As soon as she had arranged the meeting, Nia had been all too aware that she would be walking into a dead in, and all because this happened to involve the necromancer. The trouble was, she was all too aware that no one would have any more insight as to what had happened to Viatli, why he had gone and done such a goddamn reckless thing as come into direct contact with the sword Gaolithe, knowing full well what would happen to him. Vitali Kristeva worked alone; he always had and always would, and it was a fact to which many attributed his longevity. If you only relied on yourself, then you were the only person you would have to look out for, and no one was--or, rather, had been--more self-serving than the necromancer. He was not one to confide, not even in his dear little sister, the only person for which he seemed to have an ounce of affinity (save for, of course, the Star Seer, but she had gone missing some time ago). Nonetheless, she could at least report back to Locque that she had tried… although sometimes she wondered if the Summoner Queen was at all aware to her Master Alchemist’s limitations. Sometimes--more often than not, in fact--she seemed to assume that Nia was capable of so much more than she really was. But changing the composition of matter didn’t exactly have much to do with prying into the dead mind of a seemingly treacherous necromancer, or sussing out whether anyone else knew something she didn’t.
“Yeah, I know. I figured as much.” Nia sighed heavily in response to Alster’s observation, and rubbed her forehead with the palm of her hand. This was already giving her a headache. “The son of a bitch never opened up to anyone. But the lot of you knew him for longer than I have; what kind of spell do you think he’d be trying to cast? And did he intend to use Gaolithe against the new Queen? Those are the answers I think she wants, and I’m not sure I can bullshit her. Hey, Izzy,” she turned to the other Master Alchemist standing in the room, whose pale face had somehow gone even paler in light of this unexpected news. His shock answered her question before she asked, but she had to try, nonetheless. “You wouldn’t know a thing or two about what your brother might have been up to? I know you hate my guts, but it’s not just my ass I’m trying to save, here.”
At a loss for words, Isidor hesitated to answer, still processing the words over and over in his head. Vitali is dead. Vitali is dead. Viatli… dead. DEAD. “My brother does--didn’t… confide in me. He only ever spoke to me when he wanted something from me. That was his only motivation for ever speaking to anyone. I think everyone in this room will agree.”
“I’ll admit… I don’t understand this, myself. I can’t guess at what his motivations might be.” Vega pitched in, her face drawn in confusion, but no in sorrow. There wasn’t exactly much sorrow to be felt for the death of that wretched man… even if he had saved her husband from death’s clutches. And had brought her back, as well. “Not after everything that man has done to preserve his damned life… at the expense of my roc. I’ll never forgive him for that.”
“Nia, I think you already know that no one in this room has any more of an idea as to why Vitali did what he did than you do.” Elespeth mentioned, albeit gently, so as not to add to any of the tension in the room. “We don’t have answers for you; I’m not sure what, exactly, Locque expects you to tell her when no one can really answer your question…”
Before anyone could dive into further commiseration, the door swung open, as a very uninvited guest made her presence known and decided she would become part of the conversation. Rowen’s sudden entrance took everyone by surprise--although Nia appeared to be the most baffled. “Oh, go off, Rowen. I didn’t tell you because I thought you were recovering nicely back at the sanctuary.” The Master Alchemist rolled her eyes. “How would you expect me to know that you decided becoming a better person no longer interested you? By the looks of it, I’d say you quit rather recently. Locque dragged me into this because I happened to be at the right place at the wrong time. You could consider yourself lucky you weren’t pulled into this unnecessary drama…” But Nia’s steady demeanor was shaken as her face heated red at the faoladh’s mention of her… prior activities. “Who I am fucking is none of your damn business and has nothing to do with any of this!” She hissed at Rowen, but wasn’t unaware of Chara Rigas’s rather visceral reaction to news that never should have reached her ears.
“If you know so much about Vitali, Rowen, then why don’t you just fucking tell us?” She demanded, folding her arms across her chest, her cheeks still burning. “What did he plan to do with Gaolithe? Was he acting on his own? Those are the answers Locque wants, so if you have them--then by all means, go be the hero she wants! Go and tell her. I didn’t want any fucking part in an investigation about something I literally know nothing about!”
It seemed that her Sight did not quite extend that far, however. But she did have some pertinent information that would point them all in the right direction. “...Hadwin?” Nia, Elespeth, and Isidor all exclaimed their confusion simultaneously.
“What the hell would Hadwin know?” Nia asked aloud, but Rowen had already stormed out of the room like some princess so terribly spurned. “And yeah, thanks, Mister Obvious. She isn’t exactly vague with her feelings toward me. But,” she let her hands drop to her sides, “I have no intention of letting a badly behaved little bitch like her get to me. So…”
She looked over her shoulder, at the door that Rowen had purposely slammed on her way out. “What now? I guess we should go interrogate her dear brother. Never thought Hadwin would be the sort to keep secrets. He’s kind of a blabbermouth; takes one to know one, I know. I suppose if whatever Vitali told him had to do with Teselin, well… he’d go to any lengths to protect her. Well, if that’s the case, then he can feel free to be the one to break the bad news to her--far away. Like, far, far away. Maybe we should get permission to get the two of them out of the kingdom for a while, take a nice vacation in the middle of nowhere, where nobody can die if she takes it badly.”
“Hadwin can wait. The poor guy is probably getting the first restful sleep he’s had in forever, since returning Rowen’s fears.” Elespeth mentioned. “Alster’s right: you should go take a look at the bo… at Vitali. What’s left of him.” Somehow, even in death, even as despicable as he was, if the necromancer had confided something in Hadwin… the the former knight had a strong feeling that whatever he had done, he had--unbelievably--sacrificed himself for some greater good. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but if by any chance the wretched man had been on their side, then it didn’t feel right to strip him of his humanity (what little he had) in death when he wasn’t able to defend himself. “The longer you wait for him to go cold, the less evidence of… well, anything, you’ll be able to find. Alster, I can stand by if there’s anything you need, but I don’t see a reason why everyone else can’t go back to bed.”
“Back to the cadaver it is, then.” Nia clapped both of her hands together, and made long strides towards the door, eager to get out of the room--and about as far away from Chara as possible. Not that it was her business what happened between Ari and whomever he chose to be intimate with, but there was still something decidedly uncomfortable about her cutting stare. “At the very least, it wasn’t a gruesome death, so you shouldn’t be too traumatized. Just don’t ask me to touch him again.”
Leading the way out the door, with Daphni and Elias in tow, Isidor reached out to touch Alster’s prosthetic arm before the Rigas mage could leave with them. “He said… a few weeks ago, he said something to me.” He confided, keeping his tone hushed. “Something about… about always doing what he says he’ll do. I thought he was being deliberately cryptic to get under my skin, but… he had something planned, all along. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but whatever he did…” He lowered his voice even more, though it had been so quiet to begin with, he was practically mouthing his words at this point. “I think it was to our advantage. Be careful, Alster, lest we upset something delicately placed.”
Isidor let his friend go to accompany Nia and the healers to Sigrid’s quarters. Curiously, the former Dawn Warrior was no longer present (though neither was the faoladh who had wanted oh so badly to be included! Hypocrite), but Nia was just as surprised to find that Locque was still there as Alster was. The Rigas mage did well pleading his case, but to further ease tensions before they could grow, she added, “Rumour has it, Rowen’s big brother was the last one to have seen this guy alive.” She nodded to Vitali, whose body remained in exactly the position she had left it. “We’re going to chat him up as soon as these three can take a good look at what’s left of our former necromancer. So, don’t worry, we’re on to something.”
“Allow me to expedite this so that Her Majesty can have answers.” Daphni quietly interjected. “I will go and call on Hadwin Kavanagh now. I’ll prepare him to speak on what he knows, posthaste. I am more familiar with the psychic mechanisms of the body; Elias is more qualified to examine the physical body, itself.”
“Ah, good on you, Sybaian lady!” Nia smiled, then turned back to Locque. “See? We’re all working to figure out what the hell is going on. Oh, and speaking of--did you happen to encounter Rowen, just recently?” Her smile faded. “Apparently the little brat bailed on the Night Garden and any hopes of her ‘recovery’. Not sure if you were as in the dark as I was.”
“I haven’t seen her, no. I thought it best not to interfere while she was recovering…” This news appeared to divert attention away from the Rigas mage and his comrades, as Locque no longer seemed too preoccupied with her anger and paranoia. “I suppose I should have been paying closer attention.”
“Well, now’s the time to start paying attention. She was pretty sulky that you got me in on this investigation instead of her.” Nia shoved her hand in her pockets and paced the room, while Alster and Elias examined Vitali’s cold, dead form. “I think she’s got it in for me. Probably thinks you’re playing favourites. Maybe give her a little love, huh? Or… whatever semblance of that you think you can manage.”
The summoner queen lifted an eyebrow. “Interesting she should think so. I enlisted you tonight because you were what was available to me. I’m not sure ‘favourites’ can apply, when you’ve made it clear you’d rather be with your D’Marian lover.”
Nia visibly winced. For the love of all that was good… was it that obvious? Did she smell like sex and affairs!? “Well, you’ve got me here now, yeah? You know I always come back. No head injury to keep me bedridden this time.” She smiled nervously and tapped her forehead. “Please rest assured, we’ve got this under control. Go and get some rest. I’ll have your answers in the morning, just as promised.”
Locque did not reply, but she did appear to concede, and silently left the trio to their tasks. Even Nia visibly pushed air from her lungs in relief when the new queen had taken her leave. “So… find anything interesting?” She asked Elias and Alster, who were still crouched over the necromancer’s body. No long after, the Sybaian healer returned, a look of apology on her face.
“I attempted to rouse the faoladh from his slumber… but it would appear that the events from today have left him beyond exhausted. He was barely intelligible for that half moment he awake. I’m not sure that any testimony he can provide this evening would be at all accurate.” She shook her head slowly, her brunette ponytail falling over her shoulder. “I think it would be best to wait until morning to speak with him. Would… Her Majesty agree to that, Nia?”
“Well, it’s not like she really has a choice.” The Master Alchemist sighed dramatically once again. “So much for sleep, tonight. I can’t be much help here right now, and to be honest, dead bodies creep me the fuck out. Just… do what you need to do. I’ll talk to the wolf man in the morning.”
Nia then took her leave of Sigrid’s room, leaving the trio of healers alone with the unresponsive corpse. After a few moments had passed, she quietly mentioned, “Who would you deem most suitable to speak with Hadwin? Shall I retrieve Elespeth? She appears to have a good rapport with him.” Met with looks of confusion from both Alster and Elias, the Sybaian healer simply stated, her voice low, “Do the two of you really think me incapable of a little deceit? Hadwin is awake and lucid. But if what he has to say does not bode well in Locque’s favour… then we cannot have Nia Ardane with us, initially. So, we go speak with him now--and return with her, in the morning, when he’s prepared a suitable excuse. Does that strike you as a sound plan?”
On exiting Lilica and Chara’s shared chambers, Alster slowed his pace to allow Isidor the chance to impart a few insights on Vitali’s coded remarks from when they last spoke. Knowing only that they exchanged words, but nothing about their content, Alster’s suspicions mounted upon hearing the Master Alchemist’s brief account, as well as his translation of that account. “There’s nothing delicate for me to disturb. I know where to tread.” It was the closest he dared hint about his revelations regarding the necromancer’s unprecedented—and rather baffling—sacrifice. Better for him to admit nothing concrete, not even to his closest confidantes. The secret stayed with him, at present. After all, wasn’t he partially responsible for this sudden turn in events? If he hadn’t told Naimah about his inane, speculative findings, hadn’t planted the idea in her head…
He was getting ahead of himself. Foremost, to check on the body for the tiniest spark of a leftover energy signature. Anything at all to confirm that his suppositions were correct. Because if they were, then it meant that the time to act, to initiate a plan and spring it into motion, was forthcoming. If Vitali, the harbinger, heralded the beginning of Locque’s downfall, Alster would gladly see events to their grand finale. “Don’t worry, Isidor. I’ll be careful,” he said, a more normal response to his friend’s concerns and warnings than what the previous cryptic whispers had denoted. “Go and get some rest, if you can.”
Any forward momentum his determined footsteps covered had ground to a screeching halt upon meeting a fatal dead end. Locque. He prepared himself adequately for any variables, including an unexpected reunion with the sorceress whose presence he thought able to withstand, but no, he miscalculated just how dominant a territory she occupied in his mental headspace. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t partake in any of the tasks he set out to do. Unresponsive and, by some interpretations, uncooperative, his silence ceded control to Elias, who took charge without a second blink, and Daphni, who departed the chambers in search of Hadwin. They were no strangers to his many lapses of stability. Even Nia, noticing something off, diverted the sorceress’s attention from him, but he was unaware of what they discussed, unaware of little else but the mechanical scuffing of his feet as Elias ushered him towards the body in the corner of the room and bade him kneel, to at least appear occupied. Spare her your gawping, the Clematis healer intimated wordlessly. Such unflattering reactions sent the wrong message to one already in a foul mood, and it could spell Alster’s doom a second time, were he not careful.
Alster’s head cleared the second Locque’s oppressive presence had evacuated the room. As if a spell had been lifted, the Rigas caster coughed and spluttered and fought for air, bookending his hands against the floor to prevent from collapsing.
“I suppose my tolerance...for corpses is negligible. I can’t believe I’m...so squeamish. Not an enduring trait...to see in a healer,” he managed, an excuse no one believed. They all knew the source of his malaise, but it was better to pretend otherwise, and better for them to play along. “I deal with the living. Not so much the dead.” Eliciting his second wind, he lowered his hands upon the dead necromancer’s chest and closed his eyes, gathering the tattered remains of his concentration in search for the traces of Gaolithe still present in Vitali’s system. Sure enough, he located the knot of energy residing above his heart like a nexus of electricity. In case it would deliver a secondhand death shock, he didn’t explore the curiosity too deeply. It was a cursory observation, but enough to glean the information he wanted: memories. The precious seconds leading to Vitali’s death. The deliberate press of his hand against the cursed blade, and the subsequent release of a familiar soul as it made contact with and traveled through the blade’s near-impenetrable barriers. The timing couldn’t be more advantageous. With Gaolithe too busy expending its energy to guzzle Vitali’s mortality like a scrumptious meal, it overlooked the intruder sneaking through the back door. Naimah. It was Naimah. And somehow, through a stroke of ingenuity engineered by an extremely unlikely ally, she had infiltrated the weapon!
If this works, Vitali, remind me to hate you a little less. Detaching his connection, Alster flicked open his eyes and removed his hands from the corpse.
“Instantaneous cardiac arrest. The necromancer succumbed in a matter of moments,” Elias mused, pushing from the corpse to relax on his haunches. “I cannot offer a more thorough cross-section or detail his death-throes, but that is ‘Mister Obvious’ for you,” he bit, glaring weakly at the Master Alchemist who spouted the unflattering nickname. “All surface level and nothing more.”
“I agree with Elias,” Alster nodded, shaking out of his meditative trance and playing with the fabric of his collar to ground him to the tactile world of reality. “Gaolithe has the striking force of a smiting bolt of lightning. It’s a terror to behold,” he raised his head to meet Nia and answer her inquiry. “I would have liked to explore a little longer, but unfortunately, its destructive power hasn’t quite departed his body. As he is now, he’s a prime conductor for transmitting the weapon’s residual leftovers. It’s too dangerous to proceed. All I could glean from a very brief window into his fading memories was that he laid his hands on the sword, but that’s nothing illuminating. Nothing we don’t already know. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help in this investigation. But I’m not quite through yet. I’d also like to have a look at Gaolithe. From afar, of course. But it can wait for another day.”
If Nia had intended to pick his brain a little more on the information he was withholding, she didn’t succeed, for Daphni returned in time to interrupt the exchange with news about Hadwin, which wouldn’t favor the timeliness of the investigation so long as he couldn’t rouse to full wakefulness. With resignation, the tired Ardane fugitive agreed to reconvene in the morning and exited the chambers, leaving the trio (and a corpse) to discuss their options uncensored.
“Huh. I underestimate you sometimes, Adela,” Elias said, a shine of fondness sparking behind his hazel eyes. Whatever relationship the two shared behind closed doors, it was still apparently going strong.
“I’ll inform Elespeth,” Alster climbed to his feet. “We’ll visit the faoladh together and hear what he has to say. Will you be able to handle the transport of the body on your own?”
Elias snorted. “Please. Don’t insult me. Primarily, I am a healer, but secondly, I am an undertaker. War and pestilence are my employers. Go,” he waggled his hand at the Rigas caster. “See to the wolf-man.”
As promised, Elespeth waited in the main corridor with all the vigilance of a Forbanne guard on standby, a living statue until need awakened them from their sentinel stillness.
“El.” He fluttered to his wife and touched his shoulder; stirring her to motion. The subtle sheen of etherea glossing his hand like dewdrops in moonlight indicated the activation of a silencing spell. Despite this failsafe, he kept his voice to a low hum. “Hadwin’s awake in the infirmary. Daphni was able to orchestrate a perfect opportunity where we wouldn’t be watched by either Nia or…” his opposite hand, the prosthesis, tightened over her wrist, its steel plating clattering, chattering...shivering in the failed attempt to pretend he had the situation well in hand. “I...saw her, just before. I saw her and I... Were I alone in the room with her, I don’t know what would’ve become of me. I couldn’t do anything. She still has me, after all this time. How am I to—I can’t fall apart! Not at this crucial moment, when the screws are finally turning in our favor.” He pressed his forehead to her shoulder, not just to muffle the outburst no one else could hear, but to buckle under her supportive weight. For a little while, he needed to let himself be weak while he had access to her safety and comfort. Ten seconds. Ten seconds he allotted, and not a dram more.
“I know what happened.” With great reluctance, he peeled away from her shoulder. “I might have unintentionally contributed to this event. I’m partially responsible...for Vitali’s death. But I can’t yet tell you what I know. I won’t implicate anyone else until the time is right. And the time is almost upon us. Soon...we’ll all have to act. Vitali’s message is clear. No more delays, or his sacrifice will mean nothing. We move ahead and we fight.” The silvery steel reflected the armories of war in his narrowed, typically pacifistic, eyes. “No matter what.”
“Can’t even get one good night’s sleep? Just one? Sheesh, thanks, Vitali. Couldn’t’ve waited a day sooner to plan your big death play. No goddamned rest for the wicked!” Hadwin, very much awake, grabbed fistfuls of sheets and hefted himself against the bed’s headboard to better engage his two visitors. Owing to his lack of sleep, he was cranky and a little on edge, having far from recovered his strength and good humor when the day’s dramatics suctioned out all his stamina.
“So Daphni filled you in, then.” Alster pointed to his hand, alerting the faoladh that they could speak without risk of someone overhearing them. “And just as your sister claimed, you seem to know beforehand what he was about to do. We’re not going to stay long, Hadwin. Believe me, I’m not happy about interrupting your convalescence. But we all need to be on the same page because Nia will be questioning you in the morning.”
“Any hope of sleep is dead in the water now.” He huffed, throwing his legs to the side and in a sitting position to prove his statement true. “So, Ro caught shades of my betrayal and is assuming I’m complicit in some greater scheme. Sorry to disappoint her, but I’m not. Honestly, I thought the ghost-whisperer was a fever-dream. Something I cooked up during a moment of half-conscious lucidity. But I followed his instructions anyway because I didn’t want to be wrong if he turned out to be real and not a hallucination.”
“He gave you instructions?”
“In the vaguest sense of the word.” He scratched the side of his neck where the scarf he still adorned rubbed up against his skin, generating itches throughout the woolen fabric. It felt good to tend to his itches again instead of suffering them in his conditional paralysis, and even better to feel no pain behind his eyes for the first time in weeks. “You know the necromancer. Gotta read between the lines to get the whole picture. He never stated anything explicitly; too dangerous to do so. But it was pretty obvious he was gonna off himself for the greater good and that I needed to be there to pick up the pieces of Tes’s broken heart when the time came. Couldn’t do anything of the sort without first breaking my own sister’s heart—and that last bit’s practically a word-for-word translation. So if you’re here to warn me about Nia or Locque or whatever,” he wound his arm in an experimental circle, testing its strength; it ached from disuse, “you don’t have to feed me a script. I guarantee you, showing my puny hand is not gonna rattle them to the core or out me as some grandmaster co-conspirator. It’s all too damn vague to be helpful. Revelatory content, this ain’t. For all they know, he failed his mission anyway. Hells, maybe he did. But I have a feeling,” his arm dropped to his lap in a plop, “that’s not the last we’re gonna see of him. He sure as shit isn’t going to shirk his promise to me or so help me, I’ll drag him outta hell myself.”
“He’ll always do what he says he’ll do.” Alster furrowed his brow in thought. “Isidor stopped me in the hallway to pass these words along to me. Vitali said some approximation of them when he last visited Isidor. Though they’re cryptic in scope, I have reason to believe he’ll come through and, therefore, will return to us in some capacity.”
“Well then, that’s good to hear. I’ll take it. Anything that’ll mellow Tes out after getting the tragic news. So,” he looked between Alster and Elespeth, his golden eyes reflective in the light of the bedside lantern, “how’re we approaching this? The scamp needs to know, but she’s not gonna take it well—and that’s an oversimplification.”
“You should be the one to tell her. She trusts you most of all. Maybe it will soften the blow to hear it from you.”
“Words I thought no one would ever say,” Hadwin guffawed. “I take it we’re begging far, far out of here in case of an explosive reaction?” Alster nodded. “Guess I can say it’s part of my recovery treatment or something. Time spent recuperating in the countryside—though the Night Garden’s the best place for healing, so I’ll really have to sell this mystery locale as something damn special. Anyway,” he cricked his head from side to side, “we’ll need to take extra precautions. Get me a sedative. The strongest you’ve got. If it comes to the point where she can’t be pulled from the brink, I’ll have to stick her. You should be close at hand, too, Al. Your magic’s all about defense and shielding, yeah? And you’ve worked with her in the past. You recognize her energy patterns. Can you predict if she’s gonna pop and prepare some kind of barrier in case of the worst?”
Alster stroked the underside of his chin, frowning. “At the very least, I can mitigate some of the damage. And I have also been hard at work training myself to fight and deflect summoner magic. Yes...I think I might be able to help.”
“Standby for you, then. I mean, let’s hope nothing escalates to that point, and I wanna trust that Tes can reel it in all on her own, but,” he sighed, and it carried hints of defeat and wavering confidence in the face of how things had ended with Rowen, “it’s better to be prepared, given I’m not in peak form. As I am...I can’t exactly give chase if she flees, and I can’t restrain her.” He tilted his head at Elespeth. “Might as well come along, too, Elly. Hang out in standby with your husband.”
While the Rigas couple and the middle Kavanagh sibling discussed strategy, the youngest Kavanagh sibling was not quite done with Nia. En route to her bedchambers, Rowen accosted her in the hallway, but unlike earlier, her attitude had shifted from bristling hostility to...desperation. The desperation to be understood.
“I didn’t quit,” she dug in her heels, bracing herself for a confession she didn’t want to voice. She owed this vile woman absolutely nothing! No explanation, no call to see eye to eye. Yet...here she was, pleading her case. “But the Night Garden...wasn’t for me. No one could trust my ability to balance recovery with my duties. Not you...and not Locque. I’ll find my own way, like I always have. You can’t say I stopped trying to be a better person when I’m doing exactly what you’re doing, or because I chose to prioritize what’s most important. I’m helping our monarch find the answers she desires. By that vein, are you saying that you don’t believe servicing our Lady constitutes ‘good’? Are you losing your convictions?” Rowen glanced out of her periphery. They had, by chance, ended up congregating near the statue of Cwenha, the woman she murdered in cold blood; the woman beautifully rendered in marble by a certain D’Marian artist. “Where is your loyalty? To her, or to him?”
She grimaced at the statue before stepping wide, giving it a respectful, fearful berth. “I detest you, Nia. But don’t mistake my detestation for lack of progress. That’s all I have to say to you.”
Elespeth was already too wide awake from the most recent earth-shattering news, and hadn’t retired to her chambers after leaving that of Lilica and Chara’s. Her blood was practically buzzing with confusion, fear… and maybe a little bit of excitement. Whatever Isidor had murmured to Alster prior to her husband taking his leave of the room, she recognized a look that the two of them had exchanged: it was a look of hope. Maybe Vitali was dead--actually dead, but something told her this was only the beginning of something far greater. Something that they could use to their advantage… if only they could determine what the late necromancer had been thinking. What had he been up to, knowing full well what would happen to him if he touched the sword? Had his loyalties actually been to them, all along, and not Locque? Was it safe to believe that he had simply infiltrated the summoner Queen’s forces so that he could afford himself this very opportunity, without ever being suspect, leading up to his final moments? And, most importantly… did Hadwin know something that the rest of them didn’t?
She didn’t think she’d be able to go back to sleep that night without knowing the answer to that last question--and, fortunately, it seemed she wouldn’t be left wondering.
“Alster.” The former knight’s curious eyes darkened with concern as her husband approached her, looking far less stable and far more shaken than he had before. “Is everything… are you alright? What happened? Was it… bad? What happened to Vitali?”
She couldn’t even imagine what happened to someone who had come into contact with Gaolithe, having never witnessed it, herself. Was it so gruesome that even Alster couldn’t handle what he’d seen? No… that was not it at all, as she would soon come to find. Alster’s apprehension had nothing to do with Vitali or what had happened to him… and it had everything to do with a certain tyrant Queen who had also been present. “Alster. Listen to me, Alster.” Elespeth took him into her embrace, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, and offered him a safe space and opportunity to let his weakness show--just for a moment. “She has no more power over you than you allow her to have; remember that. Yes, she is powerful, but so are you. You mustn’t forget what you are capable of--what we, all of us, are capable of.” The undertones of her words were clear in indicating the downfall that they were all in the process of planning for the new self-appointed Queen.
“Something I learned in my training as a knight… and that Sigrid, as a Dawn Warrior, also embraced.” There was sadness in her quiet tone at the mention of their dear friend, who had already lost months of her life and her free will to Locque. “No matter how powerful a single entity… no amount of power can stand up to the collective will of a team. Of people working together. Remember that, because it is true. Even the Serpent in all its power was no match for just the two of us.” She smiled, boldly and confidently, and took Alster’s face in her hands to press a kiss to his forehead. “Now… what did you find?”
