Ardane. Quickly realizing that this was no time or place to lose his temper irrationally, he reined himself in before his dislike of the other Master Alchemist could get the best of him and taint his judgment toward anything she suggested. “...you’re right. Rather, Elespeth is right. Do what you have to do. The rest of us are here to monitor as needed. Perhaps it really is too early to give up.”
Having already resolved to reach for her husband, Elespeth closed her eyes and focused on traversing the physical and cosmic layers of time and space, to find Alster on whatever plane he happened to dwell. I won’t let it happen again; I won’t let you be lost to me again! She stubbornly told herself, wading through the darkness as she reached in vain, hoping to come in contact with him. Hoping she had crossed enough magical, psychic, spiritual barriers to find him. Alster--I’m here! You won’t lose yourself because I won’t lose you. I am here, you just need to take my hand!
And after what felt like an eternity of fruitless searching, of trudging through darkness like it was a swampy abyss, something touched her hand. She was no longer alone, no longer lost: and neither was Alster.
“I know, this place may not be safe, but that’s just it. We are better off walking into danger together than alone; you need to bring them back, Hadwin.” Teselin fretted, but this wasn’t exactly the same Hadwin that she had come to know and love since her time in Stella D’Mare. This was a new Hadwin--or rather, an old Hadwin. A Hadwin that didn’t trust her and didn’t know her well enough to take her words to heart. For all he refused to directly place her in the same dangers that he had so willingly placed Bronwyn and Alster, she could not forget the fact that she might as well be appealing to a stranger. “You let us do this, remember? You agreed to let us all help you. I was the segue into your mind, because you feel most at ease with me, but Bronwyn knows you better than even I do, and Alster has the capabilities to help people beyond anything I could possibly do. I know this is frightening, but you won’t know that it will or won’t help unless you let us try! Separating us, throwing us all into different places… this is practically guaranteeing failure. But… but is that what you really want, Hadwin? Do you want us to fail? To prove some twisted belief you hold that there really is no saving you?”
She held his golden gaze, her eyes very clearly causing him discomfort, as did her question. The young summoner was sure she’d hit a nerve; there had always been a part of the stubborn faoladh that desired complete and total annihilation, believing that he would end up succumbing to it one day, anyway. “Anyway, if this is my fear, then what do you really have to lose? You don’t remember me, you said it yourself. By that logic, I shouldn’t really mean anything to you. What happens to me… that shouldn’t mean anything to you, either. Unless you are afraid to see what might become of me. Unless you’re afraid of seeing me fall to pieces at the hands of my own fear. Well,” she didn’t release his hand, and instead, gave it a stubborn tug. “Let’s go. Whatever happens doesn’t matter, right? It’s not like any of this is real in the here and now. What’s happened has already happened… and my body is elsewhere, just like yours. If we can both remember that what we’re seeing is little more than a nightmare,” she turned to face the encroaching storm, glaring at the dark clouds as they crept hungrily up the horizon. Coming for her. Coming for him. “Then there really is nothing to be afraid of.”
It was difficult not to look at the carnage before them as they passed through the ruined village, once alive and thriving, now littered with the dead and stinking that putrid, sweet stench of death and decay. Instead, Teselin kept her eyes fixed firmly on the horizon before her, toward the ever encroaching storm. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a familiar form--Rowen--lying in a pool of blood and surrounded by hungry flies.
It only got worse as they traversed onward. Not the bodies--she soon lost sight of those. It was the wind, the chill, the brutal force of the gales that threatened to blow her over. At some point, she had let go of Hadwin’s hand, but he hadn’t strayed. She felt his hands on her shoulders, helping to keep her steady and push onward; sticking with her when this had entirely been her own decision, of her own volition, and he could have broken away in a heartbeat. And despite that this wasn’t the same Hadwin she had come to love… it was reassuring that there were parts of him that would never change. That there was still a part of him that cared about her. Eventually, it was too difficult to trudge forward any further, when neither of them could so much as open their eyes to see what was in front of them. Hadwin pulled them into a ditch, hands still firmly on her shoulders, as wind whistled in her ears. “Can you see anything?” She called to him, but her voice barely surmounted the wind. “When you said the storm was coming… I didn’t think you meant a literal storm! What is this, exactly? Will it--Hadwin? Hadwin!”
He was gone. She felt the second his hands released her shoulders, and he was pulled away by the darkness and the wind, out of sight entirely. “Hadwin!” She called again, a sob wrenching from her chest as she forced herself to look up and look around. But there was nothing but darkness and the carnage of the storm, uprooted trees and up-over-end houses. He was gone; there wasn’t even any sign of him. It was as if he had never been there, but… but he was. He had been. And now he wasn’t. He was gone.
Gone. Not the Hadwin she knew, but the only form of Hadwin she currently had… was gone. “Hadwin!” She called again and again, until she realized precisely what was happening. This storm had come for her; it had targeted her and what uniquely scared her. And what scared her more than anything when it came to Hadwin was… losing him. Letting him down and failing to save him. And here and now, wherever she was, that fear had come true, because Hadwin Kavanagh in all of his iterations was gone, and she was all alone.
The young summoner fell to her knees, tears streaking her cheeks. “Fine; I did it, Hadwin. I faced the storm, and I hate it, and I’m afraid because you aren’t here anymore!” She managed to choke out to the void, on the off chance that someone, somewhere, could hear her. “I braved it of my own free will--so pay up! We had a deal, remember?” She looked up into the fog of cloud that still lingered low to the ground, suffocating and dark. “If I braved it, you’d send them back--Alster and Bronwyn. So pay up, because I’m still standing, see?” On shaky knees, she forced herself to her feet again. “I’m devastated and scared, but I am still standing, and I won’t let this defeat me. That was our deal, remember? I know you’re still there; I know you can still hear me, so bring them back!”
And that was when she heard the familiar voice. Not Hadwin’s sardonic drawl, but someone calling to her, just as desperate to find something--someone--familiar as she was. “Alster… Alster!” Was it a trick? Had Hadwin’s fearscape not had enough of her yet, and continued to torment her with the voices of people that she might never see again? That might have been her assumption if the silhouettes of three figures began to draw near from within the thicket of the mist. There was no mistaking them--well, two of them. Alster, Bronwyn, and a little boy who somehow looked painfully familiar…
“Alster! Bronwyn! I-is it really you?” Teselin stammered, and rushed forward to meet them, all the whole aware that it could be a trap, some trick of Hadwin’s mind, or that they might not be real. But when she reached for Alster’s steel prosthetic, she felt the smooth, cool material beneath her fingertips. At least here, in Hadwin’s mind, this iteration of Alster was real. And so she had to believe that both Bronwyn and the child were real as well. “I’m fine, I was just trying to find you… did you see Hadwin? Anywhere? He was here, and then… and then the storm took him.” Her voice caught on that last bit, but when the Rigas mage gestured to the boy, she realized that he had, in fact, found Hadwin--or some iteration of him. “This… this is Hadwin? As a child? Or rather… his actual fearsight?”
Before Alster could reply, another familiar voice interrupted the exchange. Teselin whirled on her heel, only to come face to face with the very person she thought she’d lost. Well… yet another version of him, at least. This version looked and sounded relatively more mature, and her heart swelled when she realized that this was, in fact, the Hadwin that she can come to know and love. The Hadwin that she thought she had lost forever, before being plunged into this fearscape. Tears welled up in her eyes anew as she covered his hand with her own, her throat and chest tight with relief. “I thought I’d lost you. I thought I’d let you down and I… I would never see you again. At least, not this version of you…”
Hadwin explained what had happened--how Alster’s perseverance and her own genuine concern and love for him had shattered the illusions that his teenage-self had been entertaining. They had done what they had come to do; the nightmare was over. At least, it was in his mind.
Exhaling a sigh of relief, Teselin looked to Alster and nodded. “He’s right. We’ve done all that we can do, here. Take us back to the physical world.”
Alster didn’t hesitate. One moment, they were standing amidst the remnants of a terrible storm, and the next, Teselin was opening her eyes to a wide array of familiar and concerned faces, Nia, Isidor, Elespeth, and Briery among them. “W-we did it. At least… I think we did,” she sighed, feeling curiously breathless and exhausted. As if she had actually put her physical body through what her mind had endured.
The summoner was not the only one physically affected by the events that had taken place in Hadwin’s mind. Elespeth, who hadn’t left Alster’s side, gripped his flesh and blood arm with one hand, while her other cupped his cheek. “Thank the gods. I thought that I would lose you, again… or that you would lose yourself.” She breathed, and pulled him into a hasty kiss. “I heard you call to me. I felt you reach for me… so I reached back. I didn’t know that it would work, but… but I am glad it did.”
“Excellent! Well, the lot of you look rightly exhausted, but you all seem to have returned in one piece.” Nia declared, after briefly laying a hand upon all of them to ensure none of them were in any immediate danger of their bodies suddenly failing. “So what’s the status, then? Did you do what you needed to do? Is he… ever coming back?” She nodded to the faoladh on the cot who had yet to stir from the effects of the sedative that had put him under. No one would know whether or not Alster and the others had been as successful as they hoped until he opened his eyes again.
As soon as the trio returned to their corporeal bodies, they regained consciousness in the material plane. Three sets of eyes opened tentatively, taking a moment to process their surroundings and reinvite the senses. Light streamed through the windows, faint movements of clothing and of people whispered, the pressure of the spine pressed against the seat of a chair. With a revitalizing breath, Alster shook free of the residual holdovers of Hadwin’s mind and twisted to face Elespeth, his bone-weary features parting in a smile.
“You found me again. I told you, El; I’m never out of your reach, no matter where I am.” Leaning his forehead against hers, he returned her kiss in kind. If not for the steady support of her hand on his arm, he would have slumped fully against her shoulder and stayed there, unmoving. “Thank you.”
Though he would love nothing more than to fall asleep in his wife’s embrace then and there, Nia’s request for details mustered in him enough strength to sit upright and turn to the small congregation eager to learn the results of their foolhardy excursion—and if it had been worth the risk. “Yes. I daresay we were successful in the end. Each of us had a part to play. If not for Elespeth, I may never have hoped to find Hadwin’s fearsight and if not for Bronwyn,” he directed an appreciative glance at the eldest Kavanagh sibling, who practically hung off her seat and breathed overexerted breaths, “we never would have placated it. And Teselin,” he brushed his prosthesis over her knuckles, “she managed to coax the Hadwin we know back to the surface, memories and all. This operation wouldn’t have worked without everyone’s full cooperation, so I’m glad,” he nodded in gratitude to the summoner and Bronwyn, “that you came with me. Now,” his gaze drifted to the unresponsive faoladh on the bed, “we’ll have to wait and see if our efforts made any difference for him.”
They didn’t wait long. Aware of a faoladh’s tendency to recover from the effects of powerful sedation in half the time, everyone watched as Hadwin, not ten minutes out of the procedure, slit his eyes open—and promptly slid them shut. “Hadwin?” Alster said tentatively, not certain if his eyes fluttered open from waking or from an unconscious, deep-sleep muscle reflex. No response. His eyes opened a second time, stayed open twice as long and twice as wide, and blinked shut once again. A low, raspy groan emitted from his throat. Alster repeated his name, but didn’t push his simple query, not sure how Hadwin’s condition fared or if he could answer at all.
“I hear you,” he said in a scratchy, drawling whisper. “Message received.”
“How are you doing?”
“Eh,” a sigh more than sound escaped from his lips. Alster, alarmed at the garrulous faoladh’s unusual reticence, leaned forward, hands perching on the edges of his bed.
“Don’t push yourself if you can’t speak or are in too much pain to do so. But I’m afraid I have to ask a few more questions. Just answer ‘Yes’ or ‘No.’ Can you see?”
“Yes.” He winked one eye open and surveyed the room, the people, before hastily squinting it closed. “Can’t for long. Too damn bright.” Tears swelled under his lids from the strain.
Alster nodded, his hopes renewing. “And your fearsight? How is that?”
“I’m drowning in the sea of your collective concerns and it’s a pain to endure. But don’t worry.” His mouth tightened into a smirk. “I can answer your next question. I remember you, Al. And Elly. Briery. Nia. Isidor—wow, that’s a treat. Bron’s here, too. And,” the smirk faded as he contemplated Teselin’s presence. “Ah, kid, I put you through hell again, didn’t I?”
“You put us all through hell, Hadwin, as is your specialty,” Bronwyn quipped. In a contrast to hours or even days ago, her tone didn’t carry accusations or condemnation, but relief and even hints of good-natured ribbing.
“I’ll say. I’m going to have nightmares for months,” Alster said, opting to piggyback off of Bronwyn’s statement for the sake of levity. Oddly, their tactic of lightening the mood engendered a different reaction from the fear-mongering faoladh. He sighed, not saying anything for a long, pregnant moment. Then, as though remembering a proper retort characteristic of his irreverent nature, he let loose a light, airy chuckle.
“Well shit. With everything you lot have done to keep me going...I have to be nice to you all now, huh?”
“Yes...yes, you do,” Bronwyn confirmed, lobbing a punch on his shoulder. “You owe us that much, you arsehole.” At Bronwyn’s playful assault, Hadwin’s smirk reconstituted on his face, widening enough to show a few teeth.
“Eh, sure, I’ll give it a whirl.”
As Alster continued to question Hadwin on his wellbeing and Elias performed a few non-invasive tests on his body, everyone discovered that, while his memory, eyesight, and fearsight had been restored, he still couldn’t smell or use his eyes for longer than a few seconds before the light sensitivity and the resultant fearsight agitated his still-pounding headache into a slurry of damaging neurological activity. His limbs, already limited in movement, deteriorated to a conditional paralysis, reducing his mobility to uncoordinated jerks and twitches. The consensus between the healers and alchemists suggested a trade-off, of sorts, had occurred within the body. In exchange for regaining his memories and sight, he lost the majority of his motor functions as compensation. The news confirmed everyone’s suspicions and fears. As long as Hadwin carried Rowen’s fears, his brain was incapable of operating at full capacity and thus, incapable of healing. They told Hadwin as much, but he didn’t sway or change his mind.
“That’s a no-go,” Hadwin said in flat-out refusal. “She’s only been without those fears for, what, a few days? Ain’t gonna help her chances of recovery if I hand them back to her now. If anything, it’ll fuck up her odds even more and this whole ordeal would’ve been for nothing.” He tested his fingers, thrumming them against the bedspread in uncoordinated motions reminiscent of an elderly man afflicted with joint pain. “Look, I got my memories and my Sight back. Everything else—it’s not ideal, but I can coast on through now. I’m good; you did your part, everyone. Now it’s just up to me and my endurance.”
“We’ll reconvene and discuss your options later,” Alster rose from his chair, clinging to Elespeth’s arm when a wave of vertigo overtook his balance. “I think the majority of us require a good deal of rest, and you need a reprieve; a crowd will activate your fearsight too much and put you in a worse state before long. And,” he directed his attention to Teselin and Bronwyn, “it’s important that the two of you ground yourselves. Eat, drink, and engage in a light activity before going to sleep, if you can. It’s vital to reconnect to this world, this realm, lest you’re stuck in an unshakeable fog that can’t or won’t lift.” He didn’t need to elaborate for half the room to understand that his adamant warnings stemmed from his own bout of disassociation and disconnection, a horrific event that never ceased haunting him. And, considering where he’d just been, the reminder doubly haunted him.
“Sounds good to me. I’d wave to you, but,” Hadwin’s index finger trembled pitifully, “this’ll have to do.” As a few people began to filter out of the infirmary, he called out to Bronwyn before she wandered from his vicinity. “Hey,” he began, an awkward beginning for a man too shameless to experience even a shred of it, “I’ll be seeing you, yeah?”
She stared at him, not sure she heard correctly. “You actually want me around?”
“I can tolerate you now.” He huffed out a laugh. “Maybe.”
“Well,” she cleared her throat, trying to hide any vestiges of emotion that threatened to choke her forced casualness into oblivion and reveal to everyone that her bastard of a brother’s genuine bid for her company made her feel...wanted. “Coming from you, that’s one hell of an endorsement.”
“Isn’t it? So go get some sleep—and eat something, will you? You gotta be in peak form if you ever hope to match wits with me. Bedridden or not, I’m still liable to kick your arse.”
After Bronwyn’s departure, only Elias and Teselin remained, the former keeping out of the way to observe from a distance while the latter hadn’t moved from her seat next to Hadwin’s bedside. The faoladh tried to veer his head in her direction, but even with the talisman deintensifying the worst of the headache’s spikes, the pain was still too immense to move. He stopped trying and remained corpse-still but for the flapping of his mouth. “Should’ve known you’d stay behind, kid. And I’d be telling you to go, too, because you can’t stay awake and shirk your body’s needs forever. Al’s right; you gotta stay grounded after mucking around in my nightmare of a head. But before I send you off and force you to recuperate, I wanna say something, and I want you to listen.” The scrape of his fingers tried to reach her, to make contact and cup her hand, but they shambled uselessly on the sheets. “I couldn’t thank you enough for going into the underworld, so to speak, and putting me back together. Well, the parts that matter, anyway,” he breathed noisily at his dysfunctional limbs. “I didn’t want you to see that. Any of that. But you braved on through, yet again, for my sake. Something good came of it, too; something unexpected between Bron and me. I wish I could say that I’ll pay it forward and dampen your fear by lifting this burden I took from Rowen, but...it’s too soon. Call me a damn fool, but I wanna give her a chance. I see this as my last opportunity...not to fail her.” He swallowed a dry, dehydrated lump in his throat, along with the fear residing there. What if you already have, and all this will lead to nothing? “I won’t fail you, either,” his voice doubled in volume, overcoming his mind’s inner voice, which, for once, hadn’t belonged to Fiona. “I’m going to survive, Tes. After all, I’ve got your card.” His fingers grazed the worn paper of the six of spades, a keepsake that remained reliably within his grasp. “If you could do me a favor…and check in on her. Rowen. It’s a tall order, I know—seeing as I told you not to get involved. But,” he sighed, “I went ahead and broke my rule, too, because I fucking got involved. Believe me, this is for my benefit, too. The sooner she shows signs of improving, the sooner I can return what I borrowed. I’ll make it up to you, I swear. After this is all over, whatever you want from me, it’s yours,” his lips stretched into a convincing smile. “Alright?”
Bronwyn’s route through the palace corridors had led her in the same direction as two figures in particular—two figures she needed, nay, wanted to address sooner rather than later, lest she lose the newfound, albeit ephemeral courage she obtained while adrift in Hadwin’s mind. Courage, however, did nothing to silence her pattering heartbeat or prevent her palate from drying up to the point where stifling a cough presented minor difficulty. As she approached the couple, she wrung her clammy hands together and commanded her steps forward, one stride at a time. You have to do this now or you’ll lose your chance, she coached herself. The missed opportunity will nag at you for the rest of the day and night, disturbing your attempts to eat or sleep. Do it. Do it now.
She called their names. An uncertainty cloyed at her vocal cords, stunting their delivery. “Alster. Elespeth.”
They stopped. Turned around. Two pairs of curious eyes landed on her. She froze, hesitating.
“I…” she tugged on the edges of her sleeves. “I owe you two an apology. Several apologies. I shouldn’t...I shouldn’t have been shunning you for over something you can’t control. That would be the equivalent of hating a fellow faoladh based only on their Sight. They can’t help what they see, however much or little. It...it comes at no surprise,” she directed her gaze to her feet, “that I was afraid. Afraid of all magic, no matter its benefits or the user’s mastery over their craft. But,” she aimed her line of sight towards Alster, but not at him, “I saw first hand the level of your competency, Alster. We’re back on this plane because of your navigation. You risked yourself to help my brother. You reunited me with the part of him I thought I’d lost. It doesn’t go unappreciated. And,” her guilt deepened as she acknowledged Elespeth, “you helped Alster, which helped me. ...You’ve been trying to help me long before now, in various ways. When your magic first manifested, my reaction was so visceral that I couldn’t see past the person behind the magic, or how she was feeling. If only I worked through my fear and distrust, I imagine things would have been different between us. But don’t worry; I don’t expect you to give me another chance. I just wanted to let you know—I’m sorry.”
Alster, who continued to grip his wife’s arm for balance, drew a tired smile from his lips. “You’ve had a real time of it since you arrived in Galeyn. Discovering your sister’s insidious role in the deaths of many and your brother’s downward spiral that led to,” he wouldn’t speak the tragedy of Apelrade by name, “what you experienced—it couldn’t have been easy. I can’t blame you for how you’ve been affected by your circumstances. But please know that people are sympathetic and only wish to help. Now that we’ve relocated to the palace,” he gestured to himself and Elespeth, “we’re never far, if ever you need a friend. I’m sure Elespeth would like that, too.” He nudged his wife for effect.
When Teselin opened her eyes at last, it took a good, long moment before she realized where she was, what she was doing, and that she was awake at all. Her dark eyes stared ahead of her at the daylight streaming through the window, taking in the stimuli without fully understanding it. Her ears registered the white noise of various voices, some saying her name (which she did not recognize immediately), some repeating other names over and over as they seemingly were trying to get someone’s attention. Slowly, it came to her that she was sitting in the infirmary--and then the why kicked in.
“Hadwin…” That’s right. She had been present, in this room, for quite some time now, but her mind had wandered elsewhere--into Hadwin’s mind, in fact. To help him, to find him, and to bring him back. But had… had it even worked? “Hadwin, are you…” As soon as she could remember how to turn her head, the young summoner averted her attention from the window and to the other side of the room, where the faoladh lay upon the cot, still unconscious. Had it worked? She wouldn’t know, but she had to believe that it did. Because she had found him; she had found the Hadwin that they had all come to know. He was not tucked away anymore, hiding behind the teenage version of himself from another time. “We did it. It worked, right? It… it had to work.” Rising from her seat, Teselin stood up on partially unsteady legs, only to be stabilized by Nia’s helpful hand on her arm.
“Whoa, careful there, hon. You’re looking a little off-kilter, yourself. Can’t say I’m surprised, considering the feat you all just pulled.” With her assistance, she helped Teselin step closer to the head of the bed, where she obviously wanted to be as near to Hadwin as possible in the event that he awoke soon. “You lot never cease to amaze me! Unfortunately,” she wrinkled her nose at the unresponsive man upon the cot. “We’re not gonna know exactly how effective all of this was until he comes out of his sedation. And I don’t recommend we wake him up by force. Whatever his mind is working through is probably crucial to his recovery.”
Meanwhile, as hopeful as Elespeth was that Hadwin would awaken, she couldn’t help but focus on the relief that Alster had not only returned, but was still himself. “I thought I was going to lose you again.” She confided quietly, hugging his body to her own in so tight a grip it likely hurt his ribs. “And that this time it would be my fault. Because I felt you call for me, and I did everything that I could to reach you… but what if I hadn’t? What if I hadn’t figured it out in time? I can’t lose you again, Alster. And I don’t know that I will always be enough to bring you back…”
Before he could reply to her sentiments of concern, the person in question upon the cot began to vaguely stir, and finally blinked his eyes open. Everyone in the room practically held their breaths at that point, save for Teselin, whose breath rushed out of her lungs in a gasp. “Hadwin! Hadwin, can you hear me? Can you see me? Do you…” She paused, afraid of her question lest the answer she got lead to more devastating news. Do you know who I am? Do you remember me… or any of us?
Ultimately, Alster beat her to it and posed the question, himself, among a few others of decidedly less importance. And when Hadwin answered with an affirmative--that his amnesia had finally lifted--the tension in the room suddenly broke like a heavy cloud intent on releasing its burden of rain. He was back; this was their Hadwin. And while he was still a far cry from being anywhere near fine or recovered, now that he was no longer convinced the lot of them were working for Mollengard with nefarious ulterior motives, helping him would no longer be such an ordeal now that they’d have his full cooperation.
“Oh, thank the gods…” Briery sighed, clutching a hand to her heart as if she feared it might break under the weight of overwhelming emotion. “Hadwin Kavanagh, don’t do that to us--to me--every again. I was near convinced that I had lost you, and I’m afraid I have reached my capacity in dealing with loss, as things stand.”
“Hey, see? I knew you lot could do it! No need to fret anymore, Briery. Looks like our friends got your favourite wolf back.” Nia respectfully handed the acrobat a cup of water, something to focus on aside from her own nerves. “One crisis averted. Now we just need to figure out a whole slew of other shit, huh?”