Alster briefly explained that now was their opportunity to speak with Hadwin, without having to worry about Nia being present around sensitive information, so she wasted no time accompanying him to Hadwin’s quarters. Sure enough, the stubborn faoladh was wide awake, and ready to talk, even if he wasn’t completely enthused about it.
“Sorry if the timing isn’t ideal for you, but now is our chance to discuss what needs to be said without worrying about information falling upon… untrustworthy ears.” Elespeth explained. At the very least, he already seemed to know what this was all about, so they wasted no time with explanations. “What did you hear, then? You are reportedly the last person to have seen Vitali alive… and yes, he’s dead. Several people can confirm he’s not pulling an elaborate hoax, at this point.”
Unfortunately, Hadwin hadn’t been in the best shape of his life when the necromancer had paid him a visit, so it was no ruse that whatever details Vitali had confided in him were likely lost to his feverish state at the time. What was worse, was that the necromancer hadn’t been one to get straight to the details, but rather enjoyed delivering messages cryptically, like a game he intended for the listener to play. Of course, everyone was speaking cryptically within the walls of the palace these days, considering you never knew who or what could be listening.
“So what he said to you… it was for Teselin’s sake. Well,” the former Atvanian blew air from between her lips and shook her head. “I suppose I can no longer hold fast to the possibility that he didn’t have the capacity to care about anyone. But that he told you, in so many words, that he intended to die… I do wonder what he meant to accomplish. And how much it would contribute to… well, whatever goal he had in mind. But, if he did not mention any details to you,” Elespeth sighed quietly, “then while that still leaves us in the dark… it makes you immune to the return of your sister’s sight. If you say you know nothing, then she can’t refute it. Neither can Nia, for that matter.”
But that wasn’t the only problem they faced. There was also the issue of informing Teselin of this recent turn of events--something that she would no doubt interpret as a tragedy--and no one wanted to be the one to possibly incite another ‘natural disaster’ as a result of her intense and tumultuous emotions. However, there was still one clear candidate. “Maybe… invite her somewhere into the remote parts of the farmlands. Invite her to have a picnic; something positive.” Elespeth suggested after some thought. “But… yes. Far away from people and civilization, in case… she does not take the news very well. I have a feeling, coming from you, the blow might not be as hard. She might have lost her biological brother, but she still has you. She just got you back, in fact. If you want us to be present and available… Alster and I can make that happen.”
It was difficult for Nia to walk away without feeling particularly defeated, that evening. How could a night escalate to such an extreme, and how could no one provide any answers or clues as to what the hell was going on? I should’ve stayed in the D’Marian settlement. With Ari. Oblivious to all of this bullshit… Now, not only did she have a mystery on her hands, but a decidedly cranky Queen and employer, and she would be the one who would take the brunt of her attitude. Locque dished it out because she knew she could take it: because she knew that after years and years of putting up with Felyse… this vitriol was truly nothing. And, because, she knew better than to incite Rowen, who would then take out her own frustrations on the Galeynians that Locque strived to spare in a heartbeat.
And speaking of the little devil…
“Rowen.” The Master Alchemist skidded to a stop just outside of her chambers when the she-wolf accosted her out of seemingly nowhere. What the hell was she made of, vapour?! “Rowen… I don’t know how to convince you how little I care about your existential crisis right now.” She told her outright, rubbing her forehead in exhaustion. She didn’t want this right now; she didn’t need this right now. She wasn’t even sure if she would be able to sleep, after all of this, but she’d be damned if she didn’t try. “And I know you hate the ground I walk on. But--surprise, I don’t care about that, either! Look, you really want in on this? Then hells, take the damn reins. You’re the one that can see everything evil anyone has ever done. If there are traitors in the midst, and people are plotting against Her Majesty Locque, then that really is your territory, yeah? I didn’t fucking ask to be part of this, Rowen. So if you’re all butthurt because you feel excluded and miffed that I was asked to spearhead this investigation, then know it wasn’t my idea. Take it up with our Queen; not me.”
Nia dropped her hand to her side and shook her head. Part of her actually did feel bad for the kid; she’d been trying to do a good thing--and for real! Circumstances didn’t favour her, and now she was back to square one. “Look, what you wanna do or who you wanna be from here on out is none of my damn business, yeah? You said it yourself: you detest me. So why are you standing here, barring my way to a few hours of sleep, trying to convince me you’re not a little bitch? You don’t owe me any convincing. If you think what you’re doing makes you a good person, then good on you. But let it be known, it has nothing to do with the decisions I am making. I’m not the one who needs validation.” She turned to the statue of the girl called Cwenha, so perfectly sculpted, down to the expression in her eyes by the prodigal artist’s hands. She had never known the girl, but this statue, along with everything else that Ari had ever touched or crafted, made her smile, and this was no exception.
“You can drag me all you want, but I’ve been very honest with our Lady. About exactly what--or who--makes Galeyn home to me. One day, she is going to be where she wants to be, and she isn’t going to need me anymore--or you. And when that day comes, there may or may not be any reason for me to remain in Galeyn. I mean, it’s not as if the people here have been very happy about my presence since learning who I work for. I don’t have a community, as things stand; just a handful of people who tolerate me for what I can do, or because they’re too afraid to hate me for fear of what Locque might think. So instead of shitting all over my decisions and trying to convince me you’re worthy of praise for your efforts, maybe you should really start thinking about what and who you will be in the aftermath, huh? Believe it or not, I’m not even trying to be a bitch, here.” The Master Alchemist spread her arms, indicating the vast corridor surrounding them. “I’ve been a little sister and a big sister, you know. Since you’re not exactly speaking with your biological big sister, maybe you can heed some of my big sister advice. You have options--probably more, way more than you realize. What you do with them, and what you choose, that is all up to you. Doesn’t matter what I think--or what Locque thinks, when she’s through with you, just like she is me. Don’t kid yourself, Rowen; we might be assets, but it isn’t as though we aren’t expendable. I chose to work for Locque in exchange for protection and safety. What was your reason? And,” she angled her head curiously, “does it still feel like it’s worth it? You don’t have to tell me; I don’t matter. And I don’t really care. I’ll do my job, and you’ll do yours, yeah? I’m willing to coexist peacefully for a common goal if you are. But for now…” She brought one of her hands to her face and rubbed her eyes. “I need, like… at least four hours of sleep if I’m expected to function in the morning. A little shut-eye probably wouldn’t hurt you, either.”
With little more to say between them, Nia moved past the young faoladh, just a few doors down before she entered her own chamber, collapsed on her bed, and closed her eyes--but did not sleep. Not with her pending objective for the morning.
Sure enough, as soon as the sun rose, Nia stopped pretending she would be getting any sleep and didn’t waste any time knocking first on Bronwyn’s door, and then Elespeth’s. When the former knight answered, bleary-eyed and decidedly not in the mood to deal with Nia, the Master Alchemist didn’t give her an inch to refuse her. “‘Morning, Elespeth! Since you and Al are on pretty good terms with Hadwin, how about you join me in having a little discussion with him? He’s had the night to sleep off his exhaustion. Unless he’s already drinking, can’t see him being incoherent today, huh? Anyway, gotta get talking to him while Teselin isn’t around. I dunno whose gonna break the news to her, or how, but I don’t think now is the time.” Her vibrant chipperness was very clearly contrived; Nia herself was tired, and gave off the distinct air that she didn’t want to interrogate someone who she considered a friend. “See you in his room in fifteen minutes or so? Good.”
Leaving the Rigas couple to freshen up, the Master Alchemist made a detour to the kitchen, requesting a good plated breakfast that wouldn’t upset the stomach, and a mug of steaming tea, which were promptly prepared. It wasn’t for her, though, and she snagged a serving platter before making her way to Hadwin. She had to give the Rigases credit; both Elespeth and Alster were already there, waiting for her and chatting up the faoladh, when she arrived with her peace offering.
“Hey, pal. Long time no talk.” Nia beamed, and sat the small meal of tea, fresh bread and jams next to Hadwin’s bed. “Hope you had a good sleep. Thought I’d bring you something tasty… I take it the Rigases here have already filled you in on why I need to bug you?” Smiling nervously, the Master Alchemist exhaled slowly through her nose and pressed her back against the wall, arms folded. “Would much rather be talking shit with you over ale, but unfortunately, I’ve gotta ask you about the necromancer. I’m sure you’ve been told, he kicked the bucket last night. Thought he could get his hands on Gaolithe or something--we’re not sure what he was doing, or why, but that’s why I’m here. Word has it--or rather, according to your little sister… you were the last person to see him alive. So…” Unfolding her arms, she held her hands, palms up, a gesture of helplessness. “What can you tell me? What did Vitali say to you? I’m not trying to be an asshole and put you on the spot; I’m actually just trying to keep the peace, here, and Locque wants answers. So far… you’re my best bet. So,” her weak smile broadened. “Help a girl out? We gotta talk before your biggest fan shows up. I think we all know… this isn’t the way Teselin should find out.”
Rowen didn’t appreciate the lecture. Bronwyn lectured, too, dispensing the wisdom of years when those years amounted to drudgery, toil, and underdevelopment in practically every important aspect of life. Bronwyn knew how to be a slave; she didn’t know how to live. Age and seniority weren’t automatic or required qualifiers for a mentor—an unsolicited mentor, at that. And Nia was no mentor. She tired of everyone’s advice. Advice didn’t lift the shadows. It uselessly bounced around, lost in the thick stew of night. Just another discarded artifact taking up space, causing tripping hazards in the dark. How did something intended to help fall so monumentally off the mark as to corrupt and pervert into its exact opposite?
You have options. Like she hadn’t heard that one before! Come on, Nia; I thought you’d be more original than that. Had she not been paying attention? Rowen would never rid of her darkness. Anything coming close to a resolution—Hadwin’s fear-eradication strategy —was a cruel tease worthy of agitating the swarms of miasma forever clouding her vision. And oh, had the graceless reabsorption of her fears excavated geysers upon geysers of black oil and tar, once buried reminders now leaked to the surface in slippery slicks too impossible to rinse away and clean. She could attempt to clear the muck, but what did it matter if more of it belched from the subterra to coat the land in a new blanket of shit? And again, and again, and again? Fighting against the torrent was futile. Trying to be something other than her nature, the one chosen for her at birth, was equally futile.
Don’t you see? I never had options. Everyone who says otherwise can’t understand. Not you, not Hadwin, not Bronwyn, and not Breane. The only person who comes close…is Teselin. And she...she let me down. She’ll always let me down as long as Hadwin remains her priority. I never stood a chance.
The best she could do was to use her skills for the betterment of someone else, in hopes of finding fulfillment. Maybe even acceptance. She was pleased to learn, from the evening’s events, that her kind never lost its place among the ranks. So long as evil persisted, her expertise would always be in demand. Locque might have abandoned her to the Night Garden, but Rowen was going to prove why doing so was a careless idea. Resting peacefully in the sanctuary, to putter away and knit to pass the time, was a flagrant waste of her talents. And who was that person, anyway? She didn’t like that Rowen. Too soft, too soggy, too much like the whelp who hid from the world to spite the pain knocking at her door. It didn’t need an invitation to enter, but it had been polite and ever-patient. And it always reached its destination.
She meant it when she stated she had nothing else to say. After the Master Alchemist spoke her peace, Rowen let her go and continued in the opposite direction, towards Locque’s quarters. Sigrid guarded the door, a seldom missing mainstay regardless of day, time, or crisis. Her emotionless face of slate betrayed nothing; no passing thought for the necromancer who died by her blade, no lines of exhaustion beneath her glacial gaze, no indication of character or personhood. While she never expressed the slightest of damns for the Dawn Warrior, it was always unnerving to see her as little more than a taxidermy animal on display, its eyes replaced with marbles. Looking at her, who can say she has options? She doesn’t; not at all.
“Let me see Locque,” she relayed to the mindless puppet, but it turned out she needn’t say anything at all. The door latch clicked and swung open of its own accord. She was expected. Inside, the sorceress, hands clasped and staring out the window, apparently at nothing (of this dimension), couldn’t hide the immense agitation that emanated from her aura in waves.
“I’ll make this quick,” she closed the door behind her, knowing not to try Locque’s patience when her mood was far from indulgent. “I’m free of the sanctuary. I didn’t like being so...stationary. I’m more than ready to offer my assistance as before. I always have been, even when I was warming a bed in the Night Garden. Here is what I learned tonight.” She took one bold step forward, to the center of the room. “Of those who were questioned, nobody has the slightest inclination of the necromancer’s motive. They took turns sharing their shock and surprise that he died at all. I’m confident they know nothing of this incident—save for perhaps my brother, who may know about as much as I do. It is as I’ve warned you. Vitali had always intended on betraying us. He wanted something from your alliance. Proximity to an object...though I could never glean exactly what. The necromancer is notoriously hard to read.”
“I have reason to believe that whatever he did, it was to undermine your rule. Whether or not he succeeded, I don’t know. But what I do know is this,” she paused to ensure she had the summoner queen’s full, unerring attention. “Of the people Nia gathered tonight, over half of them still harbor very active thoughts of destroying you by whatever means necessary. Those traitorous sentiments haven’t faded over time, but rather, seemed to have grown in noise and pitch. If there’s no silencing their loud opposition, it’s up to us to demoralize their cry for rebellion—don’t you agree?” Emboldened by Locque’s departure from the window, threads of enthusiasm overlaid Rowen’s usual deadpan calm. “By our terms of surrender, we can’t lay physical harm unless they strike first, but psychological harm is fair game, I’d say. And nothing is more harmful, more stinging, than the truth. Let’s show the people of Galeyn that the figureheads they’ve invested their faith in are not worth celebrating, not when they hold absolutely no moral high ground over you. If the people could only evaluate their exhaustive list of evils, they will find how easy it is to condemn their heinous actions, and will have no choice but to admit you are the far superior ruler, in power and in benevolence. This is something I can easily accomplish, if you’d let me. Also,” a tug of a smile lined her dour countenance, “if we go ahead with this plan, it will test Nia’s loyalty. If all goes well, her beloved D’Marian lord will also suffer a fair amount of collateral damage. Now I wonder...will she run to comfort him, or will she remain by your side?”
Certain as the rain in Collcreagh, Hadwin didn’t sleep a wink after Alster and Elespeth retired to bed. Normally, he didn’t mind the stray night or two without sleep. Having fearsight meant nightmares were a surety, a firebrand forever scorched into his brain. Most were petty annoyances at this point, like a gadfly’s bite on your eyelid. But sometimes, they wrenched his rib cage open and poured molten metals into his chest, creating an ever-burning hell furnace. Not surprisingly, the last few weeks were a marathon of the worst his mind offered. Nothing forged the deadliest recipes than the combination of fever, blistering headaches, drugs, and idleness. And he hated idleness. Idleness compounded fear. Worse yet, involuntary idleness, the kind where you were consigned to a bed without any hope of escape, all but guaranteed a boost-up for even the most half-formed, unobtrusive fears, clumsy buggers that crashed into walls with all the ferocity of fat bumblebees. It really made no difference to be conscious or unconscious; the two worlds blended so seamlessly that the whole experience read like one neverending, living nightmare of a story. Now that his dread symptoms had cleared and he could move about without pain or uncomfortable heat, one thing hadn’t changed about his predicament: idleness. Left alone to his thoughts, no dreams to disturb the flow, no booze or herbs to stifle the spikes of anxiety, and restricted mobility impacting his ability to rectify the problem, he failed to beat back the flood of inadequacies, of his bruised confidence, and of the hollowness forming at the pit of his stomach that made him feel like there was precious little to look forward to, from here on out.
And how could he think that? Why would he think that? Because he fucking hated idleness! It made him question, and doubt, and...stop. For Hadwin Kavanagh, to stop was the worst thing he could possibly do.
Alster and Elespeth found him crawling on the floor the next morning.
“Hey! Al, Elly!” He rose up on his knees and greeted them with a wave, not at all fazed to be caught in a compromising position. If he could walk, he’d have jumped them at the doorway, so relieved for the company after a night spent entirely conscious and lucid. Hells, if he were a wolf, his damn tail would be wagging! “Just getting myself back into tip-top shape. Give me a week, and I’ll be running circles around you again, like nothing ever happened,” he winked at Elespeth. “Now what brings you back so soon? Is Nia bringing us all goodies?”
It turned out, she did bring goodies, but expressly for him. “Mornin’, Nia!” Shaking away Alster and Elespeth’s aid, he grabbed the bed and hauled himself up from the floor. Though it took a few tries, he managed the feat on his own, but it knocked the breath out of him and reduced his limbs to jitters seen in a withdrawal patient. “Enticing me with a breakfast spread, huh?” He said after recovering his breath control. “Now if you were really looking to win me over, you’d be offering me a drink or a smoke. I don’t think I’ve ever gone this long sober, and it fucking shows!”
Not only had returning Rowen’s fears lifted his headaches, fever, and paralysis, but his sense of smell had also returned, and with a vengeance. To compensate for almost a month bereft of the faintest hint of an odor, he detected the nuances of nuances, like stubborn dirt clinging underneath one’s fingernails. Nia didn’t escape his inadvertent olfactory inspection—and for the best, too, because he liked what he found!
“Say it ain’t so. Damn, Nia!” His face split into a manic smile, the first of its kind in about a moon cycle. “Before we talk business, can I just take a minute to appreciate this? How long, you vixen? Put it here!” He raised a hand for her to snap mid-air. When he lowered his hand, he searched the gazes of Alster and Elespeth, who didn’t seem...all that confused about the vague exchange. “Oh, you folks know, already? And I’m the last to find out?! Fuck, I can’t wait till I’m on my feet again. First thing I’m doing, Nia,” he pointed a finger at the Alchemist, “drinks. We’re getting drinks. And you’re telling me everything!”
Despite his preference towards discussing Nia’s sex life (that he had invested a great deal of time to facilitate), he wasn’t too distracted to acknowledge the true objective of Nia’s visit. After slathering some jam and butter on one side of his bread and taking a thankful bite (it had been so long since chewing wasn’t agonizing!) he shifted the subject, and the tone, to suit the mood.
“Yeah, I might’ve been the last bloke who saw him alive that night. Well, technically my eyes were closed, but I heard him and he felt corporeal. Best as my fever-brain could figure, anyway. I wasn’t at my best. Half lucid at most, so take what I say with a grain of salt. That, and the necromancer isn’t known to just out and say what he means. Makes you work for it, sometimes.” He paused to take a long, thankful gulp of tea, heedless of its temperature. “He encouraged me to get well, and soon, so I can be there for Tes and make sure she doesn’t ‘lose herself.’ That’s it. That’s all he said—on the surface. But if you read between the lines, isn’t that a strange request to ask a person unless you weren’t already planning on popping off somewhere? Not like Vitali was all too ‘present’ in Tes’s life to begin with, so going on a sudden vacation wouldn’t faze her too much. No, nothing short of death or mortal danger would affect her to the point where she’d conceivably blow her top.” He set aside his half-eaten piece of bread to throw his arms in a wide shrug. “Sounds to me like he planned to die, but I couldn’t take a stab at his motivations. As it is, Vitali voluntarily sacrificing his life is so against his character, it’s a little hard to wrap your head around. But who knows? Maybe he wanted to reunite with all his little ghosty friends and Gaolithe was the easiest, most instantaneous way to do it.”
Fortunately for him, he finished his account with excellent timing; just a handful of minutes later, Teselin herself had knocked and entered the room.
“Ah, scamp! Come and join the party! I’m popular this morning, see?” He gestured to the small crowd surrounding his bed. “So many well-wishers checking in on my progress. It’s enough to move me to tears from all the love! Say,” he beckoned her closer, “I’ve got an idea. I’m sick of staring at some variation of four walls all the goddamn time. It feels like forever since I could roam around the countryside without a care. I’m itching for an adventure, even if it’s a superficial one and I can’t really walk yet. I was talking to Al before and he said there’s an expansive field not far from the farmhouse. Should be all decked out in flowers this time of year. It’s a hidden gem of a find; no one goes there. We’d have the lay of the land to ourselves. So, let’s pack a bundle of the yummiest Night Garden nibbles and take a ride to this place posthaste! I think we can both use a break from palace life…and from a certain black she-wolf. C’mon; I know you’re thinking it; I’m thinking it, too.” He nodded to the Rigas couple on his right. “And don’t worry about my health. That’s why Al and Elly are gonna come along. I’m still under Al’s care and Elly can lug me around in case I flop and fall. And Nia here approves of the excursion. We’ll get clearance so no need to worry! Go on and get ready.” He clamped excited hands on her shoulders and spun her around to the door. “We’ll leave as soon as we can! Gonna be a long trip during daylight hours.”
“Yikes, give yourself a day, wolf boy!” Nia laughed as she handed him the plate of breakfast good, planting her hands on her hips. “Get some actual nutrition into you before you go and wreck your body with booze and herbs. I’d have brought something a little more extravagant, but you’ve barely been sipping on broth for weeks, now. Try to down some solids and keep it down, and then we’ll talk a drink and a smoke, alright?”
One thing she could say about all of the Kavanaghs--Bronwyn not excluded--was that there was very little she could hide from them, good and bad. And if it wasn’t bad enough that Rowen (the little bitch!) had already blabbed her private life to everyone who didn’t need to know, she didn’t even have the opportunity to keep it close to her chest when it came to Hadwin. “Gods… If you’re really that interested in my sex life, Hadwin, then I’ll dish it all out over a good ale when you’re up and ready.” The Master Alchemist sighed, and rubbed her temple with two fingers. “But for now… I’d really appreciate it if you’d keep this information on the down low--all of you. Especially in the D’Marian settlement. It’s not something we’re looking to get out right now.”
“With all respect, Nia,” Elespeth rubbed the back of her neck and shook her head. “I’m not sure there are words to properly convey how much we have absolutely no interest in discussing who you sleep with, with anyone. At all. Ever.”
“Ah, see, El gets it!” Nia snapped her fingers with a grin. “Thanks, Elespeth. Super appreciate it. Anyway, Hadwin, you can get as much graphic detail as you want if you can help me out, here. Throw me a bone. Whatever you know, however irrelevant it might seem… Whatever the necromancer told you, I just need to know something. Anything. Words. Something to tell Her Majesty to make it clear I am trying to figure shit out. I’m not looking to implicate anyone, and let’s be real, you were out of fucking commission when this happened. If I come back with nothing… well, that would be kinda bad. For me, especially. You get what I’m saying?” As much as Nia could make light of a dire situation and maintain her calm, there was the unmistakable look of concern in her brown eyes--fear, even. Fear of what it would mean for her if she couldn’t appease Locque.
Fortunately, Hadwin obliged her, and told her everything that he knew--or remembered, in his delirious state. Nia listened intently, holding her breath for even the slightest tidbit of information that would explain why the self-preserving Necromancer had done what he’d done… but, ultimately, she came away with nothing. It wasn’t Hadwin’s fault; not only had he barely been conscious when Vitali Kristeva had paid him a visit, but the necromancer wasn’t exactly one for being direct. She didn’t have Rowen’s sight to determine if he wasn’t being truthful, but the Master Alchemist could predict absolutely no reasons as to why Hadwin, of all people, would want her to take a fall. And for that, she wholeheartedly believed that he was giving her all he’d gotten.
Noting Nia’s discomfort, and knowing her well enough to assume that they would be there all day, with her rewording the same questions over and over again as if it would eventually change Hadwin’s answer, Elespeth tucked her braid behind her shoulder. “Nia, based on what every knows or has ever known about Vitali… it truly sounds as though Vitali was acting entirely of his own volition, and for his own interests, unbeknownst to anyone.” She said, knowing well that it wasn’t what Nia (or Locque) would want to hear. “I’ve never met anyone so intent on keeping secrets--or as good at it. In the time that Alster and I have known him, he has never before shown any interest in Gaolithe, but there is still a lot about that sword that we don’t understand. It is possible there was something he knew that we don’t. If you wanted details… I suppose consulting the Dawn Guard would be the best source, although…” The former knight averted her gaze. “I’m not sure how open Roen would be to discussion, unless… well…”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. He wants his deadly, blonde Chosen One back. You think I don’t know this?” Nia bounced her leg, trying to out her nervous energy before she took out her frustration on people who didn’t deserve it. “Now’s not exactly the time to be making demands on Locque. Frankly, refusing to cooperate might land the Dawn Guard in hot water. But I’ll… I’ll see what I can do. Not like anyone else can negotiate with our new Queen. If it were up to Rowen, she’d kill first and ask questions later.” She rolled her eyes and huffed a sigh, dropping her arms loosely to her sides. “Majesty Locque wants information. So if this is all I can tell her… so be it. She’ll have to let go of Prince Sorde’s cousin at some point anyway.”
The wild sense of relief that Teselin felt as soon as Hadwin had freed himself from Rowen’s fears had almost been guilt-inducing. She understood the implications of what he did; that while it would help him immensely, it would mean the probably undoing of his younger sister who, for better or for worse, really had sought to commit to treatment from the Night Garden and its Gardeners. Of course, there was a twinge of remorse, knowing how Rowen had seen her as a confidant for a period of time, and what she had done had let her down immensely. But the guilt that the young summoner felt was in fact a result of her lack of complete remorse for what had happened to Rowen as a result of relieving Hadwin of his misery. She felt bad for not feeling bad that Hadwin had returned the fears plaguing his existence to their rightful owner. Rowen had known that this was coming for quite some time, now, and while she might not have been ‘ready’ for the implications… there never would be a ‘good time’ for them. Not only that, but Breane hadn’t felt that she had become a lost cause simply for the return of her fears. If she was truly committed to healing, to becoming that ‘better person’ that they had discussed, to finding beauty in the world again, then she could do it. The difference was, the responsibility now lay entirely upon her shoulders, alone. It would be hard work, certainly harder than before, and would continue to take commitment and patience, but it was not impossible. If Rowen gave up now, bitter over the fact they had literally saved her brother’s life by ridding him of her fears…
Well, then that was sadly her choice, alone. Her choice to give up, when there were still those willing to help her heal.
And, admittedly, Rowen was not the first thing on Teselin’s mind at this time. As soon as Hadwin was returned to the palace, the young summoner was eager to once again cement herself at his side to see to his full recovery firsthand. However, the sleepless nights she’d spent of late watching over him had begun to take their own toll on her well-being, and it had been on the advice of the healers (and Hadwin, too) that she return to her own chambers that evening to catch up on some much needed sleep. Now that Hadwin was stable and rapidly on his way to recovery, there was no need to spend the night with her eyes open, watching him thoroughly for any signs of decline or distress. He was no longer in danger of failing in any way, so after a little bit of ‘negotiating’ (or mild arguing), Teselin finally conceded and returned to her chambers, where she thought she’d be too preoccupied to sleep.
On the contrary, as soon as she lay her head on her pillow, the young summoner realized just how much weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She felt lighter, her head was clearer, and contrary to her belief, sleep no longer felt like such a faraway and farfetched notion. Hadwin was safe. He was back to his old self--or, rather, he was getting there, and well on his way to being healthy again. Faoladhs recovered exponentially faster than the average mortal, leading her to believe that he would be able to put this dark period behind him in no time at all. And, with the dissipation of those worries came the dissipation of her frequent bouts of insomnia. Before she knew it, she was sound asleep in seconds, and didn’t stir even once until she opened her eyes to the sun, fully risen, the next morning.
It was the first time in weeks upon weeks that Teselin had awoken to actually feeling rested. Along with that feeling of alertness, her appetite had returned; there would be no forcing food down, today. She couldn’t remember the last time she had actually enjoyed a meal--so she decided, she wanted to enjoy her first one in a long time with someone else who hadn’t had the opportunity to enjoy good food for a long time.
After jumping out of bed and dressing in record time, the young summoner didn’t hesitate to make her way to the palace kitchen to secure a couple of breakfast plates--one for herself, and one for Hadwin. By some miracle, she was able to carry the awkwardly large tray holding two plates of bread, jams, and soft cheeses all the way from the kitchen to Hadwin’s chambers… only to find that someone else had had the same idea, and had beaten her to the chase. Teselin hadn’t expected to see not only Alster and Elespeth, but also Nia standing around Hadwin’s bed, all looking as though they had been discussing something serious. It showed the most on Nia’s face, the Master Alchemist looking particularly crestfallen, but everyone’s microexpressions rapidly shifted as soon as she’d opened the door.
“Hawdin.” The young summoner blinked a few times, at the faoladh’s company and the plate of food on his lap that he had already begun to dig into. She offered a sheepish smile, glancing down at the heavy tray. “Looks like someone else had the same idea as me. I thought you might like something good to eat--but I’m glad to see you’re already eating.”
“Ah, that was my bad, Tes. Sorry if I spoiled your plans!” Nia was quick to apologize, jumping away from the wall to take the heavy tray from the Kristeva girl and balance it on a bedside table. Her worry lines were replaced with smile lines as she flashed her characteristic grin. “Hey, Hadwin, why don’t you take a bite of what your biggest fan brought you, instead. She sure as hell put more thought into this meal than I did!”
“Oh--no, it’s fine. I’m just happy to see him eating.” Ultimately, Teselin didn’t seem particularly offended, but rather, happy that she wasn’t the only one keen on celebrating Hadwin’s path to recovery. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything. I just… wanted to make sure that this was all real. That I didn’t dream it up that you were on the mend, Hadwin. Things have been happening so fast, and so slow at once…” She shook her head and brushed her hair from eyes. “Anyway… did you sleep well? I can imagine it’s probably been a while since you’ve had any real rest.”
Obliging as he beckoned her closer, the young summoner stood next to his bed as he proposed what she thought was… well, truth be told, a very reckless idea.
“You… want to go… do that, as in…. Today? Now?” Teselin searched his face of any sign that he was joking (sometimes it was hard to tell when he was being serious or pulling a fast one). “But you’re barely back to yourself, yet, Hadwin. You’ve lost so much weight and your muscles are weak… and the farmlands are a day’s travel by daylight. Not only that, but they’re so far from the Night Garden. What if something happens, and you need help? I’m sorry…” It broke her heart to disagree with something he seemed so excited about, but someone had to be the voice of reason. Wasn’t he still on bedrest, and only to move about while supervised with healers nearby? “I just feel like… well, I just got you back, after you’ve been drifting in and out of dreams and nightmares for so long. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“That’s why we offered to come along.” Elespeth spoke up, flashing the nervous summoner a reassuring smile. “To help Hadwin get around. And, don’t forget, Alster has extensive knowledge in healing. If this dunderhead does something stupid and gets himself hurt… which, I’ll admit, isn’t beyond his distructive tendencies,” she raised an eyebrow at Hadwin, “we’ll be there to help. Honestly, Teselin, the two of you have been through a lot, lately. What with Hadwin’s declining health and you being at Rowen’s beck and call, which couldn’t have been easy, I think you could both use this.”
“I’ll second that. The both of you look like you haven’t gotten any sunlight in a decade!” Nia chimed in, making her way towards the door, as if she had already been on her way out when Teselin had arrived. “The farmlands are damn lovely in spring; I should know, I spent about a year hiding out in them. Lots of flowers and tall grass, and the fruit trees are already in bloom. Spending too much time under the roof can make you go a little crazy, yeah? Go on, Tes, have fun! I’ve got to go tend to the whims of an impatient Queen, but I’ll see you all around, I’m sure.”
Teselin watched Nia leave (a little too quickly… Locque really must have been impatient), and turned to Alster and Elespeth’s faces for any signs that this might not be a good idea. But Elespeth had already said her peace, and Alster quickly confirmed what everyone else had already said. It seemed odd, for two very rational people who advocate for something that she still felt to be so reckless… but she couldn’t deny, she had been longing for a laid back day spent in good company. She couldn’t remember the last time she and Hadwin had had one of those. “Well… if you really think everything will be alright, so far from the Night Garden, I don’t want to say no. It’s been…” Her brows parted rather sadly. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you really, truly happy, Hadwin. I’m sorry for what happened with Rowen, and how it didn’t progress the way we had hoped, but… I still maintain that part of that was my fault. After all, I obliged Rowen’s whims, and look at what that did to you? I… owe you this.”
With a nod of resolve, the youngest Kristeva sibling abandoned her breakfast and turned back toward the door. “It’ll be a long venture, so I’ll go and pack enough food for four people, now. Is there anything in particular that anyone wants? Fruit from the Night Garden is always fairly ample. It shouldn’t be hard to put together something to everyone’s liking.”
“Alster’s the only one with dietary restrictions, and there isn't much meat in Galeyn, anyway. I’m sure whatever you want to pack will suffice.” Elespeth smiled, and managed to maintain it up until the young summoner stepped out and closed the door. She waited a beat, for the sound of footsteps retreating down the corridor, before speaking up again. “I hope you are all prepared for absolutely anything,” she whispered, her smile falling like leaves from a tree in late autumn. “Because I have absolutely no idea what is going to happen, today, or if any of us will walk away unscathed.”
“My lips are sealed, but,” Hadwin’s easy smile drooped into a frown, “assuming Ro’s the one who blabbed, she’s the one you should appease, not us. Believe it or not, I can keep a secret, but my sis...she thinks exposing, by her definition, “heinous acts,” to the light of public scrutiny is a foolproof solution to eroding evil. It breeds in darkness but it can’t thrive in a front-facing, judgemental society. It’s shy and embarrasses easily, and will wither away in daylight, so she believes. All of this is to say; she’s a whistleblower.” He tore into another chunk of bread and chewed, not bothering to finish swallowing the masticated food as he continued his analysis. “Actually, I’m surprised she’s kept mum about everyone for so damn long. I suppose she preferred getting her hands dirty over flushing out the dregs using words no one’ll believe, coming from a girl who hasn’t aged a sliver since puberty. Faster results and all. Though, she did luck out kicking my sorry arse out of Clan Kavanagh, but I’ve no idea if any of her other ploys were successful, other than getting real close with Papa Sorde. She’s gotten turns more ruthless over the years, though, so it’s anyone’s guess what she’s capable of when she’s motivated and pissed off. Watch your backs.” He scrunched the ragged ends of Rowen’s scarf. “Cuz I think I just unleashed her worst potential. That’s what happens when you hand someone hope and then wrench it away. Can’t be surprised by the less-than-cheery rebound.”
Pensive stares and quiet offerings clashed too much with his character, the dominant one he presented to the world. And though it had taken quite the blow over the last few weeks, he knew better than to broadcast his remorse, let alone linger on a circumstance he accepted with the grace of a good loser. But it was hard to shake it off and move forward when he couldn’t move. So much of Hadwin Kavanagh’s business and coping models were tied to his physicality. Need to run? He ran. Need to fight? He balled his fists and punched. Hard. Tired of humans? No problem. A chorus of cracking bones later and he tailored his appearance to an entirely different species. So much hinged on his ability to adapt that when he sacrificed it, he lost core aspects of his survival instinct...and his nigh-unshakeable confidence.
It’ll restore itself once I’m back on my feet, he assured himself. In the meantime, I can’t let these dolts get the better of me.
“Not too helpful, I know,” he said after finishing his account of the necromancer’s midnight visit. “But it’s all I got, and it’s not exactly nothing, either. The obvious key to solving this puzzle is Gaolithe, so I’m in agreement with Elly on what next steps to take. No one here’s got a better handle on the sword’s lore than the leader of the Dawn Guard.” He could throw Nia a hint or two. As could Alster. For all the Rigas caster’s extensive research on the cursed blade, Hadwin would eat his foot to hear that his book-humping sessions amounted to nothing. The fear in Nia’s eyes seemed to produce its own heat, so pronounced and twisted by the mere prospect of meeting her Majesty the Tyrant empty-handed, it generated a twinge of a headache in between his brows. If routine headaches were a nuisance prior to the weeks’-long marathon of anvil-splitting proportions, what he experienced now was a tickle, a flutter of butterfly wings. Still, he recognized the pain, its source, and its power. So terrified was she, even Elespeth picked up on it. “Investigations aren’t solved in a day, Nia. Or ever. Long as you’re bustling around and searching for answers, Locque can’t fucking crucify you from lack of trying. Well, she can, but that won’t get her what she wants. Seems a waste of energy to me. And besides, if her darling, loyalty-programmed Siggy can’t tell her a damn thing, and it’s her sword, and she was in the room when it happened, then how much closer does her Majesty believe she can get to the truth? For now, it’s a closed case. We can’t probe a dead man for answers unless you get another necromancer on the case. Your only lead’s the sword.”
“Let me have a look at Gaolithe.” Alster, who largely kept quiet and to himself, voiced his request to Nia. “I know I’ve already asked you before, but there’s a chance I can detect any anomalies radiating from its energy field. I don’t need to get close. Just within striking length. Poor choice of wording—but you know what I mean.” Considering their subject revolved around a smite-happy murder sword, a relatable, nervous chuckle followed his words. “As long as Sigrid doesn’t try to eliminate me, then we’re good.”
“Well, see there, Nia. You got a lotta folks willing to help and cooperate with you. Better than if Locque asked, herself. She might have fear and obedience-on-pain-of-death at her disposal, but I’ll tell it to you straight; no one likes her.” Hadwin shrugged off the controversial but nonetheless obvious opinion like an inconsequential fly on his shoulder. Nia was no stranger to his tirade of smears against the unpopular summoner queen. “You’re pretty essential on the likability front, and the only thing keeping her public image afloat. Ain’t no love being an intermediary, but you’re making it work!”
Discussions on sobering matters were blessedly cut short soon after Teselin’s arrival. Ladled with two plates heaped full of food, Hadwin let out a low, impressed whistle. “Damn, you thought of everything, didn’t you? Might even be more than what I can stuff down my gullet, but I’m always up for a challenge.” Trading Nia’s plate for the more substantial one, Hadwin balanced it on his lap and gobbled up a few wedges of cheese and hunks of bread whilst posing his improvised plans for a grand outing in the farmlands. Naturally, Teselin, often a voice of caution and reason, held some reservations, and expressed them without much pause for consideration.
“Beh, poppycock! I’m weak but not an invalid. Al’s got me, and he wouldn’t agree to any of this at all if he thought it was a bum idea and I couldn’t hack it. Plus, if there’s ever an emergency, he can portal me back to the Night Garden right quick, yeah?” He air-nudged the blond Rigas and winked.
“I mean, I only managed carry more than one passenger via spatial travel one time, but—“
“Great odds! I’m in. Believe me, scamp,” he sharpened a cocksure grin, just for her, “we ran through all the numbers. I even got a preliminary checkup, and passed with flying colors! Besides, I’m no longer hinging on miracles and experimental magic to scrape by. There’s nothing stopping me from making a full recovery. And I wanna spend my first full day remembering what it is I enjoy most about being healthy and alive, and that formula includes you,” he gave her arm an affectionate squeeze, “so let’s do it. Kick back and be in the moment, while we’ve still got one left to milk.”
The combination of persuasive arguments and whatever internalized guilt Teselin still harbored over Hadwin’s spate of dire health emergencies seemed to sway her towards the affirmative. “That’s the spirit! But you don’t owe me anything.” He launched a jovial slap on her back, but due to his weakened muscles and wonky coordination, it translated as little more than a tap. “But by all means, fetch us all some grub! Ideally, I’d love some meat, but whatever’s available.”
“Same.” Alster replicated Elespeth’s airy smile. “Any food that grows in the Night Garden doesn’t trouble my stomach much, if at all. I’m sure that whatever you choose will be lovely.”
As soon as Teselin exited the room, everyone’s smiles dropped. “Listen, you two.” Hadwin’s intense gaze stilled the Rigas couple in place. “We’re gonna give her a hell of a fantastic day. Sure, it might all be negated in the end once she learns why we dragged her all the way out to the farmlands, but I’m gonna make it abundantly clear that I would have done this for her, bad news or not. So, put on your best faces and follow my lead. And,” he stared at his bony hands, “make sure we’ve got plenty of sedatives in stock.”
To ensure they reached the farmlands in time for a late lunch, and with daylight to spare, the four of them departed the palace around two hours after Hadwin announced the idea to Teselin. Two carriages were prepared with room to spare for the baskets of sandwiches and spring water (Hadwin still couldn’t convince anyone to allow him to drink), and a wheeled contraption for easy conveyance. The field that Hadwin described was largely a fabrication, as he had discussed little with his co-conspirators, but it turned out to be of no consequence. The farmlands were rife with wide open spaces, and the Rigas couple happened to know of a perfect spot just down the road from the farmhouse, which, for spread-out territory, translated to about a mile. Unfortunately, no thoroughfare led to this secret glade, and the naturally-paved deer trail snaking through the forest was too narrow to welcome the girth of a two-horse pulled carriage. For ease of access, the carriage driver removed one steed from its hitches and helped hoist Hadwin on the saddle. Adorning the saddlebags with the assorted foodstuffs they would be feasting on that day, the small party took off, admiring the budding foliage and sundries of wildflowers flourishing from the ground. When the treeline broke and thinned out into an expansive clearing covered in an abundance of the flowers merely teased to them in the forest, Hadwin couldn’t help but entertain one obvious thought: Well, this is all getting destroyed.
To anticipate for the worst and for the least, for even the least would affect the surrounding environment to a significant extent, Alster took hold of the steed’s reins and, after Hadwin dismounted (with help), informed the group of his prompt return. “I’m hiking the horse back to its driver. There’s no need for the coaches to stick around as we while away the afternoon here, so I’m going to direct them to the farmhouse, where there is a barn and fresh hay for the horses. They can rest for the day and return for us just before dusk.” Alster eyed the wheeled contraption, which they brought along. “It will be a bumpy ride lugging this thing through the forest with you in it for our return trip. Do you think you can handle it?”
“Handle it? Psh,” Hadwin scoffed, throwing out his hand in mock affront. “Al, I navigate rocky shores on the regular, both literal and figurative. I know I can handle it.” Their surface level conversation concealed, at least from Teselin’s view, the true reason behind Alster dismissing the drivers for the day. He was taking necessary precautions, clearing the radius of potential victims in case of danger.
After Alster bounded off into the woods, riding astride the steed, Hadwin turned to Teselin and Elespeth, who were busy throwing down an overlarge picnic blanket and decorating it with a bevy of savory and sweets: breads, cheeses, and fresh greens for sandwiches, a basket of the juiciest and ripest Night Garden fruits, and even a few tea-cakes and pasties, Hadwin scooted over to attend—by sticking his nose into the elaborate set-up.
“Looking good! Tes, you did an ace job with the selection. And—do I smell fish?! I mean, it ain’t rabbit or deer, but on such short notice, and in a scarce meat-eating society, you got me the next best thing. And yeah, you heard me right. Me.” He gave Elespeth a good-natured glare. “Don’t even think of pilfering that fish for yourself, Elly, or I’ll tell everyone you stole from a sick and starved patient!”
By the time the meal was arranged and ready for consumption, Alster emerged from the wood, a residual odor of magic burning in Hadwin’s nostrils. Whatever else he did, it could be assumed he warded the area, or something of its like, but gentler and less alarming. After all, no one wanted to disturb or alert the energy-sensitive summoner prematurely.
For the next hour, they dined on their bounty, drank their fill of sparkling water, joked, and reminisced on the small slivers of good memories splintered inside the flesh of the bad ones (and which required a little digging to find; what sorry sods!) Once finished, they cleared away the food and partook in a few rounds of card games. By nature of the game, Hadwin ran away with the advantage, but threw Teselin a few cards when she wasn’t looking to give her some fighting chance against him, even if he could no longer get away with handing her the win.
All in all, it was a perfectly pleasant day, sunny and mild, and surrounded by agreeable company. But as the sun began to sequester behind the trees, the anticipated-for moment fast arrived, and no one could delay it a minute longer.
With Elespeth and Alster busy packing up the picnic essentials, Hadwin, who had climbed into his wheeled chair, called Teselin over for her assistance.
“This thing has fuck all in terms of mobility,” he whined, kicking the dirt-buried wheels for effect. “Not equipped for this kind of terrain. Say, can you move me to face the sun? I want to catch some final rays on my sinfully-pale face.” As she carefully swerved him towards the waning light, he squinted into the sky, still unaccustomed to anything stronger than a bedside lantern. “Oh yeah, this is gonna take some getting used to. Can you believe that just two nights ago, I was nothing more than a barely-functional log on the bed? Good riddance to that,” he chuckled. “At least I wasn’t starving for company, though. Hells, even Vitali, of all people, popped by for a visit. What a damn treat, to get his exclusive attention!” This was it. No turning back. He could sense Elespeth and Alster tensing their shoulders behind him at mention of the necromancer’s name.
“What did he have to say, you ask? Oh, some cryptic shit. You know him. Can’t ever say what he means. But he was clear about one thing. He told me to be there for you. Which is a damn redundant request because I don’t need to be given an invitation to stick by you, always. But I get it. He needed me unencumbered. Healthy. Quick-minded and present. There ain’t no question the situation with Locque is fast becoming contentious, and heating up to a boiling point. He knew this...so he made the first move. And it may not be a move you are itching to hear about. But listen, and listen till the end.” He folded his hands over her arms and pulled her closer. “Vitali’s no longer with us. Last night, he touched Gaolithe. On purpose. And you know what happens to people who get close to that sword. No one knows why he did what he did, but we all agree that he sacrificed his life to give us an edge. A fighting chance. It’s so damn unlike him, but he willingly took the plunge.” Beneath his sleeve, he felt the tug of the syringe, strapped in place around his arm and willing to drop into his palm at the slightest ripple in the atmosphere. “I know you weren’t as close to your brother as you wanted, but it doesn’t erase the fact that meant a lot to you. None of this can be easy to swallow. It doesn’t sound comprehensible. Frankly, I didn’t think the man could die. Who knows? It might not even stick. One day, he’ll waltz through your door like nothing ever happened. That may be true, but we also have to prepare for the possibility that...he might not come back. Ok? Teselin,” he tightened his grip on her arms, firm and bracing, but nothing to induce harm, “stay with me, alright? Can you do that? Stay? Nod if you understand what I’m saying. I got you, yeah? Like I always will.” He met her eyes, also prepared for the possibility of whisking away her fears. It was his last resort strategy, but he would employ it if all other measures failed. “I got you.”
Despite Hadwin’s insistence on getting out of the palace and enjoying a sunny spring day, far, far away from the kingdom central, and Alster and Elespeth vetting of the idea, it was impossible for Teselin not to hold some reservations about the plan, especially considering how out of the blue it all felt. Certainly, it came as no surprise to her that the faolah, newly recovered from the fears that had kept him bedridden, would want to get out for the first time in weeks. Recklessness was a solid trait of Hadwin’s, and he wasn’t always open to adhering to sound advice. But it was unlike both Alster and Elespeth to oblige his harebrained ideas; and, surely, for someone who had been bedridden not twenty-four hours ago, this constituted as “harebrained”. It was difficult to wrap her head around, but she had no choice but to try and find justification, because she would certainly not be the one to disappoint Hadwin when it had been partially her fault he’d ended up bedridden in the first place. Perhaps both Alster and Elespeth shared in a similar guilt to what she felt, and they had offered to come along in case he was in need of help to alleviate some of that guilt.
But, even so… This soon, after Rowen’s dreams had shattered, and most likely returned her to the relentless murderess that she had been before, was this really a good idea? Was it safe for them to be away, and without a means of returning anytime soon in daylight, with the potential for Rowen to strike? Because given Hadwin’s take on his younger sister… it was not a matter of if: it was a matter of time. And something told Teselin that the youngest faoladh would waste no time exacting what she perceived to be appropriate revenge.
Before they left, the carriage packed with baskets of goods to dine on for their picnic in the middle of Galeyn’s nowhere, she felt the need to bring up this one last concern to the trio. Hadwin’s health aside, there were numerous other other worries that could justify them postponing this outing to a more ‘appropriate’ time. But Elespeth was quick to point out that that ‘ideal’ time might never come.
“I know. I understand where you’re coming from, Teselin; really, I do. But when would be a ‘good time’, if not now? When will Rowen not be a threat? How long will it take for Locque to assume the responsibility of a good, responsible leader? Do you truly believe that we will find such a grace period in the near future?” Her tone was gentle, but firm, as they went about securing the horse’s saddlebags. “If Hadwin’s health weren’t an issue… it would be something else. There may never be a good time, and this is something that Hadwin needs now. Returning to normalcy is imperative in recovery, and can you imagine how nutty it must have made Hadwin, of all people, to be without the means of mobility? Besides, we're not taking a week’s vacation: just a day. An afternoon to enjoy. It’s something we all need… The feeling that we can still find beauty and happiness in an ever dangerous and unforgiving world. Besides,”
She tossed a glance over her shoulder toward the palace, where Haraldur was giving Forbanne soldiers orders to carry out throughout the day. “We’ve got a lot of allies holding down the fort during our little reprieve. Bronwyn, Isidor, Haraldur… I can’t believe I’m saying it, but even Nia.” The former knight sighed and knely to adjust the straps on her boots. “She doesn’t want any chaos; and she’s Locque’s right hand woman, by the sounds of it. So if it’s Rowen that frightens you right now, I think we can rest assured that Nia will make sure everything is under control. She wouldn’t have given us the clear to take a ‘day off’ if she didn’t think it was safe for us to leave.”
“I…” No matter what she said, no matter what concern came to mind, Elespeth and Alster had a counterpoint to assuage her anxieties, all of which Teselin had to admit were entirely sound. It was as though they had all thoroughly thought this through and run through every possibility and its consequences before coming to this decision. It made her wonder just how much she had missed that morning before joining everyone in Hadwin’s chambers. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Elespeth, I know my incessant worrying must seem obnoxious to you…”
“We’re all worrying. Look at what we’ve been through, both before and after Galeyn.” The Rigas woman offered a warm smile, but the summoner noticed that it appeared nervous around the edges. “Which is why we are doing this. We deserve a break; and we’ve got to take advantage of the opportunity before we all fall apart.”
With that settled, the four set out on their hours’ long trek to the farmlands, where they would arrive no earlier than late afternoon; too late for lunch, yet too early for supper. Hadwin talked about how since they would all be partaking in a much later midday meal than usual, they could all stay up late together and have a ‘slumber party’, eating once again when everyone else had retired to bed--at which point Elespeth affirmed that she had absolutely no intention to stay up late with him, which led to friendly teasing and arguing. Now, this felt normal; the good-natured bickering between Hadwin and the Rigases. This sort of behaviour was enough to put Teselin at ease, for the duration of the trip, and when they arrived, she had to admit she was more than ready for a bite to eat. And the more she filled her empty belly, the more she listened to Hadwin, Alster and Elespeth lodge playful and relatively harmless insults at one another, the easier it became to relax. Wasn’t this why I did it? Why I stopped defending Rowen’s wants? The realization hit her gradually, but it was there. She hadn’t come to the youngest faoladh’s defense this time because this was what she wanted to return to. The joking, the card games, Hadwin’s incessant energy. This was what she had been striving for… so why worry so much? Hadn’t she gotten what she’d wanted? Wasn’t this what they had all wanted?
But it didn’t matter. None of it mattered, in the end, because not a single thing could have prepared her for what was coming, at the end of their relaxing and uplifting sojourn.
“Sorry we couldn’t have found you something with better mobility… but this was kind of spur-of-the-moment, wasn’t it?” Teselin went to Hadwin’s aid to brush mud off of the stiff wheels of his chair contraption, and obliged him, turning his form to face the sun. “But you must be making a speedy recovery if it’s been less than twenty-four hours since you were bedridden. Just give yourself a little more time; next time we do this, let’s plan for you to actually be on your feet, alright?”
That was when Hadwin mentioned something that she hadn’t been expecting. Something about Vitali having visited Hadwin recently, the very night before he had returned Rowen’s fears. Understandably, this caught Teselins’ attention. “My brother visited you?” Her brows knit together in confusion--and, maybe, just a little bit of hurt. Vitali hadn’t come to see her in… well, she couldn’t remember him ever dropping in just to speak with her, before or after he had revealed himself to have been working for Locque. Yet he saw fit to visit Hadwin? “Why did… what was the nature of his visit? Vitali isn’t exactly the type to pay anyone a visit without a good reason… and usually one that serves him, admittedly.”