That certainly seemed to be the case. With the return of his sight (and his Sight) along with his memories, Hadwin appeared to have lost gross motor control of the majority of his limbs, struggling and failing to maintain steadiness and a grip. He certainly wouldn’t be running away anymore, not anytime soon, but among the physicians, mages, and Master Alchemists, there seemed to be a consensus that there was no possible way for Hadwin to ever return to functioning at full capacity so long as he harboured his sister’s fears in his mind. And when the suggestion came that he return those fears, it was met with staunch refusal.
“C’mon, wolf boy. Haven’t you realized at this point that what’s going on isn’t really solving the problem? Not for you or your feral little sister.” Nia frowned, folding her arms across her chest. “What’s she gonna think when she comes to check up on you and finds you in this condition? You think that won’t fuck her up? If you ask me, you need to go way back to step one and consider a different plan of action, but… yeah, I get it. You didn’t ask me. And we’re probably not doing you much good hanging around you with all of our fears, huh? Guess we’re just gonna have to have faith in you and your ‘endurance’ for the time being. Let’s give him some space, everyone! He could use it.”
Some of them had no problem leaving--Isidor and Elias among those people who frankly could do without Hadwin’s presence. Others lingered just a bit longer, such as Briery, who was still registering that he was alright… or, at least, that he would be alright, somehow. Bronwyn lingered even longer, but she wasn’t the last to leave. Teselin, who was probably the greatest culprit for her fears exacerbating Hadwin’s headaches, was entirely reluctant to leave his side, and even proposed that she didn’t. “Try to get some rest--and I can try, as well. I mean, my fears won’t get in your way if I’m unconscious, right?” She managed a shaky smile, her small hands gripping one of his own. “And I’ll be here in case there’s anything you need.”
But Hadwin wouldn’t have that, knowing how deprived her small body was of both sleep and proper nourishment. And she knew better than to sit there and try to convince him, knowing full well that an argument would do no favours for the symptoms he continued to suffer. Before she took her leave, though, he insisted she hear him out. He even tried to squeeze her hand. It was all she could do to fight the tears that threatened to fall; Hadwin was in no condition to see her fall apart right now, whether it be out of relief, or otherwise. “You don’t need to apologize. I’d face it all again, Hadwin, if it meant getting you back. Anyway, you’ve already seen everything that plagues my mind… I feel like it’s only fair that it goes both ways, right?” Realizing she was probably gripping his hand too hard, then, she loosened her fingers from around his knuckles, but did not break contact entirely. “Anyway, whatever I happen to see… it would never change my opinion of you, Hadwin. It would never make me give up on you. If anything, it gave me a better understanding of you, and I’m privileged to have seen what I saw. And so is Bronwyn. Had she not seen the parts of your past to which she hadn’t been privy… she wouldn’t understand, either. But now, she does, and I think… I hope that it’s enough to start to mend the bridge between the two of you. If you ask me, you both need each other more than you’re even willing to admit.”
His newfound camaraderie with his older sister, however, was obviously not enough to sway him to break his loyalties to his younger one. The young summoner had expected as much, and yet, guiltily… she’d hoped that what she, Bronwyn, and Alster had been through would somehow be enough to convince him otherwise. Because for the first time, Teselin Kristeva was willing to give up hope on one person in favour of another. “Hadwin, I… I know you’ll disagree, but this is my fault. I was the one who had agreed to help Rowen; I planted that seed. And now… now you are paying for it, and I know you don’t want to hear it anymore than I want to say it, but I think… I don’t think that it is worth it. To suffer for Rowen, in hopes that she will recover and see the world in a different light. I never thought I would hear myself say this, because I’ve never given up on anyone, before, but solving one problem by creating another just doesn’t work out. Even you have limits to what your body can handle.”
Teselin said as much not to convince Hadwin, as she was well aware that he had already made up his mind. Rather, she had to hear herself say it aloud to be entirely certain that she meant it. That she would always choose Hadwin over Rowen, even if it meant that Rowen would suffer. It was not something that she was particularly proud to admit… but it was something she had to come to terms with if she wanted to move forward. For now, she could only accept Hadwin’s decision not to budge on his own terms--and to humour his wishes. “I will. I’ll check in on her, but Hadwin, Nia is right. This really isn’t helping Rowen because when she finds out the state you are in--and she will find out--what will that do to her? She may well be reluctant to continue her treatment, and if that is the case… then you will have to respect her wishes, too.” And, guilty as she felt for the thought, Teselin did hope that that was the case. And that if Rowen were to give up on herself… it would bring Hadwin back, in full.
On their way back to their chambers, the both of them exhausted beyond words, Alster and Elespeth did not expect to be interrupted by the faoladh woman who had journeyed into the darkest depths of Hadwin’s mind alongside the Rigas mage and the summoner. Furthermore, they wouldn’t have thought in a million years that she would say what she did. For several, stunned seconds, the Rigas couple stared in silence as they processed what Bronwyn had stopped to tell them, and of the two of them, Elespeth was perhaps the most dumbfounded. What had happened in Hadwin’s mind to cause Bronwyn such a change of heart?
“I… it’s fine, Bronwyn. You don’t need to explain yourself to us.” Elespeth assured her when at last she found her tongue. “But there are no second chances to give, because I’ve never thought differently of you for your fear. It’s completely understandable that you avoided me: months ago, I had absolutely no control over my magic. Hells, I was in denial about it for so long that it was beginning to drive me and Alster apart.” She gently squeezed her husband's arm. “I should have taken more accountability for what happened. Had the shoe been on the other foot, I’d probably be afraid of magic users, as well. I never blamed you for your reaction; I didn’t then, and I won’t now. So… there really isn’t anything to forgive. Though…”
Elespeth’s lips turned upward in a slow, hopeful smile. “If it suits you, and you’re comfortable enough with the idea… maybe we could pick up where we left off, before I scared the living daylights out of you? Like I said before, Hadwin used to compare me to you all the time when we weren’t getting on… in fact, he still does now that we are on good terms. But he’s not wrong to. I see a lot of my own values in you; some that I learned during my time as a knight, and some I came to embrace well after the fact, when I met Alster. I think that’s why I felt so comfortable around you. So, if you ever want company…” She lifted a hand as an offer, but didn’t make any moves to reach for Bronwyn, in case it startled her. “I’d like to get to know you better. I know what it feels like, walking into a previously established dynamic as an outsider. I was one for a while, too. But it doesn’t have to stay that way; not if you don’t want it to.”
Nia periodically checked in on Hadwin throughout the day and into the following night, as per her agreement to be of whatever assistance she could to the predicament surrounding the faoladh. But Hadwin was not her only (nor her primary) concern. Before leaving the Canaveris villa, she had promised Ari that she would get on top of figuring out a way to deal with his curse. In fact, she had made that promise long before her most recent visit, and it was high time she acted on it. After all, given that his flare-ups appeared to be occurring more frequently (only some for which she felt a little bit responsible…), concern for his overall well-being had been weighing on her mind more and more heavily. What would happen if something far more crucial to survival than a limb happened to turn to stone? His heart, his lungs… even upon a Night Steed at the darkest hour, there was no possible way she would get there in time to lend assistance if she wasn’t already there to begin with. From her perspective, the situation was far more serious than perhaps even he felt, and she couldn’t help but wonder if it had been sheer luck that someone whose body parts spontaneously petrified was even alive at this point!
However, the Master Alchemist knew her limits, and however broad her craft spanned, she was limited to alchemy and alchemy alone. Curses were not alchemy, they were magic, and as someone without a lick of magical ability, she was all too aware that she could not solve this problem on her own, either in theory or in practice. But she knew just where to go to find someone who would help her, and who had already agreed to, in some respect.
She didn’t rush to bother Alster Rigas right away. After the ordeal he had gone through to bring Hadwin’s memories back, on top of crafting a talisman to take the edge off of his most painful symptoms, the man was rightly exhausted, and in desperate need of several good nights’ sleep and good meals. So for the next couple of days, Nia Ardane respectfully kept to herself when she wasn’t helping Briery and Teselin tend to Hadwin. She gave Alster time and space to start to feel human again; and once he was no longer looking drawn and pale from exhaustion, she stepped in to rekindle the conversation that had almost taken place on his return to the palace.
It was another quiet morning. Little to be heard from Rowen, who, according to the Gardeners, needed time and space away from the palace if she had any hope of making a full recovery from the inside out. And even less to be heard from Locque herself who, Nia figured, was laying low and quiet and simply watching how everything was unfolding. Hadwin hadn’t seen any improvements, but also hadn’t gotten worse. Isidor still gave her the evil eye when she passed him in the hallway. Events had come to a standstill, it seemed, and she felt now was as good a time as any to pick Alster Rigas’s brain about removing a curse.
Nia found him in the library that morning, after wasting about an hour in her endeavor to locate him. She should have known that any studious mage could be found in the library, of all places, when all other obvious haunts did not yield the person in question. It wasn’t the first time the Master Alchemist had perused the Galeynian monarchy’s ornate library, with its walls upon walls of books in languages that even she didn’t understand, as well as the occasional nooks dedicated to private study for those who wished to be left undisturbed. And it was in one of those very nooks that she at last managed to track down Alster--possibly to his chagrin.
“Pretty amazing place, huh? Some of the languages these books are written in, I couldn’t even venture to guess.” For someone known for being loud and relatively obnoxious, Nia at least had the good sense to keep her voice down so as not to startle Alster when she slid into the seat across from him and leaned over the table to peer into the book he was immersed in. “I recognize that language, though! They speak that east of Eyraille. Funny that you’d find a book in that language here, so far away. Hey--just because I come across like I’m an idiot doesn’t mean I am one.” Leaning back in her seat, the corner of her mouth curled into a grin. “It’s not uncommon for Master Alchemists to learn to speak, read, and write sometimes as many as twenty languages. Most of ‘em are the old, dead ones, since that’s where the foundations of Master Alchemy lay, so we don’t exactly get much practice in conversation, but we do keep up on the contemporary ones as well. I made a point to keep my studies going even after I fled Ilandria. Helps find hiding places in foreign lands when you happen to speak their language.”
Apparently, seguing into the reason she was really there wasn’t as easy as she thought, and when Alster asked her what purpose she had in the library that morning, she had no choice but to come clean. Sighing at her failed attempt to smoothly transition into the real reason she was there, Nia folded her hands on the table. “Remember our almost-conversation from before? About curses? Well, I know you’re all invested in pulling Hadwin out of his rut--which I fully support, of course!--but I’ve got my own personal project, as it were, on the go. See, I know it’s easier to look at me like some big baddie for working for Locque, and Isidor certainly feels better seeing me that way, but when I’m not running for my life or backed into a corner, I do actually enjoy using my talents to help people. Not so unlike you, right? Your reputation precedes you, Rigas. But I digress.”
Tucking her hair behind her ear, Nia’s eyes followed the woodgrain in the smooth, oak surface of the table. I won’t break my promise, Ari; I’ll be careful. But I do need to reach out, for your sake. “It so happens I’ve run into someone in my travels who is suffering from a particularly nasty curse. One that turns parts of their body partially to stone, usually in times of great duress. An arm, a leg, a shoulder, their…” She stopped before she could let on that the curse didn’t happen to exclude genitals. Even if she wasn’t using Ari’s name, he deserved that dignity. “Well, you get the picture. Historically, the body parts have always gone back to normal on their own, but lately they’ve been enlisting my help to expedite the process. Turning stone back to flesh and blood isn’t really that difficult, but the problem is, I’m only treating the symptoms, not the cause. And I’m not a mage; I don’t deal in magic, and can’t lift the curse. And I obviously can’t be in their company at every waking moment to take care of these incidents when they do happen. But what if the next time, it’s not something as benign as an arm? What if it’s an organ--kidneys, heart, eyes? What, then, if I’m not right there to take care of it when it happens? ...what then?”
Genuine concern had crept into her brown eyes. She only hoped that Alster could see how anxious she truly felt. “The trouble is, I’m not their solution, Al. I’m just a bandage over an open wound. I can stop the bleeding for a while until it starts gushing again. But, they’re relying on me, and somehow I’ve become really invested in helping them find a solution. So… that’s why I’m here, now, bugging the heck out of you. They need my help, and I need your help to help them. So I’ll ask again… how can a curse like this be lifted? What needs to be done? And, since this person is so damn reluctant to seek any other help for fear of their curse’s stigma… what can I do?"
“Yeah...cuz there’s nothing like seeing the true extent of my depravity to get a clear-cut picture of the kind of person I am,” Hadwin snorted. At the very least, he took small comfort in the fact that Teselin only saw him and Fiona together, and not the aftermath of her suicide...where he brutally tortured the two shepherds responsible for protecting their sheep from a rabid, rampaging wolf. Of course, no manner of fires he lit in the past could ever sway Teselin from her high opinion of him, nor did he desire for her opinion to change. Earning the steadfast summoner’s undying loyalty and devotion was an honor wasted on him, self-professed pond-scum as he was, but he’d never broaden the distance between them out of some misplaced sense of guilt. It was too late to save her from him, and that suited him just fine. “But you already knew what you were getting yourself into,” he said, speaking his thoughts aloud. “Evenso...it’s not a good look on me. Not that it’s any secret I’m a literal motherfucker, but I wanted to spare you the gruesome details.” Because you’re still afraid she’ll reject you, the ever-present voice of Fiona lodged herself in between the wreckage of his splintering mind, making her grandiose return after an unscheduled leave of absence. Like Rowen did. She saw your darkness and cast you out. She’ll cast you out again. Don’t think she won’t!
It didn’t matter, he told himself. Rowen could reject him however much she liked as long as she chose it; not her darkness or her fear. He wasn’t delusional enough to believe they would resume their eight-years gone relationship and carry on as though the past year never happened. That was never his intention. All he wanted for her...was to survive. To do so required her to cease antagonizing—and murdering—his allies. His...friends. And to quit planning his demise. Remaining on the opposing side as him would endanger her life, because if pressed, he would take decisive action against her. He’d already reconciled the deed in his head. If it’s her or me...I’m picking me. For Teselin. For Briery.
Despite his vow to live, come hell or high water, the harrowing situation he created was...nuanced. It was different. It was a gamble for a game in which he knew nothing of the rules and a distraction, a delay, from the worst-case scenario: Rowen’s death by his hands. For her proclivity towards all things dark and nefarious, she had to have known about his extreme yet reluctant desire. I’ll kill you if I have to. But only if I have to.
And therein dwelled his weakness. He’d rather lay infirm and suffer memory loss, excruciating pain, sensory paralysis, and dysfunctional mobility for weeks or even months on the tiniest sliver of hope that the worst might not unfold as he feared it would. When had he allowed Teselin’s ideologies to infiltrate his shaky moral foundations? Worse yet, when had he become a slave to his fear? To a mere pipe dream whispering away in the wind?
Well, he always liked abysmal odds. Abysmal, destructive odds.
“Not your fault,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth. Since awakening to the near-complete shutdown of his full-body mobility, speaking had become an even greater chore. His mouth was lined with cotton. “I had to try. To do something. Hells, I had no idea I’d react so strongly to taking her fears away. Just thought I’d suffer headaches and nothing else. But it happened, I’ve got myself to blame, and now I need to deal with it.” As if on cue, he scrunched his face as a tidal wave of pain washed ashore, paralyzing his wits for almost a full minute. “I know what you’re saying, Tes,” he said deliberately, weighing each word carefully so as not to trigger another head-splitting resurgence. “Believe me, I know. That’s why I’m a damn fool, because my reasoning is singing the same tune. ‘Give em back; they’re not yours to take!’ But...fuck it all if I didn’t give this horrible, horrible idea its fair shot. If it’s too much to handle, I’ll give em back. Or, alternatively, if she sees my sick and sorry condition and demands their return, I won’t complain. There’s no exact science on how to approach Ro’s healing. I merely saw an opportunity and if it doesn’t work...well, at least I can say I gave a damn and did everything I could. That’s how I’ve always lived my life. Take a leap of faith; no regrets. And right now, the only thing I regret is how it’s making you worry.” He refused to mention the impact of her fears; even behind closed eyes, he saw himself succumb, again and again, to the storm, sucked from the ground and slurped into the heavens—erased. Only, he fell to a different storm. And her name was Rowen.
“I do that on the regular, don’t I? Make you worry?” A wistful smile touched his lips. “But it goes both ways, too. Sleep, eat. Do all the stuff Al said to do so you can recover with a full bill of health from the disease that is my rich inner world. Once you do that, we’ll talk. Form a written plan and note the conditions that’ll require my immediate cease and desist. We’ll bind me down to my promises. You’ll be my minder, my legal representative and consultant. In the event I begin to lose my cognitive processes or sharply deteriorate, I’ll leave it to you to make the call and decide when I should hand over Ro’s little bundle of fears. Does that sound fair, Tes? I’m putting the control in your hands. Because fuck it if I want to stay in bed every day for the foreseeable future. And fuck it if I’m the reason you’re stuck wearing yourself thin.” His weary smile broadened when he succeeded in closing his fingers over her hand. “As always, we’ve got each other’s backs, yeah?”
While he was hardly acquainted with the elusive Bronwyn Kavanagh, it warmed Alster to see the skittish faoladh grasp Elespeth’s outstretched hand—albeit with care—and vow to begin their burgeoning friendship anew. Mere days ago, she had given him and Teselin so wide a berth, she retreated to the farthest corner of the infirmary and almost melded with the wall. And now...she willingly made physical contact with the hand that delivered her an unprecedented shock. What had influenced Bronwyn’s guarded disposition to open? Could reconciling with her estranged brother have caused her sudden change of heart? Or did exploring the depths of fear as conducted by its wolfish arbiter inspire her to shed her own? Fear often elicited a response interpreted as excitement, motivating the affected to act in daring, impressive ways. Apparently, Bronwyn was taking the initiative by taking control—a refreshing departure from the defeated shell of a woman he and Teselin met in the doorway, her shrunken form so eager to retreat from their request for her aid out of the mistaken belief she was wholly useless and unimportant. She and Elespeth were a good match for each other, not only in temperament and personality, but in how they handled adversity. Elespeth, too, oft suffered from a misplaced sense of belonging, often questioning her place at his side, as a Rigas, a warrior, and, now, as an inheritor of magic. For that reason, he felt all the more invested in bringing the two women together.
“If you are concerned about Elespeth’s magic, I can lay some of your fears to rest,” Alster supplied after the women shook on new beginnings and dropped their hands in unison. “I’ve been working with her these last few months and you’ll find her control is as disciplined as her sword. She has my unwavering endorsement. Then again,” he grinned cheekily at Elespeth, “I am her husband, so you may have to take my praises and appraisal with a grain of salt.”
“I believe you...on both accounts.” Bronwyn tried to match Alster’s smile, but it came off a little unpracticed. “I can tell…’see,’ that the two of you are very much capable...and very much in love. It’s…” the smile broadened, a tint of wine reddening her cheeks, “endearing. It’s truly wonderful to see. Like two stars shining as one.”
“If only we traveled into the core of your Sight,” he laughed, delighted at the accuracy of her analysis. “I daresay it would have been a significantly more pleasant experience.”
Several days after Hadwin recovered memories and sight (and the fears that came with it), Alster finally took Elespeth up on her request and joined her in bed—half for her company and half out of absolute necessity. Pulling all-nighters prior to captaining an expedition into a fractured psyche powered by one’s greatest fears had, understandably, sapped Alster of his ability to do little else but sleep, much though he resisted the siren’s call of the pillow. Despite Nia’s innumerable reassurances, he didn’t feel safe under Locque’s rulership and half-anticipated a midnight ambush, another brusque push into the ether-realms, a slow-spiraling death from which his stained glass soul would break apart at the seam-lines and never again reconstitute into wholeness after its first, almost fatal shatter had weakened its integrity. His irrational and obsessive catastrophizing was made more pronounced in light of the assault he experienced in Hadwin’s mindscape; the very real possibilities of failure, of collapsing before Locque, crushed underfoot and left helpless to watch as she destroyed everyone he loved in her bid to secure the kingdom and the Night Garden. Sleep, for him, was a disastrous loop of doomsday-level ‘What-ifs?’ with the blessed reprieve of consciousness slipping further from his reach. Were it not for Elespeth’s stabilizing presence (and a little help from a Night Garden-grade sleep remedy), he never would have obtained the rest that was required of him to function as normal. Fortunately, on the third day, he regained enough of himself to revisit an old haunt of his; the library. With Elespeth and Bronwyn on their first outing together, Alster decided to spend his free time researching methods for regulating Hadwin’s most severe symptoms through means he might not have overwise considered.
It came as no surprise when he experienced an interruption barely after cracking open the first book. Was Nia hiding in the shadows, waiting for the opportunity to pounce on him the second he emerged from his chambers as though announcing his availability? Making matters worse, she swept into his space to read over his shoulder, prompting him to lower the tome out of slight vexation. Not that he was reading anything particularly taboo or secretive; he just never fancied the nosy sorts who insinuated themselves into his need for privacy by peering at the books he perused. Ever polite, Alster set his reading aside and humored Nia’s burning need for conversation.
“Magic has one universal language. Magic theory, on the other hand...it numbers in the thousands. And good luck finding anyone to agree on a language or technique,” he rolled his eyes heavenward, a silent entreaty to the old masters and scholars to stop overcomplicating basic scientific endeavors and pick a common focus to rally behind. “It’s not so dissimilar to alchemy, in that vein; scattered knowledge disseminated across many disciplines and nations, be they extant or defunct. I’ve had to learn more languages than I can count just to keep up with the ever-evolving and ever-debated processes of such and such a method or philosophy. It didn’t hurt to have a father as a diplomat, either,” he smiled in fond remembrance of Valente Rigas, a parental figure he wished he could have known sooner, during his intense childhood days as his mother’s perfection project. “We traveled often and it helped me to gain practical experience in spoken languages. Going by what you said, people tend to be more receptive if you speak their tongue.” Pausing a moment, he added, in near-flawless Ilandrian, “If I don’t practice, I’m liable to lose my proficiency. Let me know if you’re looking for a language exchange partner.”
As the reasons for crashing his premature study-session became clear, he nodded, recalling their brief mention on the subject of localised, impermanent petrifaction from last week. The symptoms she discussed sounded eerily familiar; he’d seen a similar phenomenon occur in young Sylvie Canaveris, on treating her broken leg and gash. Only, her petrifaction spread from inside the wound, a penetrative formation which hardened her exposed blood into crystals and calcified. It was not, as in Nia’s stated case, designated as a predominately surface-level curse. Though he succeeded in reversing Sylvie’s crystallization process, it was not a permanent solution and would just as likely reemerge should she accidentally rend her skin open anew and expose the blood to the air. After treatment, she swore him to secrecy. ‘My family can’t know. Please.’ He promised, under the condition that he research a cure on her behalf—and that she accept a protective talisman to help minimize the chances of bodily injury.
Listening carefully to Nia’s roundabout explanation of this mystery sufferer, he wondered about their identity. If they, too, happened to be a Canaveris, which he strongly suspected, what exactly was going on with that family and their susceptibility to stone-borne maledictions? Alster casually read the micro-expressions on Nia’s face. Worry lines creased her brow and crinkled at her eyes. Whoever this figure was, she had a personal investment in their recovery. And seeing as she had difficulty cultivating relationships outside of her role as Locque’s advisor, the answer, to him, became clear. Aristide Canaveris. The man who draped himself from head to toe in impermeable finery and refused to touch another living soul. The very same man who carried a strange, almost bruised energy that, for months, Alster couldn’t quite place as entirely...human. Who else would Nia be referring to? No other person in Galeyn seemed to care for Nia as a person more than Ari did; ergo, the list of possible candidates dwindled to one.
“There isn’t much I can do without examining the subject’s ailment in person. If you say magic is the key to lifting their curse, then it would require my direct involvement to glean the details and the extent of damage, unfortunately. But,” he added, respecting, for now, Nia’s need to maintain anonymity; more so since Ari’s pebble golems littered the palace and could be eavesdropping on their discussion, “if you’re looking for a learned opinion, I can provide that for you.” Excusing himself for a moment, he rose from his chair and headed across the vast library, towards a section reserved for myths and legends residing outside of Galeyn’s tiny geographic epicenter. After some cursory scanning, he found the desired-for book, plucked its spine from the shelf, and returned to the alcove where Nia, having the decency not to follow at his heels, at least--awaited him.