It was then that Teselin noticed a definite shift in Hawdin’s demeanor. He was trying to be nonchalant, joke about how Vitali was too cryptic for anyone to really know what he was talking about, but this demeanor seemed… forced. Too forced for someone who never failed to make light of even the most serious situation. “Why would… I don’t get it.” She shook her head. What was this about? What was going on? “But he already knows you look out for me. For him to visit you just to say that… it’s completely redundant. What did he want from you? How would saying the obvious serve him? How…”
Hadwin interrupted her to implore she listen, and listen carefully, until the very end, until he was finished explaining--something that no one did, unless they were preparing to deliver some very unwanted, bad news. Teselin did as she asked. She listened, but after that first sentence, Vitali is no longer with us, she couldn’t quite register more than a few key words at a time. Touched Gaolithe… on purpose… no one knows why… die… might not come back…
“You’re wrong.” The words slipped past her numb lips before she knew what she was saying. No longer with us… “You’re wrong… don’t you see? Don’t you see he just played you, Hadwin? Just like he plays everyone? Vitali wouldn’t die. Not on accident and certainly not on purpose. Don’t you know him at all? How keen he is on self preservation? How long he has survived with nothing but his wits about him?” She let out a laugh, but her hands were shaking. Her arms were shaking. “He’s not dead! He’s not really dead at all. He just… he wants you to think he is dead. Th-that is the edge he has given you. He’s up to something, but he can’t have you thinking he’s alive. That’s all. That’s exactly something that Vitali would do, to protect me--to protect all of us! He’d just faked his death, Hadwin; that’s not unheard of or impossible, and if anyone would know how to make it look real, it would be him! I knew he was working with Locque for a reason--”
The faoladh clutched her arms and interrupted her again to explain that, contrary to her desperate beliefs, too many people had seen the body--and over a period of hours. Last night, that morning… there was no change. Anyone who had faked their death with a spell or an elixir couldn’t have pulled it off for a span of at least twelve hours; not even the necromancer. It was one thing to slow a heart, to slow breathing to the point where it looked as though someone was dead, but for a body to go cold, and stiff… For his blindfold to have been removed from his cursed eyes, eliciting no reaction…
“It’s not true. You’ve been deceived… Vitali is a master of deception, Hadwin! Surely you know that!” But the more Teselin spoke, as if to convince herself otherwise, the less she believed her words. Tears gathered in her eyes. “The things that Vitali did to stay alive--he wouldn’t just go and take his own life! That’s not characteristic of him at all! Where was his ‘body’ even taken? He’s likely awoken and… and up and walked away. Or it was a decoy; not Vitali at all. Surely you can’t believe he is actually dead?!”
Teselin searched Hadwin’s eyes for some signs of doubt. But even as he claimed that there was the possibility that she was right--that he wasn’t truly dead, and it was more than likely he would walk right back into their lives sooner than later, calling them all fools for actually believing he had finally met his end, the faoladh didn’t appear particularly sold on that possibility. Instead, it appeared as though he truly believed that the fall the necromancer had taken would not be one from which he would rise again. And Hadwin… he was not one to tell someone to prepare for the worst, if he did not think that the worst would occur (or, in this case, had already occurred).
“He’s playing you. He’s playing all of us. He has to be! Does Isidor know? What did he say? Surely, he wouldn’t be so quick to assume that Vitali is just… just gone?” Tears began streaming down her heart-shaped face, but they were soon indistinguishable from the rain that had begun to fall. A perfectly sunny day was reduced to heavy rainclouds, very fast. “Is… Is this why you wanted to come here today, Hadwin? To try and convince me my brother is dead?!” The wind began to pick up. From the carriage, Alster and Elespeth looked on, their faces twisted in worry and fear that the faoladh wouldn’t act before it was too late. “Well, you’re wrong, and I’m not going to buy into such a ridiculous notion! Vitali wouldn’t do that! He wouldn’t… he knows I care, and he wouldn’t dare pull such an act without saying goodbye! He isn’t…” Her voice caught on a sob. “He’s still here--this isn’t real, it’s a joke! It’s all a lie that he wants us to believe! He’s not gone!”
What was rainfall was very quickly becoming a storm. Teselin was trying to rein it in; it was obvious, by the way she was trying to convince herself that what she was hearing couldn’t be true, but the storm wouldn’t have started brewing if there was doubt in her heart. Coming from anyone else, she would have been hard-pressed to believe that there was any possible way this could be true, but Hadwin… Hadwin would never say anything that had the potential to hurt her unless he thought it was absolutely necessary--and that he believed it, himself. “He’s not gone, do you understand?! It isn’t real--this didn’t happen! It--”
Something sharp pricked her arm amidst the storm of her grief. The last thing that Teselin felt was deep-seated loss and betrayal before the world around her went dark, and the sky began to return to blue. As if there had never been a storm in the first place.
Alster and Elespeth were too late to catch her before she hit the ground, but the tall grass served as a cushion, and a cursory check over by Alster revealed that she was unharmed. “Good call on the sedatives…” Elespeth sighed, feeling as crestfallen as Hadwin as she helped Alster haul the young summoner’s body upright. “Let’s get her back as soon as possible. We’ll take her straight to the Night Garden; the young Gardener there who had been helping Rowen… there must be something she can do for her grief. Hadwin…”
The former knight’s heart sank even more to see how crumpled and defeated the faoladh looked. Guiltier, even, than he had when he’d returned his own sister’s fears, knowing well that it would be her undoing. He looked as though he had just dealt the summoner a death blow, running a dagger straight into her fragile heart. “I’m sorry that you had to be the one to say it. But… you did the right thing. She wouldn’t have listened to us the way she listens to you.”
Elespeth helped Hadwin back into the carriage, while Alster arranged an unconscious Teselin as gingerly as he could across one of the seats. The trio and the unresponsive summoner traveled back to the kingdom central in silence, detouring to the Night Garden before the palace to place Teselin in the Gardener’s care at the sanctuary. When Alster and Elespeth prepared to depart for the palace, that was when Hadwin insisted he stay.
“Are you sure?” Elespeth asked, but knew the answer before the words passed her lips. Vitali had asked him to be there for Teselin when he was gone; leaving now would have broken his promise to the necromancer. After assuring them he’d be alright, the Rigas couple departed to leave him alone with broken-hearted Teselin, and the occasional Gardener who stopped by to check in on them from time to time. Given the dose of the sedative, it would be some time before the young summoner awoke, and he was prepared to stay up for as long as it took. Sometime later that evening, when most were preparing to retire, a visitor stopped in with a plate full of the supper he’d missed.
“Hey. Sounds like… things didn’t go so well, huh? I thought you might be hungry. But just because I’ve brought you food twice today--don’t get used to being pampered, even if you are still stuck in that wheeled contraption for the time being.” Nia tried to joke good-naturedly, but understanding the gravity of the situation, she didn’t take it too far, and quietly placed the plate full of food adjacent to Teselins’ cot.
“I can imagine what she must have felt… or is feeling. I felt the same when I lost Celene; and then again when Palla left us. The difference is, she’s got a safe space to grieve, and people to support her through this. I know it’s shitty…” She sighed and took a seat on the other side of the cot. “But it’ll get better. Maybe not for a while, but she’ll find a reason to smile again, I promise. I mean, I did, and I didn’t have even a fraction of the support that she did. Besides--she’s still got you, wolf-boy. You’ll have your sweet little summoner back in no time, just watch.”
Ever the expert on human nature, Hadwin’s prediction came true. But even though he anticipated Teselin’s exact response to the grim news, seeing her rapidly flicker through differing shades of grief and denial in a desperate bid to make sense of the senseless, was heartbreaking to watch. Nothing he said could soften the blow or de-escalate her rising—and destructive—lamentations. Lowering clouds swept through the previously spotless sky, dumping buckets of rain on the land and soaking everyone and everything in its vicinity in seconds. Shortly, the wind kicked up, angling the rain into sideways sheets that whipped and stung his face. Through half-closed eyes, he could hardly spot the girl who shared his space. She, reduced to a shadow behind a near-opaque curtain of wind and rain, would have been lost to him, if not for his steadfast grip on her arms. If he released her, even for a second, he feared she would float skyward, far from his tethering reach, and disappear.
“Teselin! Stay with me! You have to stay with me!” His voice rumbled over the elements, but instead of jarring them out of sync, he complemented them like a peal of thunder in a violent storm. Hadwin grit his teeth and dug in his feet bracing against the weather, which threatened to knock the wheeled contraption and himself over. As precious seconds flew by on visible air currents, his compromised strength wavered and waned in the grief-stricken summoner’s hold. Beneath his drenched sleeve, the concealed syringe stuck to the fabric, trapped between the leather holster attached to his arm and the smothering weight of the water-heavy material. No-armed, he fumbled with the mechanism, urging his shoulders to shake the syringe into his waiting palm, but to no avail. “Dammit,” he growled under his breath.
The rain slanted, entering his nostrils, his ears, his eyes. Spluttering a cough, he fought against its drowning efforts and forced one waterlogged eye open. At this rate, he wouldn’t get to her in time. He had to let go.
So he let her go. He let her go, wrenched the syringe from under his sleeve with renewed adrenaline, and stabbed the shadow behind the curtain, a feat of speed, accuracy and reflex that his able-bodied counterpart would envy. It struck the intended target; her arm. He pushed down on the pump, inserted the fluid into her veins...
And the storm vanished. He blinked open his eyes, visibility returning just in time to watch Teselin collapse upon the flower-shredded ground, unconscious. As though to mock the solemnity of the scene, the sun strong-armed through the fast-dispersing clouds to preside over the aftermath of the disaster in miniature. It could have been worse. It could have been much, much worse, but that small reassurance did nothing to buoy Hadwin up from his slouch over the chair. Dropping the syringe from his fingers, he leaned forward as far as his stiffened limbs could achieve, stretching out for the unresponsive summoner and...To do what?! What could his feeble arms do for her? They would slip and deposit her on her head in an instant!
Elespeth and Alster approached the crumpled form of Teselin, the latter checking her vitals while the former carefully arranged her for lifting. Hadwin’s arms retreated, flopping in useless surrender on his lap.
“She’ll be fine, Hadwin.” Alster said, obligated to fill in the void with some noise, any noise, however much his uninspired response was out of a hopeful courtesy and not coming from a basis of truth. Rare was the day when Hadwin Kavanagh, bullshitter extraordinaire, chose silence over speech. Not even a three-week stint as a profoundly sick patient affected his ability to flap his gums at anyone within listening range—for the most part. Whenever the wolf stopped yipping and howling, then something was severely wrong, and oddly, it threw everything off balance. Alster never realized how much he relied on Hadwin to carry a conversation and distract others from falling too deep into thought. Without his casual banter and ease of inhabiting the moment—and dragging everyone else into it with him—Teselin would have detected something wrong during the first hour of their carriage trip. But inevitably, Hadwin’s gift of gab met its match at last, and he was too tired to throw up a front and muscle through the pain, as was his tendency. Perhaps it helped to be among people he considered his friends, people who he allowed to see him as vulnerable and fallible. “We’ll get her to the carriage,” Alster continued, awkwardly. Why could he do nothing else but state the obvious?! “The drivers should be arriving from the farmhouse with the night steeds shortly. We’ll carry her over there now and come back for you once she’s settled and comfortable. Will you be alright sitting here on your own for the time being?”
The last question seemed to elicit a spark of something in Hadwin. Flicking his gaze from Teselin’s unconscious form, he shot a perturbed look at Alster. “And where do you think I’m gonna go? What do you think I’m gonna do? I’ve done nothing but sit and stew in my own piss for weeks. What’s another damn half hour? The fuck, Al? Just,” he expelled some of his residual agitations with a shaky sigh, “just take care of Tes, alright? Don’t you even think about worrying over me. I’ll know it if you do.”
For Elespeth, however, he tailored a somewhat different response before she departed with her apologetic husband and their devastated charge. “Yeah, Elly. But I don’t need praise for doing what I would’ve done anyway. Don’t forget; breaking people is my talent. My special skill. I wouldn’t entrust it to anyone else because they’d fucking fall apart at the seams, doing it as often as I do. If you’ve got any more plywood souls, send em all my way. Hell,” his mouth blossomed into a manic smile, “keep em coming. The night is young! Just don’t expect me to fix them. Leave the fixing to your husband. Or a Gardener.”
They were the last words either Elespeth or Alster heard from him until arriving at the Night Garden. Evening washed over the countryside by the time of their departure, ensuring an expedited journey to the heart of Galeyn, but it might as well have been the opposite. Inside, the carriage felt like the interior of a coffin; funereal, stifling, and timeless. Alster couldn’t track the hours when they behaved like days, crawling across the ground without a care for the destination. Normally the impatient, fidgeting sort who abhorred inactivity, Hadwin stared out the window and, on occasion, moved over to touch the sleeping Teselin’s shoulder, as if physical contact would chase away the nightmares that preyed on her in the darkness.
An eon later, the carriage slid to a stop near the entrance of the Night Garden, where several Gardeners on duty happily accepted the summoner for admittance into the sanctuary.
“Count me in.” Hadwin didn’t even wait for approval or disapproval before catapulting out of the door on unstable feet, steadying himself against the side of the carriage to prevent an unceremonious topple over his hands and knees. “Looking at me, I’m also a shoo-in for the sanctuary’s loving, healing embrace. I’ve got this, Elly,” he waved away her concern as he plopped into the seat of the wheeled contraption a Gardener rolled out for him to occupy. “The scamp’s my responsibility. I can’t fix shit, but I’ll be damned if I stick my hands in my pockets and walk away. Err...roll away. So get on out of here. Go to bed.”
After the Rigas couples’ farewell, Hadwin, Teselin, and a few Gardeners settled inside the sanctuary to prepare the small hut for habitation. At his insistence, his cot was moved to a scant several inches away from where Teselin was situated, made for ease of delivering a familiar, comforting touch...and ease of injecting another sedative into her arm if necessary.
Still damp from the storm, Hadwin shrugged out of his clothes, scrubbed the residual moisture from his skin and hair, and threw on the standard-issue gown he’d fast grown used to wearing as a long-term patient. Before discarding his clothes to the side, he checked his trouser pockets and pulled out a soggy playing card. The definition of weathered, the surface of the card, chipped of its paint and creased beyond recognition, somehow hadn’t lost its structure. It kept firm and upright in his hands. “This belongs to you,” he muttered to Teselin as he tucked the Six of Spades into the front pocket of the clean gown the Gardeners had also provided and donned for her. “Thanks for letting me borrow it, but you need it more than I do.”
As the night wore on and the Gardeners filed out of the sanctuary to leave their patients to rest, a rather predictable guest slid through the door, carrying another tray of food.
“More goodies? Don’t you think I’ve had my fill today, between two breakfasts and a big-ass picnic lunch? My shrunken stomach can’t endure another bite. I’m the farthest thing from hungry right now. ...Thanks,” he said, figuring he’d at least attempt to sound grateful. “Leave it for Tes. Again, if you really wanna help me out, get me a bottle of wine. Or a pipe stuffed with hashish. I fucking beg of you. Trim the edge off. Give me a break for a hot second.”
In place of a fix, he sharpened an eyetooth against the fleshiest part of his finger pad, drawing blood in his mouth. “Yeah,” he acknowledged Nia with a dispirited nod. “I lost my mam, about eight years back. I,” he hesitated, reconsidering his participation in the ‘I lost someone’ game. “I didn’t take it well. At all. As in, I lost my fucking mind and people died. A lot of time’s gone by, and I still never got over it. Why else would her ghost continue to haunt me every goddamn day?” He thumbed a bloody finger to the corner of the room, where her living shadow always flashed rows of glass-shard teeth at him; a crooked smile, ready to rip out his jugular. “Cuz I can’t let her go. Hells, maybe I don’t want to let her go. I’m a masochist; I like those little reminders she whispers in my ear; that I’m a piece of shit who poisons everything I touch. Keeps me sharp. Keeps me driven, in one direction or another. Either to prove her wrong, or prove her right. Whatever; you don’t need to know the vastness of my sick and troubled mind.” He redirected his gold-eyed gaze to Teselin, tracking her shallow breaths and the gentle rise and fall of her chest. “I just don’t want her grief to follow in my footsteps. I’m a piss-poor influence, and I already left a lasting imprint on her. I don’t wanna make it worse, but my madness is contagious. Don’t get me wrong; I’m sticking by her, no matter what. I’ve seen the consequences of leaving and I’m sure as shit not making that mistake again. But,” he tugged at the scarf, Rowen’s scarf, that he’d yet to remove from his neck, “I had a hand in creating my kid sister and it makes me wonder...if she would’ve been better off without me. It’s too late, though. I can’t go back and erase myself with Ro, and I can’t erase myself with Tes. In the end, I just gotta hope that the scamp has more integrity than me, and she gets by using healthier methods of healing. She’s in the right place, so my hopes are high. My hopes were high for my sister, too…” he trailed off, abandoning the thought. “But whether Tes heals well or doesn’t...well, I’m here for it.” With a fond smile, he affectionately ruffled the crown of Teselin’s head. “She never gives up on me, so I’ll never give up on her.”
Due to Elespeth’s excused absence from Galeyn’s center for the majority of the day, Bronwyn had paid Haraldur a visit expressing her desire to delay their Forbanne training an extra day, citing not feeling it was right to proceed without her. “Maybe I should have gone with them,” she confessed as she accompanied the Forbanne Commander on his return trip from the barracks. It was late afternoon and the small excursion helmed by her brother was hours’ gone from the palace. By now, they had likely arrived at the farmlands for the impromptu picnic Nia had informed her they were using as a pretense to isolate Teselin and her magic from a place of high population density. Given what horrific news they were preparing to divulge, the precaution was a necessary one. The last time distressing circumstances pushed the summoner too far, she destroyed an entire city. Though Hadwin had teetered on the edge, he had never died. She couldn’t imagine what matter of destruction would be wrought after hearing of her biological brother’s actual death. The very thought caused her to shudder. “I’m a coward for not going. Hadwin, Elespeth, and Alster could find themselves in terrible danger. Not that my being there would make a huge difference, but there’s nothing wrong with an extra pair of eyes.”
“Too many people and it would have been extraneous. Not to mention, suspicious. And this is coming from someone who’s a stickler for security.” They entered the front entrance of the palace. While his schedule and list of duties varied day by day, Haraldur tried to finish his shift before dusk for the most part. On slow days, he either took off or delegated tasks from the family suite, as needed. Priority to his family always came first, but unfortunately, protecting the family from an unstable sorceress reacting poorly to the news of a dead necromancer ranked high on the priorities list. The coming days and weeks would not be kind to his work-life balance. “Alster and Elespeth are a highly capable team. I trust they have the situation well in hand. As for your brother,” he refrained from emitting a noisy snort, “he’s a walking disaster at the best of times, but when it comes to the summoner, he doesn’t mess around. Don’t ever tell him I said this, but...he’s good for her. And vice versa. I think we’re all a little afraid of her. Afraid of her raw, chaotic power. What might happen if she becomes...unhinged.” By his sudden drop in volume, it was obvious the subject didn’t pertain to Teselin alone, but to all known summoners. All two of them. “Because of that, people tend to hold her at arm’s length a little. But not him.”
“I’m...guilty of it, too,” she twirled the ends of her hair, drifting her gaze downward. “I haven’t been fair to her. To Teselin. For all she’s done to help my siblings, maybe I should try and make an effort to reconnect. ...Little by little. I still have nightmares about...about Apelrade. Everything I saw, what she caused…” Mid-stride, she halted in the hallway, staring far ahead at the memory as though it were plastered on the wall. “...Do you think that young Gardener could provide a little healing? On second thought, no. I shouldn’t overwhelm her. Not after what happened with my sister. She probably isn’t too happy about interfering with her patient and contributing to her regression.”
Well, here’s your chance to ask. Bronwyn raised her head and sniffed the air, catching hints of nectar and forest brush as, sure enough, Breane rounded the corner. Her youthful features were scrunched, lost in thought, and she wasn’t aware of the audience spanning the hallway until she collided into Haraldur.
“Whoa, careful,” he said, gently steadying her by the arm before she could teeter off-kilter from the slight impact. “Are you alright? It looks like you need to catch your breath and take a seat. You’re pale.”
“He’s right.” Bronwyn appraised the harried Gardener, her features wan save for the slight under-eye bruising magnified by her crooked spectacles. “You smell dehydrated. Have you had anything to eat or drink today?”
“We’re remedying this.” Maintaining his gentle hold on Breane’s shoulder, Haraldur guided her to a door situated a handful of paces away. “Because lucky for us, we just so happen to be a stone’s throw from the Sorde apartments, and there’s always an excess of food inside. We’re introducing the twins to solids. Whatever they don’t eat usually goes to me. The Galeynian cooks are enthusiastic; they always prepare too much. We’re never without plenty of water, either. Sleep-deprived parents are a recipe for dehydration.” His free hand manipulated the latch, jiggling it free of its mechanism. “No need to stay long. Just until you’re back on your feet. This also gives you the chance to officially meet the twins.” He glanced over his shoulder at Bronwyn, who stood back with the assumption that the invitation didn’t extend to her. “You, too, Bronwyn. Do you have any experience with children?”
“I…as a matter of fact, I do.” A sly smile stretched across her face. “I used to change Hadwin’s diapers. Rowen’s, too. And believe it or not, but my brother was the sweetest baby. Hardly stirred up a fuss. Oh how he’d hate to hear how he wasn’t ‘born wild.’”
“Yeah… figured as much. Probably not a great time to think about eating, huh?” Nia sighed and looked down at the plate, which she set aside for Teselin, like he’d asked, for whenever the young summoner woke up. “I guess I’m kinda shit at comforting people. I always thought food was supposed to be the ultimate comfort, but… guess not, if you don’t have an appetite.”
Flashing an apologetic smile, she rubbed the back of her neck, suddenly feeling very awkward for failing to lighten the gravity of the situation. “Everyone grieves differently. I don’t think Teselin will necessarily awaken to nothing but her own destructive tendencies. Sure, it might be hard for her for a while, and we might need to keep an eye on her… but she’s got what you and I both didn’t have: support. People to lean on and who can be there for her to help her get through this. And, I might not have gotten to know you until recently, but something tells me you are not to blame for Rowen. I mean--come on!” She whistled and shook her head, so ludicrous was the notion. “She is the way she is because of her Sight; and because she’s a brat, plain and simple. No offense, but I’ve gotta say it like it is. Look at how much support she had: from Teselin, from you, from the Gardeners… and she gave up at the first sign of adversity. But Teselin’s not like that. Sure, she’s gonna be broken… but not in the same way that Rowen is. Have some faith, huh?” The Master Alchemist reached out and touched his shoulder.
“I… didn’t really handle death well, in the past, either. I liked to think it didn’t screw me up, but that would just be a bold-faced lie, wouldn’t it? Doesn’t matter how far I run, or where I end up, I can’t seem to let go of the past. My happiness and my pain are all wrapped up in it. The same probably goes for you, right?” The corner of her mouth turned up in a humourless smile. “If you’re really seeing the ghost of your mom everywhere… that’s pretty foreboding. But just because you’re fucked up, and I’m fucked up, and Rowen is fucked up, doesn’t spell the same for your little summoner friend. When I look back at that time and what I had versus what I needed… I think it all could’ve turned out very differently if I hadn’t felt so alone. Don’t you think the same?”
Her brown eyes settled on the summoner’s unconscious form, the dimple between her eyebrows that suggested, in spite of sleep, she wasn’t really resting. “Vitali is gone--but you’re not. You won’t up an abandon her for some fucking personal agenda like the necromancer did. Just remind her of your permanence, and I think it will make all the difference. If you’d had that, if I’d had that when we both needed it… hey, we’d both be far less fucked up. I have faith.”
The small sanctuary was already crowded with thoughts of doom and gloom without her there to take up more space. Rising from her seat on the empty cot, Nia brushed off her leathers and made for the door. “One thing at a time. Focus on yourself, and on her; Rowen is too busy trying to prove herself to… herself, and Locque is too preoccupied with the necromancer’s motivations to be concerned with what’s happening with you two. Leave her to me--and take care. Oh,” she spared one more glance over her shoulder as she opened the door. “And don’t worry--you’ll be drinking ale and smoking up herbs in no time if you focus on getting better now. It’s been too long since you and I had a few too many drinks; and believe me, I’ve got a lot to talk about!”
Nia left Hadwin alone with his unconscious young cause, then, knowing there was little she could do to alleviate the doom and gloom of the situation. Sometimes, there was nothing you could do but empathize; unfortunately, it wasn’t empathy that would heal Teselin’s wounds, right now.
As the young summoner slept, put under against her will by a chemical in her veins, her vivid dreams flashed off and on again in her mind’s eye. In some of them, she was young--younger than now. A figure sat before her on a grassy field, nothing but a dark silhouette against the bright midday sun. She sensed warmth from him, and made to lean against him, but he was gone before her body could make contact.
In some of the more lucid images, that dark figure did, in fact, turn out to be Vitali. She sat in the kitchen of the farmhouse he once occupied, sipping on tea, while he prepared something at the counter. “It’s so silly,” she commented, partially to herself and partially to him as she looked into the dark waters of her hot beverage. “You made this tea for me. Why do I feel like you’re not here?”
But when she looked up again, he wasn’t there. And her cup looked to have been empty the entire time.
Finally, she was caught in a rainstorm. It was daylight, but the sky was dark and the droplets pelting from the clouds were icy cold. Teselin’s body was stiff with chill, and she could barely put one foot in front of the other as she trudged through an unfamiliar forest, could barely open her eyes in the deluge of frost. At last, she spotted a cabin nearby, almost perfectly concealed by the thicket of trees. She didn’t recognize it, had no idea who it belonged to, but she was drawn to it. There was someone she was supposed to find… and they would be there. Fighting the wind and cold, she pushed her way through the relentless elements and all the way to the door. It was stuck, and required all of her weight to push against it and make her way inside. The force sent her sprawling along the floor, but the change in atmosphere was instantaneous. The cabin was warm; a fire was lit and roaring the hearth. There was hardly a whisper of the harsh wind and rain wreaking havoc on the forest just beyond the walls, once the door was shut. But the cabin, aside from a table, a chair, and a neatly made bed awaiting a body to find slumber upon it… it was empty. There was nobody in sight, and nowhere where anyone could possibly hide.
“Hello?” She whispered in vain, her heart sinking despite the relief that washed over her body, being free of the cruel wind and rain. Her clothes and hair were already drying, as if the very atmosphere evaporated the remnants of her struggle and fear. But there was no answer: just the crackling of the warm fire, and the inviting bed with its huge quilt. She felt tired… so tired, her eyelids so heavy. Yet, she hadn’t come here to sleep…?
“Where are you?” She whispered again. It occurred to her that she wasn’t sure who she was looking for, what significance they had to her, or why she wanted to find them. Only that there was someone who was supposed to be there, for some reason, in this cabin she had never seen before… and they were not. For whatever reason, she was not supposed to be alone; but she was.
“Where are you…” She repeated, first sitting, then reclining on the bed. It was impossible to keep her eyes open. “You’re supposed to be here… where are you.”
“I’m here,” a voice, very faint, floated over the crackle of the fire. She should have opened her eyes, should have looked up to see who it was, who she so desperately wanted to find… but she was so tired, her eyelids so heavy, and her body too exhausted to respond.
Teselin finally opened her eyes. She had, in fact, awoken in a hut, but this was different from the one in her dreams. It was sterile… all too familiar. The exhaustion, though--that was real. Her body felt as though it weighed four times as much as she was used to, and her head was foggy… but she remembered. Unlike her dream, she remembered who it was that was supposed to be here. Who she was supposed to find…
“...Vitali. Where’s…” Struggling to sit up on her elbows, it wasn’t her blood brother her sleepy eyes eventually focused on. It was Hadwin.
And it wasn’t long for it to all come flooding back to her. The trip to the farmlands, the news that Hadwin had attempted to ease into her knowing... Teselin’s mind woke up very fast, but her body did not follow suit. She couldn’t jump up and run out of the sanctuary, in search of someone who might not be there anymore. “Hadwin… where is Vitali? Where did they take you? Y-you don’t understand, you don’t know him like I do--he isn’t really gone. He… can’t be.”
But… did she know him? How well could she really claim to know a brother she had met once as a child? Who hadn’t welcomed her presence when she’d found him again? And why… why, with what little she knew of him, did she feel so strongly? There were no storms, within or without the sanctuary; the sedative in her veins had yet to fully yield her full strength. But the heavy, cloying sadness remained, tethering her to where she sat. The more she denied it, over and over in her head… the less she believed it. The less she believed that she was mistaken… that Hadwin was mistaken.
Her dark eyes, accentuated by hollow circles beneath (as if she hadn’t been unconscious for hours), traveled to the table across the room, which contained a decanter of water, a glass, and a syringe sitting atop a towel. The summoner felt like she sighed her whole heart out of her lungs. “...so what is the plan, then? Knock me out again as soon as I’m able to stand on my own? Keep me unconscious to make sure I don’t destroy us all?” She was as disappointed with herself as she was with this situation, on top of the deep, cutting sadness that not only had she never really known Vitali… but now she likely never would. “What happened to him? And why… why.” Just ‘why’. Because she wasn’t sure what else she could ask.
“You should be recovering, Hadwin. Sleeping and eating, because your body needs it. Whoever put you in charge of me shouldn’t have.” Her voice was as weak as her limbs, and as soon as she looked down, vision blurred with tears again, she had a hard time looking back up. “The Gardeners are just as capable of keeping me from being a danger to anyone.”
Teselin was not the only one feeling defeated. In fact, Breane had found little sleep or reprieve since Rowen had left her care. Feeling useless among the Night Garden, some of the senior Gardeners had sought to take the young girl’s mind off of her lost cause by assigning her menial tasks, namely carrying, delivering, and retrieving items to and from the palace. Unfortunately, it hadn’t worked as they’d hoped; Breane gained no reprieve from putting one foot in front of the other. She hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten, and couldn’t even remember the last time she had taken any water, because failure was the one and only thing on her mind. Failure to Rowne, to the Night Garden… to herself. She had one job as a Gardener, and an important one, at that. She was the only one the Garden had chosen to heal from the inside out, what with all of the grief Galeyn was experiencing--and she had failed, in perhaps what would have been one of the most integral tasks to secure her kingdom’s safety: healing the wounds that drove a young faoladh to murder. She could have prevented further tragedy… and she had failed.
She wasn’t sure what time it was, whether it was day or night: only that she had delivered several pouches of Night Garden herbs to the infirmary, and now she had to return, to find out what more she could do. As if anything could make her as worthy as she had been when treating Rowen… a real job, something that made her an asset. What she was doing now was far from what would be assigned to an ‘asset’; but it was better than having no direction at all. At that very moment, Teselin slept in the sanctuary, bound to awaken to pain and emotional heartbreak--and she could help! But Senyiah had ordered against her involvement, lest she press the wrong button, and the young summoner’s grief engulf her and all of Galeyn along with her. So now… now, until her seniors saw fit, she was little more than an errand girl.
Having direction didn’t do much for her spatial awareness, unfortunately. No sooner had she turned a corner that she collided with a very large and solid body, such that she almost lost her spectacles in the process. “...Prince Sorde.” She sighed her apology, though in truth, Breane wasn’t sure she had the energy to be sorry. “Forgive my clumsiness. I should have been paying closer attention…”
Neither he nor the faolah woman--Rowen’s eldest sister--seemed particularly perturbed by her lack of attention. Instead, they appeared… well, concerned. Though she could not understand why. “But I’m fine,” she replied, insofar as ‘numb’ was fine. She didn’t feel much of anything right now: not hunger, not thirst, not exhaustion… just disappointment. Disappointment in herself. “Really, you shouldn’t worry about me…”
She didn’t seem to have a choice in the matter. Haraldur was too strong and insistent, and she wouldn’t have had the strength to resist him if she’d seen fit to do so. Before she knew what was happening, Haraldur unlocked the door to the dwelling that he, his wife, and his two young children shared. Inside, the Eyraillian Princess, Vega Sorde, was dressed in smart leathers and the silver and blue hues of her homeland, and looked as though she had just returned from her duties as Eyraillain ambassador to relieve the nurse who looked after the children when she and her husband were busy. As they were growing older, and slightly less needy, she was slowly trying to reclaim her dual role as a soldier, and not just a mother, without sacrificing what her children needed of her.
“Returning already? I thought you had a longer shift today,” she commented, with Kynnet on her hip, as she turned to face not only her husband, but also Bronwyn, and a young girl draped in Gardener’s robes. She flashed an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry--I don’t believe we’ve met. You can call me Vega.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Your Highness,” the mystified young Gardener commented, too afraid to address the princess so casually. “I’m Breane… I apologize for intruding. You look terribly busy.”
“Intruding? We haven’t had anyone but the twins’ nurse or Elespeth visit us since the twins were born. You are more than welcome here.” Her smile dwindled at the edges as she took in this girl’s small frame, her sleepless eyes and pale face. She didn’t appear as though she were taking care of herself, unlike the other Gardeners. “You’ll have to forgive me, but my maternal intuition is telling me you haven’t eaten in a while. Haraldur.”
Closing the distance between her and her husband, Vega planted a kiss on his cheek before handing him the fussy young boychild. “Keep an eye on this little hellion and his sister while I get this girl something to eat; anything I can offer you, Bronwyn?” She offered, so as not to neglect her other guest. “I’m willing to trade a full main course in exchange for entertaining the little she-devil in her bassinet. If you have any experience with babies, I would be greatly obliged.”
“Nah, I get it. Works for some folks, but I don’t know; food’s never won me over much. Makes me a travesty of a wolf, I know, not to come salivating at the smell of a roast duck. And that’s another problem.” Hadwin kicked his legs across the cot, but deliberately ignored their muscle definition, or lack thereof, not exactly itching to see their resemblance to the very waterfowl he referenced. “Galeyn’s bottom on my list in terms of cuisine. Not a great place for a wolf to settle. No wonder why my little sis developed an appetite for people.” It didn’t faze him anymore, to make light of Rowen’s inexhaustible list of crimes when he long ago exhausted his claims to the slain. Not that he no longer cared about Cwenha or Naimah, but time had distanced him from the memory of the sting—and his near-fatal reaction. Besides, it was always preferable to make light of it all. Everything. The whole damn sadistic world and its ceaseless bounties of shit-blossoms, forever blooming and forever stinking up his nose.
“It’s not just because of her Sight,” he rumbled, a slight edge to his voice. Perhaps he was too quick to spring up to the defensive, but to believe in the influencing factor of one’s ruling emotion as an absolute indicator of lifelong wrongdoing was to believe that some people were born bad. “Her upbringing was shit. My upbringing was shit, too, and I didn’t turn out much better. Compared to her, I look like some concerned citizen, sticking out my neck to lend a hand and mitigate damage, but really, that’s more of a recent development. Really recent—and I’m selective about my ‘help,’ if you could call it that.. Any way you sniff it, though, I’m rotten to the core and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Tes has one good thing going for her; she’s not a Kavanagh, so maybe she’ll make it out the end little worse for wear. She’s strong-willed and has an unwavering sense of morals and justice.”
But so did Rowen, once, the ghost of Fiona whispered from across the room. Distance meant nothing when her unerring commentary buried itself, unwanted, into his ears, clear and crisp as though she perched her lips against his earlobe and hummed. And she snapped. When will the other foot drop, Hadwin? When it does, be prepared for a repeat of history. At that time, will you trade poor Teselin in for another, less problematic version, like you did with Rowen, and restart the cycle? Isn’t that the whole reason why you chose the summoner over your own flesh and blood? Because she was easier?
...Because I can still reach her. That’s the difference, he countered, batting away the persistent mosquito and its blood-sucking proboscis.
And when you can’t anymore...what then? You’ll kill her? The mosquito bit, and drew blood. Hadwin stared at his hand, pockmarked by his teeth and spotted with blood. He curled those punctured fingers into a tight fist, juicing the tiny wounds until they formed a sticky slick in his palm. He held his heartbeat in his hand, listened to it patter and elevate, from a light jog to a dead run.
“Couldn’t say.” He dug the nubs of his nails into the teeth-made incision points, which were in danger of closing by way of faoladh regeneration. “Couldn’t say what I would’ve done if I had support. Because back then, I was like Ro. I’d have taken what I was given and chucked it, because I’d have no reason to trust anyone knew what I needed. I would’ve bitten that helping hand clean off and left that person to bleed out and die. That’s how fucked up I was. You caught a glimpse of that, didn’t you? When I was bedridden and regressed to a teenager. I was a fucking nightmare to deal with. And yet,” he sighed in admittance, “Tes still got through to me. So, if nothing else, she can get to me when no one else can. I guess that’s the principal difference between me and Ro. Among all the ugly shit in this god-forsaken world, there’s at least one person...who I trust to pull me out of the muck. Not sure I can be that person for anyone else. I failed with Rowen. She couldn’t trust me. But I’m not a quitter, so,” he formed a tight smile against his skull, rigid with resolve, “bring it the fuck on.”
As Nia stood and traveled to the door, he released one decidedly less unbloodied hand and raised it to imitate some semblance of a jovial wave goodbye. “I’ll hold you to those drinks. You’re buying! Shouldn’t be a problem for you, oh ye of bottomless pockets.”
At the Master Alchemist’s departure, Hadwin’s shoulders slumped and the smile hardened into a frown. “Shut up,” he growled at the shadow in the corner before she had a chance to break the silence by aggrandizing his fears to a fever-pitch. “You are not tonight’s entertainment, so don’t even start.”
Hauling himself over the cot, he rose to his feet, gritting through the vertigo rushing to his head like streams of hot air. His legs wobbled dangerously, threatening to buck and buckle and send him sprawling, but he held firm to his position, glaring at the floor. “Think I give a shit about falling? I’ll do this all night, dings and dents be damned!” Gravity sought to punish him for his hubris and threw him prostrate, but he did not supplicate or beg. Each time, he caught himself on hands and knees, and each time, he stood to fight another round. “Yeah, that’s right. Keep knocking me down. I’ll just get back up again!” He laughed at gravity, laughed at the shadow, laughed at his fears and the weakness of his struggling muscles. The work was strenuous, but he welcomed every twitch and jolt and scream for rest as a challenge to push farther and farther, and farther. Tedious step by tedious step, he transcended into a machine, driven not by thought or emotion, but movement and action. His tenacity surmounted tragedy and pity and the bane of idleness, for the moment, and forced his body to the brink of exhaustion—the safest method to a quick and dreamless sleep. He didn’t even make it back to his cot before succumbing on the hardwood floor, heaving and sweating from the effort, but, importantly, too blacked out for the ghost of Fiona to find him. For a few blessed hours, he was effectively dead to the world.
He revived to a sliver of sunlight angled at his face. Moaning from the annoying wake-up call, he turned his head and elected to ignore the return to reality, but nearby movements alerted him to rise up and attend. Each muscle group cried from the strain of pushing upright from the floor, but he ignored the difficulty level and managed to crawl into his cot moments before Teselin’s eyes opened to take in her new surroundings, himself included. She asked the obvious question, a question he was not looking forward to answering again, but he didn’t need to. In the seconds it took to catch his breath, she realized, without prompting, Vitali’s location, and had even begun to accept his current residence as truth. He watched the window for a sudden shift in the weather, but the sun persisted, and no rain or wind drummed on the roof above. She seemed to catch his vigilance in the act and called him out on it with her next series of questions.
“If you think I’m gonna drug you stupid till you’re too numb to raise hell outside or ever again, you’re dead wrong. That’s not the plan,” he jerked his head to the syringe, its contents pumped full of the bilious sedative. “It’s a contingency. I trust you don’t need another dose, but it’s there just in case things get a little too much to bear and you can’t rein it in. You’d never forgive yourself if it got bad. Rest assured, I’m not getting all stab-happy on you. On the contrary, it’s not the worst thing if a little rain and wind leaks out of you. It’s spring, ‘sides. If now’s not the time for storms, I don’t know when is.”
The cot shifted under his lighter weight as he crawled to the edge to anchor a hand over her shoulder. Despite the mad twitching of his overworked arm, he maintained the position. “Ah, chickadee, I don’t know ‘why.’ I wish I did. Neither on a cosmic level or a mundane one. But I’ll tell you what I do know. He touched Gaolithe and he claims it’s for our benefit, but we’ve yet to see the results of this beneficial sacrifice of his. We don’t know what drove him and believe me, we’re all pretty baffled about it, too. Ghost-whisperer always seemed death-proof to me. And maybe I’m a bit in denial, myself, because he’s supposed to come through for me on a big project for you know who, so I’m halfway convinced his death won’t stick. Or failing that, he’ll orchestrate things from beyond the grave. But,” he pushed a thicket of hair from his forehead; over three weeks since he had a proper haircut and his russet mane was fast becoming an unruly, untameable mass of waves, “we have to approach this situation like it’s a done deal, because it very well might be. So, if you’re feeling up for it later…we can go and see the body before it’s prepared for burial. What do you say?”
Sorry mess that he was, he introduced a second unstable hand of support on her other shoulder, propelled himself closer, and smiled a typical Hadwin smile full of teeth. “Then lob all your complaints over this way, because I put myself in charge of you. I’m not here to keep you from being a danger. I’m here to keep you company. I’m here because I want to be here—for you. You’d really prefer having a random Gardener sticking your arm at the slightest indication of spittle outside? Pah. I’ve got better judgment than they do when it comes to you, and I say; let it rain. Come here.” He scooped the weeping girl into his arms and said nothing, allowing her the space to be sad and fall apart in his embrace, heedless of whatever storm brewed outside as a result.
“Why don’t we help each other? We’re in the best possible place for healing, yeah?” He whispered after a few more moments of silence had the chance to germinate and breathe between them. “And we can start by making a dent in all this food Nia brought us. I’m fucking starving. I did a buttload of exercises last night and worked up an appetite. You could do for a little grub, yourself.” In midst of withdrawing his arms, he patted the front pocket situated over Teselin’s chest, a reminder of the playing card now returned to her possession. “It’s a drag, recovering alone, among people who don’t really know you. Pretty sure I would’ve lost my mind way sooner if you weren’t there, holding down the fort to my sanity these last few weeks. A favor demands a favor. And,” he playfully tapped one side of her damp cheek, his eyes softening, “favor or no favor, there’s no place I’d rather be right now, scamp. You know that, don’t you?”
Bronwyn wasn’t sure what to expect upon entering the Sorde quarters, but for some reason, Vega’s unruffled greeting threw her aback a little. They hadn’t officially met, their interactions only in passing and always among an official, formal environment. And yet, she welcomed her with casual familiarity, on a first-name basis, and no hints of hostility or suspicion clung to her person, despite her associations. As the third Kavanagh to appear in Galeyn, she couldn’t quite salvage the standard established beforehand by her controversial brother and bloodthirsty sister, especially when both siblings played an active role in complicating Haraldur’s existence. By default, she assumed Vega would transfer any preconceived biases onto her shoulders, be they intentional or unintentional. Bronwyn, not entirely blameless, wouldn’t have bothered to defend herself against possible defamatory remarks, either. Didn’t she willingly join Rowen, and Locque, sharing in complicity by association? She might not have caused much of a ruckus when under their control, but if pointed in a particular direction and ordered to attack, the likelihood of harming people like Elespeth and Alster, Haraldur and Vega, was high. Rowen kept her on standby; she heeled like an obedient puppy, enticed by her manipulations, while Locque squeezed out the remainder of her compromised free will, transforming her into some hybrid of the fully-thralled Sigrid Sorenson. To them, she existed as nothing more than an experiment, a failed one, which was abandoned at the first twitch of Rowen’s boredom.
She supposed the reason behind Galeyn’s leniency toward her amounted to threat level. As a disposable thing too useless to maintain, even as the equivalent of a low-ranking foot soldier or scullery maid, she was passed up as a reject too pitiful not to pity. In some lights, she should have taken umbrage over the fact that no one registered her as threatening or dangerous, but she long stopped caring about her ego and dignity after they tripped into a shallow puddle and drowned from shame.
This is why you’re quick to trust me, isn’t it? Her tongue touched the roof of her mouth, eager to produce the notes of her rhetorical question and its response: Not because I’m trustworthy. Because I’m too unassuming to stand out. Too milquetoast and disregardable. I have the face that screams, ‘Trust me with your babes,’ because I can’t possibly prick you with edges I don’t even have. I guess it’s my own damn fault I’m so easy to defeat, and so easy to comply…
“Oh, ah, no; I don’t need anything, your Highness. But thank you,” Bronwyn voiced instead, playing the part assigned to her at birth: as the obsequious, dutiful daughter. It was the least she could do as an invitee into the home of royalty, even if her invitation was more or less an afterthought, and more or less an opportunity for free babysitting. “I can try to appease your little one, but I’m afraid ‘entertaining’ is something I am not.”
“It doesn’t take much.” To demonstrate, Haraldur accepted little Kynnet from his wife, lifted his flailing form on high, and blew a raspberry against his portly tummy. The child laughed riotously and pumped his legs with glee.
“I think that’s because you’re a natural,” Bronwyn said with a shy smile. “And he’s happy to see you.”
Haraldur paused mid-play, tilting his head in curiosity. “Are you inferring that or is it something you’re able to ‘see?’”
“I mean, it’s obvious from your interactions.” She peered into little Klara’s bassinet, cooing at the child as a method of introduction. “But...there is some very minor...activity I can detect, for lack of a better explanation. Babes this young are not cognitively developed enough for a faoladh’s Sight to pick up on complex emotion, but neither are those emotions nonexistent. In fact, they’re incredibly straightforward. A baby won’t hide how they feel. It’s refreshing, actually. There’s nothing to decode or parse. Your son is happy. And your daughter,” she reached into the bassinet, careful not to alert the child, who eyed the intriguing stranger with suspicion, “is sizing me up.”
The babe’s suspicion was fleeting, however, for, upon Vega’s return, a plate of food and a tin of water in transit to the young Gardener held hostage by hospitality, Klara brushed aside her initial reservations in favor of yanking at the intriguing stranger’s ponytail. Hard.
“Ow ow ow,” she hissed, shifting the babe to her opposite arm in an attempt to separate her from the object of her fascination. Klara would not be deterred, and held firm like a monkey on a tree branch. “You don’t want that.” She gently pressed on the child’s tiny fist and slowly weaved the strands out of her tenacious grip. “I can see why the lot of you need a break. This one in particular is a mischievous little devil.”
“And she’s behaving today, too. Lucky you.” Haraldur balanced his much more easy-going son on his shoulder and turned to face their other guest, who stared at her meal as if not knowing how to interact with it. “You’ll have to forgive us for the ambush, Breane, but like Vega, here, I’ve developed a few paternal instincts over the months. I couldn’t just leave you out there without making sure you were fed. I often neglect my health when I’m working, too. It actually got bad enough, I had to take a temporary leave of absence from my duties, and from fatherhood, to rest and recuperate.” Frequent stimulant usage borrowed so much of his reserve energies, he fell into a week-long deficit and operated on nothing but sleep, meals, and Night Garden medicines. “It’s hard to take care of others if we first don’t care for ourselves. And the Night Garden is well within reach. It won’t leave you to handle this alone. Don’t punish yourself for what happened. You’re not a failure for accepting help, and you’re not any less of a healer for feeling failure. So take this well-deserved rest, and eat. Because,” he exchanged a conspiratorial look with Vega, “we won’t let you leave unless you do.”
No, of course she had been wrong to think that Hadwin, of all people, would be the one to keep her sufficiently drugged for as long as it was necessary for her to come to terms with her brother’s death. That wasn’t a role that the faoladh would ever agree to play, however necessary; and even if it were necessary, she had a feeling he would fight on her behalf should such a decision be made against her will. But… hadn’t it been he who had put her under in the first place? Hadn’t he made that choice when he’d informed her of her brother’s passing? The young summoner’s memory of the recent event was not particularly sharp. Everything that occurred after they had packed up following their picnic--that beautiful reprieve from pain and hardship--was nothing but a blur of rain and wind and storm clouds and… pain. A growing, unbearable pain in her chest that grew and grew until her broken heart ruptured, and she not only bled all over herself, but all over Hadwin, Alster and Elespeth, and anyone or anything within the general vicinity with her storm.
But Hadwin… she had a vague recollection of his voice, of his soothing presence. He had tried so hard to keep her grounded. To keep her with him, to keep her from losing herself, but there was only so much anyone could do. He had not been wrong to put her out with whatever was in that syringe. Nor was he wrong to have another dose of it on hand as a ‘contingency plan’, in case she lost herself all over again. He had done it, not only to protect Galeyn from the wrath of her errant magic… but also to protect her. Because he was right: she wouldn’t have forgiven herself, if her grief had become everyone’s undoing. If she had lost not only Vitali, but Alster and Elespeth, Hadwin, and any other comrades within her perimeter of fire. It was enough that she was now short one family member. How would she have fared, knowing that her strife had effectively annihilated anyone and everyone else she happened to care about?
“...no. You’d be right to. To just keep me asleep.” She whispered at last. With the last vestiges of that drug in her veins, the storm inside her roiled on, but it was still currently contained through her lack of energy to unleash all hell through her profound sadness. “I destroyed… I’ve destroyed so much. So many people have fallen, because of me. Because I can’t control who or what I am. I… I don’t know how many lives I exchanged for yours, back in Apelrade.” She squeezed her eyes shut against the memory, but it was a picture branded on the inside of her eyelids. Watching that seaside town fall apart, piece by piece, crumpling into the ocean, and taking everyone and their homes with it. “The worst of it is, I’d do it again to save you. And I think… I would do the same to save Vitali. But this isn’t the same. No amount of grief can save him if he is already gone. And I don’t know… I don’t know that what happened today, in the farmlands, is the end of it. I just don’t know…”
Teselin opened her eyes again, and a sad smile graced her pale face. “I won’t stop you if you put me out, again. I think it’s easier to just be asleep, anyway… I can dream of him.” Weakly, she pulled her knees to her chest and rested her chin atop them. “I can pretend this isn’t happening.” Except that it was, and she could not sleep forever. She would have to wake up, again and again, and each time, she would have to face the reality that her eldest brother was gone forever. That any chances she ever might have had to get close to him, to get to know him better than the enigma he was, were now gone. “I could have hurt a lot of people, today… yet here I am, feeling sorry for myself. At the very least, I’m too tired to be a threat to anyone right now… so please tell me.” She turned her tied, woeful gaze onto Hadwin, who despite his weakness, made every effort to be there for her, both physically and emotionally. “Tell me… what happened to my brother. How he died.”
To Hadwin’s credit, he did not hold back or sugarcoat the details surrounding Vitali’s untimely demise. At the very least, it did not sound like a gruesome one… and Teselin thought (or at least, she hoped) it might have been painless. But it was still strange, why her brother would go out and seek his own demise when he had such a vast history of avoiding death and manipulating it to his benefit, and then insinuate that it was for the benefit of everyone else. For someone so selfish, why in the world would his final act be a selfless one? On one hand, it was everything that she had hoped for in her eldest brother: that her sentiments would be true, and that deep down beneath the layers upon layers of his uncaring facade, it would one day become clear that he cared far more than he let on. But nothing about it added up. What could possibly benefit them from Gaolithe taking his life?
“He promised you something?” She asked to clarify in a small voice. Her brow furrowed in confusion. “And then… he died. It doesn’t make sense. Vitali keeps his promises. So that would mean… wouldn’t that me he’s not really…”
Teselin trailed off as Hadwin gave a shake of his head. Too many people--doctors, Gardeners, and Alster, who would be able to detect any magical deceit--had confirmed that there was no trace of life left in the necromancer. Millions of possibilities fluttered through her mind. Perhaps he planned for another necromancer to resurrect him. Perhaps it wasn’t really him, but someone who had magically altered their appearance to look like him. He had something in mind--he must have, because he was Vitali, and he never thought any less than ten steps ahead…
“...I need to see him. I need to see it for myself.” At last she agreed. There was no use speculating when she was hearing the truth from someone else. Seeing it was something else entirely. “I need to see him to know it’s real… that he’s… I mean, if there is any chance he’s not actually dead, I’ll know. I’m a summoner--I’ll know. So let’s go now, before they do anything with him.” Despite lacking the strength, she threw her legs over the side of the bed, determined to have them bring her all the way back to the palace, with or without any help. “I won’t be able to sleep unless I…”
Her gaze trailed over to Hadwin, and his distinctly less than muscular form. His legs, which hadn’t worked for him earlier, confining him to his wheeled contraption. Even if she could shake the remainder of the drug out of her system and sprint all the way to the palace, Hadwin couldn’t, and there was nothing she could do to help him. She hardly had the strength to stand for very long, let alone get him into his wheeled seat and direct him all the way out of the Garden and to the palace.
“...we can wait. Until one of the Gardeners come by. See if they are willing to help.” She amended at last, her voice quiet and defeated as she let him gather her in his arms and leaned against him, as if she herself was lifeless. Even with the loss of muscle and strength, Hadwin still felt strong to her. I wonder if they’ll even let me see him… after what happened. What could have happened. What I could have caused. “It was thoughtful of Nia to bring us something to eat. You’re right; it would be a shame for the food to go to waste.”