“I’ve done a fair amount of research on this anomaly, myself.” He opened the book’s weather-worn cover and cautiously parsed through the brittle pages, deciphering various glyph writings in his search for the section he wanted. “Here.” He turned the book in her direction, pointing to the head of the left page. “I’m not sure if you can read it; this is written in the ancient language of the Fallow Islands, southeast of Stella D’Mare. Back when we were a bustling port city, we D’Marians often traded all manner of goods with this island nation; fruit, textiles...and curiosities. This passage speaks of one in particular. A basilisk serpent.” Whether she was able to read the text, he translated it aloud for her, paraphrasing from memory. “One glance into its inky eyes renders any living creature encased in a prison of stone. Accounts of the basilisk serpent and its habitat cannot be verified. It is said to reside on an island steeped in mist, visible only to sailors lost at sea. Legend states that seafarers whose prows depict the carved bust of a man or woman adorning a snake around their necks are said to be honoring the serpent’s victims. Whosoever encounters the eyes of a basilisk serpent...will die.” He cleared his throat to deflect from the gravity of his last statement. “To defeat a curse, you must first identify its source. This basilisk serpent,” he tapped a steel finger on the page, “it’s only one of many feasible root causes behind the subject’s unique condition--that is, if you take any stock in an old seafarer’s legend. Nonetheless, it’s a lead worthy of investigation, particularly if your friend is D’Marian,” he said, choosing his words with care. “The closer they reside to the legend’s geographic point-of-origin, the likelihood of their curse originating from the basilisk serpent grows into the realm of possibility. But this is all speculation on my part. Have you ever asked your friend if they know the details of their curse? Were they born with it? Did they contract it later in life? Are they a mage suffering from a rare, magic-based disorder? These are the relevant questions to ask, if you want to help devise a cure for your friend.”
“You’re not a… Hadwin, I saw it. Not all of it, but I saw how it began. You were still a child. And she didn’t give you a choice. She took what she wanted from you. So no, I don’t see you as a villain… in that instance, at least, you were a victim. I’m not sure if that sounds any better, to you, but you were a victim of your circumstances. Not some nefarious evil-doer that you’re trying to convince yourself that you are.”
Teselin shook her head. She’d seen what she had seen, and it was all she’d needed to see to understand the core of Hadwin’s unyielding self-hatred. But that changed nothing; it didn’t change the way she thought about him, or her opinion of him. Yes, this was a man who had endured sexual relations with his mother, against his own will. But this was also a man who had been willing to throw everything away for the faint hope that he could help his younger sister recover from her own demons. Hadwin was not a villain or a scoundrel; he was someone doing the very best that he could, under less than ideal circumstances.
“You do. You make me worry the same way that I make you worry. And I bet all of this worry is giving you an even worse headache than you’re able to deal with, huh?” The young summoner reached out and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I know I make you worry, too. Especially because this isn’t all on you. I… I don’t want Rowen to not recover. That’s not my sentiment at all. But I don’t want her to turn her mind and her heart around all at your expense, because if someone else has to suffer in order to stop another person’s suffering… then what have we really gained?”
She hadn’t, however, expected him to so openly agree with her assessment. That this, what was going on, wasn’t a solution, but rather another problem onto itself. “Write a plan? So you want me to… it sounds like you are giving me the power to make your choices for you. In the event that you are unable to make them for yourself, anymore… is that what you mean, Hadwin?” She covered his fingers with her opposite hand. “You want… me to make that call? To return Rowen’s fears to her?”
And then, it dawned on her: of course he did. He wanted her to make that call because it was never a decision that he could make on his own. Because if he had to be the one to decide when it was all becoming too much… when his pain and the pain that it was causing others was no longer worth what it cost him to endure it, then he would be the one deciding that Rowen’s potential peace and happiness was not worth his pain and suffering. That her suffering could no longer outweigh all of the suffering that his poor condition was causing his friends and allies. That it was time to give up on her and hope for her future. Hadwin did not want to have to be the one to make that final, terrible call if Rowen did not recover soon… so he needed someone else to make it for him.
It only made sense, considering it had been Teselin’s idea to help Rowen in the first place, that she also be the one to decide when it was time to put their efforts to rest. To spare Hadwin the broken heartedness of giving up on his younger sister.
“Is… that really what you want?” She asked him softly, struggling to prevent her dark eyes from filling with tears. “Because if it is… then I will do that, Hadwin. I’ll do it for you. So that you don’t have to.”
Gently setting his hand back down upon the cot, the young summoner stood and tucked her hair behind her ears. It had grown so much longer, now reaching her mid-back, since her arrival in Stella D’Mare which, by now, seemed so long ago. It didn’t make sense to keep cutting it in that youthful style just below her chin, anymore. Because sometime between then and now, the summoner had lost her naivete in acknowledging that life was so far from fair, and as such, had also grown up a great deal. But that did not mean she had altogether given up on her hope.
“You get some rest. Alster is looking into your symptoms to see if he can make the talisman more effective. And Nia agreed to check in on you in case your fever climbs again.” She smiled. “I’m going to need a clear head myself if I have to write this document… so I’m going to eat and try to rest. But I’ll be back. Don’t think for a second that you can keep me away for long, hm?”
A certain warmth swept through Nia’s body as her ears registered a dialect that she had not heard in a very long time, through Alster’s perfect accent and Ilandrian tone--he might as well have been born Ilandrian, himself! It brought her back to early morning markets when her mother would determine she was fit for little else than to gather food and supplies. The smells of spice wafting from the stalls selling food that she never could have purchased even if she’d wanted to (Felyse, for all she was well off, counted every penny and knew precisely how much needed to be spent on a need to need basis), yet from time to time, was able to taste out of the kindness of the hearts of some vendors who would offer her some of the misshapen pastries or leftover foods that wouldn’t sell. Vast a kingdom though Ilandria was, it was only among these markets and the lower to middle-class denizens that anyone would hear the melodic lilt of Ilandrian. Speaking it among the upper classes was worthy of a beating; even speaking it within the privacy of her own home, among her own family, had been staunchly prohibited.
And yet, other worldly scholars, such as the Rigases of Stella D’Mare… they weren’t too good for her mother tongue. “Well, I’ll be. You speak it in the fashion that Ilandrian used to be spoken hundreds of years ago.” The Master Alchemist replied in Ilandrian, her smile turning nostalgic before she switched back to the Common Tongue. “With finesse and care. Before Ilandria became such a booming empire in the business of weapons--I suppose, before Master Alchemy became so prevalent in the nation. The rise before the very, very hard fall, you could say. Nowadays--even back when I was still a kid--you’ll only hear Ilandrian among the poor or moderately poor: those who rely on domestic business. Selling and providing services to their neighbours, not to other kingdoms. I guess that’s why the language became so damn stigmatized to speak. If you’re anyone who is anyone, you’ll be speaking the Common Tongue. The real language of real business. To speak your mother tongue, even if you’re born and raised Ilandrian, will automatically give the impression you’re just low-class scum of the earth and not worth anyone’s time. Of course, I don’t personally share in that frame of mind. Ever hear music in Ilandrian? It’s like the language was made for it… wow. But am I ever off topic. Sorry for the bizarre digression!” Nia cleared her throat, flushing just a little in the face out of mild embarrassment. “You just got me all nostalgic for a moment, there.”
She knew she was risking a lot, here. Alster Rigas was not a stupid person, and even with the new D’Marian refugees, Galeyn wasn’t exactly a densely populated kingdom. Furthermore, she had always been quite open about the people she preferred to surround herself with--and in fact, had told Alster once upon a time, that she had grown fond of Ari, and that they were, in fact, on good terms. Something that he had been able to see for himself when he had witnessed her convalescing at the Canaveris estate following her head injury. If he didn’t know that her friendship with Osric had ended, then there was always a chance he might have deduced it was the jolly pub owner to whom she was referring, since her only other real chum, Hadwin Kavanagh, was currently experiencing issues of his very own that happened to be very different from what she was describing. But if Alster did catch on, or if he had any idea where she was going with this… he at least had the good decency not to make it obvious. I’m keeping my promise, Ari. I’ll never mention your name. But… if I want to be able to help you, then I need some help, myself.
Deciding to take a chance that he wasn’t rising from his seat to make a clever break for it and get away from the woman most known for her incessant rambling, Nia sat patiently while Alster went to find a certain book that he thought might be of assistance. To her relief, he returned moments later, and slid the book into her view. “Mmm, this scrawl does look familiar. Haven’t brushed up on it in quite a long time, but it did crop up from time to time in my studies. I can’t quite remember why…” The Ardane woman pressed her lips together, and suddenly, it all fell into place as soon as Alster mentioned the basilisk Serpent. Resisting her urge to blurt out absolutely everything that came to mind (which, let’s face it, she was always wont to do), Nia listened carefully to the Rigas mage’s take on the creature and what he had to say about it. Stella D’Mare was indeed geographically closer to the Fallow Islands than landlocked Ilandria. And Ari… well, Ari was D’Marian. He had never gone into the details of his curse, either because he truly did not know them and had been too young when he’d been first afflicted by it, or because it stirred up far too much trauma--in the same way he could not bring himself to talk to her about exactly what had transpired between himself and Chara Rigas. It was, of course, entirely possible that his curse had nothing to do with a basilisk, but… but what if it did?
She could hear Felyse Ardane’s voice all over again. It transported her back to her spartan, dusty classroom. She could practically feel the weight of her mother’s hand swatting the back of her head. You idiot! You think it is just enough to perform? To not understand the origins of this skill? This is how you fail as a Master Alchemist, Anetania! She’d dropped a book in front of her unwanted daughter. One well over one thousand pages long, and written in a language that she had only been introduced to a couple of weeks beforehand. Nia was seven years old, at the time. Did you so much as open this book? Read a single damn word?
But… I did it, mother. I passed the test, didn’t I? The young child rubbed the back of her head, seemingly unfazed by the physical violence that she might or might not have deserved. When you were born into something, and experienced it every day, it wasn’t something to react to. I turned that dove into stone. Flesh and feathers and everything--and then I turned it back! And it even lived! The seven-year-old had dared to smile, and added, very softly, Celene said she was so proud of me.
That had earned her a slap straight across the face. Nia didn’t flinch, but her smile was gone. You will read that entire book, from cover to back, tonight. You will read it, and you will understand it, and by tomorrow morning after breakfast, you will be able to tell me anything I ask you about basilisk serpents of the Fallow Islands. You will be able to tell me how and why they became an object of Master Alchemy, and what they contributed to the study. If you so much as answer a single question wrong, you will go without food not only for the remainder of the day, but the remainder of this week. Do you understand me?
Young Nia had nodded, and lifted the burdensome tome. It was almost too heavy for her thin arms to carry. But this language… it’s difficult to understand. Some of the characters look all the same…
Well, Felyse had nothing but a cold glare to offer in response. Then you had better get started, it seems.
“It’s not legend. Basilisks exist--I’m sure of it. And now I remember why we were required to learn the language of the Fallow Islands.” Nia’s tone turned from serious to hinged with curiosity. It was like going back into the past, going back to that moment with that heavy tome, only without the ominous shadow of her mother looming over her. Or the threat of starvation for a week. She leaned over the book and flipped through the pages, landing on an ornate illustration of a basilisk serpent. “Either this bit of history I was taught happens to be complete and utter bullshit, or ancient Master Alchemists had, in fact, come into contact with it. I mean, it makes perfect sense--the thing can do what we do. It can change matter, from flesh into stone. Somewhere along the line, they’d have wanted to know how that’s possible so that they could learn to do it themselves; or, in my case, reverse it. I guess I never really thought about how that skill developed…”
Looking up from the page, she eagerly searched Alster’s face for an answer before she managed to ask the question. “I’ll be honest, I don’t really know many details. I don’t know how this person came to be cursed, which isn’t very helpful for you to hear, I’m sure. But… I mean, even if this is only one lead, it’s better than no leads at all, which is where I was at just minutes ago before talking to you. So tell me.” The Master Alchemist folded her hands on the table in front of her and sat back down in her seat. “As a mage, yourself, and someone who doesn’t seem to be a stranger to basilisk Serpents… how would you, a user of magic, and a self-proclaimed expert on curses, propose removal of a basilisk curse?”
Averting her gaze back to the basilisk in the illustration, Nia furrowed her brow and sighed audibly in frustration. “There’s a lot that Master Alchemy can do. Things you wouldn’t even believe could be possible. Sometimes, we can interfere where it comes to certain magical conditions or side-effects. Misused a spell that accidentally turns your skin blue? No problem, we can turn it back to peachy pale, illustrious bronze, whatever the hell you want. That’s an easy fix. But curses… those are something entirely different. I deal in matter. Anything that takes up space in this world any way, shape, or form--solids, liquids, gasses, I can interfere with those, no problem. I can draw just the right amount of oxygen from the air and spontaneously light something on fire. But magic… it feels as though it takes up space in a realm that I can’t reach. This curse…” She lifted her hands, and studied the intricate, silver runes on both of her palms. “It isn’t stationary. It’s static. I can’t do a thing about it because I can’t isolate it, and even if I could, it doesn’t consist of matter that I can control; it’s energy, not particles. It flows through the body like it has its own circulatory system, even when it is inactive. And when it gathers in one place long enough to petrify a limb, it’s still only the tip of the ice berg. In order for me to be able to remove it, not only would I need to isolate it, but I would have to make it into something tangible… and I can’t do that. Master Alchemist’s don’t work in energy. So those are my limitations, which is why I’m interested to hear what you have to say. What options would someone suffering from a basilisk-inflicted curse have, exactly, if they did not die from it? And what would those options entail?”
On speaking Ilandrian, Alster realized, too late, that his cavalier switch to the stigmatized mother language could end up alienating Nia, a woman raised in wealth as a respected member of the crown’s court of Master Alchemists. He was no stranger to the dynamic; as one navigated through the stratum of Ilandrian society, the disparity between the nobility and the common folk became clear in other ways, aside from the telltale visual signs of status; clothing, jewelry, and ornate palatial estates. Language, while demonstrably different in dialect and usage between class divides in most any developed realm or sovereignty, Ilandria drew the delineation even deeper in the sand, creating an even larger gulf between the citizens and the elite. The kingdom of swords chose to lord their mastery of Common over the poor and uneducated, seemingly flaunting their access to higher knowledge as a weapon as cutting as the swords they wielded. To so unabashedly speak Ilandrian was either to reveal one’s economic inadequacy, or one’s open defiance against the status quo. For all Nia came from the society who denigrated the language, she was not bound to traditions that no longer served her nomadic lifestyle, and seemed tickled by his modest display of Ilandria’s native tongue.
“I’ve spent some time in Ilandria. As a youth, I went on many diplomatic trips with my parents,” he said, failing to mention his exile from the Rigas family, which obligated him to follow the wayward schedule of his father’s travel-heavy vocation. But he seldom minded the frequent sojourns from one place to another. Anything that put physical distance between him and the Serpent dwelling beneath the gilt city by the sea, whispering Its pleas to remove the final lock separating It from freedom. After a few years, Alster developed a rhythm to the random migration patterns of their caravan and even learned to love life as a transient, unbound from rigorous Rigas family demands and obligations (though Debine still required he attend her strict and harsh magic-training lessons). During his forty-odd years of travel, he visited kingdoms newly-hatched, and ones now vanished, either annexed by a neighboring nation or conquered by Mollengard. So, too had he watched the evolution of languages play across the span of decades, marveling at the speed of lexical advancement, or conversely, mourning the death of progress--and with it sometimes, the death of a culture.
Before his reminiscing ran him too far from reality, Alster continued all the while wondering why he felt a sudden desire to engage with a woman who, minutes ago, he’d dismissed as annoying.“Outside of the crown city, there are a few noble families in the countryside who are so far removed from the scrutiny of their city-dwelling peers that they speak it freely, without fear of persecution. You could say my education and experiences in your home kingdom were...a little unorthodox, considering these noble families also cavorted with mages of Stella D’Mare,” he smiled, bright eyes winking conspiratorially. “Historically, we’ve never been on the best of terms with Ilandria. The farther north you travel, the higher the chance that magic and magic-users are treated with the utmost suspicion or contempt. Under the lens of an Ilandrian loyalist, you could say my benefactors were dissidents and traitors for housing Rigases. In actuality, though,” he hunched his shoulders into a shrug, “they were scholars, and scholars in their purest form have no affiliations with any one place, creed, ken, or truth. They seek knowledge for the love of it, and knowledgeable people, too, nevermind their connection to rival states or their status as displaced foreigners. They were also purveyors of fine music, so yes, I have heard Ilandrian sung aloud. I may even know a traditional song or two, but heaven help me if I could sing it well.” He scratched the back of his neck, a nervous little chuckle ringing out his mouth.
“I may be biased, but if you enjoy Ilandrian’s language, the old D’Marian tongue is quite similar; melodic in form and slippery, like the gentle rolling of the sea—and it’s popularly spoken among nobility and commoners alone as a mainstay of our cultural heritage...before Andalari swept through and appropriated our land. We refused to assimilate into Andalarian custom, so even though we obeyed the laws of our new overseers, in secret, we carried on speaking our tongue, and kept it alive. If nothing else, D’Marians are stubborn and don’t take well to change. It would require the will of the gods above to tear out their love of comfort and the comfortable. Look no further than the settlement in Galeyn.” He gestured out the window and beyond, to where the village, a project of his own design, huddled on a terraced hill a short carriage ride away, awash in color and flowers like a Stella D’Mare in miniature. “A D’Marian can’t go anywhere without bringing the vestiges of home. No blending in or integrating for us...oh no, it’s definitely not the D’Marian way. But here I’ve gone and ranted, in turn. Seems like I’m not immune to the draw of nostalgia,” he smiled, not too prideful to admit his enjoyment, however surprising, of their shared appreciation of an underappreciated language and its connection to happier moments of the past. “Elespeth’s been practically my only contact these past few months, and though I love her company most, our interests don’t always align. It’s nothing against her, of course,” he hurried, finding the need to defend her against his truthful statement in case it translated as a tad insulting. “But sometimes I think she bores of my stuffy, pseudo-intellectual ramblings. That is beside the point, though,” he wafted the ‘point’ from the table, hoping it didn’t catch an updraft and soar outside to whisper into his wife’s ears. “Again, my offer for an Illandrian language partner still stands.”
Their lighthearted exchange quickly shifted to a more professional, investigative tone when Alster returned to the table with his acquired book in hand and briefed Nia on the stone-turning properties of the basilisk serpent. “I’m in agreement, Nia. I am certain this creature exists; not because I’ve encountered one, but because...well,” he stared at the steel plates that comprised his prosthetic digits; in some lights, they resembled scales, “intimate involvement with another famed Serpent of legend does make a believer out of me, even if the claims in this book are unsubstantiated. Considering what I’ve seen, serpents that turn people to stone are ranked quite low on the fantastical creature spectrum. Even more so if your alchemical practices give evidence-based credence on its existence. If alchemists are in the business of changing matter, then who is to say this basilisk serpent is mere folly drummed up by a sailor cursed with an overactive imagination? It makes the most sense for this creature to exist. I’m of the persuasion that nothing is impossible until proven impossible; this extends to basilisk serpents, hopeless causes, and unbreakable curses. So even though I’m not an expert curse-breaker,” he corrected, not wanting Nia to consider him a sole authority on such a procedure and hence hinge her hope all on him, “I’ll tell you how I would approach this delicate matter.”
He gazed at the illustration in the book; a sleek, diamond-shaped head split open to reveal impossibly sharp fangs glittering with venom as slick as the two glassy, marble voids for eyes it sported. Alster couldn’t help it; he shuddered at the picture. Assimilating with the Serpent might have made him less of a man and more of an otherworldly beast, but at the end of the day, he was still Alster Rigas, and Alster Rigas did not like snakes.
“First, I would verify if this particular serpent is the cause of the curse. If so, I would ask if they possess anything of the creature at all; shed skin, a fang, an artifact of some sort. Failing that, I would ask for details concerning this creature, including habitat, diet, and anything remembered about the fateful encounter—including how they were saved from a most assured death and why they are afflicted only by partial transformations. Were they aided by other mages? Other alchemists? It would be helpful to understand their process, if possible. Information-gathering is an essential first-step into knowing what to do next. More’s the better if we could, somehow, find a live basilisk serpent to study. It would provide the key to breaking the curse. If none of these answers are possible to obtain, then,” he tucked one hand under his chin, “the next best step would be for me to examine this person from the inside, specifically during one of their partial transformations. That would be the most sensible method by which I could understand what brand of magical malfeasance is afoot. Short of meeting with your friend, I’m afraid there is little I can do from here, Nia,” he said, giving a regrettable shake of the head.
“Though, what you posit gives me some food for thought. What if we could convert the energy into something tangible? Something that a Master Alchemist such as yourself could conceivably treat? Energy conversion, for a mage, isn’t outside my domain, per se. Everything is energy, after all. Matter is energy. Particles are always moving, even from inside an immovable object. The potential for energy lies everywhere within this mundane, ‘stationary’ world. If there’s a chance I can isolate your friend’s curse energy and either siphon it out of their body or transform it into something tangible to cure, then…” he leaned back in his chair, expelling the remaining air of his unfinished thought. “I’m getting ahead of myself, Nia. I can’t even begin to address this problem unless I visit the afflicted person, nor could I project the range of continued survivability—should this curse remain untreated—on guesswork alone. If you are concerned about revealing this person’s identity, then this is all I can provide you in terms of service.” He nodded to the book, its pages still open to the terrifying creature with its soulless eyes and dripping fangs. “Feel free to borrow that book. Show it to your friend, if you think it will help.”
Following her voluntary exploration into her brother’s terrifying mind, Bronwyn, while shaken from the experience, strangely didn’t want to coop up inside her quarters for the rest of her days. Perhaps it was due to the restlessness generated from sleep deprivation (for she hadn’t slept one uninterrupted night since), but Bronwyn, whether temporarily or permanently, felt a newfound purpose grip her chest with hard-to-tame pulses of excitement. She just wasn’t sure what her purpose entailed. Not much had changed for the better. If anything, the revelations she learned from Hadwin and Rowen about her place in the family as Chief’s greatest disappointment should have plunged her into the deepest recesses of despair. And yet...that didn’t happen. Not in full, anyway.
Every day, she willingly left her chambers and willingly paid Hadwin a visit. In a surprising contrast to previous encounters, the bedridden faoladh did not bristle at her arrival, nor did he curse, mock, ridicule, or dismiss her. Instead, he grinned from ear to ear and delivered a teasing greeting or two, full of good-natured flavor, not biting and acrid. At his side, as always, sat Teselin, a near-permanent fixture in the infirmary. She wouldn’t be surprised if she had taken up a bed nearby whenever she deigned to sleep. “Ah, Bron; you’ve right on schedule! I’ve had this terrible itch with your name on it! Y’see, it’s on my bum, right in the crack, and Tes, here...well I’ve traumatized her enough. If you’d be a dear—“
“—Eat shit, Hadwin,” she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m not going anywhere near your stinky bum.”
“C’mon, Bron,” he whined, acting very much like the annoying younger sibling. “I’m in so much pain. Just a wee rub is all I ask. My bum will thank you!”
“What, by letting loose an air biscuit when I oblige your stupid request? I know your tricks. You’ll cackle maniacally and shout, ‘My bad; it looks like you loosened it up in there!’”
“You’re no fun,” he puffed his cheeks, “but you know me well! I’d applaud you on your solid performance, but,” he blew his lips into a sigh, “kind of stuck like this for now.”
Bronwyn pulled up a spare chair and sat down; out of habit, she positioned it on the opposite side of Teselin. “Nothing’s changed?”
“Nah, but I’m holding up. Ask Tes for sure, though. She’s here to monitor my condition and decide for me if I’m well enough to carry-on like this.”
For the first time since she entered the infirmary, she made contact with the summoner. A quizzical eyebrow shot upwards. “Teselin, what does he mean?” Together, she and Hadwin explained how they drafted up a binding document naming, in the event of total cognitive incapacitation, Teselin as sole proprietor over his decision-making. Bronwyn stared at the duo, not certain she understood their reasoning. “...Why?”