She wasn’t hungry. Far from it, the sight of food turned Teselin’s stomach, and she had a feeling that Hadwin didn’t have much of an appetite, either. But she needed strength if she was going to see her brother tonight… probably for the last time. And there was no way she would convince the Gardeners that she was well enough to do so if she couldn’t carry herself. Between the two of them, she and Hadwin put away all that their stomachs could handle, and sure enough, within the hour, Senyiah paid them a visit.
“Teselin… How are you feeling?” The Head Gardener’s tone was careful, but her body visibly relaxed when it was apparent the young summoner was not about to summon another killstorm.
“I’m well. But Senyiah… I’d like it if you could take us to the palace. I need to see…” Her voice caught. She cleared her throat. “I need to see my brother. Please. It will be my last chance…”
“...of course, closure is important.” To Teselin’s surprise, Senyiah did not argue. She was sympathetic, and understanding of this unique and awful; precisely what a Gardener should be. “But… it is very late. Are you sure you shouldn’t take the night to rest? Your brother’s body… it is being well maintained. No date has been arranged for his cremation; that is for you and your remaining brother to decide, being his surviving kin.”
“With all respect, Senyiah… I’ve been unconscious for hours. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep if I don’t see him tonight. I must be the only person who hasn’t seen this… seen him with their own eyes.”
The Head Gardener nodded her understanding. “Very well. If you are able to walk, then I will arrange for departure immediately. Here.” She handed the young girl a bundle of clothes she’d been holding, retrieved directly from Teselin’s chambers. “In case you preferred to don something more familiar.”
Teselin murmured her thanks and stood slowly, so as not to upset her balance, before disappearing behind the curtain that separated the remainder of cots in the Sanctuary to change. While she was preoccupied with the task, the Head Gardener wasted no time crossing the room on soundless feet, retrieving the remaining vial of sedative, and handing it to Hadwin with a meaningful look that said everything that words didn’t: In case something goes wrong. We are putting everyone in the palace at risk if she loses control.
Soliciting the help of another Gardener to guide Hadwin in his wheeled contraption all the way to the palace, Senyiah accompanied the summoner and her faoladh companion to a room beneath the infirmary, one that hadn’t been used until the recent tragedies of late: the morgue. A cold, somber room crafted primary of stone and marble, kept intentionally chilled for the purpose of preserving the dead until their cremation. The dead that had passed through of late had the added help of experienced mages and Master Alchemists to buy even more time, and as soon as Teselin laid eyes upon the still form lying upon a stone table, her heart dropped and pounded painfully. Because despite the pallor of his face (he had always been on the pale side), and the lack of mist above his mouth and nose where he no longer drew breath, Vitali looked… asleep. Just asleep, peaceful, with his eyes closed and his hands folded upon his chest.
The late necromancer was not alone, however. Both Alster and Isidor looked up slowly, neither surprised at the arrival of Teselin and Hadwin; they must have known they’d be arriving soon. Respectfully, Senyiah and the other Gardener took their leave once they were confident that the summoner was stable enough not to unleash all hell in her anguish, and the Rigas mage and Master Alchemist looked about ready to do so as well.
“Teselin.” Isidor straightened his spine and adjusted his spectacles. “Alster and I… we’ve been trying to surmise exactly how and why Vitali… well.” He shook his head and sighed. “It doesn’t matter. Allow us to get out of your way; you deserve a moment alone.”
“No. I… don’t want to be alone.” Contrary to Isidor’s concern, Teselin did not appear perturbed or put off by an audience of three. Taking her hand from Hadwin’s arm (she had gripped him from the moment they’d left the Sanctuary, afraid she might lose herself if she let go), the youngest Kristeva sibling approached the table that stood as high as her shoulders, and reached out to put a trembling hand over one of Vitali’s. She needed to know… just to be sure, for herself…
He was cold. Still. Stiff. Everything you would expect of someone who hadn’t walked the plain of the living in the past 24 hours. You’re gone. You’re really gone… this isn’t one of your tricks, is it? This is real. And you are real, and you are… you are… “Gone.” She whispered the word and withdrew her hand, as tears filled her eyes anew. “He could have said goodbye… but what was I expecting? He never remembered me like I remembered him. Never sought me out the way I sought him out. I wasn’t important to him. I shouldn’t…” Her shoulders trembled as she struggled to contain her sobs. “I shouldn’t… be crying. I shouldn’t care…”
“He was a scoundrel, Teselin. Untrustworthy and selfish to the core. But…” Isidor stooped to his sister’s height and placed his hands on her shoulders. “He was… still ours. Our brother. You’re right to mourn. And I think, if there had been a means that was safe… he’d have said goodbye. I imagine the reason he did not is because, in his twisted heart, he wanted to protect you. In fact…” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “...something tells me, he wanted to protect all of us. We will find out what he was planning, sooner or later. I can’t believe I am saying this, but… we must have faith he knew what was he was doing, as ridiculous as it seems.”
Teselins’ tears flowed, her chest heaved, but she nodded. There was no thunder, no storms, no burst of violent magic. With a final, shaky breath, she looked upon her dead brother’s still face, and whispered. “I don’t forgive you. But… I will. Eventually.” And then she turned away, wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her tunic, and turned her dark eyes from the ground to focus on Hadwin. “...I want to go, now. I don’t know where, just… I don’t want to be here.”
The faoladh of course obliged, and let ler guide him out of the room, with the majority of her strength returned. Isidor watched as his sister left as quickly as she’d come… and sighed his disappointment. “I messed this up, didn’t I?” He said to Alster, looking just as much of a failure as he felt. “I’m her only remaining family, and I can’t comfort her because I don’t feel what she feels for this loss. I can’t do what he does for her--the wolf. I can’t even really explain to her why her… why our brother is dead.”
“You’re sure? Because there is more than enough food to go around, and I always hate to see so much of it go to waste.” Vega sighed as she retreated to the small dining area in an adjacent room, where serving staff had brought a meal truly fit for a family of four; except two of those four were still babies. “I swear, they feed me as if I am still pregnant. I’m not even nursing half as much as I used to now that the twins are getting used to solid foods. Faoladh are partial to meats, aren’t they? Well,” she peered over her shoulder from around the corner. “Don’t go spreading the word in case it incites jealousy--but tonight, we’ve got goose. Evidently, this isn’t entirely uncommon, when fowl return from their warmer climates in the springtime. A seasonal treat, if you can catch one. You’re certain I can’t entice you, even just a little?”
“She’s not wrong; anyone who dines on goose or duck is indeed considered fortunate.” The Breane mentioned, removing her spectacles to wipe them off on the hem of her robes. “No one passes it up when they have the opportunity--”
“Then you’ll have some too, Breane? Excellent. Please have a seat--the settee is just fine, no need to come all the way to the table.” The Eyraillian princess returned with two heaping plates, one for Bronwyn (for whom she traded the fussy little baby girl), and one for the young Gardener. The plate was in Breane’s hands before she had time to refuse. It did look good… and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten any meat that wasn’t fish. It had been a time when her parents and family were still alive.
Vega crossed the room to meet her husband halfway, bouncing an increasingly fussy Klara in her arms. The little girl had traded Bronwyn’s ponytail for the copper curls that had escaped her mother’s braid. “Mind if I trade the good baby for the hellion? Your hair is a lot shorter, she’ll have trouble grabbing it!” She mentioned, and of course, as soon as her husband relented, the tiny girl’s fussing turned to smiles. Her mother frowned. “She’s going to grow up to be a daddy’s girl, while I’m the bad guy. Sorry about her little fingers, Bronwyn; she’s already training to be the last woman standing. Gods help anyone who gets in her way when she’s old enough to really stand her ground.”
As Breane passively nibbled at her food, struggling against a lack of appetite clashing with the need to not offend, she felt an odd dichotomy of emotions overtake her slowly: one being a familiar warmth she hadn’t felt in a long time, and the other, a cold, hollow pain that she remembered feeling during those first few days after awakening from Galeyn’s spell. Those days when family looked for family, survivors struggled to find their way back to who they were after being asleep for a century. All the searching she had done. The patient waiting and hope that her parents, her brothers, and her sisters were all there, somewhere--or at least, that some of them were. Any of them, even her obnoxious eldest brother, who had mocked her for her poor sight since she was much younger.
Not one of them had returned; there had not been a single sign. But the Night Garden had luckily taken her under its wing before she could let despair destroy her. The Gardeners had cared for her, mentored her, helped her find purpose in her survivor’s guilt. However, that progress threatened to unravel as she sat as a guest in this thriving family’s home. Vega Sorde had the same stubborn streak her own mother had had. Haraldur, when he was not wearing his Commander’s hat, was very much a father, she could now see: all warmth and care and the need to protect. Even Bronwyn bore similarities to her eldest sister, who had been known to have a gift for soothing fussy infants. This company surrounding her… it should have been a comfort. A throwback to better times, when it had still been alright for her to be a child.
But Breane was already raw and vulnerable, stewing in her failure to Rowen Kavanagh. And this lovely, caring, and generous family felt like salt in a wound that had just reopened.
“...I’m sorry. Your Highnesses.” Gently laying her barely touched plate down before she could drop it, the young Gardener stood. “Please forgive my rudeness--I really don’t mean to offend. You’re all very kind, but this… It just reminds me too much of… something that I can never get back.” Squeezing her eyes shut, she took a deep breath, struggling to find her center. “I’m so sorry. It’s all too… heavy for me. I should go.”
“I gotta live with it, too.” Hadwin uncurled his left hand, tracing a curious, hook-shaped burn scar that faoladh regeneration never removed in full. The memory of Apelrade—before the fall—remained too fuzzy to recollect reliably, but he remembered aiming a hot fire poker to his chest in a self-offering to the dead before interruptions impelled him to conduct his suicide ritual elsewhere, along the windswept cliffsides. “I baited you. Unintentionally, yeah, but my madness incited your magic and…the rest is history. Doesn’t matter if you’d do it to save Vitali, were he in my sorry-ass position. You still did it to save me, so it’s me who’s at fault, too. I’m the catalyst. I’m sharing the burden—because how else would you have snapped me out of it? I was too far gone to be reached by normal conventions; figures it’d take an apocalypse to jolt me out of my damn fugue. If not for who you are, what you are...hell, you’d think I’d still be alive?” He snorted for emphasis. “Fat chance. I’ve got the lives of who knows how many waiting to eviscerate me if I bow out early and squander my second chance. And since I’m not going anywhere, not away from you, not to an early grave, I’m dedicating that time to make sure what you did for me never has to happen again. But don’t mistake me; we’re doing to us without sacrificing your consciousness or awareness. You’re going to be present, ok?” His unyielding, luminous gaze pierced through the dark fog threatening to congeal around her irises and blacken into an impenetrable bog. “It’s gonna fucking hurt, and you’re gonna want to retreat. You can; hells, I do it all the time, but you can’t make a habit out of it; otherwise, your world’s more fantasy than reality, and what’s the point if you’re not here?” An encouraging slap on the shoulder, delivered with the front of the palm for a forceful, somewhat painful sting, supported his argument. “Feel sorry for yourself all you want; considering the circumstances, you more than earned the right. Gotta give yourself a break once in a while, y’know?”
Enticed by the challenge of heading to the palace on their own, Hadwin almost scrambled out of his cot to model a handsome swagger, but between Teselin’s leftover drowsiness and the fact that, beyond his delusions, he couldn’t actually walk, he agreed to wait for a suitable Gardener to accompany them to wherever they housed Vitali’s body. To kill the time, they dined on the broth and spice-rubbed tubers Nia had brought, ignoring how lukewarm everything tasted after hours sitting out, untouched. Not like Teselin cared too much about flavor, but Hadwin, desperate to return to normalcy, caught himself daydreaming about a hot meal as found in Osric’s place, the only establishment in Galeyn which sometimes served poultry, pork, and beef. Too weak to shake into his wolfskin and hunt, he contended with the promise of snagging some small pleasures once wellness for him—and wellness for Teselin—stabilized. And it would stabilize. He glared at the shadow in the corner, silencing her proselytizations of certain doom before she had the chance to voice them. Nothing is lost. No one is lost. We’re right here. And it’s here we’ll stay, you bloodless bean sidhe.
It wasn’t long before the Head Gardener paid a visit, several assistants in tow. On receiving her permission to view the body, he appraised the woman they called Senyiah with a favorable nod. While Teselin disappeared behind the curtain to dress, the sedative fell into his possession by Senyiah’s hand, an unspoken understanding passing between the two of them during the exchange. He dipped his head again, aware of his monumental responsibility and the carnage that awaited him if he failed.
Gardener attendants, not forgetting about their second sanctuary patient, also brought Hadwin an extra set of his own clothes, his original outfit still too wet from the summoner’s rainstorm. Independent to a fault, the faoladh demanded to dress himself, transfer into the wheeled contraption himself, and to wheel himself down the garden path and into the palace. He succeeded in his endeavors, albeit at a much slower pace, but if Teselin grew impatient with him for delaying an audience with her dead brother, she never let on. But just as it was important for her to have closure, it was also important for him to regain his strength and mobility—as soon as possible. Among them, someone had to front as the better-adjusted half to pick up the slack of the one who struggled. To do that, to better inspire his charge to keep fighting, he needed to regain his edge, his physical peak, his infallibility. The sooner he stopped shambling like a plague victim, the sooner she would stop worrying if Death would meet him next. No...he wasn’t going anywhere.
Somewhere halfway between the Night Garden and the infirmary, Hadwin finally conceded (temporary) defeat to Teselin and a Gardener when the sinews of his arms felt ready to spew out of skin from the constant and laborious pressure of spinning his front wheels around and around, ad finitum. Pushing himself to the limit was important, true, but if he couldn’t be around to enjoy the fruits of his labors, or be around, as in conscious, for Teselin when she needed him, then he also needed to know when to cut his losses and let others take care of him. And yes, he hated every second of it. Now I know how you feel, Elly. This fucking bites.
As they neared the subterranean annex beneath the infirmary and the proximity to death encroached, Hadwin offered his hand to Teselin at the same time she sought it to hold. He cupped his fingers over her knuckles and stroked in calming back and forth motions. You’ve got this, kid, the gesture conveyed. Senyiah wrenched open a stone slab of a door, its aesthetic too close a resemblance in design to a mausoleum to be brushed aside as coincidence. They entered the dimly-lit chamber and Hadwin made a slight sound in his throat to voice his approval. In life, the light-repulsed necromancer would enjoy the dark and gloomy hideaway, granted he shared the space alone, without the intrusion of ghosts. They were always such a mood-killer.
Perched atop a granite pedestal in the center of the morgue, Vitali’s body lay in perfect repose, too waxen and preserved in perpetuity to look even the slightest bit affected by pesky things like decomposition, or fire. Fuck you. You even make a fetching corpse. I give up, you magnificent fucking specimen, he shook his head, concealing a disbelieving grumble.
Isidor and Alster, still as a painting of bow-headed mourners, stirred out of their artistic poses at his and Teselin’s approach, and Senyiah and the Gardeners’ subsequent retreat. The Rigas caster greeted Teselin with a muted hello, but otherwise deferred to Isidor to do the talking. Hadwin, also maintaining a still tongue to grant a short reprieve from his rotting repository of a mouth, gently urged the summoner forward, but glided alongside her on his wheels to keep close. Her reaction triggered no storms, unless one counted the tears of anguish flowing past her eyelids. The tears spilled the language of loss and sadness, but also fear. Fear of forever losing her chance to reconnect with her emotionally-distant brother. Fear of having never known him at all, and never knowing him again.
“If you weren’t just a little important to him, would he have bothered to risk his plans to inform Hadwin to watch over you?” Alster, following Isidor’s reasoning, offered in a susurrus so as not to disturb the hush of the morgue. “No. He would have left without a word, unconcerned about the wounds he opened in his wake. I have faith that the circumstances behind his death won’t remain a mystery for long. If anything, I hope you take comfort in the possibility that...maybe he wasn’t entirely without morals, or care.”
At her request to leave, Hadwin unmoored his tongue from its own funereal pedestal and wore a soft, obliging smile. “Understandable, scamp. Roll me on out of here. Let’s take a few turns around the Night Garden. See who can find the strangest-looking thing first. Winner gets bragging rights. Yeah, yeah, that’s a piss-poor prize, but I’ve got bugger-all to trade for now. Once I’m well again, oh, there won’t be any deficit of mindless crap we can throw ourselves into. One day at a time, though. First goal is to get my cuddly wolf form back. Your feet are like icicles at night. Seriously. No circulation gets into those puppies. How do you feel about foot massages? My hands need the exercise!”
The garrulous faoladh, keen on distracting Teselin, also knew when not to run away with mindless prattle. As they bridged the distance between themselves and the body, he smartly balanced talk with lapses of quiet, giving her breathing room to process her loss while at the same time offering her an opportunity for a way out, if she so desired it. The giant tombstone of a door closed behind them, cutting off the faoladh’s easy-flowing words and leaving Isidor and Alster, once again, the only two living souls among the dead.
“No, you didn’t. You didn’t mess this up,” though he still kept his volume low, Alster’s emphatic reply carried full-bodied resonance. “Family or not, she’s practically a stranger to you. Hadwin...he has an edge because tragedy after tragedy has enforced their bonds and made them unbreakable. But it’s not too late for you. Nothing is stopping you from pursuing a relationship with Teselin now. I think she would like that. To have biological kin who shows an interest in her, as a person and not as a liability. Should you, heavens forbid, ever die,” he lifted his prosthetic hand from the stone table, distancing himself from the literal dead, “at least she can say with confidence that she knew you, and you cared about her. But, I wouldn’t beat yourself up about that last bit. I,” he bit his lip, hesitating, “I could have told her why Vitali died. I could have eased her burden a little. But I didn’t. I’m...I’m not so innocent. I know what happened.” He lifted his hand, a spark of a silencing spell glimmering the air around them. “But it’s better to play dumb. I’ll spare you the details. The fewer people know, the better, and the last thing Vitali would want is to be sabotaged by a group of bleeding-heart do-gooders whose morose sentimentalities completely unravel all his ‘noble’ works. But I’ll tell you this.” He watched the door, mindful of any disturbance of entrance that would cut their treasonous discussions off at the head. “I orchestrated a run-in with Sigrid, earlier. It wasn’t too difficult. She sometimes guards the outside of Locque’s chambers, and she always has Gaolithe equipped. All I did was take a very slow walk. Slow enough to bask in the vast energy field of her cursed sword for about a minute. I didn’t need much time to get a reading and...what I found confirmed my suspicions. Gaolithe has been compromised. It...weakens. Imagine a sack of rice with a small puncture. At first, only a few grains will escape, but as the puncture hole grows steadily bigger and bigger, there is no patching the hole, no salvaging the sack. Right now, the sack has only begun to lose its integrity, but give it time.” Without warning, Alster pressed two fingers on Isidor’s brow, closed his eyes in concentration, and introduced a spark of magic to the crown of his head; a painless shock, over in seconds. “You’re now protected from Rowen. She’ll still see your darkness, but she won’t see a trace of what you’ve just learned. I trust you’ll keep this information to yourself until instructed otherwise. We’ve entered the next phase. Once Gaolithe bleeds out...the time to act will be nigh.”
If Bronwyn were in her wolf skin, she would have perked up her ears. “Did you say goose?” An internal struggle took place in her head, one that Haraldur could immediately identify.
“Don’t worry; you’re not rude to accept the food,” he said with a knowing smile. “If you don’t eat it, it’ll go straight to me and I could stand to lose a little weight if I hope to still fit in my armor. You’ll be doing me a favor, really.”
“The last thing I want is to play into the hungry animal stereotype, but...the scarcity of meat hasn’t been great for my diet overall,” she admitted, careful in her wording in fear of offending the native Galeynian and Night Garden representative seated to her right.
“You and me both,” Haraldur’s eyebrows lifted conspiratorially. “I was a hunter by necessity. I’ve never exactly lived in a place of plenty. Central Mollengard and the northern regions of my birth often suffered growth shortages and famine. Meat was the dietary staple and our livelihood. Though I haven’t had to worry about subsistence hunting for a while, now, there are times I miss it. What say you and I take down a deer together? Consider it part of your Forbanne training, or what I like to call: win over the Commander.”
“Sounds like an abuse of your power, getting a wolf to agree to play nice as your personal hunting dog,” she bounced the feisty baby on her hip, holding her far from anything grab-worthy. A tease rattled in her throat. “But if it’s a chance for deer, I’m in.” She couldn’t hold in her excitement when Vega returned, two heaping plates of goose balanced on each hand. Exchanging the red-haired babe for the food, she relocated to a nearby table, determined, at least, to consume her meal like a civilized human and not snout first. Try as she might to prevent it, noisy sounds of pleasure grunted from her mouth as she tore into a leg, the grease dribbling down her chin and staining the collar of her shirt.
“Do you need a bib?” Haraldur called over to the rampaging wolf in human clothing. “We have plenty.”
“Very funny, Hadwin,” She clapped back, sliding the meat down her open gullet. “I thought better of you than to make baby jokes.”
Haraldur smiled, proud of himself. The mischief glinted in his green eyes, and for a moment, young Klara, dangling jovially in his arms, wore not the spitting image of her mother, but her father. “Comes with the territory. I have no regrets.” Covertly, he hid a hand behind his daughter’s neck and peppered it with tickles, causing her to erupt in mad cackles. “See, she enjoyed it! My greatest admirer! Keep up the great work,” he said to the tot in a stage whisper, loud enough for everyone to hear. “You’ve got your mother fooled.”
The scene of domestic bliss was interrupted at young Breane’s insistence that she should leave, citing the traumatic loss of her family as her reasoning to distance herself from a welcoming home environment. Haraldur frowned, but it was not a frown of offense. Understanding and relatability lived in those world-weary creases. “I lost my entire family at a very young age, like you. I later did some...horrific things in the name of Mollengard, separating parents and young ones with my sword. I grew up believing I never deserved any of this. Not for what I’ve lost or done. That feeling stayed with me until very recently.” Hands too full to engage her with a well-placed hand on her arm, he bowed his head instead. “Please don’t go, Breane. It’s heavy now, but imagine how much heavier it will be if you carry it as an adult. To have it trail behind you, always, like lodestones you can’t shake, influencing and affecting your ability to be happy. Let yourself be sad and heartbroken now, in a safe place. The opportunity is too ripe to ignore, because you couldn’t be in a better, more supportive environment. Don’t be like me. Acknowledge your losses so that they don’t define you later. The Night Garden spoke to you and instructed you to heal by granting you a special ability no one else has. It would be wrong not to use it to help yourself, too.”
A shade of an idea flickered across his face. Shifting the oddly compliant Klara into one arm, Haraldur traversed the room to rummage through something in a dresser. When he returned to Breane’s side, he handed her a polished disk of wood with a deep, double-hooked gouge split into the grain.
“The Sentinel tree speaks to me using these symbols. I’ve taken to understand it’s the language of the trees. Each one conveys a deeper meaning. So deep, it sometimes requires me to go on meditative journeys just to make sense of the message. It’s easier for me to fall into a trance state when I carve or whittle into wood. And often, when I shake out of it, I’ll find that I created something beyond my conscious awareness. This little medallion is one of those creations. A lesson I had to learn for myself not too long ago. I think you should have it.” He pressed it into her open palm. “Bend, but don’t break. That’s its message. A tree weathers a storm not by pushing up against it, inflexible and uncompromising, but by swaying to the movements of the wind. Bow to the pain and work with it; don’t shut it out, else one day...you’ll break. A tree doesn’t stand alone, either...not if it’s surrounded by an entire forest.”
“But that’s the problem, Alster. She is a stranger to me, and really, I to her. But she shouldn’t be--not at this point. Not since we’ve met have I ever made so much of an inkling of an effort to be close with her because I’ve been too wrapped up in other entirely selfish matter, and… well, because, in part, I am still afraid of her.” The Master Alchemist’s shoulders drooped with the confession. He had never forgotten the way Teselin had once lashed out of him with such an accusation--she had not been wrong. He was afraid of her power and what she was capable of. Afraid of what she was, or rather, what she wasn’t (and she certainly wasn’t human). That feeling haunted him because it was something he couldn’t reconcile, not even when it mattered the most. He had promised to help her, and still intended to, to the very best of his ability… but what did that even matter if he never made an effort to be close to her? This was a time when their family, or what was left of it, should have come together. He should have made an effort to reach out before she ever laid eyes on their brother’s body. He should have made an effort to be a brother to her… I can’t blame Tivia for leaving me. How could I take care of her when I cannot even be there for my own family?
“Even if it isn’t too late… what would be the point of trying to grow close to her, when we will eventually part ways forever when this is all over?” He stared at the morgue’s exit, where his younger sister and her surrogate brother had departed just moments ago. His breath misted in front of his face, clouding his spectacles, so he removed them to wipe them on the hem of his shirt. “I still intend to return to Nairit. The longer I stay here… the more I realize I need to go. I cannot be there in the future. It is not an excuse for not being there for her now… but, here we are. I’m as incompetent with people, my own family included, as I was on day one of my arrival. Even Vitali… somehow, even that bastard was there for her more than I was. Even if I care about her--and I do, truly--it doesn’t matter. Not if I have nothing to show for it.” Isidor huffed his frustration, turning his gaze to the placid, frozen form of the dead necromancer. He didn’t blame Teselin for her naive optimism. Even he still expected Vitali to spring up at any moment, alive and well, and taunt them all for being fools to believe he had ever been dead in the first place.
Readjusting the corrective lenses on the bridge of his nose, the Master Alchemist acknowledged Alster’s attempt to validate his decisions with a rueful smile. “Thank you, though. You’ve always been a reassuring presence, Alster, although you don’t have to turn a blind eye to my shortcomings. I’m aware of them; and it is no one’s fault but my own that I choose not to resolve them. But…” He furrowed his brows in confusion, studying the Rigas Mage’s face. “What do you mean… you know why my brother died? Has something about examining his body this past hour revealed something to you that isn’t evident to me?”