“Because I’m a stubborn dolt who doesn’t know when to quit. If it were up to me, I’d hold on to Rowen’s fears for weeks, months...for however long a reprieve I believe she needs. But the longer I endure, the more at-risk I become and I’ve got other promises to keep.” He offered Bronwyn a tilted smile. “Lots of folks relying on me to stay alive and well, and if I’m not mistaken, you’re one of those folks, now. Since you don’t wanna scratch my bum, do me this favor, instead; make sure I don’t go under.”
“I,” she swallowed, “of course. But Hadwin, how long do you think you can last like this? I’m with everyone else when I say,” she hesitated in her statement, fearing she was in effect betraying Rowen. But she didn’t need to finish the thought; Hadwin understood her reservations in speaking the truth aloud. That she preferred his safety over Rowen’s temporary relief.
“Everyone tells me I’ve given it my all; that it didn’t work and I need to return Ro’s fears posthaste. That’s why I’m letting Tes make the call; because, if it were completely up to me, I’d muscle through my discomfort without a care. So if you’d do me another favor, Bron; see how Ro’s doing. I’ll have a little more peace of mind in knowing her status, good or bad.”
Half in compliance to Hadwin’s request, half out of curiosity, Bronwyn set out from the infirmary en route to the Night Garden sanctuary...but she hesitated in her steps. Last time she checked in on Rowen, the surly girl lambasted her without mercy, and although she likely spoke the truth, she was not concerned about sparing Bronwyn the least bit of grief. Ashamed as she was to admit...she didn’t want to go alone.
Asking the palace staff for directions, she traveled to the door in question and tentatively knocked on the frame. To her relief, the correct person answered the summons, looking at her in mild confusion.
“Elespeth, I’m sorry,” she dipped her head in immediate apology. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything. If not...this will sound so forward of me, but Hadwin has asked me to check on Rowen in the sanctuary and,” she shuffled her feet awkwardly, “I would appreciate some additional company. You don’t have to enter the sanctuary with me, but perhaps we could, I don’t know, explore the Night Garden beforehand or go for a run?” She rubbed her worryingly thin arms together, very much conscious of her deflated appearance. “Or partake in a meal? Hadwin said he took you to a tavern and made you sing in front of everyone because you lost a bet; he insists you enjoyed yourself,” she smiled doubtfully. “We don’t have to go there if it’s embarrassing for you, and I definitely wouldn’t dare you to do anything of the sort, but if you’re hungry, I have some money and...I’ve thrown too many options at you at once,” she scratched the back of her neck, self-conscious. “I haven’t even confirmed if you want to come at all. Forgive me.”
Truth be told, it wasn’t difficult to win over someone of the likes of Nia Ardane. Given the circumstances of her rather terrible upbringing (and the far more tragic events that followed her witnessing the death of her family), the last Ardane Alchemist would open wide her good graces to, frankly, anyone with a kind word or kind bearing. Of course, such lack of discrimination of character had not led her down particularly faourable paths in the past, at worst almost getting her killed, so Nia had in fact learned to cull that desire to gravitate toward words, demeanors, and gestures that had the potential to draw her in… to an extent. Unfortunately, it seemed impossible to shake the allure and pull of anything that reminded her of her true home, and happier times. Yes, happy, despite being born into a world where she wasn’t wanted, into a family that hadn’t cared an inch about the pain they inflicted on her sisters and herself, because nothing could take away her memory of her sisters and how happy they’d made her. Nothing could take away the smell of the early morning markets or the sound of people busking their music thereabouts. Or the way the sun set over Ilandrian lees and valleys… Remember all of that, it was difficult to process that she might have had a less than ideal childhood, at all. And despite Ilandria, and what the kingdom had done to her, her family, and every other Master Alchemist off of which it had profited… she’d never stop loving it.
“I do happen to be vaguely familiar with old D’Marian--and I think you’re damn right. Some languages seem just like they were made for music, don’t they? And if I’m not mistaken, Stella D’Mare is no stranger to musical talent. Never been there myself, unfortunately, but my older sister had been from time to time. She’d bring back stories--and songs. A few I still remember to this day, but don’t ask me to sing ‘em; I sound like absolute shit if I try to sing in anything but Ilandrian.” The Master Alchemist chuckled and tucked a tress of hair behind her ear. “But what you say rings true. I know of those handful of nobles who refused to reject their mother tongue. Sadly, we didn’t do business with them, because our family primarily dealt with the crown, and like hell would my mother be seen cavorting with anyone who spoke the language of the peasants. A shame Ilandrians weren’t quite so stubborn as D’Marians in their refusal to yield any part of their culture for the sake of business and development. Although, I guess they knew what they were doing, considering that kingdom’s economy to this day continues to hold stronger than even that of its neighbour, Eyraille. Still a shit price to pay if you ask me, though.”
She had no trouble believing his experiences in fraternizing with the less popular houses of nobility, either. While Ilandria had not been out for the blood of any and all magic users, and never embarked on any crusades to wipe their land entirely clear of magic like its tyrannical neighbours had, it was seldom a magic user could be found within the kingdom of weapons--at least, insofar as anyone using it would use it in secret. Ilandria had never struck any deals with the Eryllian monarchy to hand over any mages found in its vicinity, for the two kingdom, close in proximity as they had been, had never actually been allies; at most, they’d peacefully coexisted, with Ilandria holding its own against blood-hungry Eyraille merely by making its own military presence and prowess known. Even the terrible king Sorde at the time had known better than to try and pick a fight with a kingdom known not only for its unparalleled weapons, but its knowledge in how best to use them. However, its proximity alone to Eyraille, in knowing what that kingdom and its monarchy would do to magic users, was deterrent enough to stay far away. There were always the lone bounty hunters who were happy to deliver a mage straight to Eyraille to be made an example of for a healthy sum of money, and that alone made it difficult to seek out magic users for any reason within the boundaries of Ilandria. Where Master Alchemy came up short in solving problems, those seeking the help of mages were forced to travel for weeks at a time to other kingdoms.
And then, within her own lifetime, so too would they have to travel to seek the help of the handful of elusive Master Alchemists who’d managed to escape before Ilandria could do the same to them as Eyraille had done to its magical denizens. Funny, how bloodlust could be so contagious.
“Eh, don’t take it personally. Ilandria never actually sought to be on the best terms with anyone, beyond being agreeable in commerce.” Nia scoffed and shrugged her shoulders. “Who needs to make friends when you can wave around the threat of fancy swords? No one in their right mind would attack a kingdom with weapons of their caliber, and the people who know how to use ‘em. But I’m glad that your experience in my oh-so-hallowed motherland wasn’t entirely negative. And, of course,” her brown eyes beamed with the smile that lit up her face, “I am always more than happy to weave a little Ilandrian tongue into my day. Consider me up for it any time you want some practice. I mean, provided that doesn’t bug your wife. She already doesn’t have a particularly high opinion of me, and the last thing I need is for her to think I’m encroaching on her territory or anything. I might ‘get around’, but hey, I’m not about interfering in peoples’ sacred unions!” Of course, she was joking, because there was no possible way that Elespeth Rigas would ever think Alster would take interest in someone like Nia Ardane beyond the necessary niceties of harbouring positive interpersonal relations.
As much as she would have loved to wax nostalgic about Ilandria and take Alster up on his offer to converse in Eyraillian, however, she could not forget the reason she had approached him in the first place. And given that she had found him in a mood where he was both willing and able to help--at least a little--she knew better than to waste this precious time. “I mean, why would it be so hard to believe a snake that can turn people to stone exists in the first place? This world has witnessed far stranger things, right? Even if they are rare.” It still eluded her how Ari had come into contact with a basilisk at all, in the first place, but those were details that she would hopefully glean from the Canaveris lord the next time she saw him. He had already confided in her enough to seek her help; it seemed only reasonable that he would also share whatever details he could glean from memory of a traumatizing event that had happened so long ago.
“Mmm, not so sure there are any remnants of the beast, if that is in fact what caused this curse.” The Master Alchemist mused, studying the picture of the deadly serpent on the page. “And I’m not even sure how much is know about the particular one that might have been the cause. I do know, however,” she looked up then, averting her gaze from the illustration to seek Alster’s full attention, “that, at the time, the help of a Master Alchemist was sought. Perhaps they caught the curse early enough that they could do something about it. Obviously, they weren’t able to nullify it entirely, and I have no idea exactly who this Master Alchemist was, or even if they’re still alive… which doesn’t help. Hells, picking their brain would answer a whole slew of questions, wouldn’t it? And I can’t say I know the first thing about finding a live basilisk, let alone capturing it and studying it without, y’know, dying.”
Nia blew air from between her lips and sat back in her chair. It was clear Alster wanted to help; that he was even willing to help, if he could get the information he needed to do so. But how much information was too much information? How much could she tell him before it became too obvious as to whom this cursed person was? Oh, if only Ari could trust a little more! Granted, it was only very recently that he found himself on slightly better terms with the Rigases… but sooner or later, he was going to have to reach out. Rather, she was going to have to reach out and divulge more than he was comfortable confiding if he ever wanted to be free of this curse. “...I really wish I could tell you more. But I’ve got to respect the confidentiality of my client, first and foremost. Not the most helpful, I get that; I’d be saying the same thing as you if someone came to me for help. Literally, I can’t fix a problem unless I can literally touch it. Master Alchemy is completely hands-on… no pun intended.” Her mouth quirked into a shameless little grin at that, but it faded along the edges.
“Anyway… you’re not just humouring me, right? You really think… that a curse could be turned into something tangible? Turn erratic energies into some form of bona fide matter?” He sure as hell had her attention, now, and she leaned across the table again with interest. “I think… this is entirely just a theory, but based on what I could get a read on in terms of this curse, it’s essentially become a part of its host. That’s why I can’t isolate it and why it doesn’t stay in one place: it’s merged with their energy and physiology. So even if it could be turned into something tangible, something I could work with, just ripping it out of them seems like one hell of a dangerous risk. You can’t tear a growth off of someone without the risk of them bleeding out; it just isn’t that simple. But… but, if it is possible to turn that energy into something a little more tangible…” She pressed her lips together and thoughtfully steepled her fingers. “In theory--completely in theory, I could turn it into something that the body might be able to deal with on its own. Like… like a virus. Something a human body is already equipped to fight. Again, I am literally pulling theory out of my ass, here, but… but do you think that would work? From a magical standpoint? ...damn. I’m really getting ahead of myself, aren’t I?”
Pulling away from the table (and out of Alster’s personal bubble), the Master Alchemist puffed a sigh and twisted her mouth thoughtfully to the side as her eyes fell upon the book again. “Even if it is possible, it’d be a huge risk to the subject… not to mention the Master Alchemist. Would probably take days of concentration for that sort of transmutation. I’m not even sure my caliber of Master Alchemy would be up for the job. Now someone like your dear friend Isidor… he has the skills. Anyone who trained under and survived Zenech would have the skills. Though I have a feeling he’d sooner set himself on fire than help me out.”
Closing the book, Nia pulled it toward her and stood up. “Well, nothing to be done about that. I’ve made this my problem, so I suppose I’ve got to figure it out. Sorry for interrupting your reading--I’ll let you get back to it. And thanks for your insight! Definitely food for thought, and I’d love to be able to tell you that I won’t bother you again, but… well, I have a feeling I’m going to need a mage’s advice to sort out this mess. But hey, don’t be shy!” She winked over her shoulder. “I’ll be your Ilandrian conversation partner anytime!”
With the book still clutched to her chest, the Ardane alchemist made a beeline for her chambers, and the resonance stone that had been sitting quietly upon her dresser for several days, now. Much as she’d wanted to hear his voice, distorted though it was through the stone, Nia had resolved not to bother Ari again until she had answers--or something that could lead to answers, at least. “Ari! It’s Nia. Hope I’m not interrupting anything, but I thought you might want to know I’ve been doing some digging and inquiring about your… well, you know. I might have a hypothesis for a possible solution, whenever you’ve got a free moment. Let me know what day or time works for you; I can be there no later than after dark!
Elespeth had known, upon returning to the palace, that she and Alster were not going to be resuming a slow-paced life like they’d had at the farmhouse. On the contrary, he had been summoned back to the palace for work that was specific to his skills and expertise, and as much as it pained her to know she wouldn’t be seeing much of him (at least, not until Hadwin’s problems were solved, which seemed a ways away…), she understood how imperative it was to let him immerse himself in his work. In fact, she knew that despite the sleepless nights that left him with unanswered questions, he had missed putting himself to work and challenging the limits of his knowledge and skills. The former knight had learned early on that although he had been (and still was) committed to bettering his physical strength, physical training was far from her husband’s favourite way to pass the time… and all of the runs and drills and helping her to hone her own inherited magical skills were tasks that had long lost their appeal. Whether or not he cared to admit it, by the time Teselin had summoned him on that desperate night, he had already long since needed a change of pace and scenery. So, here they were--back at the palace, where he felt of use, again, and she… well, she was just there.
Afraid to bother Vega and Haraldur, given that the both of them still had yet to get a full night’s sleep thanks to the twins’ erratic circadian rhythms, she’d refrained from visiting them again unless summoned, and while Briery always kindly welcomed her company, it was painfully obvious how badly Hadwin’s affliction was affecting her. Everyone had their demons, and without a means to help them overcome those spectres, there wasn’t much of a point for the ex-Atvanian knight to be around. So, with the exception of checking in on Hadwin from time to time (now that he remembered who she was), Elespeth had kept to herself, and struggled not to dwell too hard on the less than helpful thoughts that frequently came to mind. Thoughts that had challenged her sense of well-being before; whether she was knight, or a mage, or if even of those things even mattered, because she had already disgraced one part of that identity, and still struggled to master the other half.
Menial tasks kept her company, and kept her mind off of those intrusive musings. When she wasn’t meandering the palace aimlessly, keeping her eyes open for any tricks Locque might have up her sleeve, she passed the time keeping her chambers clean, organizing, and reorganizing. While this abrupt move had benefited Alster, she couldn’t avoid the fact that she had felt a lot less lost dwelling in the farmlands, where her only obligation had been to herself and to Alster. Now… it was difficult not to feel aimless.
When a curious knock came to her door, the former knight paused in making the bed for the third time, deciding that her first two attempts weren’t good enough and having nothing better to do than to get it right. But that task lost its appeal almost immediately at the thought that someone perhaps needed her, or that there might be other matters that needed tending to. However, one of the last people she’d thought she might see was Bronwyn.
“...Bronwyn. Hello.” Elespeth hoped the surprise did not register on her face in a way that would seem off-putting to the skittish faoladh. “You’re not interrupting anything at all! I’ve… literally been wasting time. You saved me from that, so I should thank you.”
She fell silent as she let Bronwyn say her piece, albeit nervously, but not nervous in the way she’d been avoiding Elespeth and all other magic users for so long. She appeared nervous for different reasons; such as coming across as too blunt, or even… for fear of rejection. Admittedly, her request did come as a surprise. When Elespeth had extended a hand and offered to see her whenever she saw fit, she truly hadn’t expected Bronwyn would ever actually take her up on that offer. Yet, here she stood, asking that she accompany her to check on Rowen at the sanctuary…
“Of course I’ll go, Bronwyn.” Elespeth reply came before she could think better of the words, but she didn’t care. Clearly, Bronwyn was uncomfortable facing her younger sister alone, and she had come to her for support. How could she possibly turn her away when she had offered to be there for her, should she need a little support? “Wherever you want--but certainly to check on Rowen. It’s been days since I’ve had any good exercise, and admittedly I haven’t been eating very well since returning to the palace… and if experience has taught me anything, it’s that difficult tasks are that much easier when you don’t have an empty stomach. Give give me a minute.”
Leaving the door open, the ex-Atvanian turned to grab a light spring cloak, and found herself reaching for her sword… but paused, considering who she was with, and where she was going. “...I suppose I don’t have any need for that.” She said out loud, both to reassure herself, as well as Bronwyn. “But… is it alright with you if I hang onto this?” She reached into one of her boots to reveal the hilt of a dagger. “I’ve been paranoid since returning to the palace… for reasons that have nothing to do with you or your sister. I’ve never had to use this in a pinch, but just in case, I’d like to have something on me. Frankly I never know what will arise in Galeyn, next.”
With Bronwyn’s blessing, she slid the dagger back into her boot, and locked the door behind her (for what little it would do if the sorceress decided she wanted access to her room…). “Anyway… I could definitely go for something to eat, though maybe… maybe not at the pub that you mentioned.” A faint flush dusted her cheeks and nose, and she cleared her throat to clear the embarrassment from her voice. “I’m afraid I’d have to be pretty drunk already to walk back into that place with any amount of confidence. Anyway, it was mediocre, at best. How about the two of us take a trip into the village proper and see what else we can find?”
Alster, listening intently to Nia’s hypothesis, gave himself a few moments to allow the idea to register. He bounced it around in his head, wondering of its viability. “Honestly...my thoughts weren’t too far from yours,” he admitted, “but you’ve taken the concept a few steps further. If you suspect the remains of your friend’s curse have coalesced with their body chemistry, then converting it into a virus of a different sort may seem like a possible method in flushing it from their system for good, as one would burn off a particularly bad fever. If we were to refer to this curse as a ‘virus,’ then we’d have to address the fact that the nature of this ‘virus’ is recurring. There’s no perceived end-point, no waiting-out period, no terminus. In this case, perhaps ‘virus’ is not the most accurate term. I’d equate the issue more as a chronic disease for its persistence in appearing and retreating on a month-to-month frequency over the course of, I can only assume--years.”
A squiggle of a smile marked his apologies for the brief tangent. “Pedantics aside, you may be trading one ongoing ‘disease’ for another of equal severity. Your friend may no longer suffer periodic episodes of stone-turning, for example, but might face something just as daunting in its place, something that is even more demanding on the body. Considering our subject is accustomed to their specific malady, it may consume more energy for them to adjust to and combat a more conventional disease, especially if they have to shoulder it for the rest of their life.” He lifted his head towards the vaulted ceiling, tracing its decorative whorls of plaster with his eyes. “If I have your postulations correct, and you choose to transmute their curse into something treatable, this would be an undertaking requiring another Master Alchemist to accomplish. I simply can’t imagine what the strain would do to you, alone. Isidor might resist partnering with you, but I daresay he wouldn’t mind working with me—because you will need a mage to aid you in the transmutation.” To address the seriousness of the matter, he lowered his eyes and caught her earnest gaze. Considering her willingness to place her health and wellness at risk for her anonymous “client” when she had been so forthright about having reservations towards contributing to any sort of dangerous activity spoke volumes for the level of care she harbored for this person. Moreso than Locque, Nia truly wanted to provide, even spearhead, the solution for the not-so-mysterious “they.” Through her determination to eradicate the subject’s persistent symptoms of stress-induced stone petrifaction, she had unintentionally revealed Ari’s identity. Just how deeply had she felt for this man? And would her loyalty eventually supplant her duties and pledged services to Locque?
While Alster’s priorities didn’t quite extend to his former rival, whom he now shared a very tentative alliance, he had promised said former rival’s niece to research a cure for her own specific ails, which strangely paralleled her uncle’s. If helping Ari would in turn help Sylvie, then Alster was about as committed as Nia was in circumventing the new D’Marian leader’s insidious curse. In contributing to the solution, perhaps he would discover, either in person or secondhand by Nia, the details behind how the curse behaved and evolved. Did it extend to other members of the Canaveris family, explaining how Sylvie had become affected with a similar, yet slightly different strand of the curse? Or, did the Canaverises, somehow, house a small menagerie of the basilisk serpents in their keeping? Or, another possibility; Canaveris mages harnessed the power of the serpents, but hadn’t quite perfected the formula. They could cast the basilisk’s curse, but were unable to reverse its effects. It would make sense, then, that the family would be adamant in remaining hush-hush about their illicit experimentations. Ari, in particular, had much to lose; his reputation, his public image, and his platform as a scandal-free candidate, which he lorded over the corrupt and incompetent Rigases. If Alster was feeling particularly vengeful, he could use the information he learned, never mind its speculative nature, and systematically smash the Canaveris name into a broken pile of glass and shame. It would be well within his rights to enact, in retaliation for the pain they had caused him. Alas...Ari was not his enemy. But he most surely would be should Alster decide to run a smear campaign. Not only would he lose Canaveris support, but he stood to alienate Nia, Sylvie, and complicate the tenuous and delicate politics surrounding the factions in Galeyn. Despite his brief run as a leader, Alster never identified as one and would much rather spend his time to heal, not sow discord among alliances.
“There’s too much pure energy to handle without the assistance of someone who can absorb the impact of that energy and divert some of it elsewhere,” he continued, explaining his need for direct involvement in Ari’s case. “A lightning rod, if you will. Perhaps I can also shave off some of the looser, less entrenched bits of their curse and pave the way towards a far less intense, survivable, and curable illness for them to surmount. But before we get too needlessly complex in the planning stage,” he looked to the book sitting in between the, “it’s best if you first try and convince this person to seek a wider berth of help. May this book—and our discussion—direct them to a possible solution to their ails.” Tearing off a small piece of parchment in his journal of research notes, he lodged it in between the pages featuring the basilisk serpent’s fearsome facsimile, closed the tome, and presented it for Nia to take. “In any case, please keep me abreast of the situation. I am very much interested in lending my aid wherever and whenever I can. Failing that,” he positioned his tongue further to the front of his mouth; when he spoke again, it was in the smooth and flowing notes of the Ilandrian language, “I’ll be available for language practice, at your leisure and mine. Take care, Nia.”
Meanwhile, in the D’Marian settlement, Ari was concentrating his efforts to remain relatively unbothered by the news his pebble golems had revealed to him via their psychic link. The minuscule spying devices, strewn about the palace courtesy of Chara and Lilica, occupied almost every public space, the library included. No matter the time of day, the golems never hesitated to inform their master about conversations they deemed relevant—and nothing seemed more relevant than Nia probing Alster Rigas, of all people, for advice regarding Ari and his peculiar curse. While no names had been shared, the perceptive Alster had let on, through subtle hints, that he knew exactly who was being discussed. It was all Ari could do not to contact Nia’s resonance stone in the middle of their conversation. He refrained, but only because she might have interpreted the interruption as suspicious for its too relevant timing. However, when she, following her library visit with Alster, picked up the stone to awaken its partner in a series of glows and buzzes, Ari, exhausted from the excruciating waiting game, made the mistake of answering the call immediately. So as not to sound eager or overly-expectant, he said, “Ah, good afternoon, Nia. Your timing is quite apropos; I was just about to contact you —for I, as a matter of fact, have want of your company, tonight.” He puckered his lips at his forward-sounding statement. “My reasons aren’t entirely leisure-related, I assure you. ...Or warn you. However you choose to define my message. There are a few matters I’d like to discuss with you in person, as well. Shall we make an appointment for this evening, then?” After they settled on an after-supper meet-up (despite Ari’s insistence that she join him for a modest meal at the villa), he set aside his deactivated resonance stone and, though he wasn’t expecting her for a handful of hours, went about preparing for her arrival...mentally. Nia was always a welcome guest at his villa, but in terms of the topic she wished to broach with him, he wasn’t a fond advocate.
On her arrival some hours later, Ari met her outside, boldly extending his gloved hand for her to take as she stepped out of the carriage. When their fingers met, his mouth spread into a gentile smile, neither flustered nor discomforted by the physical contact as was previously the case. “Nia. It is so lovely to see you again,” he released her hand and bowed, the threads of his silken coat gleaming a polished silver in the moonlight overhead. So, too, did his glossy head of raven hair capture the sky in a partial, shadowy reflection. Laz, seldom far from his master, stood a mere arm’s length from the small welcoming procession and glowered at the Master Alchemist in greeting, as per his inclination. “Why, it has been nearly a week; has her Majesty Locque been keeping you busy?”
While he knew the answer, Ari feigned surprise when she briefed him on Hadwin Kavanagh’s fearsight-generated condition, which left him bedridden, immobilized by agonizing headaches, and afflicted, temporarily, by amnesia and vision loss. Alster Rigas, called out of the farmlands, relocated to the palace in response to the emergency and rectified the latter two issues via his magic, but not without the help of everyone who contributed to the faoladh’s partial recovery. “So you were busy, but not in the way you expected,” he mused aloud as they entered through the villa’s front doors, down a short corridor, and into the courtyard. “Why, then, did Majesty Locque insist on your prompt return to the palace, if not to request a need? Ah,” he waved a dismissive hand, “perhaps she desired you near in the event of a crisis—and behold; there was one which required your assistance. Despite our differences, I offer your scoundrel friend prayers for a speedy convalescence. He is in good hands, as it were.”
Before Nia could use the subject to segue into her “hypothesis” and reference the wicked creature lurking in the pages of the book she carried under her arm, Ari guided her down a narrow pathway that branched away from the courtyard and its stone topiary of mythical creatures. “Ah, lest I forget,” the pathway dead-ended to a nondescript door in the wall. Retrieving a brass key from his pocket, he opened the door and they continued through an alleyway running alongside the villa. The alley’s mouth widened out to the view of a miniature quarry, on the edge of which a stout, cobbled hut resided. An inviting lantern, a glowing green crystal in place of a fire, hung from the entrance, acknowledging its architect and guest. Ari half-turned to the hut, but did not yet introduce it, its significance, or their reason for visiting it to Nia. “I’ve a request to ask of you. An esteemed member of my family would like entrance into Galeyn,” he said, deciding against the term ‘mother’ to save them an awkward discussion in which he would have to admit the inevitable change in his and Nia’s dynamic once the indelible Lady Nadira arrived. “She has been abroad in the Fallow Islands to oversee another Canaveris branch of elderly who were unfit to make the long sojourn to Galeyn, but now she would like to reunite with us, the main branch. As we speak, she is lodging in Braighdath, awaiting my word to proceed. With your Majesty’s permission, I want to grant her clearance to traverse safely through the border, as I understand Galeyn is a closed kingdom which thoroughly screens any travelers not on official business with or native to this land. However, seeing as I cannot justify traveling to the palace to bother your lady on such a trivial matter, if you would kindly pass my message along to her ears, I will be much obliged. And as an advance thank you for completing this errand,” he selected another key from his ring and opened the door to the hut, “I have something for you.”
The moment they entered, the vast one-room space, previously dark, blazed to life, its ceiling erupting in a wash of bright, white-beige crystal lights. The majority of the room was populated by hunks of marble and pink quartz, ranging from slabs yet-to-be marked by a chisel, to half-finished busts or nearly-finished figures posed regally on pedestals. Although most of the workshop displayed sculptures in various stages of completion, one corner was reserved for a few easels, pallets, paints, brushes, and canvases with sizes arranged from descending to ascending order. Occupying one easel, a painting in progress awaited discovery. Warm, earthy colors of browns and greens filled the background to depict a room lovingly rendered: a vast window and its long-tassel curtains; an oak-carved vanity and a matching chair, its seat-cushion decorated in flourishes of flower embroidery; a bed fluffed to accentuate the depths of its sinking softness. In the foreground, a woman sat on the edge of the bed in profile, brown-hair trickling down her shoulders to frame a face furrowed deep in thought, one sole eye focused at the window, at a world the viewer couldn’t see from their obscured angle. She cupped the side of her face, fingers tucked and nestled beneath her chin, almost hiding, as though ashamed, the wistful frown pressing on her plush lips. The woman was, undoubtedly, Nia.
“This is...well, it is a prototype, painted from memory,” Ari supplied, clearing his throat in a way he hoped didn’t sound too noticeable. Too nervous. “I’ve used oil pigments, which take well over a fortnight to set and dry, so I have the liberty of changing or reshaping the design as many times as I like. After all, there are bound to be imperfections in my liberal interpretation of your appearance. Now that I have you here, I hoped you would model for me, so that I may actually do your winsome face some justice. Tell me honestly,” he gestured to the subject in the painting. “Have I captured even an ounce of your likeness, or are you confounded by what you see—as though you are scrying into the life of a stranger? I will not take offense by your answer, of that you are assured.”
At Elespeth’s acceptance of the invitation, Bronwyn, who wasn’t aware of how tensely her hands wound together in anticipated rejection, relaxed them as relief replaced anxiety. “Thank you,” she expressed in notes of extreme gratitude. “I know I have no right, asking to put yourself in an awkward position when I’ve been nothing but borderline hostile towards you, so again, I feel I must reiterate; thank you. Rowen is…” she hesitated, at a loss for how to describe her sister in terms that neither undermined nor ignored the damage she caused, “she’s difficult to handle, even at her best. You’re not wrong to equip yourself with a weapon. Whether it’s in defense against my sister or not, I can’t fault you for the caution. It’s been a few days since she began her healing sessions and frankly, I don’t know what to expect. And because I don’t know,” she pulled on the cuffs of her sweater, concealing her arms in preparation for the cooler temperatures outside, “it’s best that I’m properly fed. I’ll need plenty of energy to deal with her. My siblings in a nutshell,” she quirked a sympathetic smile at Elespeth, long-suffering victim of Hadwin’s antics. “They’ll drain you. Except,” her smile faded, “one quite literally drains people...of life.”
Suddenly feeling cold, she hugged her arms as she waited for Elespeth to return with a spring cloak. Together, they traveled to the side entrance, a well-trammeled footpath that meandered to the village’s main thoroughfare. As they neared the settlement, a well-to-do place that serviced palace staff, soldiers, and officials, Bronwyn noticed, from a distance, the tell-tale banners and hastily-erected wood-frames of stalls. By the looks of the gathering crowds of people, the marketplace was in full swing, selling all manner of wares: fresh produce, jewelry, accoutrements, and food. En route to the row of public establishments lined along the street, they skirted a blue and white-striped food vendor, but did not venture far past its inviting facade before a man called out to her. She turned, surprised (who in Galeyn knew her enough to recognize her in a crowd?) but her surprise waned when the man, amid his work behind the booth, poured some batter into a round pan over a simmering flame. The association clicked instantly. “Oh!” She said, glad he wasn’t just hawking for her attention. “You’re the man my brother helped. I’m sorry; I don’t remember your name—“
“The name’s Sai,” the crepe-man replied, smiling ear to ear at the two women. “Your brother kept me afloat during a mad-busy rush; saved my precious hide and then some. I still owe it to him, but he’s never come to collect. So,” he scraped the thin pancake from its pan and expertly flipped it over, “what can I get you ladies? It’s on me. And I won’t take no for an answer,” he winked. “Unless you’ve got a thing against crepes.”
Moments later, Bronwyn and Elespeth departed from the kind vendor, hands full with the fried delicacy, brimming with caramelized onions, mushroom, cheese, and a mouth-watering Night Garden spice-blended sauce. By how quickly she devoured it—in three bites—there was no doubt Bronwyn enjoyed the tasty construction, but her eyes, morose and pensive, told a different story.
“I’m sorry if this seems like it’s coming out of nowhere, but,” she wiped the crepe grease from her hands with a handkerchief, “do you ever feel like...you’re useless? Like you’re surrounded by people who will always best you, overshadow you, and no one will ever recognize your hard work and talent? Not even your…” She clamped her tongue shut. Not even your father…
“No. Forgive me,” she laughed away the observation. “I suppose that’s the curse of being the painfully normal one. I’m the daughter of a famous Chief. The only known faoladh to break the moon curse. My mother cultivated one hell of a reputation and my brother followed in her charismatic, ‘nothing’s impossible,’ footsteps. My sister holds renown in the court of a queen and she,” she mimed a hand to her throat, leaving the action unsaid. “And then...there’s me. The one who benefits from their actions,” she gestured to the crepe vendor, whose kindness towards them hatched only from her brother’s involvement, “or the one who suffers from them.” She clutched a palm to her forehead, reliving the fog of Rowen and Locque’s combined subjugation, which reduced her to a mindless, fawning puppet for several months. “But I am never the one who...creates. Not when I was always encouraged to heed orders and obey. Obey. Never stray…” So why, then, am I the one who was left behind? Why am I always left behind?
“What good is following the rules when everybody cheats? What good is obedience when rebelliousness is rewarded? I...don’t know, but I do know one thing.” She raised her head and pointed to the nearest tavern. “I want a drink. A strong ale. Several tankards’ full. I want to,” Oh won’t Hadwin be proud to hear this! “...get absolutely knackered.”
“Right… you’ve got a point there. Can’t rightly turn it into something that can’t be reversed. No sort of congenital disease or anything. Master Alchemists can’t do much for illness that’s written right into a person’s genes; that would just be swapping one death sentence for another.” Nia puckered her mouth in distaste and leaned her chin on one hand. “I guess… that’s where a mage would have to come in. Shrink it down, make it something manageable, so that I could make it something manageable. Something the body can recover from. And, hey, with the help of the Night Garden, that shouldn’t be a far cry, huh? But, hey, your buddy Isidor was on to something when he healed your wife’s heart. Divvying up the damage to her heart… and you both recovered. That could be done as well, if a suitable donor would be willing to share in a little bit of that pain, enough for both parties to recover. Or if Isidor decides he wants to give up his Alchemist stone.”
She had forgotten that, technically, she probably wasn’t supposed to know about the stone that Isidor Kristeva had embedded directly into the muscle of his arm for safe-keeping (that had been kind of hard to ignore for that brief moment when they’d shared a bed). Alster’s less than approving look confirmed as much--and then some. “Yeah, I know he’s been hiding that damn useful rock. Right in his body, at that, but I assume by now he’s found another hiding place for it because he can’t ignore the fact that I know.” She lifted her hands in a shrug and sat back in her seat. “But let’s face it: Isidor Kristeva is never going to use it. That shit goes right against his self-righteous moral compass or whatever. He couldn’t take from some just to give to someone else. I, on the other hand… I don’t really have a problem with it. After all, isn’t like just a big fucking game of give and take, anyway? C’mon, Alster, you know I’m not going to sit here and pretend like I’m some sort of upstanding citizen. You already know I’m not. I’ve already done a lot of harm, and who knows, I might end up doing more… but in the interim, I want to do right by someone. And if I can make a difference and knock this curse out of their system… who knows? Maybe I’ll even die happy, one day.”
Her smile faded at Alster’s mention of the need for a third party in this endeavour, because as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she knew he was right. A job of this magnitude, shrinking a curse down to a manageable size and then transmuting it into illness… that was something that would take days. At the very least, one sleepless night and then some, at which point not only would Ari be compromised, but so would she. And in the event that it was more than her body could handle, leaving the process unfinished… it could well spell death for him. Maybe even for her. Someone with identical abilities to her would absolutely be a necessity, not only to keep an eye on Ari’s condition as well as hers, but to finish the job if for whatever reason she failed. Even if she went down, closed her eyes and never opened them again… if someone were monitoring the process and could seamlessly pick up where she left off, then it wouldn’t be all for naught. And to her knowledge--to anyone’s knowledge in this kingdom, there was only one other person who’s skills not only compared to her own, but exceeded them.
“I… I dunno, Al. Is and I aren’t really on good terms, as much as I wish we were.” She sighed and shook her head. “Of course, I’d urge you to try and do me a solid by convincing him otherwise, but other than the fact the two of you are tight, I can’t see him wanting to exert any time or energy into helping me. Even if it’s not really me that he’s helping. But… if you’re suggesting that you’re willing to help me, then maybe that scenario isn’t entirely impossible. You mean it?” Her eyes brightened a little and she leaned forward, her hands flat on the table. “You’d help me with this? Because let me tell you, I know there are no shortage of mages around here, but everyone knows you’re a damn powerful one, and one who knows what he’s talking about. If you can help me, if you can convince Isidor to take part in it--and there are a whole bunch of other ifs that I haven’t even touched on--then seriously, name your price. Name your compensation. If it’s gold you want, I’ve got that covered; that’s an easy one. Or anything else within my ability, you can count on me. That’s a promise--and I don’t break promises.”
Taking the proffered book, Nia held it to her chest and grinned. “You don’t need to win me over with Ilandrian tongue, Alster. You’re already one of my favourite people for lending your help,” came her reply in smooth Ilandrian. “I’ll consult with my client. Ultimately, it isn’t up to me what happens… but I’m gonna push for this. I really don’t know what other options they would have, in any case. Regardless,” she shot a glance over her shoulder when she reached the doorway. “I’ll keep you up to date with what’s happening. Thanks again! And I mean what I said. If this happens, and all parties agree--I’m at your disposal in return. I mean, I know there’s nothing I can do that Isidor can’t, but… at the end of the day, all I’ve really got to offer is my usefulness as a Master Alchemist. Gotta make it count for something!”
After contacting Ari posthaste, the earth mage and Master Alchemist arranged to meet that very day after supper. Frankly, she would have preferred to eat with him, but it just so happened that that evening, Locque had conveniently summoned her to the dining hall to partake in a meal with her. It was perhaps the oddest summons she’d ever received from the new Galeynian Queen, and her appetite was never quite piqued around her, so when she’d sat down to a rather grand meal (though Locque touched so little of it), she was ashamed to feel that she didn’t really find any of it appetizing in her employer’s company. “I’ve gotta make a quick sojourn to the D’Marian settlement, tonight. Anything you’d have me do beforehand?” She asked the summoner out of courtesy, picking at her food without really eating it. With only she and Locque sitting around a too-large table, Nia couldn’t help but feel swallowed up by the immense dining hall. “I’ve already checked in on Rowen. She seems to be doing fine; can’t say the same for her brother, but I know he isn’t much of a concern to you.”
“Nia. Do you feel like Galeyn has become a home to you?” Locque’s question was completely unexpected, but by the thoughtful expression on her face, she had been wanting to ask it for a while. “Do you feel at home here?”
“I…” Where did she even begin? It wasn’t a simple yes or no. One moment, she felt perfectly at home, eating at Osric’s pub and letting her guard down for the first time in a decade. But the next, she was ousted from her little safe haven, feeling lost, only to be taken in by the head of the Canaveris state--someone who was decidedly not Galeynian. Someone who, at some point, intended to leave. And… who had asked her to come with him. “I like this little kingdom. It’s quaint; pretty quiet. But I think I’ve come to realize that it’s the people who are truly making me feel at home. ‘Cause that’s what home really is, right? Not the place, but the people.”
“I know it may take time, but when the kingdom has finally seen fit to accept me as at least their partial ruler… I hope that you will stay, Anetania. I hope that the people who make you feel at home will make you want to stay.” She glanced in the Master Alchemist’s direction, who had looked away, hoping she didn’t see the shame in her face. “You haven’t any family left, am I correct? And neither do I. I don’t know whether Rowen will continue to see fit to follow me once the Gardeners are done with her. And I fear… I will admit, I am afraid that now, because you feel safe, you may see fit to leave me, too. I cannot make you stay against your will: that would benefit no one. I know that I hurt you with those apparitions of your sisters in some misguided effort to show you the happiness that you deserve. But when all is said and done… I want you to find fulfillment here as much as I want to find it. Do you think that that is possible, Anetania? Can you be happy, here, serving me for the foreseeable future?”
Thank the gods Rowen was nowhere nearby to see Nia’s treacherous thoughts. A month ago, perhaps her answer would have been different; even a few weeks ago, at that. But now… Ari had asked her to leave with him--and she wanted to. She wanted to leave Galeyn when he did, because it was no longer Galeyn that was her home. It was Ari; the first person since her sisters to make her feel like had a place of belonging. “Hey, I promised to help you with this transition; and that stands. I’m not reneging on my promise, ‘cause I don’t break them!” Nia tried to flash a shaky smile, her appetite completely obliterated at this point. “And yeah, that’ll take time. And I’ll be here for that time. Honestly, Your Majesty, I don’t know what the future holds for me anymore, and once you’ve reconnected with this kingdom, you’ll probably find you won’t have any need for me. But I’m here until then; until you’re comfortable, and you feel as though everything has fallen into place. That was the agreement, yeah?”
Glancing out the window, the darkness of night had long since swallowed the kingdom. The Night Steeds would be operating at their peak energies. “You know I’m here when you need me; so let me do my job in keeping those who have accepted your rulership happy. The D’Marians included. They’ll have no reason not to sing your praises if you’re lending out your Master Alchemist to solve their problems, yeah?” She rose from the table, but not before draining her goblet of wine. Too bad she didn’t have time for a refill. “Don’t you worry, I’ll do you proud! Everything’s gonna fall into place.”
“Do you love him?”
Locque managed to voice the question before Nia was out the door. It froze her on the spot, and she hesitated to answer. There was no need for clarification as to what the Galeynian queen meant. “...I don’t know. I’m not sure I’d really know love if I felt it. Last time I thought I was in love, it almost killed me.” She craned her neck over her shoulder. “What about you? Is that something you’ve experienced, before?”
The sorceress stared down at her untouched plate of food, and answered in earnest. “I thought so, once. But, like you, I don’t really know, anymore.”
Leaving on that decidedly awkward note, Nia felt like she could breathe again when she made for the carriage and found herself being carried away from the palace. What would Locque do when she learned the truth? That Ari had somehow become Nia’s home, and her comfort and belonging was contingent on wherever he happened to be? It had never been her gameplan to work for the sorceress forever… but did she think differently?
That was another problem for another day. As soon as the carriage came to a halt outside of the Canaveris villa, Nia’s attention returned to Ari. Sure enough, stepping onto those familiar grounds, with his familiar presence, it felt as though a blanket of warmth and security had been draped over her shoulders. This was the feeling she’d sought; if only she could bottle it up and hold onto it forever. “Sorry I didn’t contact you sooner. Locque hasn’t been keeping me busy, but Hadwin has. Hooo boy… wait until you hear the mess he’s gotten himself into. And, of course, I got roped into it. Locque… I guess I’m something like a security blanket to her. With Rowen temporarily out of commission, she just wants to know I’m closeby, is all. But don’t worry--she knows where I’m at, tonight, and didn’t put up any sort of a fuss. All is well and stable at the palace--as stable as it can be, at least.”
Nia explained the faoladh’s condition, and everything an entire team of people had gone through to try and stabilize him as they made their way to… well, wherever it was Ari wanted to take her. Obviously he had something in mind that he wanted to show her, but what could be of more importance than the reason for her visit in the first place? “Speaking of stability and all that…” She was about to take the book out from under her arm, when Ari led her to a tiny hut that she had not seen before, and abruptly changed to subject to something else that was evidently on his mind. In fact, the request came as such a surprise that she forgot about the book she was holding entirely. “More family coming our way? Sure thing, Ari; don’t spare it another thought. If it’s family wishing to reunite with you in your new D’Marian settlement, then I doubt it’ll be a problem, since D’Marians are already welcome here. Consider it done! I’ll be on it as soon as I return to the palace. Oh--but funny you should mention the Fallow Islands…”
Once again, she attempted to introduce the book and her hypothesis that she’d collectively formed with Alster; and once again, Lord Canaveris expertly managed to dodge the topic entirely. “Hey, you don’t owe me anything, Ari. It’s my job to maintain smooth and seamless relations between your settlement and the palace proper.” Nia reminded him, angling her head in mild confusion. “Though I’ll admit, I’m kind of eager to see whatever it is you’ve got hidden in this neat little hut of yours.”
The Master Alchemist had wondered exactly where the magic of Ari’s art took place--and now she knew. The subtle smell of stone and the more noticeable smell of paint alerted her right away that this was, in fact, his workshop. Where he had slaved away on those ill-fated sculptures of Chara Rigas, and now… where a different woman now graced his easel. One that made Nia think, for a brief moment, that she might be looking in a mirror.
Gingerly, she placed the book she’d been holding onto the floor next to her, before she could accidentally drop it in shock. “You… did this?” A rhetorical question, but she wasn’t looking for confirmation as to whom had produced this work of art: she wanted to know why. For moments afterwards, Nia stood, speechless, staring at the perfect likeness of her own profile. Looking at the version of her that must have existed in some other dimension, entirely, because it couldn’t rightly be the leather-clad woman with scuffed riding boots who somehow bore this ethereal being’s appearance. “But… why? I mean, I know you’d mentioned before you wanted to paint me, but… but I don’t understand.”
Suddenly worried she’d offended him, the Master Alchemist turned to face Ari and put her hands up. “I’m sorry--I fucked this up. This isn’t the reaction you wanted. I can try to explain; it’s beautiful, honest to goodness. I can’t believe you did that from memory! I just… I don’t know why it’s me. You could pain anyone, but you decided to paint me… and I don’t understand.”
Taking a breath, she walked up to the painting, taking a closer look at the brush strokes that were all shaped with such care. Ari really was something of an art prodigy… “When I was still a kid, practicing rudimentary alchemy, I was working with rocks a lot. And it just so happened that beyond our property line, near a river, the rocks were laden with pyrite. It was shiny and I was attracted to everything glittery, so of course I made it a personal project to use it to craft something for my sister’s birthday. I was only about six or so, and didn’t have too much in the way of skills yet, but I did manage to use it to turn an old tea cup from cracked porcelain to shiny, burnished fool’s gold. I was going to give it to Celene for her 10th’s birthday; I was so damn proud of it, and I thought she would love it.” She could help but smile at the memory, bittersweet though it was. “I made the mistake of showing my mother before I could ever give it to my sister. True to her nature, she turned it to literal dust in front of me, all disapproving, and said, You’ve accomplished nothing but wasting your time and skills. Why polish pyrite when you could have polished gold?”
Turning away from the painting, Nia stepped toward Ari and took his gloved hands in her own. “It’s beautiful, Ari. It’s surreal to me, because I can’t imagine I could be anything close to that woman in your painting. And I can’t help but wonder, why not paint someone with more worth? Like your beautiful young niece, for instance? My mom was a bitch; but she was right.” She smiled, and while it was genuine, it was also guilty. The smile of someone who felt completely and utterly undeserving of what was before them. “Why make something that isn’t even semi-precious the subject of your art when you’re surrounded by actual jewels?”
“Think nothing of it, Bronwyn. I had a sister and three brothers, and I was stuck in the middle of all of them; I know firsthand how draining siblings can be.” Elespeth reassured her, surprising herself with how easily she was able to refer to her family in the past tense. That ache that resonated from the hole in her heart was still there… but it was less noticeable when she wasn’t alone. “Consider this my own apology for frightening you in the first place. I’m happy to help.”
Following the faoladh woman out, Bronwyn wasn’t the only one to take note of the market that seemed to be in full swing. A year already in Galeyn, and to think, this was the first time that Elespeth had ever come across it. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she had so much as leisurely passed through a market square. To her surprise, it didn’t seem to be Bronwyn’s first time perusing the stalls, considering one of the vendors seemed to know her name. “Are you more well-known here than you’re letting on?” She teased Bronwyn, as a man called her by her first name. “Honestly, this looks better than the food in any pub I’ve yet seen in Galeyn. If you’re hungry, you’d be better off filling your belly here.”
Bronwyn didn’t need any convincing, and Elespeth wasn’t going to deny the man his kind gesture. As amazing as it tasted, the savoury flavours all uniting in some blissful, delicious marriage, she wasn’t nearly as hungry as Bronwyn, who had eaten her entire crepe in the span of about five footfalls. “Hey--maybe you need another.” The former knight suggested, as concerned as she was impressed by Bronwyn’s appetite. “When was the last time you’ve had an appetite? I know the feeling of wanting to be hungry but just not getting there. And we’re in no rush, hm?”
The only thing that surprised Elespeth more than Bronwyn’s appetite was her question. Temporarily stunned, the former knight parsed the words through her mind, wondering what to say, what Bronwyn wanted. Someone who could relate? Validation? Did she just mean to vent? “I’ve felt that way; I did for a long time. Both long before and even after I met Alster, I struggled with coming to terms with just who I was.” She confided quietly, as if afraid her husband might hear her, and take it to heart. “I was sentenced to death by my own family for defending my virtue against an aristocrat who had a reputation of wanting to have his way with women. I was supposed to protect him on a trip, and… at some point, I decided not to, because I was tired of the harassment. He died; and then Atvany wanted my head for it. So I ran, and I didn’t stop running until I found Alster. Even then, I’ve been torn between adhering to my moral code as a knight, and rejecting that identity entirely. And when I inherited some of Alster’s magic…” She exhaled softly, looking at her hands. “It got worse. I want to say it’s gotten better; it has, but if I’m being honest, Bronwyn, I don’t know where my own identity lies anymore. Am I a knight? A mage? Does it even matter? I’m sorry; I don’t mean to make this about me.”
The former Atvanian turned her attention to the conflicted faoladh woman and offered a reassuring smile. “You know, the one good thing that came from knowing you brother was that he made it painfully clear to me the world isn’t so black and white. Good people can get nothing, while the wicked can profit. It isn’t fair, because life isn’t about being fair. It just… is. Come what may. And I guess… all that we can do is adapt, and move with the tide. And to be prepared for absolutely everything, because nothing is what it seems.”