He wondered why, if that was the case, Alster had not spoken up sooner. Without performing an autopsy on the body (which everyone had agreed not to do, for Teselin’s sake--so that his body could be cremated in one piece), the only knowledge they had garnered through Alster’s Magic and Isidor’s skills as a Master Alchemist was that the cause of Vitali Kristeva’s death was a result of literally every single organ in his body--his heart, lungs, kidney, liver, even brain--all seemed to have suddenly ceased to function, probably the very second that his hand had come into contact with Gaolithe. Like a candle being snuffed off, or a mechanical toy deprived of its power to function. But as to the why, why he had sought contact with the accursed blade in the first place knowing precisely what it would do to him… In what way had that revealed itself through their examination?
With the area secured as a result of Alster’s magic, Isidor eagerly leaned in to hear what his friend had to say. As a precaution, the Rigas mage was not inclined to voice all of the details, lest it unravel whatever delicate set-up Vitali was responsible for, but what Isidor heard… he’d never have thought was possible, let alone that his own brother would be capable of pulling such a feat.
“Gaolithe… you mean, that sword that the Dawn Guard claims is capable of slaying an entire army is… compromised? But… how?” His mind poured over the ways in which anyone, Vitali or otherwise, could cause the slow leakage of magical power from a weapon that had been around for centuries. Even the infamous necromancer wasn’t that omnipotent. And what could he possibly be trying to set into effect by compromising this weapon?” Unlike Alster, Isidor hadn’t had the opportunity to settle down back in Braighdath and pour through volume after volume of the Dawn Guard and the sword’s history. His knowledge of the weapon was limited to what most people knew of it, but obviously, his friend knew more… and it was too dangerous for him to relay everything he knew.
But, while Isidor cognitively understood why Alster withheld the details… he couldn’t help but feel left out in the cold and dark, knowing what little he did. He understood why Teselin had told Vitali why she did not yet forgive him. Not because he had left without saying goodbye; but because he had deemed that another matter was more important than his life and relationships, and left her out in the dark and cold, wondering. “Alster, if your magic protects me from Rowen’s Sight, then why will you not give me any details? I understand why you would not tell Teselin; she trusts too easily, and it’s anyone’s guess if she can actually keep a secret if someone coerced her into giving out information. But who the hell do you think I am going to tell? I can count the number of people I actually hold conversations with on one hand, and one of them is here in this room.” He tapped his head where Alster had touched him. “If you have any ideas as to what exactly my brother did to that sword, and what end justifies the means, then I should know. He’s my brother. He saw fit to cryptically warn me about what he had coming--don’t you think I should know what he had in mind?”
There was more emotion in the Master Alchemist’s voice than he had intended; enough that it surprised even him. But when it all came back to the facts, however much bad blood existed between Isidor and his older brother, there was no denying that the blood in their veins was still shared. Friends or enemies aside, they were still brothers, both hailing from a curious bloodline and the same enigma of the woman who was their mother. Now, the family name had just become that much smaller… and Isidor didn’t know how to feel. Like Teselin, he wondered if he had ever known Vitali, at all.
He was quick to catch himself, however, before he could fall down a rabbit hole that compromised his friendship with Alster, and quickly rescinded his words when he realized how loud his voice sounded in his own ears. “...forgive me. I didn’t mean to come across as unruly. I’m… I guess this is still such a shock to me, as well. That he is really and truly gone--no tricks, to sleight of hand. It’s just hard to wrap my head around.” Isidor massaged one of his temples, finally acknowledging the dull throb of a headache that resulted from too much work and too little sleep. “But if what you say is true… then this could well be the beginning of the end of this… nightmare. My only hope is that it takes no more casualties. No more unnecessary death, and that… this plan of my brothers does not backfire. Remember, Locque is a summoner, like my sister. She picks up on magic because she attracts it. Do you think that she will sense a change in her bodyguard’s sword? And if so…” His brow, previously knitted in frustration, relaxed out of concern. “I fear what she will do with the Dawn Warrior if she no longer deems her useful, as a result. We can only hope that she continues to see value in her as a hostage, if it comes to that.”
Breane knew it wouldn’t be as simple as stating that she should leave, and walking out with nods of understanding following her. Not among the Sordes. Haraldur was a presence in and of himself, and Vega Sorde, for all her warmth, her generosity, and her hospitality, was still an infamous Sorde of Eyraille. The bloodline known for their fiery dispositions and stubborn streak. If they wanted her there, sharing in a delicious meal that she was actually a fool to turn down, then convincing them otherwise would take more than apologies and a half-assed explanation of why she thought it best to leave.
“Of course. You have had your own trials, Prince Sorde… and you have finally found the peace you deserve, with the family you have always wanted. And all without the Night Garden.” Breane graciously accepted the gift of the carved rune, tried to remember herself through the pain that threatened to overwhelm her. She was a Gardener; and whether she was within the Night Garden or otherwise, that was not a role she could simply cease playing. “Your story… I find it very inspiring. And in fact, it gives me hope. After all, I did not endure even half of the hardships that you have. It’s silly… to say the least, for me to feel the way I do, in such a welcoming home such as yours. Don’t worry about me--I know that I am blessed. Some awoke to nothing, their families and friends gone, nothing to do and no one to turn to. But the Night Garden picked me. It chose me, and I will honour my privilege in hearing its voice. I’ve come to terms with the past, I’m just… this is merely a moment of weakness, one that will pass. I’m still shaken from failing your sister, Bronwyn… I really thought I could help her.” She couldn’t look at the faoladh woman as she said, her voice even softer than before, “I’m sorry.”
“If you hadn’t failed Rowen, Breane… If you had deemed working with her a success, would things be any different? Would you find yourself able to share a meal with us under different circumstances, without being plagued by hurtful memories?” Vega suddenly chimed in. Kynnet, who had been growing exhausted since before Haraldur had returned home, was having trouble keeping his eyes open in his mother’s arms. Taking the opportunity while it was golden, she placed the little boy gently in his bassinet. “How long has it been for you--about a year? Since you woke up, without your family?”
The young Gardener hadn’t been prepared to answer such direct questions, however well-meaning they were. Her voice caught in her throat. “Yes… I year. And I’m sure… if I weren’t feeling sorry for myself to begin with, I’d have been able to receive your hospitality better, Your Highness.”
“So, a year is ample time to put the past behind you? Then what would you say of my friend, Elespeth Rigas? It has been a few years since she lost her brother. I think we can all agree she came into luck, as well; falling in love and marrying Alster, finding a home and someone to call family again. She’s confided in me that she still has nightmares. So… what of her?” The Eyraillian princess angled her head curiously; by no means judgemental, but it did look as though she had a point to make. “I have also been fortunate. I lost my roc, well over a year ago. Before the D’Marians fled Stella D’Mare under threat of Mollengard. She was… my lifelong companion since I was a child. And I held onto her for so long, so desperate not to let go, that it very nearly compromised the lives of my two children--miracle children, I should add, because I was not supposed to be able to get pregnant. I think a part of me still holds onto Aeriel, and always will, because she shaped who I am today. Is there, then, something that Elespeth and I have gone about wrong? That we are still haunted by pain of loss to this very day--and after spending a year in the vicinity of the all-healing Night Garden?”
“I… n-no! Of course not. That’s not what I mean. I…” Breane’s heart pounded in her chest so hard she could hear it in her ears. She wanted--no, she needed to leave. This was too overwhelming. Just as she had finally thought she had turned a corner, finding her niche in helping Rowen heal. Just as she had finally found a point where she did not wake up every morning feeling lost not to hear her own mother’s voice… how fast it all unraveled, in light of one, single failure. And now, she had offended this kind couple, who only wanted her to feel welcome in their home...
There was no more holding back her tears. First they trickled down her cheeks, but in no time, it was impossible to see out of her spectacles. Breane removed them to wipe her eyes clear, but it wouldn’t stop, and before long, the tremble of her shoulders was accompanied by quiet gasps as she struggled in vain to stifle her sobs. “...I’m not supposed to be selfish.” She spoke through her weeping, in a soft voice. “But I’d trade anything… just to get them back. Even just one of them… there’s nothing I wouldn’t do. Please… please don’t tell Senyiah...”
With her arms now free, Vega pulled the young Gardener against her shoulder and wrapped her arms around her. Breane didn’t resist, but continued to sob, her cries stifled by Vega’s tunic. “A year isn’t a long time, not for anyone. For any reason.” She said gently, holding the girl who was not her daughter, but who had needed a mother for a while, now. The Night Garden protected her; the Gardeners mentored her. But none of it could replace the warmth and security of a family. “You owe no one an explanation or an apology. Do you understand? Haraldur is right. You need to acknowledge these feelings now, or those wounds will get infected and leave scars that you will never be rid of. I may not be your mother, Breane, and Haraldur is not your father. Klara and Kynnet are not your siblings. But if you need to remember what it feels like to be part of a home, to be with a family, then I want you to come back here, whenever you like.”
The Skyknight wasn’t sure how long she sat with the sobbing orphan in her arms, giving her the space and security to feel hurt and miss what was lost to her; she wasn’t keeping track of time, or of the fact her meal was growing cold. But eventually, her breathing slowed, and her sobs gradually subsided. With nothing left to give, she had fallen asleep. “Can you take her to our room? I’ll take Klara.” Vega said softly to Haraldur, who complied, and through a very delicate exchange, she took her daughter against her hip as her husband scooped the small, young Gardener into his arms to allow her a space to rest, without a fussy baby to disturb her.
“I could tell from the moment she set foot inside that she was a candle with a short wick.” She said to Brownyn, while she attempted to appease Klara by bouncing her on her knee. The little girl was not amused at being traded around from arms to arms like a common doll. “My own daughter becomes very uptight and defensive when she is hungry or overtired. But it doesn’t take a mother’s instinct to know that that girl has been forced to grow up far too quickly. It would have an impact on anyone.” When Haraldur returned, having successfully tucked Breane into their bed to get some sleep, her brows furrowed. “That young girl went to sleep a child, and woke up an orphan, a hundred years later, and with all of the responsibilities of an adult. I respect Senyiah and the Gardeners, but this is too much. It gives me half a mind to speak with them on Breane’s behalf, but… I’m overstepping, aren’t I? She’s not my child to fight for. But the mother in me just can’t help but be concerned.”
Perhaps as a result of his complex and abusive relations with the Rigas family as a whole, Alster didn’t put much stock into the importance of blood-ties. From a magical standpoint, yes, unbroken and ancient lineages certainly developed powerful mages, powerful legacies, but in terms of loyalty...well, he harbored so little regard for the name up until recently, and even now, he still questioned his standpoint daily. Alster was a Rigas, but he wasn’t kin. From as early as childhood, he shunned any associations to family, for the Rigases were but a collective who shared the same moniker and nothing more. Outside of the direct influence of his parents, the people he associated with, though they all shared his blood, couldn’t be any more strange and estranged. It was only by coincidence that he made a close connection to Chara, his first cousin on his father’s side. Keeping his own tumultuous history in mind, he couldn’t fault Isidor for distancing himself from his half-siblings. In that same vein, he couldn’t entirely understand Teselin’s desperation to reach out to those not interested in assuming the role of her brother, when someone else, someone not related, reached harder and wanted it more. It seemed inconsequential to him, whether or not the people who comprised your family could be traced back to parentage, grand-parentage, or great-grand-parentage. Then again...hadn’t he also fought hard to find acceptance from the Rigases? Even while he feared he’d never earn their approval, didn’t it still matter? In our quest for belonging, it’s impossible not to circle back to our roots and try to grow something out of ravaged soil. In the end...we’ve imprinted too much on our stories of origin not to care. We can’t shed our old skin. It clings and never detaches, no matter how much we yank and shake. Is that not why Elespeth still can’t reconcile the person she’s become? Why she’ll never feel like she belongs...with me?
“I’m not going to condemn you for inactivity, Isidor. If that’s what you want to hear, I invite you to find it elsewhere. Nor am I softening my tongue to spare your feelings. That’s not what I’m doing,” he said, easing out his breaths in a patient sigh. “I’m merely stating that you have options. Whatever option you choose, no one can dictate what’s wrong or right for you. If you want a relationship with Teselin, or not, that’s for you to decide. But if you’re making your decisions based on fear, if they’re because they’re too overwhelming to bear, try to throw fear out of the equation and reevaluate your wants, your desires. If you didn’t have to worry about what you’re afraid of, tell me; what would you like to do? Would you still want to relinquish your relationships; would you still choose your tower?”
A wash of sadness twinged at his brow. A little bit of that enduring patience rubbed away, leaving purple bruises of tired resignation beneath his eyes. “I won’t stop you if you go, but I need to know if it’s what you actually want, Isidor. Deep down inside...would you be able to reconcile the fact that you walked away from someone who wanted so badly to know you? Who cared enough about you to be affected by your rejection? How did it feel to reach for someone who wouldn’t reach back? Maybe you and Vitali...aren’t entirely dissimilar.” He paused, waiting for the inevitable backlash of his rather unkind comparison, considering how the two brothers were terribly at odds for years. “It’s not an insult. Just…an observation. You both believe you don’t have the capacity to be there for people in the way they want you to be.” He scanned the motionless body on the table, no distinction in death as in life. Did Vitali’s grisly profession already prepare him for the afterlife, such that when he was alive, he ghosted through existence like a wraith, for practice? It would explain how much this new form suited him. “Again, it’s an observation, and maybe it’s not a correct one, but it seems like Vitali would rather die than stay among people who expected too much...humanity out of him. What he did here...was it a noble sacrifice, or a selfish escape route? Or both? It’s food for thought.”
Not keen on dwelling on the uncomfortable subject he likely worsened, Alster shifted to something related but easier to discuss, in terms of nonpersonal investment. But little did he know that Isidor would take Alster’s information withholding personally.
“My magic protects you from Rowen’s Sight, but it doesn’t protect you from lying.” Alster lowered his hand from Isidor’s forehead, shaking the residual magic off his fingers and dispersing it into the air. “By your own admittance, you’re not very good at it. If Nia or Locque decide to interrogate you, it’s better you know as little as possible, so you don’t end up implicating yourself. Vitali worked independently, not only because it’s his modus operandi, but because if he actively involved us, then we’d all have targets on our backs, and we wouldn’t have a hair width’s chance of escaping Locque’s wrath unscathed. Not even Elespeth knows anything aside from the little I’ve told her. In fact, you now know far more than she does. Promise me this; if they ever call you in for questioning, you’ll drop my name to save yourself. Promise,” he hissed, the sibilance as intense as the fizzling of torches in a sudden windstorm.
“Please know, Isidor, that this operation is far too delicate to go about liberally sharing information because you feel entitled to it. This is not your brother’s will and last testament, and I am not executor to his estate. I’m not requisitioning his assets and denying you a share out of greed. This isn’t personal. I just want us all to survive.” The intensity waned from his eyes at Isidor’s apology. He dunked his head, as though in a cooling bath, and kneaded at the pinching knots that formed between his shoulder blades, instructing himself into calm. “I...no. Forgive me. I’ve been nothing but crass and insensitive. It’s not that I don’t understand your situation and the complexities behind your brother’s death. It’s just...it’s easier for me to focus on the end goal. As you said, to find an end to this nightmare. I’ve had the same thoughts as you, regarding the steady loss of Gaolithe’s energy output. Sooner or later, Locque will discover what’s happening. We’ll have to act before it comes to that. No one else needs to know about Vitali’s play, but that doesn’t mean we can’t alert everyone to prepare for battle. At the very least, we’ll watch over Sigrid. The best people for the job are those who are closest to Locque’s council; Lilica and Chara. I know you don’t like her, but Nia can also work in our favor. If Locque’s end goal really is a peaceful reign, her advisor must be there to remind her that if something happens to Sigrid, it’s a declaration of war.”
Incited by the word ‘war,’ his excitement flared anew, unmooring his feet from the hard, stone floor. He took to pacing, mind aflurry with activity. “Help me, Isidor. Help me concoct a plan. I need something to present to the others, and soon. I’ve grown weary of this waiting game.” Aspects of the ruthless Alster, who once inhabited his body at the expense of his gentler counterpart, washed to the surface and glittered in the fierce sun, an impressive feat in light of the tombal aesthetic of the morgue they inhabited. “I want her dead before mid-summer.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t downgrade your own experiences, or compare them to mine.” Haraldur dropped to one knee, equalizing their vastly disparate heights that Breane, seated in her chair, had further shortened. Little Klara proceeded to climb over his shoulders like the wild-woman she aspired to be. With one arm, he kept the roving baby steady, while with the other, he clasped the Gardener’s cold hand, suffusing it in waves of warmth, which emitted from his naturally toasty palm. “Never discount how you feel, even if you believe that what you feel is ingratitude. To miss your family, to dwell on your failures, is not being ungrateful for what you have, currently. When you’re in a bad place, there’s precious little that can feel to you like a blessing. I had so much going for me, and yet, I still threw it all away.” He lowered his head, turning it away from Vega in the shame he never quite resolved. “That’s why it’s so important to address the source of our grief right away and seek help, but that’s easier said than done, and I also have a lot to learn. But you’re on the right path, Breane. Just don’t forget that it’s not a path you’re meant to travel alone.”
“You didn’t fail my sister, Breane. She failed herself.” Bronwyn lowered the leg bone on which she’d been sucking, wiped her hands free of the clinging oils and juices with a cloth napkin Vega had offered her, and rose from the table to join the little congregation. She didn’t intrude, nor force her way into the circle, afraid of crowding the young Gardener with too many presences, but she stood just outside, close but not too close. “Trust me when I say that you were assigned a very difficult case as your first, almost guaranteed to fail. Only one person has successfully been able to penetrate Rowen’s stubborn defenses, and that was my brother. But if he can no longer get through to her, what does that mean for everyone else who tries? The fact that you made so much progress with her in so short a time is astounding. I almost believed that maybe, she stood a chance at recovery. But in the end, it’s Rowen who has the final say, and she chose to walk away. You can’t be so hard on yourself when the odds were stacked unfairly against you.”
“Bronwyn’s right, and so is Vega,” Haraldur continued, his voice lullaby-soft. The same tone he adopted to lull irascible babies to sleep. It seemed to have its intended effect, not so on his target, but the bundle of energy clambering around his shoulders. Little Klara’s movements slowed, herself too attuned to her father’s coos to ignore in favor of play. “Rowen’s case would have tried even the most experienced veteran. And I must be a lost cause, because I still miss my little sister. It’s been decades, and to this day, I still believe I failed her. She died, and I could do nothing to keep her in this world. If you look at this devil-child trying to throttle me,” he jerked his head to the nubby little arms failing to circumnavigate the girth of his neck, “her name is Klara. The same name as my sister. Even now, I’d like to think...her spirit has returned to inhabit this little one’s soul. It’s a second chance...not to fail her. And I won’t. As long as you’re alive, Breane, there will be other chances, other opportunities, to find what you need and want. And there’s no such thing as selfish when it comes to your health. Senyiah and the Night Garden would understand.” Breane, finally losing her resolve to stand strong amid the unrealistic expectations thrust upon her, on others and on herself, broke down into a fit of sobs. He withdrew his hand to allow Vega the chance to sweep the weeping Gardener into her arms and provide the solace of family she hungered for so desperately. “I second Vega’s motion. You’ll always have a place here, Breane, for as long as you have need or want of it.”
Eventually, the distraught girl’s tears subsided into sleep. Haraldur needn’t be asked twice to exchange the still-active but less so Klara with the unconscious Breane as he lifted her against his shoulder to rest, uninterrupted. While he tucked her into bed in the next room, Bronwyn, who hadn’t returned to her now cold meal out of respect for the somber mood, nodded along to Vega’s commentary. “You’re very kind to offer her a place to rest her weary head. I know she appreciates what you and your husband are doing for her, even if she can’t voice it, herself.” She smiled, and any initial reserves she continued to bear for the Eyraillian princess and prince had vanished. “You’re both wonderful parents. Your little ones are indeed lucky to have you.”
At Haraldur’s reemergence from the bedroom, he seemed about ready to express the same concerns as his wife, but she beat him to the punch. “I never had the chance to properly mourn my family before I was snatched by Mollengard and shaped into a perfect killer. I was just a kid. A kid who was already forced to grow up early even before they came for me. I’m not going to let that happen to her. She needs the chance to be a child. I’ll talk to Senyiah. And if temporarily reprieving Breane means she’s short on Gardeners, then,” he paused and looked at the pommel of his sword, at the three-pronged symbol of protection sliced into the steel. He hasn’t yet a chance to remove his armor from his shift as Commander, and as such, his next words carried more weight, literal and figurative, coming from a man decked out like a soldier. “Maybe I can take Breane’s place. As a Gardener. Just for a little while. It’s ludicrous to think that I would be any good as one, but other Gardeners have already seemed to accept me as a promising candidate—Senyiah, included.” He swallowed, smothering away his slight discomfort at the idea of accepting a title that, for many months, he’d vehemently denied. The tree isn’t talking to me. I’m not one of them. I’m not hearing things. I don’t have a natural affinity with this Garden. It’s just dumb luck! “I can do that much for Breane, at least.”
The following morning, a loud, persistent knock sounded on Lilica and Chara’s bedroom door. Assuming it was Nia, come to bother them about Vitali’s mysterious passing, Chara rolled around in bed, ignoring the call to annoyance for a minute or two longer, solely out of spite. But a muffled, yet distinct voice on the other side debunked her assumptions and encouraged her to rise from bed and to jostle Lilica awake. “We’re being summoned,” she grumbled, throwing on a robe over her shift and cinching the belt tight around her waist. “I’m coming!” She bellowed over the knocking, Lilica close on her heels. On opening the door, Alster, accompanied by Elespeth, invited themselves inside, their faces a matching set of grave.
“What manner of bad news have you for us today?” She inquired, clicking the door shut behind them. “Out with it. Don’t hold back on account of our sleep-addled brains. I wasn’t sleeping well, anyway.”
The Rigas couple exchanged worried glances, at a loss on where to begin. “First, sit down. Both of you. In fact, I’ll sit, too.” They all found a seat in the sitting room; Chara and Lilica on the sofa, Alster and Elespeth in chairs. Alster withdrew a familiar stone beset in a swirl of complex designs, staring at its facade to avoid eye contact. “I just spoke with Ari. All of the D’Marian settlement is in a furor over a rumor that started to gain traction last night and spread like wildfire into the marketplace this morning. Rumors themselves are commonplace and don’t have a lot of merit, but this one was started...by Rowen Kavanagh. And she’s somehow convinced everyone to believe her.”
Chara tensed in her seat, anticipating the answer to her question before she even posed it. “And the rumors...what are they?”
“Ah,” he hesitated, his eyes still cast down in a deliberate avoidance...of Chara. “They’re about you. About...disturbing accounts of an alleged, past relationship between you and Lord Canaveris, where...it, it paints a very unflattering picture of you, Chara. As an abuser, who,” he closed his eyes, trailing off. “Ari will neither confirm nor deny that the rumors are true, but he plans to make a statement to set the record straight, and is requesting your presence at your earliest convenience. I don’t know the veracity of these rumors; Ari won’t say, but...be careful, Chara. If this is a plan hatched by Rowen to lure you out of the palace or separate you from Lilica, then—“
Another urgent knock on the door startled everyone to attention. A palace guard waited in the hallway and saluted to Lilica. “Pardon my intrusion, your Majesty, but there is, for lack of a better term, a mob of citizen Galeynians at the entrance, asking you to answer for your ‘crimes.’ Their words, not mine. They are angry and confused and are demanding to hear from you in person in hopes your Majesty can clarify and put these salacious rumors to rest. Forgive my need to repeat these unsubstantiated and slanderous remarks, but they are saying you have murdered. Murdered your adoptive parents, murdered for sport, murdered too many to calculate an accurate number.” If the information disturbed the guard, he hid his true feelings behind a neutral and professional mien. “How...how shall we disperse this crowd?”
Isidor wasn’t entirely sure why he felt the need to spill his guilt all over the morgue, at his sister’s departure. Perhaps it was something that was just always there, and seeing Teselin and her hopeful face--or witnessing that hope begin to fizzle and dissipate in her dark eyes--caused that guilt to boil and bubble and to spill over, until he was covered in it. Frankly, guilt wasn’t something he was used to, not something he had experienced in a very long time prior to leaving his tower. There was once… just once, where his cowardice had cost him the life of his dear friend Arisza, because he had been too frightened to go through with their plan to run away. But, over time, his mind had compartmentalized that guilt to such an extreme degree that not only had he felt nothing in murdering his mentor, Zenech, but his mind had forgotten the incident entirely--and Arisza, along with it. It was like he could not metabolize guilt on that level, and now that he was experiencing it all over again, it had nowhere to go but to spill onto anyone who cared to listen. Messy and unforgiving, and nothing that anyone would want to deal with--not even Alster.
“I… don’t know.” Alster’s question struck him in such a way that took the Master Alchemist off guard. He knew what he wanted: the safety, security, and familiarity of his tower. A place that had once been his prison, but, over time, had become his shield, and his home. Such a strange sentiment given his history as an unwilling student of Zenech, almost like sympathizing with one’s captor. He couldn’t explain why he continued to hear the call of his home in the night, beckoning him back at all cost, promising him that all of the answers to his problems lay in simply turning his back on the people and places he currently faced, and returning to those stone walls. “I don’t know if it is fear; but perhaps that has something to do with it. If I am being honest, Alster, it’s just… I know it will be easier. To exist without expectations, without getting to know people so you cannot let them down. Perhaps that is the problem with my efforts, at present: none of it matters if I’m not really trying, does it? You’re… you’re entirely right.” He couldn’t help it. Isidor let out a baneful laugh and palmed his forehead. “You’re entirely right: I am just like him. My brother. Just like Vitali. The difference is, he made it clear that he didn’t care for the expectations others heaped upon him. And I… I just try to avoid them. I don’t have the right to despise him, because I’m not different than him. I’ve never been different. The only difference is, he wears his indifference on his sleeve. I might as well do the same, right? I’m not better than him. Not when you whittle it down to the basics.”
Dropping his arms to his side, Isidor stared at the still form of his brother, whom he approached one last time. “I guess I owe you an apology, dear brother. I was never morally superior to you: we were always the same, just like you said. I just refused to listen, but you were right. Sorry that I had to wait until your death to come to that conclusion.” Shaking his head, the tall, thin man raked a hand through his hair and turned his body away from the dead man again. “What does it matter what I can or cannot reconcile? I killed my master; murdered him in a cruel and painful way. I’m responsible for the death of my best and only childhood friend, because I was a coward. It doesn’t matter who or what I walk away from now: I made my bed long ago. There might have been once, some brief, naive time when I thought that… that I could be something more than the coward I am. For a while, I really thought I was figuring it all out. People, and being a part of them. But I was wrong. There was never any hope for me to live a normal life among others. I got too confident that that would ever happen…” I pushed Tivia away. She left me--and then she left all of us. I know I’m to blame for that, too. And that I’ll never be able to reconcile that, either.