While the concerned friend in Elespeth wanted to dissuade Bronwyn from her sudden decision to get soused before they ventured to check in on Rowen, the realistic part of her understood the necessity of it, however poor a decision it might have been. Bronwyn had reached a breaking point, of sorts, and there was no going up until she went a little further down. The best that Elespeth could do for her now was keep a close eye on her and make sure she understood her limits. “Every time I think that getting drunk is a good idea, I’m usually sorely mistaken; last time, it landed me in a position where I had to sing in front of a crowd.” She cringed at the memory and sighed. “But that’s something you have to experience for yourself before you can come to believe it. Come on.” She rested a hand on Bronwyn’s shoulders and motioned forward. “I think we’ll find you a drink or several just a few blocks away.”
Sculpting, Ari’s premiere skill and his preferred medium as an artist, was also, by virtue of its heavyset, resource-heavy nature, a long and involved process. While he would have preferred to venture into the quarry and carve out a prime cut of marble for Nia’s canvas, he worried that choosing the chisel instead of the brush would translate, not as a romantic gesture, but one borne of obsession comparable to the busts of Chara Rigas he’d mass-produced in a manner of months. So as not to seem overeager, overzealous, or unhealthily preoccupied with his and Nia’s burgeoning relationship (and risk scaring her away), Ari selected a modest project to paint at his leisure. Not keen on revealing the clumsy rendition of her esprit, the hidden reaches of her soul, which, to him, were alight and displayed in her eyes, he’d only decided to unveil the painting a few hours ago--as a partial distraction, shamefully. Though he had intended to gift her with art eventually, he wondered if he acted in haste. Judging by her visceral reaction to the doppelganger sporting her clothes and flesh, he’d succeeded in eliciting her full attention, but it was the type of attention which confirmed his suspicions. He recalled their last conversation, following their failed tryst in the guest-chamber a week ago; she had disclosed to him her feelings of inadequacy, including her reservations towards positive attribution. She truly believed herself unworthy of gifts, praise, and even love, citing her childhood misgivings as the root cause. The confession saddened him then, and it saddened him now when she reiterated the point. It was the last thing she wanted, but Ari found it impossible not to pity the Master Alchemist and her deeply-ingrained self-doubt.
“Nia,” he cradled her hands with a care that only an artist who handled delicate objects could achieve, “I’ve lived the entirety of my life surrounded by jewels; after a while, the shine loses its meaning. It’s not their price that interests me, anyhow, but their properties.” He turned his head to reference the hunks of stone congregating behind them like silent sentinels, waiting to receive their breath of life. “Lest you forget, I am both an earth mage and a sculptor. All materials of the earth, precious or semi-precious, are important to me and my work. Gems and jewels have their place, for certain--as symbols of wealth and status--but in serving this superficial function, they are useless. A garnish on a dinner-plate to tantalize the appetite--but scarcely more. Tell me, which has more worth: an earthenware teapot crafted by an acclaimed master artisan, or a gold-plated teapot cobbled together from unprofessional hands, that can nary pour a steady stream of boiled water from its spout? To a buyer who desires to brew a quality cup of tea, the answer is obvious. Though I regret to speak ill of your mother, I am afraid she is wrong in this particular instance--and in other instances, I daresay. Why have a gold pot, when you could have a good pot?” He removed one hand from her grip to trace his fingers against the structure of her high cheekbones, committing the shape to memory, imagining its contours hidden within a cut of marble, ready to be coaxed into a form most befitting and beguiling. He scanned her eyes, searching for understanding. “I desire a good pot. A strong and sturdy pot, conceived of and produced by a beautiful and loving soul. That, to me, is truly what is most precious.”
He broke his gaze to regard the portrait, cocking his head to analyze it in the lens of his subject, searching for any signs that Nia could construe as unflattering and grotesque. “Make no mistake, Nia. Your visage graces my canvas because I wanted it there--and you cannot convince me of erring, or of making an incalculable misjudgment. I assure you; time conceiving this painting was time well-spent. But if my labors are not what belongs among your list of concerns, then,” his voice lowered to a pensive whisper, “...are you unhappy or dissatisfied by my...interest in you?” Ari withdrew his questing fingers from her cheeks; at the same time, he respectfully pulled his opposite hand from her own. “Do let me know if I am overstepping my boundaries. I realize that I should have asked for permission to paint you beforehand. If this brings you discomfort,” he gestured to the paint-strokes comprising the picture of a woman exposed, in emotional resonance, “I shall paint over this piece and none the world will ever know of its existence. No harm done. In retrospect, I suppose I should have gauged your interest via inquiry rather than assume you would derive enjoyment from encountering your twin, as it were. No,” he tugged on a tight, concealing smile, “not everyone takes pleasure in being gifted a surprise portraiture. My sincerest apologies, Nia. We do not have to remain here. If…” folds of uncertainty overtook his finely-tailored smile, exposing frayed, hidden ends, “if I am too much for you—if this is too much—please inform me, and I shall readjust to your liking. I do not wish to cause you any malaise. That said,” he rounded to the door, his steps too practiced to give in to the subtle wilt of his shoulders, “I expect we are in need of some libations. To rectify my faux pas, you are free to imbibe on whatever is on display in the parlor. We needn’t speak of this moment again if it so suits you.”
As he swung open the door, he waited for Nia, who nearly forgot the book she lowered to the floor. Nearly. Sweeping the heavy tome from its temporary spot, she joined him at the threshold where he, scrubbing together his host best, led her back out into the cool night air. When he locked the door to his workshop, the lambent lights from inside guttered out as though from a fierce gust of wind, plunging the two of them into relative darkness...but not for long. One hand uncurled to reveal a glowing stone, its shade and hue similar to the faint lantern shining overhead. “Well, shall we?” A short moment of backtracking later, they arrived at the villa proper and slipped inside, wending through the empty corridors to the parlor. “Make yourself comfortable,” he pointed to the chaise in the center of the room whilst he approached the shelves of glass decanters and their splashes of bright, enticing colors that flashed amber, caramel, and crimson under the ambient light. “What would you like? No request is unreasonable. I shall gladly accommodate whatever you need.” He poured himself a generous helping of the amber beverage, both in anticipation for the inevitable mention of the book’s contents and to soothe the humiliation of sharing a very private piece of artwork with the woman of his affections, fully knowing she was unable to appreciate it—because she was unable to appreciate herself.
Once he poured and arranged her beverage of choice, for once not expounding on the drink’s origins, flavors, or year of its creation, he joined Nia on the chaise and handed her the crystal goblet. “May I ask what brings you here tonight?” he prompted, knowing the subject would arise sooner or later. With drink in hand, he was better prepared, at least. Bringing the welcoming liquor to his lips, he sampled a sip, relishing the smoky flavors of chestnut and anise. “Does it have something to do with the book you possess?”
Bronwyn, about to scrap the subject altogether (as she was far too sober to delve further into the fundamental wrongness of the world), stopped mid-stride to invite Elespeth’s opinion. She was not wrong in believing the ex-knight would understand her plight. Despite the constant comparisons of personality between them, stated by Hadwin and whoever else rallied behind his opinion, Bronwyn was not made unaware of the glimpses of goodness in Elespeth’s green gaze. She, a woman of honor, had also strived to do right, and it took no seer to divine that she suffered and struggled with the concept of moral justness for years. Her tale of willful negligence amid the company of a corrupt and chauvinistic nobleman provided all the confirmation Bronwyn needed to prove her postulations correct. If anyone was best equipped to understand the gross mishandling of justice, it was Elespeth.
“I can’t say I’m faring much better,” she said, offering the Rigas woman a lopsided, sympathetic smile. “For the longest time, I never questioned who I was or where I belonged. I was Bronwyn Kavanagh of Clan Kavanagh, proud daughter of a chief. But I lost my homeland, and my clan, and for the past two years, I deluded myself into believing neither was true. Home is where my clan resides, and my clan, my father, they're eagerly awaiting my return, whether with or without Rowen. That is the lie I fed myself, but,” she scrunched up the handkerchief into a wrinkled-up ball, “I’m realizing now that I never was important to the clan, or to my father. I am disposable. Useless. My only merit is in recovering my sister, who my father deems more desirable, more important. So much so, he’d have little compunction if he traded one daughter for another. Hells,” she gave an exasperated half-grunt, half-laugh, “he actually preferred Hadwin over me! I saw it in his memories. Chief saw the potential in the family fuck up and...I don’t know, but that knowledge hurts a lot.”
To punt aside the hurt, which vised around her heart with every increasingly iron-leaden step, she fixated on Elespeth’s revealed history as a distraction, unable, as she was, to discuss her problems any further unless properly sloshed.
“I remember you referenced the disconnect between yourself and your family name. You still feel this way? No, of course you do; that was a stupid question,” she nodded, tucking some loose curls behind her ears. “It’s not something that just goes away just because you married into another family. Even moreso when you never truly reconciled with your birth family. But...isn’t it alright to just...be? To do the best you can? If you—if we—really want to follow my brother’s advice to the letter, then the answer to your question is pretty clear: it doesn’t matter. Nothing bloody matters.” She spat the last bit with more venom than she intended, but having reached the summit of well-behaved, well-tailored politesse, exhausted her threshold of apologies and shrugged away the careworn carapace. “So let’s do it his way, then.” Hastily stuffing the soiled handkerchief in her pocket, she cracked her knuckles and overcame Elespeth’s lead in locating a tavern appropriate for her misadventure in day drinking. A stout building at the end of the thoroughfare announced a welcome atmosphere for patrons looking for a pint of ale and a hearty meal. The distinct odors of stewed potatoes and yeast snaked through the cracks of the brightly-colored door-frame and slithered invitingly into her nose. “This is the place.” The bell overhead chimed as she waltzed into the establishment and chose a stool at the front of the bar. Considering the time of day and the attentions of the villagers focused outdoors, milling about the market’s bustling atmosphere, the tavern served only a few patrons, and they were scattered so far apart from each other, it might as well have been empty. The proprietor approached from the kitchens, tilting a curious head at the two women who awaited service.
“What can I get you, ladies?”
“An ale. No, two. Actually, just keep them coming.” She gestured to her companion. “Would you like anything? It’s on me.”
“Whoa, there,” the proprietor said, holding his hand out as though to calm a particularly spirited horse from bucking at its handler. “Why the rush? Bad day?”
“A bad few months,” she muttered, but didn’t adhere to the general quietude of her environment before slamming one hand on the counter. “So get me started. Set me up.”
Her desperation took the proprietor aback. He first looked to Elespeth, the responsible party of the duo, then back to Bronwyn, noting her minuscule weight and boney arms. “May I also interest you in a meal, ma’am?”
“No!” she exclaimed, a pop of an outburst not typically observed in the reserved, self-repressed Bronwyn. “I want ale. Don’t you know who I am?” She leaned over the counter, catching his gaze with her dark amber eyes. Noting the resemblance, the proprietor paled slightly.
“Are you by chance related to—“
“That’s right!” And in true Hadwin fashion, she showed him a row of pinioned teeth. “I’m Bronwyn Kavanaugh, and I can hold my liquor just as well as my brother can, thank you very much! So I’ll ask again; an ale. Keep them coming. And don’t hold back!”
But the proprietor was holding something; his head. “Oh gods; there are two of them?” Clearing his throat, he hesitated in pulling a clean tankard from the shelf and filling it full of the frothy beverage. “I’ll give you a pass, Kavanagh,” he sputtered the name like a curse. “Your brother was banned from this place, so,” he nodded to Elespeth, “keep yourselves out of trouble and we won’t have any trouble. Can you do that?”
“It figures I choose the tavern he got banned from as my debut drinking spot!” Bronwyn laughed, a raw, unpracticed sound gurgling from her throat. She accepted the tankard and squeezed the bitter concoction into her mouth. She never enjoyed the taste, or the taste of any of its alcoholic contemporaries, for that matter, but she was no beginner drinker. Chief allowed the clan to partake in ale on occasion, mostly as a nod to the departed Fiona, who was rarely, if ever, sober. “You don’t have to worry,” an air of solemnity overtook her subsiding laughter. Much as she preferred to throw caution to the winds and act however she liked, she hadn’t wanted to alarm either the proprietor or Elespeth. The latter was nice enough to join Bronwyn on her errand (and lengthy detour), and she wasn’t keen on ruining the relationship a second time, as her second chance would likely be the last. “I’m not like him. But I thought I’d try it out, just for a bit. To see what it’s like to...let go. If I get rowdy, you’re free to oust me. But with your permission, can I...act like a drunken fool if it’s harmless?”
It was almost pathetic, to seek the approval of the tavern’s owner so she could act out and unwind. Asking for the honor all but guaranteed her failure in the endeavor. It wasn’t in her nature to inconvenience anyone, but damn it all if she denied herself much-needed release.
The proprietor, bewildered by her request, drew his eyebrows into furrows of suspicion. “No funny business. You’re responsible for her,” he thumbed over to Elespeth, who agreed to take on the burden.
“Wonderful.” She chugged the contents of her ale in seconds and ordered a refill. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to Elespeth over the rim of her second ale. “That was a little reckless of me. If this isn’t what you had in mind for today’s outing activity, I’d understand it if you didn’t want to stay. It’s not your duty to babysit me, and I never meant for you to do anything of the sort.” She gulped down half of the second tankard’s contents. “You’re free to go if you’d like.”
As expected, the warrior refused to leave Bronwyn in such a state and pledged to see through her companion’s poor choices. Despite her devastating loss of country, family, and knighthood, Elespeth was still possessed of an unwavering loyalty towards her charges. As a faoladh removed from the supportive influences of her clan, Bronwyn regarded the other woman’s determination towards togetherness quite...warming. And nostalgic. “Suit yourself,” she said, guzzling the second tankard down to the dregs. She felt a wash of fuzzy numbness reach her head, a detail that both disturbed and alarmed her. To reach the first level of intoxication so quickly...she really needed to put on weight. “But I must warn you, I can’t be held responsible for what I might do once I’m sufficiently tanked! It won’t be a pretty sight at all.”
But the ‘warning’ turned out to be a false one. After two more tankards of ale, Bronwyn, soundly drunk, did not perk up with energy, jump to her feet, rile the four people present in the bar aside from herself and Elespeth, and certainly did not exude any of Hadwin’s ‘endearing’ traits of rowdiness and verve. Instead, she stared ahead, arms adhered to the countertop, eyes unfocused on a smudge rubbed into the wall. Blinking out of her fugue, she lowered her head to the tankard gripped in her hands. How many had she consumed? Four? Five? She lost track of the number and the time, but in place of her qualitative losses, she gained a quantitative look into her current state of being--and found she disliked her so-called uninhibited counterpart about as much as her sober-self.
“How depressing,” she blew out a wispy sigh. “And disappointing. Stripped of my restraints, I’m not the life of the party, but I’m even more morose and pathetic...if possible. Hadwin’s right. I’m profoundly dull. Lackluster and plain. The whole core of me--unremarkable. No amount of alcohol can fix it. No wonder why,” unbidden, pools of tears gathered in her eyes, “my own father hates me. And Rowen. And my mother… I’ve tried so hard. Tried to earn their love. And maybe trying at all is my problem. I mean, look at me,” she laughed amid her tears, “trying so hard to stop trying and to start being. And drinking in hopes that the ale would unveil something more likeable and admirable beneath the surface. But there’s nothing...nothing interesting. It’s just me. Just...me.” She didn’t bother to wipe the tears that rolled down her chin and splattered into the empty tankard, adding salt to the bitter remains. “I’m sorry, Elespeth. It must be awkward for you, watching a near-stranger melt into a puddle of self-pity…”
It was so difficult to reject patterns of thinking that one had been raised on. Mind you, there were many “truths” throughout the Ardane household that Nia, as a child, had chosen not to endorse, simply for the fact that she had always been treated as some extraneous growth on the family, and never truly part of it. That is, not until she had literally been the last child standing: it was difficult for Felyse to ignore that last hope of her family’s legacy. Yet even then, Anetania Ardane had been the naught but the final contingency plan when all else had failed, and that brief moment in the spotlight had been painfully short-lived when the end of the Ardane family and the Master Alchemists of Ilandria had become imminent shortly after. What Nia had been left with was only fear, doubt, and a fierce determination to live on in honour of those dear to her who hadn’t. For Palla… for Celene. But never in her childhood, in her adolescence, or even in her adulthood had she ever considered herself anything more than lucky. Lucky to be alive, lucky to be thriving, to an extent. And lucky that someone as kind as Ari would see fit to show her the sort of civility she wasn’t sure she really deserved.
Truth be told, Nia had, at first, assumed that the Canaveris lord’s kindness had been out of fear of her employer. That he’d offered her food and wine and unlimited access to his home because he feared the consequences of coming across as inhospitable. And even after the fact, when he had insisted she stay and rest and recover under his watch, she’d assumed it had been out of a sense of duty, considering she had gotten injured on his premises. But this… the painting before her, she could draw no such conclusions as to its existence. It was neither out of fear of Locque nor out of a sense of obligation that he had interpreted her likeness in brilliant oils. This… Ari had done this because he had wanted to, and it twisted Nia’s heart and mind into such confusion that she hardly knew how to respond. What had he to gain from this? He was already well into her good graces, and she had already committed to helping lift his curse. There was no other explanation that what he himself described: that he had wanted her face to grace this canvas. And he had wanted to be the one to bring it all to life, for no other reason than because, somehow… somehow, he saw her as being worthy of the subject to his art.
And, really… who was she to say he was wrong? To tell him he’d have been better off rendering someone else’s portrait? Just because she had been raised to believe otherwise did not mean that Nia did not hear his words when he ventured to explain. Certainly, he had an appreciation for the aesthetic of precious gems, but if beautiful was all they were, then it did stand to reason that they would eventually lose their appeal. Perhaps it was that she was a breath of fresh air for him, a divergent in the sea of aristocrats that surrounded him. Or maybe… maybe, it was something more?
“I… guess I’ve never thought of it like that.” Nia admitted after hearing him out. She flushed faintly when his fingers grazed her face; to think, he’d once been afraid of dancing with her, and now he sought contact of his own accord. She was proud of him; and hopelessly flattered. “I mean… all things considered, gold is pretty soft, and would make pretty shitty drinkware, huh? And hey--no need to apologize. Felyse is dead; not like she can contest anything that people say about her now. You can bet I am the number one advocate for the fact that the matriarch of the Ardane family was a solid bitch.”
The Master Alchemist chuckled, but the small levity wasn’t enough to change the mood that had descended on the quaint workshop. Ari, the prodigious artist of the Canaveris family, had just proudly shown her something that into which he had undoubtedly invested a lot of time, love, and care. She didn’t dare ask how long it had taken him to render this glaringly accurate portrait; but whether it had taken him the entirety of her week away, or just an afternoon, did not matter. What mattered was that he had painted something for her, something he’d hoped that she would love, and it was clear that he now interpreted her confusion as a rejection of all of his hard work. Damnit, Nia! How do you always manage to fuck these things up?
“You know… if Felyse were here, she’d turn her nose up at this painting. Not because it isn’t fucking astounding--but because it’s me. She’d tell you worse than I just did that you’d wasted your time. She’d probably be furious that anyone saw me as anything but a waste of time and space. If for no other reason than that…” Nia turned back to the painting, feeling in awe all over again when she beheld the features, the hair, the eyes… even the posture was entirely hers. It had never occurred to her that Ari had ever paid such close attention to both her appearance and mannerisms that he would get it so… right. “I love it. I love everything about it. The colours, the lighting… you actually make me feel pretty, Ari. I honestly didn’t realize that this is how I looked, to you. I didn’t think I could look like this to anyone.”
Pulling her eyes away from the work of art, she leveled them on the artist, and very quickly shouldered guilt for ever making him second guess what he’d done. “Nah, Ari. Your interest in me has never been a ‘concern’. If anything, I’ve worried I’m the one who’s just ‘too much’. Pushing you so far out of your comfort zones so often and all… but if I’m being honest, I don’t really want to lose what I’ve got with you. I’m not particularly talented, so the best I can do is help you in whatever way I can. That said, I do recognize others ways that people show appreciation, and you… well, you paint pictures, it seems. So no--I do hope you won’t paint over it. I already gave you permission, once, to translate my likeness into your art. It’s beautiful.” She reached out to touch his arm and smiled apologetically. “You open me up to new perspectives. You’ll just have to be a little patient with me while I wrap my head around them--but please don’t take any of it personally. I mean, I didn’t exactly have a conventional upbringing… or a conventional family, for that matter. But,” her smile widened, “you know me well enough to know that I won’t turn down a good drink when it’s offered. So I’m gonna hold you to that one. Lead the way!”
Nia followed Ari, only pausing briefly to ask him to wait while she retraced her steps to pick up the heavy book she’d set upon the floor, tucking it safely under her arm. She couldn’t well forget about the initial reason for her visit! Soon enough, guided by the light emanating from the earth mage’s palm, they’d made their way from the cool night air back inside Ari’s villa. It was lit warmly on the inside, just as it always was, with a fire going against--perhaps deliberate--earth tones surrounding the room. But Nia didn’t have to be convinced to make herself comfortable. “You know I’m not fussy, Ari. Whatever you are drinking, I’ll take one of those, as well!”Taking a seat on the chaise, she crossed one leg over the other and accepted the heady amber beverage from Ari’s hand. “So, I take it this is something I probably shouldn’t knock back too quickly? I’ve noticed my tendency to drink for the effects rather than for the beverage itself rather appalls you.” She chuckled, and purposely took a small, careful sip of the beverage once it was in her hand. “But--yes. The reason I’m here in the first place… well, let me preface this with the fact I’ve been doing a little bit of research on your behalf. As promised.”
Nia leaned forward to place her beverage on a table in front of the chaise, freeing up her hands to thumb through the book, all the way to the page that she had saved with a hair ribbon tucked against the inner spine. The illustration of the basilisk stared up at them with cold eyes. “So, like I told you, I had to do a little reaching out since curses aren’t really my thing. And I did… and I know you’re not going to like this, but I happen to consult Alster Rigas on the matter. Don’t worry--I didn’t drop your name! Didn’t even hint at it, not even once. If you ask me, I doubt he suspects you at all.” She felt compelled to mention as much when he visibly paled at the fact she had approached Alster, of all people. “Anyway… there’s some good news, and some bad news for this. Normally I’m one for getting the bad news over and done with, but it wouldn’t make any sense without the good news, so I’ll have to go with that first. The good news is after a little brainstorming, based on the details I gave Alster, we might have come up with a hypothetical process to rid you of this curse. So… there you have it. That’s the good news: a hypothesis. The bad news is that hypothesis might be worth shit depending on how you were exposed to this curse. To Alster, this seems like something akin to what someone might suffer if they came face to face with a basilisk and survived. So before I bother to get into any details, I’d need you to come forth with more details about how you were afflicted in the first place. If your curse isn’t basilisk inflicted, then it might well be back to the drawing board. Furthermore…”
Nia sighed, puffing her cheeks full of air and setting the book between them. “I guess there’s more bad news. Well, not so much bad as just tedious as fuck. Thing is, I can’t do this alone--not by a long shot. In fact, I can’t even do this with the help of a single mage--which is definitely necessary. No, this would, in fact, require the work and cooperation of two Master Alchemists. Because if my hypothesis works out the way I think it will, then the process could, in fact, take days. Days of me exerting myself, and without a failsafe to keep an eye on me and you during the process, it could be dangerous for the both of us. I mean… it would be dangerous, regardless, for both of us, considering I don’t think that this has been done before. But, ideally--and I do mean ideally… we would have Alster and Isidor Kristeva in on this. Honestly, I can’t think of a mage more qualified than Alster, and there isn’t any other Master Alchemist around here but Isidor. But, honestly, I’m just talking out of my ass here before even knowing the details of how you got to be the way you are in the first place.”
Letting out a long breath, and then taking another, more calming one, Nia reached for her drink and took a thoughtful sip. That was a lot of information--perhaps too much for Ari to properly process, and she hadn’t even gotten to the part where she would have to make him ill to dispel the curse, in the first place. “So, before we get ahead of ourselves… what can you tell me about how you acquired this curse? I’ll be honest, I was kinda going off on a limb with the basilisk since they’re native to the Fallow Islands, and your homeland, Stella D’Mare, isn’t too far from there… but, here is where I stop making assumptions, and actually listen.” She placed her drink down again before she could down its entire contents, out of habit. “You’ve really got to tell me to shut up when I start yammering on, Ari; won’t hurt my feelings, I swear! But, seriously.” The Master Alchemist fixed her gaze on him, noting how uncomfortable he already looked, and placed a reassuring hand atop his knee. “I know what you’re thinking… but there is no way around involving a few other people if it means ridding you of this curse. You’re going to have to expand your trust circle just a little more. No one has to know the “why” of what happened; just the “how”. And… and, if need be, though I really don’t like doing it…” She bit her lower lip thoughtfully. “I… there are ways, alchemical ways, of making them forget what they learned, when all is said and done.”
“It’s easy to want to align your identity with your family. It is what you are born into, and what you are groomed to believe as you grow up. Yes, you might have fallen for that myth that the people who birthed you and raised you are everything, but… so did I. So have a lot of people, Alster, included. We are all constantly at war with ourselves, wondering just who we are, and who we would be without the people who made us. My journey… it has been long, to say the least. And I would be lying to claim that it has ended with Alster. But,” Elespeth rested a hand on Bronwyn’s shoulder, “I’ve come to learn--the hard way, in many respects, that family are the people who accept you and bring out the best of you. And home is where you feel wanted and loved. Atvany… I miss it. A part of me will always miss being a Tameris, and miss the days when my family had once accepted me. I miss parts of it every day, but it isn’t my home anymore. So I understand how you must feel, missing your homeland, and feeling worthless in light of the role your father assigned to you. But, Bronwyn, look at what you have done for everyone already. For Hadwin--and by virtue of that, for Teselin. Looking out for your sister might always be something to which you feel beholden, but you are you by virtue of the decisions that you make, exclusive of the expectations your clan has. And it won’t be clear right away. Like a lot of things in life… it’s a journey, but,” the corner of her mouth quirked a smile. “I think you have at least found your footing on the right path.”
For a moment, she’d thought she was getting somewhere with the faoladh woman… until Bronwyn decided now was the time to accept and adapt her brother’s nihilism into her philosophy. Elespeth’s smile faded. “Listen, from time to time, your brother does have passable advice, but… I don’t think I agree with that. I mean, if nothing really matters, then what are we all fighting for?” She turned her eyes on Bronwyn to see if her words were even getting through to her. “Why bother opposing Locque at all, if nothing matters? Saying that is just like giving up; and I know you’ve got more in you than the desire to just give up.”
Whether or not Bronwyn could see her point of view did not make her want to be drunk any less. Elespeth didn’t even need to show her where she could find her ale; she found the place herself, sat down, and put in her order before Elespeth could hoist herself up onto the stool next to her. “I’m… fine. One of us should be sober,” she said cautiously. “But drink your fill, by all means. I’ll look up for you. She--we won’t be any trouble, I promise.” The former knight put in that last bit for the proprietor, her expression oozing apology on Bronwyn’s behalf. “She is not exaggerating; it has been a terrible couple of months for her. She just needs to get this out of her system.” One awful hangover, and this will never be repeated, she thought to herself, wondering if Bronwyn even got hangovers at all, or if she, like her brother, was impervious to them… lucky bastard.
“Whoa… I’m not one to tell anyone how to drink, but maybe… slow down a little?” The Rigas woman raised her hands a little, visibly concerned that it had been less than a moment, and Bronwyn was almost through one tankard of ale. “And with all respect, Bronwyn, no way in hell am I leaving you alone to drink away your feelings when you have no idea what it means to be drunk. I owe it to you because I already promised to be here for you today; and I owe it to Hadwin to keep an eye on his sister, because he’ll be jealous as hell that I got to witness you letting go a little while he was bedridden.” A hint of a smile touched her lips and she leaned on the counter. “Are you sure you don’t want to eat something though? In fact--sir, I’ve changed my mind.” She waved the confused proprietor back over. “I’ll have an ale--one ale. And do you happen to have any freshly baked bread? A plate of that as well.”
She knew better than to sit back and assume that Bronwyn would eat of her own accord. But maybe if she normalized it a bit by imbibing a single drink with the distraught woman, and having a bit to eat along with it to soak up the alcohol… it might make her feel inclined to join in.
Unfortunately, it did not quite work out as planned. Elespeth nursed her single tankard while Bronwyn downed a record amount of ale in the short time they’d been sitting. The former knight was rather impressed that the woman was not on the floor… but the more Bronwyn downed, the more lackluster she became--which, frankly, was to be expected. “You know… I could’ve told you that drinking when you’re already feeling down is a terrible way to try and feel better again.” Taking a clean handkerchief from her pocket, she offered it to the faoladh woman to dry her tears. “I’m speaking from experience. I could have stopped you, but honestly, this is something you need to experience for yourself, or else you’d have probably called bullshit on me. If you want my opinion--try it again when you’re not already feeling depressed. I guarantee you’ll have a better experience. Bronwyn… listen.” Knowing full well she would be making a hypocrite of herself, someone who so desperately wanted to hang onto the vestiges of her Tameris knighthood, Elespeth turned in her stool to face the chief’s daughter.
“I’m only going to say this once, and I’ll be damned if I can’t take my own advice… but to hell with them. To hell with anyone who ever made you feel inferior. That was then, and this is now, and you can decide what family to care about and how to care for them. You can decide what is right for you. You are neither lackluster nor plain; you’ve simply been repressed by your father’s ideations and expectations. Perhaps now is the time to put your clan behind you, and put yourself first. Be genuine to yourself. What matters to you? What do you want, Bronwyn?” She paused, knowing full well the woman didn’t have an answer. “That’s what I want you to think about. You don’t have to have an answer today; right now, you’ve already got a goal in mind, and that’s checking up on Rowen--which we’ll still do, once you’re… you know. Sober.” She couldn’t help but grin a little. “And if you ask me… I’m glad you’re not like Hadwin when he’s drunk. One of him is enough, thank you very much. Just take it a day a time, alright? And surround yourself with people who make you feel worthy. Were it not for Alser and my friends, I… I don’t think I’d have pulled myself out of a similar rut, recently. Also…”
Elespeth nudged the plate of bread toward the thin faoladh woman. “Once again, speaking from experience… everything really does seem twice as terrible when you don’t eat.”
While Nia’s reassurances weren’t enough to allay Ari’s concerns of wrongdoing, they at least convinced him that she appreciated his attempts at expression, nonetheless. As Canaveris Head and D’Marian leader, he excelled at oration and speech-giving, true, but when it came to voicing his personal and intimate desires, he preferred to let his art do the talking. No amount of exercising his leadership muscles to bulk strength could replace his native language, the core of who and what Ari represented. Above his sincere devotion to family and community, art whispered a depth of authenticity no other gesture of his could properly convey. Painting Nia’s likeness was far from a time-passing trifle, but to explain the nuances to the subject of his piece simultaneously destroyed the nuances entirely, rendering his presentation into something gauche and borderline obsessive. She helped him destroy his collection of Chara busts and statuettes, all too aware of the decades spent pining for the woman who almost ruined him. How, then, did it look, leaving himself so hopelessly vulnerable in front of yet another woman a mere week after his confession of attraction? He should be so relieved she still wanted to humor his company. If a relationship remained on the table at all, he dared not inquire on or ask about their current status. His actions were shameful enough without wrenching free the unsightly details.
“Ah, no matter,” he mused, light, airy, and convincingly unfazed. He locked the door to his workshop and deposited the key in his pocket. I have to cease bringing women with the potential to hurt me to this sacred place, he chided himself. I cannot unlock the door for just anyone. No. Never again. “Be it your permission or no, I will not make it a habit to speak ill of your mother. May the gods bless her wretched soul,” he quipped, but immediately regretted the bit bon mot. How could a mother despise her child that much? Especially when Nia was all that remained of the Ardane legacy? The knowledge baffled him. Though Nia seemed in good humor about her mother’s egregious, alarming, and very harmful treatment of her, Ari wasn’t comfortable in approaching the situation as anything short of tragic. Joking about a prominent and abusive figure in Nia’s life was for her to do. Not him, nor anyone else. So he left the subject at that, and quietly guided her from the workshop annex to the villa proper. Inside, a low-burning fire crackled in the hearth, accentuating the greens, browns, and jewel tones decorating the parlor in its small exhibitions of paintings, miniature sculptures, and elaborate potteries displayed on shelves. The majority of the artwork didn’t belong to him but to the collective talents of the Canaveris name, the majority of whom dabbled in the arts. Everyone deserved a place in the living museum, both Canaveris and Galeynian alike.
“Once the drink leaves my hands, it is yours to enjoy however you see fit. That said,” he swallowed another sip, “this small batch was made to be savored. What you and I have is all that remains. There will not be another of its kind, not for a while, because the distiller who produced this enchanting liquid cannot return to Stella D’Mare. But instead of allowing it to collect dust on the shelf, we shall celebrate his achievements tonight by imbibing his brew. Who am I to impose imbibing restrictions on you if they compound your enjoyment? Do what you will, Nia. As an honored guest in my home, however you choose to drink is not a wrong one,” he said magnanimously, all while secretly hoping she opted for slow, deliberate sips. His gesture of inclusivity and openness to different food and drink ‘customs’ aside, he would be lying if he admitted that watching her down the intoxicating soma wouldn’t hurt. A lot.
As Nia referenced the book and delved into her research, the details of which he’d already heard firsthand through his miniature network of spies, he rolled the drink in his hands, entertaining the idea of guzzling it down in one fell swoop. Imagine if he’d not been clued in at all; how adversely he’d react to her plan, to involving Alster Rigas, to suggesting another Master Alchemist join the team, and, worse yet, to endangering herself. Even equipped, as he were, with the advance knowledge of her research, he still took a liberal sip of the dark amber liquid and actively avoided eye contact with the sketch on the page she turned to, as though its ink and paper rendition possessed the ability to compel him to stone anew.
“I appreciate your efforts, Nia. I truly do. But,” he rose from the chaise, placing literal distance between himself and the cursed beast in the cursed book, “it was a mistake to involve Alster Rigas. If this is but a sampling of his research,” he nodded to the tome, “then I fear what else he will discover of my family if allowed to continue. Because,” he sighed, fixating his gaze on the fire in hopes to scry for the words he needed the courage to say. He promised his mother, swore to her, never to speak its name aloud, but what good were promises if the picture of his nightmares sat open on his table for all to see? “His suppositions are correct. It was a basilisk serpent,” he rubbed one hand over his arm, nursing a sinister, reflexive shiver. “They are different from basilisks, hence the addition of ‘serpent’ to the title. They are no larger than a regular-sized snake, and their gaze does not kill instantly like their namesake counterparts, but petrify their victims to stone through direct eye contact. They hail from the Fallow Islands, yes. All of this is true. But I can tell you little else. The details are lost to me.”
He glanced at his glass goblet. Half the amber beverage had disappeared independent of his memory. “He knows, Nia. Alster knows it’s me. Why else would he have so swift a response to your question if he hadn’t been diligently researching on his own? Despite our alliance, if he could discover a way to delegitimize my rule or shame the Canaveris name, would he not try to defeat his political opponent as an act of revenge? I appreciate his help, and for healing Sylvie’s broken leg, but he holds too much power over us, at present, and…” He stoppered his tongue, hesitating. Much as he trusted Nia, there were just some secrets he couldn’t risk to reveal, especially if they ended up in Alster’s ears. He shook his head, dislodging the half-formed words on his throat and drowning them in a swish of liquor.
“I will not involve Alster Rigas. Nor will I involve Isidor Kristeva. And if merely hypothesizing on such a harrowing procedure leaves you to believe for certain the danger it will wreak on your body, then I am not interested in the method.” Turning from the hearth, he cast an apologetic glance at Nia. “I’ve lived the majority of my life with this curse. At its worst, it is an inconvenience—moreso when it affects, well, there,” he said in vague reference to his nether regions. “Certainly not worth the bodily peril you, and by extension, I, will face. My curse is managed. It is not life-threatening. If I partake in your stress-management meditations, per your suggestion, then I daresay my condition needn’t require drastic eradication. My apologies for wasting your time, but I am afraid I must decline.” A welcome fuzziness, compliments of the drink, enveloped his head with a muted, faraway sensation, such that he nearly missed her mention of a handy tool in her alchemical arsenal. “You can induce an individual to forget? Ah, of course.” Hadn’t Hadwin Kavanagh dropped a tablet into his wine before galloping back to the palace not one week ago, as a safety measure against his youngest sister absorbing his secrets via her uncanny Sight? If Isidor Kristeva could conceive of such a thing, then it wasn’t beyond Nia’s skillset either. “I don’t suppose it’s effective against long-term memory...is it?”
In her increasingly rising levels of intoxication, Bronwyn began to lose sight of common rationality, such that she rejected the plate of fresh bread based on its symbolism alone. She didn’t see it as a helpful companion to regulate the ale she consumed, but rather a reminder of Hadwin, whose stint as a baker’s assistant came from their father’s arrangement. Consensus spread among the clan that Chief was teaching his crooked son the meaning of discipline and humility through menial labor, stuck inside an enclosed environment where it would be difficult to slip away, sight unseen. Though she never let on, Bronwyn envied the fact that Hadwin received so much specialized attention, learned a useful trade, and made legitimate money from each day’s earnings. Chief never stopped flinging the word “punishment” as explanation for appointing his son to such a cushy position, but Bronwyn was tempted to misbehave if it could land her in a similar placement. Better than toiling in the fields, laying sod, pulling weeds, or cleaning muck all day long. She stared at her hands, callused, cracked, and forever rough-hewn. An anonymous laborer, idling away at her father’s whim, patiently waiting for her turn in the sunlight.
Now, she knew better. She never would have passed Chief’s inspection because she lacked the ruthless, cutthroat behavior he desired in his subordinates. The bakery was likely a front for some other sinister operation that he’d wanted Hadwin to front—judging by the very suspicious conversation she saw play out in her brother’s memories. Was Rowen correct in her assessment of her? If Chief had selected her for a less-than-savory task, would Bronwyn have accepted it so readily? What mattered more? Loyalty or integrity?
I...I don’t know.
She pushed the plate of bread towards Elespeth, delivering a firm shake of her head. “Not interested in bread,” she muttered, sticking to her ale like a lifeline. “I have the liquefied version right here. Contrary to appearances, Elespeth, I have been drunk before. The sensation is anything but new.”
New sensation or not, she had never imbibed while feeling so emotionally wrecked, before. No matter her experiences with drinking, bingeing in a desperate bid to ‘transform’ into a more tolerable version of herself was a procedure doomed to fail...as she quickly and devastatingly discovered.
“Teaching me a lesson, eh?” She tittered, a wavering, weepy laugh, which she directed not so much at Elespeth, but at the empty tankard locked in her grip. “Enticing me with your promises, but only making things worse...where is the relief? Where can I find it? Not at the bottom of a barrel.” Releasing one hand from the vessel, she accepted Elespeth’s handkerchief and dabbed away her tears. “It makes me envy the drunkards. How easy it is for them to forget, for a little while. How effective it is. How comforting, too. They know where to go when they’re feeling wretched and it works! Then, there’s people like me...and it doesn’t work at all. Not without some ideal factors in play. What’s the point of drinking away my sorrows if I have to start off sound of mind? Drinking consists of drinking too many nonsensical rules. Here, I’m trying to escape the rules, and they keep pulling me back!” She drove her hand into the table, an aggressive move that didn’t go unnoticed by the wary proprietor, who watched the sister of an infamous scoundrel from the other side of the bar. “What a crock of shit! Even when I want nothing to matter, I’m evidently exposed to some tedious, unavoidable minutiae that I’ve no choice but to heed, lest I suffer the consequences. I can’t be laissez-faire, and I can’t be disciplined, either. Something will always end up backfiring.”
Amid her rant, her drunken mind had the sense to cease its self-destructive spiral long enough to listen to the sober voice of reason seated to her right. Despite her sour mood, Bronwyn cracked an amused smile.“You’re starting to sound like Nia. Oh yes. The cheeky Master Alchemist took me to a pub and spouted similar lines of wisdom. I’m not immune to the advice, Elespeth. It makes sense, to think of myself, but,” she hunched forward in her stool, surrendering posture in favor of comfort, “it matters to me. My clan, it’s...it’s who I am. Even now, I represent an extension of Clan Kavanagh. It was my duty to aid and serve Rowen, but...I lost sight of that, and started caring for the wrong sibling.” Her lips pursed into a tight smile. “I chose integrity over loyalty. Hadwin over Rowen because...bafflingly enough, he is the more moral option and I suppose...that appealed to me. I never thought I’d ever say this, but he’s…” even sloshed with drink, it was difficult to admit her next words, “who I want to save in place of Rowen. Teselin’s right. If sparing Rowen the worst of her fears is only trading one problem for another and there’s no guarantee she nor Hadwin will ever recover as they are now, then...it will come down to a difficult decision in the end. Do we push Hadwin to return Rowen’s fears, even if it will risk her healing process? Or do we let him suffer indefinitely? It’s disturbing how quickly the answer comes to me.” Drunk or not, the confession impelled her to drop her gaze in shame.
“I’m not the best person to visit Rowen. I’m not, because every day, I’m finding it more difficult to tolerate her. To see the good in her. I really am a morality hound, aren’t I?” She snorted.
“With these rogue thoughts, I...I fear I betrayed my clan a long time ago. When, exactly...did I actually give up on retrieving Rowen?” It was a question for which she didn’t anticipate a response. Poor Elespeth, she thought, suffering my ceaseless babbling like a saint. “I’ll never be accepted back, then my lot really is with my brother and his band of merry misfits. What has become of me, indeed. You know what?” She reached for the plate of bread and pilfered a slice, “I’ll eat. What the hell? I’m damned as it is. By saying ‘nothing matters,’ it doesn’t mean I’ve stopped caring. It means I will choose to accept, to the best of my ability, the absurdity of my situation. And I would toast to that, but I finished my last ale. So,” she waggled the bread in her hand, crust first, “I’ll literally toast to it.” Bumping one end against Elespeth’s raised piece, she turned the slice to her mouth and crunched through the thin, crispy layer into the doughy underbelly beneath. “Hadwin might have some competition on his hands,” she said of the bread, as she devoured the rest of it with a swiftness that would make her canine ancestors proud. “You’re free to tell him that. Better yet, rub in all the things he’s unable to do right now, just to be an ass.” As she steadily cleaned the plate of the bread, she felt herself slowly soak up the liquid pool of alcohol swishing in her stomach. Before long, the food’s sobering effects began to take hold. Just as Elespeth had promised, her mood stabilized.
“Thank you,” she said, twisting in her stool to face the Rigas woman. “For...dealing with me. Imagine all the stress I would have saved myself if I didn’t run from you the day your magic...well, awakened. If there is anything I can do for you and your husband, please say the word. The two of you are very kind. It would be an honor,” she bowed her head, “to...to call you friends.”
Fortunately, Nia had been prepared for Ari’s staunch refusal of her help, particularly at the mention of involving other parties that he did not entirely trust. She knew it would not be so simple as presenting the proud and suspicious man with the opportunity to rid himself of the curse that had plagued him for the majority of his life, when it would not only involve danger--for him as well as her--but the help of someone who up until very recently, to her knowledge, had been a dangerous rival. But that wasn’t enough to make her give up; not a chance. Not when she had already put in the work to get the ball rolling, and when she feared that Ari’s curse might one day be more than a simple inconvenience, but rather, life threatening. The fact that just a week ago, it had petrified his nether regions was confirmation enough that he could not go on living with it like he had been. Meditation and stress management would only go so far… especially when habitating within a kingdom whose ruler shouldered rather tyrannical tendencies. As long as he was at risk, she couldn’t exactly rest easy.
“Hey, I know all about trust and how dangerous it can be. And knowing your family’s history with the Rigases as a whole… I don’t blame you for hesitating.” The Master Alchemist took another sip of the rare and coveted beverage that she couldn’t help but feel was wasted on her. Its bold and complex flavour had spoken to her upon her first sip, but now, with a change in the air and the atmosphere, every sip began to taste less and less unique. “But, from one suspicious person to another, if you ask me… I don’t think Alster knows. And, if you are right, and he did manage to connect the dots, despite that I made no mention of you or your family or anything related to the Canaverises, I am pretty confident that he has no real interest in overthrowing your rule or plunging your family name into the dirt. I mean, yes, I could be wrong, and I don’t know the guy that well, but that wasn’t the impression that I go. After all, Alser Rigas does kind of have a reputation for going waaaay out of his own way to help other people--even those he doesn’t really like. That son-of-a-bitch necromancer, Vitali Kristeva...” her mouth puckered and her expression overall soured from mentioning the bastard that had willingly taken part in a ploy to convince her she had been seeing her dead sisters. “You know he’s helped that guy more than once? Yeah, I’ve muddled around Galeyn for long enough in the shadows that I’ve heard a few things. But he really can’t stand him and is pretty open about his dislike. Frankly, it seems to me that he has also had ample opportunity to run Kristeva into the ground, reactively, but he hasn’t. If he’d take time and energy to assist someone far less deserving than you, then it doesn’t really seem to me like you’d be in any danger. He’s the kind of person who wants to take on these sorts of challenges to test his own limits--and besides, word has it he has ambitions to become a healer. That wouldn’t make for much of a good start if he earned a reputation for screwing over the people he’s supposed to be helping. And as for your other concerns,”
One more mouthful, and the glass in her hand was empty. It hadn’t been even a half turn of the clock, and Nia still couldn’t seem to keep a glass full for more than twenty-five minutes. At least, to her credit, it had lasted significantly longer than any ale at the pubs she frequented… “The thing is, I was literally born, raised, and trained to do the shit that I do, no matter how dangerous it might be for me. We’re a weird breed, us Master Alchemists. What we do by the laws of nature really shouldn't even be possible, so yeah, it takes a toll on us. But I wouldn’t have gotten as far as I have--hell, Ari, I wouldn’t be alive today if I wasn’t able to take it. Hear me out.” Setting her now empty glass on the table in front of her, Nia leaned forward in the direction that Ari had retreated, as if by putting physical distance between himself and the book with the basilisk serpent glaring eerily up from the page would weaken the curse it had cast upon him. If only it were that easy. “Yeah, I won’t deny, this would be dangerous, but if my craft was meant to kill me, then I truly believe I wouldn’t be here right now. So if you’re going to contest this plan, then don’t factor my safety into it. I know what I’m doing.” At least… I really hope so.
“Anyway, this is why we’d involve another Master Alchemist: to keep an eye on the process if things do go south, which isn’t likely since I’m pretty damned amazing.” She grinned and winked at her own amusing self-inflation, though it was hard to tell if she actually believed what she was saying. “But, to account for the risk of all parties involved, I would most definitely have this done in sanctuary within the Night Garden. Because what I’ve devised… is that, while I can’t just remove your curse since it is as much a part of you as the oxygen in your lungs, with the help of a mage, I could turn it into something that your own body can deal with. Namely, an illness, though I’m not sure as of yet what that might look like. But the thing is, the Night Garden can do shit all for curses, but sickness, on the other hand… you’d probably be out of there within a week. With not only the Gardeners, but the palace healers to keep an eye on things, I’d say the risk for you at the end of the day is pretty minimal.”
She didn’t miss the brief look of concern that crossed Ari’s warm-toned features at the mention of fighting a curse with illness; and his concern was warranted. Hell, had the shoe been on the other foot, and someone had been proposing this to her, she’d rightly think they were mad out of their damned minds. “I know; it sounds scary. But look at it this way. When Elespeth Rigas was seriously ill with a heart disease, Isidor Kristeva remedied the situation by having Alster’s, whose biology was conveniently a match with his wife’s, share in that sickness by swapping healthy tissues with disease tissues. Yeah, he was down for the count for a little while, but the degree of disease between the two of them was manageable at that point, and the Night Garden took care of the rest. We’ve both seen them in the aftermath; wouldn’t you say they’ve both recovered rather beautifully?” She raised an eyebrow and folded her hands in her lap. “And if that’s what needs to be done, I can do that for you too, Ari, once I’ve recovered from the initial procedure. You have a big enough family that no doubt someone would match your biology, and you’re so well-loved that I have a hard time believing anyone wouldn’t offer to help. But, even if that is the case… there are other ways to expedite your recovery without directly involving another person.” However, she decided it was best not to go into detail about the alchemist stone in Isidor’s possession, afraid that its properties and the unique way in which it worked would only further deter Ari from this solution.
“Look… I know this is a lot to digest right now. I kind of unloaded it all onto you; I’m not the best of being moderate in any regard.” Nia smiled apologetically. “But, Ari, I think you should at least consider this and give me time to work out the details before you decide to refuse. If your two biggest concerns are my safety and Alster’s discretion, then let me assure you, I’m tough as nails and it’ll take more than a procedure such as this to do me in. As for Lord Rigas… if you are already so sure that he already knows this is about you, then what’s done is done, isn’t it? Why not take him up on his offer to help? The way I see it, he has a lot to gain from helping to heal the leader of Stella D’Mare, namely the respect of the people that he once led. It really is in his best interests to play nice. After all--come on, the man already summoned a giant fucking otherworldly snake multiple times. You really think anything he has to say about you and your family is gonna look worse than that?”
She arched an eyebrow at the inquiry, but was somewhat taken by surprise by the single, small detail that appeared to catch Ari’s attention. Her face relaxed, but otherwise, it was her turn to look a little uncomfortable. “I mean, yeah. Fucking with peoples’ memories isn’t exclusive to Master Alchemy, you know. Some mages are capable, and frankly, better at it. But… yeah. In a pinch, I can concoct something to completely wipe out short-term memory. As for long-term memory, well, that’s a little more difficult. It’s already taken root in the mind and assumed a more solid state, but that doesn’t mean we can’t muddy it a bit. Or convince the individual that they’re mistaken or what they’re remembering is from a dream. Though I should point out… I really hate doing it. Any of that stuff. It just seems like a real asshole move, you know? Especially when you’re trying to convince people you’re trustworthy--like in my case. But, if what you’re getting to is that the only thing that will convince you to give this a shot is making everyone else involved forget…” Nia expelled a long sigh from her lungs and leaned back against the chaise. “...then I’d do it. For you. But I still hope I can convince you otherwise; that your Rigas ally really doesn’t have an interest in doing you in. So will you at least consider it, Ari? Give me time to do more research, contemplate the hypothesis and the steps this’ll take? If, at the end of the day, you’re still convinced it’s too much of a risk, then I’ll respect your decision. But don’t be so quick to write it off yet, huh? In fact…”
That smile returned to her fair features. “If you promise to give me time to iron out the details--if you’ll give this a chance, I’ll model for you. Here and now, if you want, or another time that suits you better. It’s the least I can do since my reaction to your beautiful painting seems to have left you downtrodden. You’d have my willing cooperation if you want to make another go at a painting, or even start a sculpture--wherever your art takes you. And if you need me here on more than one occasion to complete it… I mean, I do enjoy any excuse I can get to come visit you.” Nia stood now to join Ari, to close the distance between them. “Honestly, when I saw your painting, I was just… a little startled. Not that you’d decided to paint the likes of me, really, but because I never thought anyone could see me that way… the way you rendered me on canvas. Like I’m someone worthy of being captured in a moment like that. But maybe, if I happen to see myself like that a little more often, it won’t be so strange, anymore. I can’t think of a better way to change the way I think about myself than to let you paint or sculpt me as you see me. So, what do you say? I’ll even wear whatever you want, or,” She placed a hand on his shoulder and her smile turned mischievous, as did her brown eyes, which caught the flicker of firelight from behind him, “Nothing at all--if you’d prefer.”
“To be fair, Bronwyn, inebriation isn’t a surefire escape from care like everyone thinks it is.” The former knight mentioned gently--something she could have told her before she’d embarked on this drunken adventure, but had quickly decided that it was something Bronwyn had to discover on her own, to come to her own conclusions. “I wasn’t trying to teach you a lesson; I just felt it was a conclusion you had to come to on your own, and figured I’d be here to help make sure things did not take a downward turn. Though… I’m not exactly sure how I feel being compared to the Ardane woman.”
It was impossible for Elespeth to hide her lingering distaste of Locque’s Master Alchemist. Hard to forgive her for tearing her armor to shreds, and trying to be everyone’s friend while openly working and cooperating with the kingdom’s greatest enemy. Gods… when had she become anything like Nia Ardane?! “Had I known you’d had a similar experience with that woman in a pub, I might well have tried to dissuade you from drinking so that you wouldn’t draw such a comparison.” She snorted and shook her head, before taking a long swig of her ale. She really wasn’t drunk enough to be okay with such a comparison. “I don’t know what she said to you, or even if she’s capable of giving sound advice, but I do stand by what I am telling you, Bronwyn. When I met you, I knew so little of you, and you knew so little of me, I was instantly drawn to the possibility that I could have a fresh start with someone. Someone who didn’t know my history, didn’t know me before I had magic… and for me, all I knew of you was that you were Hadwin’s sister. No more and no less of your clan. Even though we started off on rather rocky grounds, you have always just been Bronwyn to me. And maybe that is what you should be focusing on, yourself; not being Bronwyn Kavanagh of clan Kavanagh, but just Bronwyn. Look closely at your own values and of what you want. Of what you think is right. And if Nia Ardane told you the exact same thing… well, then perhaps she deserves more credit than I have given her. But if you have already decided to choose integrity over loyalty to your clan--then perhaps you also deserve more credit than you are giving yourself.”
Through Bronwyn’s more recent decisions, along with the fact that she was finally reaching out to other people, the former Atvanian had suspected that her loyalties and priorities had changed. And for the better--at least, in her opinion, and in the collective opinion of others, it seemed. But Rowen Kavanagh was a rather delicate subject, and again, this was a conclusion that Bronwyn needed to come to on her own, exclusive of what others might have thought. “Rowen… has done a lot of terrible things. She has ended lives and hurt so many people as a result. As to how much of that she is truly responsible for, and how much was ordered by Locque… in the end, she always followed through. You’ll have to forgive me if I seem to have difficulty sympathizing with your sister.” Elespeth told her as much, feeling that she at least deserved to hear her truth. “So if you were to ask me… then, yes. I would also prioritize Hadwin’s recovery over Rowen’s. Bronwyn, I truly wish there was a way that they could both recover, and we have yet to see that that isn’t possible… but we cannot let your brother hold onto Rowen’s fears for much longer. Yes, he has regained his memories, but he is still incapacitated with pain, and there is only so much mages and Master Alchemists can do to keep him stable. However, this doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t check up on your sister. Perhaps she had recovered more than we are aware; we might even find it safe for Hadwin to return her fears sooner than later without repercussions, hm?”
Happy to see the faoladh woman finally partaking in some of the fresh bread to sober her up and absorb the absurd amount of alcohol in her gut, Elespeth smiled and lifted her own piece to bump against Bronwyn’s. “It’s nothing. Like I said before, I probably would’ve reacted the same way if my firsthand experiences with magic were as traumatizing as yours were.” She explained, brushing off the other woman’s apology as if it hadn’t really bothered her at all… although, in truth, it had, and they both knew it. “I was in a particularly vulnerable place, the first time we met, partially because I was so in denial about my own magic. It wasn’t fair of me to put such expectations on you; to assume that you’d want to befriend me, unconditionally. But… if you’re putting the offer on the table, now, then it’s better late than never, right?” With a smile, she gave Bronwyn’s shoulder a friendly pat. “It just so happens that Alster and I already consider you a friend, and really, that’s all we require of you. So<” she pushed the remaining pieces of bread in front of the faoladh. “I’m going to do what a good friend would do and help you sober up so that you’ll be in a better state of mind when we check in on Rowen.”
Sure enough, Bronwyn sobered up just as quickly as Hadwin (and, like her brother, with no repercussions), and the bread certainly helped things along. Once that glazed look of inebriation had faded from Bronwyn’s eyes, once again replaced with sharp awareness, they paid the proprietor (who sighed in relief when they finally took their leave) and headed in the opposite direction toward the Night Garden. A half hour later, they found themselves standing outside of the sanctuary, and did not immediately open the door. “Whenever you are ready,” Elespeth told Bronwyn in a reassuring tone. “I’m not in any hurry… and it isn’t as though your sister is going anywhere, any time soon. Or, if you find you really don’t have it in you to face her today, we can try again tomorrow. You set the pace, Bronwyn.”
“Don’t take it too personally,” Bronwyn said, on realizing Elespeth’s adverse reaction to the surface-level comparisons between her and the Ardane woman. “The two of you are nothing alike, but you both spouted similar advice. Almost as if the two of you conspired together over an ale and traded comments on what to say if ever you encountered the likes of Bronwyn Kavanagh and her flood of endless complaints. Of course, that’s a ludicrous observation on my part and probably brought on by the drink.” She pushed the empty tankard further from her person, positioning it clear across the counter. If she removed the vessel from view, then she would no longer desire another refill, she reasoned. And no longer entertain ridiculous, laughable notions.
“It took me by surprise when she invited me for a meal in town,” she brushed some stray breadcrumbs from her lap. “I never thought she gave a care about me to express an opinion either way, but I suppose I was wrong. As I should have known. Like her or not--I certainly possess no strong feelings for her--she has a genuine nature. Seldom dishonest; at least, not for nefarious purposes. Despite the company she keeps, she wants to use her talents to help and to maintain peace. And she has a deep, abiding love for her late sisters, which holds strong even after all these years. None of my Sight-based analyses is news, though. She’s as transparent as they come and will spell out all this information for free. Hm,” she gave Elespeth a teasing smile, “maybe you do have something in common with her. But I reiterate; don’t take it to heart.” One foot kicked forward, making contact with the baseboard lining the bottom of the bar countertop. A few unsyncopated thuds resounded underfoot. “Anyone can dispense sound advice. Look at my dunderhead of a brother. He talks so much shit, he’s bound to say one or two profound things out of sheer dumb luck. He just happens to strike the right combinations from time to time. It doesn’t make him a sage. Hell, far from it! Ardane’s the same--and we’re not obligated to like her any better just because she’s relatable or sympathetic. I’m sick of being led astray by my Sight, so I’m not going to beseech her friendship anytime soon, that’s for sure.”
Regarding Rowen, Elespeth did not shy away from the controversial subject, nor did she try to sugarcoat the youngest Kavanagh sibling’s egregious and erratic behavior. Giving a one-sided shrug to represent her unshaken feelings on Rowen’s less-than-perfect image, she bobbed her head along in hesitant agreement. “No, I don’t expect anyone to sympathize with her after what she’s done. Hadwin and I are in the unenviable position of bearing a sense of responsibility for her, as our blood kin. We can’t rightfully hate her, but we can’t condone her actions, either. It’s...it’s all so very complicated,” she stressed the last word, frustration rattling in her throat. “Which is why it brings me so much trouble, because I don’t know how to approach her, anymore. For everyone’s sake, I do hope Hadwin’s inane plan works in her favor. Otherwise...I’m not sure what the future will hold. And that...admittedly, it terrifies me. If ever Rowen backslides or regresses, aligning with Hadwin means I’ve ultimately condemned her. Not that my alliances mean a lick to her.”
Stoppering her tongue before she plunged into the morass of pessimistic thoughts, she shook her head to clear the miasma and lifted her voice to allow for a flutter of hope. “But let’s look at the here and now. You’re right. There’s hope yet for a resolution. I’ll believe in a positive outcome, because I’ve tortured you enough with my gloominess, Elespeth and I need to concede a little to your more productive approach, if only to spare you from hearing this nonsense I’m spilling without end. Give me a little while to recuperate my wits, and then we’ll leave for the Night Garden.”
Sure enough, after consuming the plate full of bread and a few rounds of water, Bronwyn, more or less sober, departed the empty tavern no worse for wear, apart from the sizable hole in her pockets where she carried her savings. No matter. It was Hadwin’s dirty money, anyhow. A deserving and karmic contribution to the poor proprietor who had once dealt with cleaning his mess--and had almost dealt with hers, in turn.
Even at a slow to moderate pace, it hadn’t taken them longer than a sun’s tick to return to the palace, and the Night Garden beyond. Dehydrated and not entirely sober, Bronwyn stared at the closed sanctuary door, vacillating on her feet as she searched her head for excuses not to enter.
“She’ll smell the booze on my breath. Am I sober enough for this? Or too sober? Dammit,” she cursed under her breath. “I really thought the detour into the village would help. Oh, well,” a fatalistic smile crept across her face. “Let’s get this over with.”
She rapped her knuckles on the door frame once, twice, three times, and waited for a response. A pause, before the latch lifted and a young girl stood in the threshold.
“Ah. Breane. Good afternoon,” she greeted the young Gardener with a head dip. “Is Rowen--?”
“--Where else would I be?” A sharp voice interjected from the far corner of the sanctuary, accompanied by a soft, rhythmic sound of wood tapping against wood. “And you’ve brought a friend, too. The same one you abandoned in fear. Well,” the subtle clicking sounds ceased, “not like I was doing anything important. Come in.”
When Bronwyn, Elespeth in tow, stepped inside the sunlit-bright room, they noticed Rowen’s slight frame hunched over a chair, grappling with two small wooden skewers and swiping them down into a darkened mass of something with obvious stabbing motions. Upon closer inspection, the youngest Kavanagh sibling was not dissecting a poor, innocent creature, but struggling to loop a whorl of yarn around a knitting needle. Beneath her tangle of dark hair, Rowen’s eyebrows pooled into furrows of frustration and concentration.
“Rowen, are,” Bronwyn squinted incredulously at the mess of a project scattered all over the desk, “are you knitting?”
“I’m bored,” came her defensive response, as though the statement explained the peculiar scene in full. Then, with a sigh, she clarified, “A Gardener suggested that it would be a calming and fulfilling use of my time. I should learn to create, rather than destroy, o-or,” she stuttered, glaring at the botched tapestry of twisted and uneven stitches threatening to slide off the needle, “or somesuch hokum.”
Rowen’s clumsy attempts at trying and failing to replicate a normal activity endeared Bronwyn to her wayward sister immediately. Closing the space between them, she observed Rowen’s handiwork with a nonjudgemental gaze. “That’s great, Rowen. It’s a worthwhile hobby. If it’s something you’d like to pursue, I could teach you to--”
“No,” she dismissed and carelessly tossed the needles into the unwoven yarn heap. The loose stitches sloughed off the needle-tip and joined their brethren on the pile. “The ceiling is more stimulating than this mind-numbingly relentless, monotonous task. But,” she looked to Breane for a cue, relented to whatever non-verbal exchange they shared, and muttered to her sister, “thank you for the offer. And for visiting. I don’t get visitors save for you and that annoying Ardane girl.” She didn’t even attempt to reframe her low regard for the garrulous Master Alchemist. “Locque hasn’t come to see me, either.” An undercurrent of something...genuine sparked in her red-brown eyes. Disappointment. “Neither has Hadwin, but I know why. The details are shoddy; I can only see the deception, but it just so happens I’m currently enjoying the company of two pretty lousy liars, so it shouldn’t be too hard to piece together what everyone’s hiding from me. And before you plead your case to the contrary,” her lazy eyes roved to Elespeth, “you lie to yourself, but no one’s fooled. You’re about as transparent as my sister, and that’s a feat. No wonder why the two of you reconnected. So you’re Elespeth Rigas, hm?” She scanned the she-warrior, dissecting her for a few pregnant moments, but any sign of interest quickly waned, reverting to its impassive slate of an expression. “I’m not sure what Alster Rigas sees in you, but I’m in no mood to incite his wrath, so,” she shrugged, “take this bit of counsel as a consolation. I don’t see anything good or inspiring in the minds of any lovers, or anyone, for that matter, so I can’t say it’s an indictment on your character alone. But all things considered, you’re pretty inoffensive to look at, so you have that going for you. I’m sure I wouldn’t think the same of your husband. Underneath his do-gooder shell, he’s harboring a volatile, hateful core. That much I know without ever officially meeting him.”
“He’s been helping Hadwin, Rowen,” Bronwyn said, rising to defend the kindhearted Rigas caster. “Providing relief and support without a second thought for his own health. He’s the reason Hadwin’s in a stable condi—“ Horrified, Bronwyn cut herself off, but it was too late to rescind her words. Rowen, stretching erect in her seat, radiated triumph.
“Hah...I knew I could rely on you to coax out the exact answer I wanted to hear,” Rowen effused, a sliver of glee curling on her lips. “All it takes for you is to jump to someone’s defense and you’re off spilling secrets. So, Hadwin’s in a state because of what he did. What he took away.” She brushed a hank of shaggy hair from her forehead, looking contemplative for a moment. Then, she blew out her lips in a trilling sigh. “The damn fool. He knew it would hurt him and he did it anyway. No wonder Teselin hadn’t been around as promised, either. Well,” she slapped her palms on her lap, “can’t be helped, can it? He obviously wants to suffer until I get my shit together, so I’ll just let him be for now.”
Bronwyn exchanged a concerned glance with Elespeth. “You don’t seem too upset by this news.”
“And what would that achieve?” She raised one pointed brow, studying the two like a pair of stooges. “He wants me to get better, not worse. Worrying myself sick over his health won’t do him a lick of good. Or me, for that matter.”
“It stands to reason that it would,” Bronwyn said, a quiet mutter. “To show, to feel compassion for the people that are helping you...that’s a start, Rowen. Speaking of, how are you doing with your healing sessions?”
Rowen tried not to scoff at her sister and her historic fits of preachiness. “Yes, yes, I know my part. The better I do, the sooner Hadwin will be rid of my fears. Don’t pretend that’s not the main reason why you’re here.” She plucked a knitting needle empty of yarn and wielded the point between her fingers like a small rapier. “For your answer, I’m doing fine. Just fine. You’ll see that I’ll be rightly compassionate in no time at all. Does this answer please you?”
Though finding it difficult to wield, Bronwyn adopted an even, albeit stressed cadence. “Look, I’m not here to argue, Rowen. If you want to antagonize every person who checks in on your wellbeing, then be my guest, but I’ve had enough of it.” Nodding at Elespeth and the young Gardener, she turned to exit the sanctuary, but stopped at Rowen’s insistence to wait. Casting a glance over her shoulder, she was surprised to see her sister visibly wilting in the chair, a frown of uncertainty pulling on her mouth.
“Can you,” her knees shuffled uncomfortably together, “can you ask for Teselin? If I can’t see Hadwin, I can at least see her. He’ll live if she leaves his bedside for an hour or so.”
Bronwyn buried her disappointment. Rowen entrusted the young summoner with the sensitive topic of healing, but not her own sister? No one needs me, after all…
“Yes,” came her clipped response before sweeping the door fully closed, broadening as much distance between herself and the sanctuary as possible. Elespeth easily matched her grueling pace, and it was only through seeing the Rigas woman in her periphery that she remembered her company and slowed to a manageable stroll. “I’m sorry for all of that. I suppose I should be grateful she’s allowing a little vulnerability to show and asking for help at all, but...what is it about Teselin that inspires so much trust in my siblings? I mean, that’s rhetorical,” she blurted. “I can see for myself. She is just that type of person. A gentle and genuine soul, all around. Well,” she roved her eyes over to her comrade, “I might as well deliver the message to the infirmary. Let them all know what Rowen has concluded about Hadwin’s condition, no thanks to me. You can come if you’d like; I don’t blame you if you wish to retire for today. But before you decide,” she stopped, thrumming a finger against her chin, “did it seem to you that Rowen...was entirely unmoved by Hadwin’s state? I saw it via my Sight. No flutter of care, concern...or love.”
Nia’s favorable assessment of Alster Rigas rang accurate to Ari’s own accounts of the altruistic man and his propensity to help any party, regardless of their affiliations. Nor could he discount his indispensable assistance with Nia’s concussion and Sylvie’s broken leg. As a result, the latter had grown quite fond of the former D’Marian leader. And to his credit, Alster remained professional in his confidentiality. Regarding her injury, Sylvie had sworn him to secrecy, and he happily obliged her request, revealing nothing of their healing encounter until Sylvie herself made mention of it. Anecdotal evidence, therefore, supported the notion that Alster Rigas valued discretion and integrity in his practices...but for one jarring and important factor. For reasons only the man himself could justify in full, Alster had summoned the Serpent, an over-the-top gamble, potentially endangering D’Marian lives and whatever tentative truce they had hoped to gain from Locque. Despite the not-disastrous result, the fact that Alster had summoned the Serpent at all made him, by default, unpredictable, impulsive, and just a tiny bit unhinged. Did he entrust Alster with the fragile and monumental task in devising a cure for his curse? And if so...should he? Saying as much to Nia seemed a fruitless endeavor, not when she was already so determined to enlist his help--and the help of Isidor Kristeva.
“While I’ve little doubt Lord Rigas is nefarious enough to capitalize on my vulnerability, knowledge of this nature does not remain sacrosanct. Whether by his unintentional doing or by some other means entirely, my curse and its grisly details will trickle down to encompass larger circles--and, most certainly, into the ears of less-than-savory characters. Take your wolf friend, for example.” He wanted to sour his mouth in recollection of the divisive Hadwin Kavanagh, but out of respect for his vacillating condition, Ari opted for neutrality. “The man hosts an abundance of unmentionable and undesirable truths. Your argument in support of Alster Rigas may have merit, and perhaps Isidor Kristeva, too, shares similar traits to his companion, but can you boast the same of Hadwin Kavanagh and his shaky sense of honor? What can be done with him?” Shaking his head, he lowered his glass of liquor--which had been drained of its rich, caramel-colored ichor--on the fireplace mantle, afraid his wording implied a desire to ‘silence’ the acutely-informed faoladh with Nia’s help.
“Ah, no. My sincerest apologies, Nia.” He bowed at waist level to solidify the depths of his apology. “I would never ask you to do anything that is firmly against your principles and wishes. Please disregard my inquiry. Whatever forgetfulness serum you possess, it needn’t be executed,” he said, but the confidence of his delivery was shaky and unsure of itself. “Not that it would do much for long-term memory, as you’ve stated.” He smiled, firm and tight. With an affectionate brush of Nia’s shoulder, he turned from the fireplace and crossed the parlor, settling down on the chaise to contemplate the rest of her grandiose plan for his cure and subsequent recovery. Even if he found the pros to far outweigh the cons, Ari could never accept her proposal. Not only would he carry a debt he would never be able to repay, but it would also place Alster Rigas in an elevated position of power. Whether or not the humble Rigas mage accepted the accolades of healing a high-profile nobleman didn’t matter if the rest of Stella D’Mare again hailed him as a hero worthy of reinstating the Rigas name and supplanting their current leader in the process. Fragile politics aside, the risk was far too great to undertake, especially during such a dark and uncertain time in Galeyn’s history. Simply put, he could not compromise himself at all, however temporary the status, else Locque discover his secret opposition, which was more likely to come to light the closer and the longer he lingered within the Night Garden’s boundaries. To protect the people of Stella D’Mare, he would defer his healing...indefinitely.
“I cannot afford to be out of commission for any extended length of time, Nia,” he confessed, deflecting his gaze from her, to a flowery painting on the opposite wall. “Referencing the case of Elespeth and Alster Rigas, it took them nearly a month of convalescence before they were discharged from the sanctuary. I cannot be away from my duty; it would be irresponsible of me. There is a multitude of other reasons, chief among them the safety of those involved, and the practicality of success. I mean you no disrespect, but I am not comforted by the odds. With a heavy heart, I must again decline your offer, Nia. Your efforts are not in vain, but,” he pressed his gloved hands together, as though in prayer, “they are not for me. If it pleases you, you may continue your research, but I doubt my mind will change in the future. Forgive me, but I cannot give you a more substantial promise. And for that, I don’t suppose my lack of commitment to your proposal entitles me to your modeling services. Much as I would love to paint--and eventually sculpt--you with accuracy, I cannot uphold my end of your bargain, and for that, I don’t see why you need to humor me in exchange. Thank you, all the same.” We would have precious few opportunities for artistic pursuits, anyway, he thought, trying not to stare at the open book and its ugly depiction of the ugly creature and its ugly black eyes. Not with mother’s imminent arrival.
“Regardless of tonight’s discussion, please remember that you need no excuse to visit me, Nia,” he said, cradling his arm atop the chaise’s plush backrest, fingertips teasing the edge of her shoulder in want to connect, to bridge the distance. To take Nia’s tonic and forget that their conversation never happened. “Unless you require an excuse for placating her Majesty, Locque. In that case,” his long-lashed, cat-like eyes lifted playfully. “I might be able to fabricate a convincing story or two, if you find your pool of excuses is running a little dry.”