“But you’re right: I’m not a good liar. I can’t even lie to myself, anymore. The less I know, the better. I’m sure if Vitali would’ve wanted me to know more, he’d have said more. Then again, there’s no way I will ever be certain of that.” Staring at his hands, at the silver runes lining his palms, etchings that he would never be rid of, Isidor sighed, and his shoulders sagged. “I came here for one reason, if I recall, and that was to save your wife’s life. And I’ve done that; you’re both fine, now. And somewhere along the way, I managed to get myself roped into a hundred other promises that I will never be able to keep. I won’t be close to Teselin because I’m afraid of her, and what she is capable of. I can’t help her because she isn’t even fucking human, and I don’t even know where to begin to understand how she even came into existence! If the wolf wants my place as her brother, then he is welcome to it. Gods know he’s better at it than I am, and frankly, he knows her better than I do. I’ve made my choice. I made it long ago, but since I left my tower, I’ve been denying it. Too distracted by other things, other possibilities that I have, of late, come to realize where never actually possible in the first place.”
With a shake of his head, Isidor clutched his arms against the chill of the morgue, as if suddenly realizing how cold he had been all along. “I can’t help you, Alster. I don’t know enough about what is going on, and from what I do know, I cannot fathom how to stop it. Don’t tell me anything more, because, it is as you said: should I be interrogated, nothing short of cutting out my vocal cords will prevent me from telling the truth under pressure. I’m not strong or resilient, and under enough pain, I’d probably tell them anything they want, just to make the pain stop. Unless you’re seeking a transmutation of some sort… I cannot help anyone. My skills are limited to my craft. I’m sorry.”
As the Master Alchemist crossed the room, he couldn’t so much as spare one more glance at his brother, dead and gone upon that table. What he didn’t voice was just how much it frightened him, that someone so keen on surviving had seen no other alternative than to die. For what reasons specifically, he would never know, but Vitali had spent too much for far too long preserving his life for this to be taken lightly. Had this really been a ploy to give them some unknown advantage? Or had he, being closer to Locque than the others, foreseen some horrible future for this kingdom and its people, and sought the easy way out? A more painless death that that which the summoner queen could inflict?
“Whatever your plan, whatever it is you decide, you have my support. But I’m afraid that is all I can give.” The anger and frustration had bled dry from Isidor’s voice. All that was left was defeat. Something had shifted in the Master Alchemist: a realization that he had no right to play the hero or claim to be one, since he had, in fact, been employing the same philosophy as his infamous brother all along. Neither of them had ever wanted the burden of society’s expectations; the only difference was that Vitali had been forward and upfront about his lack of concern for others. But he, on the other hand, had been hiding behind excuses and selective amnesia for many, many years. He was no better than Vitali; he was no one’s saviour. He was hardly even a brother, incapable as he was of reaching back to those who reached out to him. Instead, he projected all of his shortcomings onto people he loathed: Vitali, for his selfishness. Hadwin, for his recklessness. And even Nia, for her participation in a craft that was historically developed at the expense of innocent others. He hated these people not because of who they were or what they did… but because he saw himself in all of them.
There had never been any mirrors, back in his tower. No one and nothing against which to judge himself. Coming into into the ‘real world’, he had come to find that mirrors were everywhere. And it was easier just to hide from them.
“You know where to find me if there is anything I can do for you.” Isidor’s words were flat and matter-of-fact, with little inflection or life in his tone as he made his way out of the morgue without even sparing a glance over his shoulder. Something had shifted in Isidor, with this realization that he and Vitali had, in fact, shared the same half of the same coin. Perhaps a part of him that he hadn’t previously realized was there had died along with his older brother. “Otherwise… I’d like to be left alone. I’ve already told you everything I know and that I’ve gleaned from this situation. There’s no reason for me to be here, anymore.”
No one could have prepared Lilica or Chara for what they would face the next morning. Following the news of Vitali’s death, the Galeynian Queen (after swearing her account to Locque that she knew nothing of what her brother had intended) had fallen into silence and solitude, unsure as to how to process the information. Certainly, she had been at odds with Vitali for quite some time, a story that many another person shared of the nefarious necromancer. He had done things for which she wasn’t certain she could ever forgive him, and yet… even if his reasons had been selfish, he had made the trek with her to uncover Galeyn after a hundred years. At times, he had even bolstered her spirits when she wasn’t sure if she ever would find the place that was supposed to be her home. For all the bad the man had done, it was impossible to deny the good, what little there was of it, and ultimately… Ultimately, she could not derive any joy from his passing. On the contrary, his absence somehow made her feel all the more alone. To her knowledge, her father hadn’t had any other children, meaning she was entirely alone in carrying the Tenebris legacy. She didn’t mourn him… but, by some incredible stretch, she missed him. Even the most wretched of family was family, and if he had given his life to buy them some advantage, then that was most tragic, of all. To realize, only after his death, that his intentions might not have been entirely selfish, after all. And, similar to Teselin’s complaints… he hadn’t even said goodbye.
Lilica hadn’t left her room for the remainder of the day, and retired to bed early, with the intention of sleeping in late--but those hopes were soon dashed. After the blonde Rigas woman finally responded to the excessive knocking, the dark mage forced herself to rise and wrap a robe around her body for decency. Confusion was etched into the tired lines of her face to see Alster and Elespeth, both pale and teeming with nervous energy, set foot in their chambers. “What is this about, Alster?” She asked, taking a seat at the Rigas mage’s request. “Have you and Isidor uncovered something about my brother’s intentions regarding his death?”
Not so; that would have been good news, or at least, meaningful news. What Alser had to say took both her and Chara completely off guard, such that the latter went several shades of pale, in response. “What… what purpose does that serve Rowen? Or Locque, for that matter?” Lilica’s bewilderment quickly gave way to anger; anger on Chara’s behalf, that Rowen had told a story that did not belong to her in any way. In fact, it wasn’t even truly Chara’s story to tell, but Aristide’s. From no other lips was it acceptable for those words to be spread, except from the person who had suffered the most. “Is this some ploy of Locque’s? To encourage everyone in this kingdom to lose faith in my advisor? But what purpose could…”
Her words trailed off at yet another knock at the door. Already overwhelmed by present events, Lilica stood and stalked back over to the door, surprised to find a pale and nervous palace guard at the door. “...a mob? What are you talking about? Tell me what is going on.”
It was worse than Vitali’s death. Worse than slandering Chara and smearing her name. The haughty blonde Rigas was not the only one who was suddenly under scrutiny. She should have known better than to think Rowen would spare her least-favourite queen from bearing all of her ugliness to the public… “I have nothing to hide from my people. Please assure them that I will address them momentarily,” she said to the guard, before shutting the door. Her pallor now matched Chara’s. “It would appear that either Rowen or Locque--or both of them--have seen fit to secure Locque’s favour by making us look like the greater evils.” She surmised with a heavy sigh, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. She forced herself to look up and address the worried faces in the room.
“I have nothing to hide from my people. If my transparency will extinguish their flames, then I can give them that… Elespeth?” Her dark eyes settled upon the former knight, who stood upon being addressed. “Alster has a point: neither Chara or I should be alone, right now, if it is in fact Rowen’s plan to attack while we are divided… Would you come with me?”
“Of course.” Elespeth almost appeared to brighten at the opportunity of sliding into a familiar role: that of a knight and bodyguard. Something she knew how to do well. “I’ll be your sword,if need be… but hopefully, it will not come to that.”
“Thank you. Alster--please stay with Chara. Don’t leave.” She spoke to both blonde Rigases in the room, as she crossed it to find something from her wardrobe that would be presentable enough to address an angry and afraid kingdom. “Just wait for me to put out this fire. Don’t depart for Stella D’Mare, at least not until I return. It will be a long journey by daylight, anyway.”
Stepping behind a screen, she donned the first item she could find: a short-sleeved gown in pale blue. A contrast to her hair and her eyes… and, hopefully, something that would make her appear less guilty that Rowen had made her sound. “I promise I won’t be long,” she said before departing with Elespeth to face an angry and frightened crowd. She wasn’t sure what she expected to find, but nothing could have prepared her for the throng of people--hundreds!--who had only stopped their advance toward the door due to the palace guard (and with the help of the Dawn Guard) holding them at bay. Voices rose at the sight of the suspicious Queen’s face, and their questions, all coming at once, were just a jumble of fear and disappointment.
“What became of your parents? The ones who raised you?”
“How many have you killed? Have you lost count?”
“You were a special weapon in the Andalarian war against Tadasun! Who are you really? What do you want here?”
“Do you relish in all the pain you have caused?!”
“Please! Allow me to explain!” Lilica could scarcely hear her voice among the hundreds of others demanding answers. She raised her arms, begging for enough silence to hear herself think. It was several moments before a hush swept over the crowd, but not a compliant one. It was charged, and ready to burst, should she slip up or say something that would trigger a riot.
“Please understand… it has never been my intention to deny my darkness or to hide it from you. None of it.” Lilica kept her voice slow, steady, and deliberate. “There is evidence of it in this very palace. Burns on the floor that will never go away. And I’m sure that many of you remember, not long after you awakened, I sought to incinerate the sentinel tree in the Night Garden. I am not here to deny that I was born… that something went very, very wrong, early on. Not just with my magic, but with me. I just…” She exhaled and lowered her arms, suddenly feeling very lost. Afraid. “I don’t know how to explain it to you, without making you think I am trying to garner your pity.”
“Start with your parents--what happened to them?” Someone yelled. “Did you kill them in cold blood? It’s a simple yes or no question, Your Majesty!”
“They died by my hand. My birth mother and… who I thought was my father. I don’t deny it.”
“And what of your future rampages? Did you really… continue to kill for pleasure? Was your own family not enough?”
“I… I have killed. I don’t know how many. Sometimes, because I was asked to; it was a job. Such as my role in the Andalarian war. But other times… I had no excuse. I was trying to escape my own pain. At the time… it filled the void.” The Galeynian queen placed a hand over her heart. “It was such… such a deep void. I can’t explain it. I brought darkness wherever I went, and I was a slave to my magic. I didn’t know how to stop it.”
“All this time, we feared Locque. King Theomyr sent us all to sleep to avoid her wrath…” A woman in the crowd shouted, tears in her eyes as she embraced her husband. “Only to wake up to an evil just as terrible. There was no need for that century of sleep; one witch would have been better than two!”
“Galeynians! If you would tolerate my presence for a moment.” To both Lilica and Elespeth’s surprise, they were joined by a third part: Nia Ardane, who didn’t even ask before stealing the spotlight, and stepping in front of the Galeynian queen.
“What the hell are you up to?” Elespeth hissed, reaching behind her back to grip the hilt of her sword.
Nia ignored her. She had bigger fish to fry. Clearing her throat, she threw her voice to address the cword. “Word has it, you’ve all been pretty damn spooked by a few choice things that our very own Rowen Kavanagh had to say about a few choice people. However, it should be known that she recently discharged herself from the Night Garden and Gardeners’ care, against their advice. So, not only has she not recovered from her own emotional issues, but her special little Sight makes bad situations and bad people seem even worse to her. Where there’s a molehill, she’ll see a mountain. Therefore, for the time being, I strongly suggest you kind folks take whatever she has to say with a grain of salt. Please be assured,” she gestured to Lilica, “that you are neither in danger of Queen Locque, nor of Queen Lilica. So, at the very least, I hope you will hear your Queen out, as she’s more than happy to cooperate with you.”
The Master Alchemist turned away from the now murmuring throng of people, and lowered her already sore voice to a whisper. “Yeah, they hate me at least as much as you right now. Not sure if that’ll help, any, but it’s the truth--and it’s a start. Where is Chara?”
“She’s… in our room.” Lilica, beyond bewildered, exchanged glances with Elespeth. “You’re not… you don’t have any part in this?”
“As if! I’ve been trying to keep the damn peace for months! You think I’m going to let that little mutt fuck things up for you and Locque? Anyway, sorry to leave you hanging like this, but I’ve got more fires to put out. Do us all a favour,” she began to move toward the door, but spared one last glance over her shoulder, “and don’t incriminate yourself too badly!”
From there, Nia made a beeline for Chara and Lilica’s shared chamber. She didn’t bother to knock; fortunately, no one was indecent when she strode in. “Come on--both of you. It’s gonna be a long ride to the D’Marian settlement. We’re just going to have to hope Lilica keeps things under control here, but I did try to put a little bit of water on that fire. And, before you ask--no, I had nothing to do with this utter bullshit. If I can help it, we’ll put a stop to it before it gets out of hand. So--what are you waiting for?” She gestured over her shoulder, out of breath from practically running the length of the palace. “Carriage. Now. I can only imagine the uproar Ari’s putting up with in the D’Marian settlement as we speak.”
“Wait.” Alster launched from his chair to intercept Lilica before she disappeared into the next room to change. The guard had long since departed from the doorway, leaving the small group to their privacy. No one had the time to process the dire news, or its dreadful implications, when proactiveness necessitated everyone’s next steps forward. Unfortunately, it didn’t stop Alster from stewing over his most recent losses.
“Lilica, let me transfer some protective magic to you, before you leave. I...I should have done it sooner. Much sooner. Before Rowen decided to use your own dark history against you. I’m able to shield from her Sight any nefarious plottings or deceits in relation to,” he gestured vaguely, referring to Locque and her malicious accomplice. “But in hindsight, I should have shielded beyond the surface level. I didn’t want her to grow suspicious of us by removing too much damning evidence from her purview, but she was already suspicious of us from the start. I could have prevented this outcome if I…” He bit his tongue and silenced his guilt-laden ramblings. Since last night, after lambasting Isidor with the whip of a savage tongue better observed from the blunt and brusque Hadwin than the gentle and supportive Alster, and in range of his dead brother, no less, he felt nothing short of terrible. What possessed him to shatter his friend’s fragile spirit underfoot? Stress and frustration were poor excuses to cite; besides, he couldn’t brush off his knee-jerk reaction as an isolated outburst borne from careworn exhaustion and not something...greater. Something that had long been brewing beneath the surface, waiting to strike. As much as he respected Isidor, there were words he longed to speak but withheld them, afraid they would come across as cruel. And maybe he meant them to be interpreted as cruel, biting, filter-free diatribes, but diatribes dispensing the truth, nonetheless. For, it was shortly following Teselin’s harsh attack on Isidor’s character, and Alster’s vehement defense of it, that he began to realize...the summoner wasn’t entirely incorrect. Even he, perhaps the only person—aside from Tivia, briefly—able to enter the reclusive Master Alchemist’s guarded and insular world, was nowhere near a welcome enough presence to penetrate so many years of isolation and self-deflection, self-denial. In his dogged attempts to reintroduce Isidor to the outside world, to create positive relations, positive experiences, the exact opposite occurred; disaster. Could he fault his friend, then, for wanting to retreat to the only safety he had ever known?
He failed. And with Isidor so determined to draw curtains across the world and squat in comfortable darkness, what did it matter, to preserve a friendship he would surely feel fit to scrap the moment he reclaimed residency inside the walls of his decrepit tower? How much more patience could Alster exude towards someone who saw their friendship, as with all other relationships, as conditional, as ephemeral as the spring thaw? Once he renested, it would be too painful for Isidor to recollect his brief sojourns from outside, including any and all connections to his doomed friendship with a hapless Rigas who was the catalyst to all his recent and existential troubles.
I don’t want to give up on you, Isidor, but what else can I do? You made up your mind. You’ve given up on yourself. And I, I was a fool to believe...I was ever good for you.
That’s what his words from last night amounted to, in the end. He was hurt. Hurt by Isidor, the same as Teselin. Because...he, too, heaped too many unrealistic expectations on the man’s shoulders instead of just...letting him be. And yet, after the fact, after slinging mud by comparing him to Vitali, Alster, priorities muddled, stupidly suggested a team-up, half-expecting an agreement, even when he went about things all wrong. Did I lose it? My kindness? The authentic self so many people fought to regain? Maybe I’m not cut out for friends, anymore. I’m too hateful. Too driven by revenge. Even when I do help, I’m a shell of my former self now, aren’t I? Just...going through the motions.
“I’m sorry,” Alster shook out of his temporary fugue and pressed two etherea-sparkling fingers against Lilica’s forehead. “This will be quick. Quicker than my inane, long-winded explanation.”
And it was quick. Quick enough, he replicated the same spell for Chara in the course of a minute, before releasing them to look presentable for their double dates with an irate crowd. Staying behind, as requested, he bade Lilica and Elespeth to take the utmost care as they departed to address the Galeynian mob flooding the palace gates.
Only Chara and Alster remained, awkwardly taking in the other’s company amid the chaos brewing outside—the chaos they’d rather be out, defusing, than being made to sit, face to face, to digest the full extent of forbidden knowledge leaked out for all the public to know.
“Is...is it true?” Alster wrung his two hands together, flesh and steel, inordinately interested in the clash of organic and inorganic matter and how differently they captured the light filtering from the windows. “That you...with Ari…”
“Will it change your opinion of me if I say yes?” Chara, dressed in the most modest gown she owned—its aquamarine color the flashiest thing about it—fiddled with a few stubborn tufts of hair, which refused to sit flat to hide the scars of her ruined Rigas ears.
“Everyone knows I’ve committed atrocities, too,” he said, deftly evading the question. “And you’re a different person from back then. The same goes for Lilica. If she can have a life of love and forgiveness, then the same goes for you. It’s...just a lot for me to take in right now, because—“
“—Because that could have been you?” Alster hunched his shoulders in shame. “Perhaps you have dodged an arrow in marrying Elespeth instead of me. You’ve had enough abuse from your mother than to suffer my wrath.” In annoyance at her hair’s refusal to behave, she tossed it into complete disarray. “Ari was...a convenient scapegoat. I was angry at you, no, at myself for abandoning you at your time of greatest need, and I made him pay the price. Lilica insists I...do not hurt her as I have hurt him, but...I cannot be certain of what I’m truly capable of when I’m…” She heeled a palm into her eyes in a last-ditch effort to compose herself, “when I’m...so depraved. The things I did to that man...surely, this is what I deserve.”
Chara’s raw expression of emotion seemed to disarm Alster. Shaking away his guarded pose and avoidant gaze, he crossed the gulf between them, took a seat on the couch beside her, and loosely looped his arms around her back. The sudden contact caused a hitch to appear in her throat, and the hitch grew into a sob. Clutching Alster’s collar, she buried her head against his shoulder, fighting back the tears she couldn’t afford to shed, even among sympathetic company. “This is...stupid,” she grimaced the statement between her teeth. “I should be there for Lilica. I can’t leave. What she faces is arguably worse. Surely, Lord Canaveris exaggerates his importance, to suggest D’Marians are so preoccupied over an ill-fated series of trysts from long ago than the possible overthrowing of the Galeynian monarchy!”
“Do you want me to come with you? To the village?” Alster’s question confused her, as it implied she was still set on going, nevermind her reasons stating, clearly, why she could not.
But she humored him. Something, anything, to detract from the weakness cloying at her throat. “You? Don’t be daft!” She demurred from his arms; she didn’t earn his comfort. She didn’t earn a reprieve, or a hug, or forgiveness. She had too much work to do. Collapsing was not an option. “If you go, you’ll only further escalate tensions between D’Marians who haven’t yet recovered from your Serpent surprise.”
“It’ll be like I’m not even there. No one will ever know.” In spite of the whole blasted situation, a trace of a sly smile tugged at his lips. But before she could voice a proper response, or even entertain the idea of going when Lilica had more than her share to handle at the palace, the chamber door flew open, startling both Rigas cousins to their feet. In reflex, Alster summoned a knot of electricity in his upturned hand, primed and aimed to strike the unannounced disturbance at the smallest provocation. On identifying Nia as their ‘intruder,’ he dispersed the spell, a decision Chara thought too hasty, considering the associations she kept. The animosity between Rowen and Nia was obvious, but the fact remained; they both served the same wannabe monarch, and their interests aligned.
“Heavens. Don’t you knock?!” Chara hissed, her hands fisting bunches of her gown. “And how am I to believe your word? How am I to believe this outcome isn’t exactly what you wanted? If you are intimate with Lord Canaveris, then the truth is no mystery to you. I am the woman who scorched him, by words and deeds and violence. I left him to pieces on the floor, handing you the mess to sweep up and puzzle back together. Tell me you never thought of handing me my just desserts.” Slowly, she approached, each step a beat, a rhythm, punctuating every deliberate note in her speech. “Tell me there’s not just an ounce of sadistic glee in your heart who enjoys seeing me get my comeuppance. And oh, it is comeuppance, because you and I both know your precious Ari will escape this public relations disaster smelling like a rose, while I become Stella D’Mare’s next boogeyman. Even if you played no part in orchestrating the wolf’s game, tell me this isn’t poetic justice.” She stopped until they were nearly nose to nose, her coldfire eyes burning. “If you cannot admit that you resent me on some level, I’ll snort in your face over the obvious lie. No—I don’t think you hate this ‘utter bullshit.’ At least, not the part where I go down as the villain.”
“Chara.” Alster weaved between them, planting a helpful hand on his cousin’s shoulder and guiding her several steps backwards. “Now is not the time to point fingers and squabble. We have to follow-through, and soon, before D’Marians are given the luxury of time to vilify you to the point of no return. This is for your sake, Chara. It’s as you say; Ari will be fine because he controls the narrative. With or without you, he’ll present his speech, but it’ll look poorly on you if you’re not there to apologize for your wrongdoings. It will be nigh difficult to bounce back from such a blow, but you can soften it if you work together with Ari and devise some amenable solution.”
“Oh, I intend to follow-through, alright.” Allayed by Alster’s voice of reason, she grabbed a few decorative barrettes off the dresser and hastily pinned them into her hair, salvaging the mess she created. “But do not presume to order me around, Alchemist,” she whirled on her heels at Nia. “I am not yours to command. I will fetch my own carriage.” Not bothering to look behind her, Chara vaulted through the door, leaving Nia and Alster to half-jog to catch her grueling pace.
The three of them departed the palace through the back gate, a private entrance and exit point which always remained closed to civilians. Circumventing the main thoroughfare, where throngs of outraged Galeynians continued to gather, the carriage driver turned down a secondary road, avoiding the protests, but adding travel time to their destination. The downside of convincing Chara to share the same carriage with Nia was that three of them sat in unbearable silence for nearly two hours, with Alster sometimes mediating between them to maintain some illusion of peace.
Speaking of illusions…
“I’m here to make sure everything runs smoothly, but for things to run smoothly, no one can know I’m here. Well, with the exception of Ari...and there’s no helping a run-in with Nadira. Outside the Canaveris villa, I’ll have to cloak my appearance, and stay invisible.”
“Wait...Nadira is here? In Galeyn?” Chara plopped against the cushioned backrest and clutched her head, girding herself for the worst.
As they approached the outskirts of the village, Alster contacted Ari by resonance stone, who directed them to a back road not affected by the roving bands of D’Marians also flooding the streets. The detour took them not to the villa, but to the base of a rock outcropping that served as one of the village’s “mountains,” and as a landmark claimed by the Canaveris family. Once the trio stepped out of the carriage, Ari emerged from the outcropping as though breaking apart from the mountain itself to gain sentience. Following him was his manservant, Lazarus, and...Lady Nadira Canaveris, whose lines of disapproval were severe enough to create fault lines wherever she tread.
Dispensing of formal greetings, a rarity for the hospitality-conscious Canaveris lord, Ari gestured to the outcropping whence he came. For the occasion, he donned a graphite gray longcoat that shimmered with silver thread, pulled his glossy hair in a half ponytail, and wore a pair of dangling pearl earrings, which tingled sweetly as he moved his head. Splashes of rejuvenating paint brightened his countenance, raising the lilt of perseverance in his brow while also concealing the shadows under his eyes. Like his larger than life ensemble, it was all a performance. If D’Marians found cracks in the armor and viewed him as someone to be pitied, he would lose his advantage of strength. “The villa and its environs are rife with concerned citizens. Approaching through conventional means will not do for two polarizing Rigas figures and Majesty Locque’s advisor. We must be clandestine. Follow me into the tunnels. It connects to the cellars beneath the villa. From there, we shall conduct a strategy worthy of appeasing the crowd.”
Wordlessly, they passed through a camouflaged break in the mountain and slipped underground, winding through a pathway wide enough for only one to walk abreast. Single-file, they traveled through the sinuous tunnels, glowing rock crystals providing the only source of light. Finally, after what seemed like miles, the tunnel widened into an antechamber. Cozy, for a cave, the rock-hewn space was decorated with scenic tapestries of mountains and a grandiose matching rug, upon which a round table and accompanying chairs sat, arranged for company.
“We will require wine.” Ari turned to Lazarus, who grunted in agreement and selected a bottle from one of the many, mostly empty shelves. Despite boasting a multitude of homey comforts by Galeynian standards, the newborn Cavaveris villa lacked in its essential collections, an absolutely bare counterpart to its homeland predecessor. The hulking golem returned to the table, a set of goblets in one hand, a bottle in the other.
“Thank you,” Ari accepted the half-filled beverage, swishing the red ichor in its pewter receptacle. He waited until everyone received their share before tilting his head back for a sip. Chara eagerly followed suit; anything to shutter away Nadira Canaveris and her glare of murderous hostility. “Please have a seat, everyone. I shall keep this brief.” From under the table, the Canaveris lord tucked his right hand, slotting it out of view. “Lady Chara,” his dark eyes found the face of his former aggressor. In the ambient green light of the cellar, the mighty Chara Rigas diminished like a sunset, bruised and fading, slowly, into the gloam. “My goal, today, is to uphold the peace. I have no intention of garroting you before a crowd. Please note that I am going against the advice of my counsel, who all agree to let fall the Rigas elite in self-made fire and flames. Alas, I no longer bear any interest in the wholesale ruination of your family—a hotly-contested opinion for a Canaveris to hold, yes—but your reputation has sustained enough lasting damage. There is no joy to derive from your continued downfall. However, my counsel and I do agree on one point; you, Chara Rigas, must issue a public apology for the long term distress incurred on the affected party. Do this, and I shall protect your interests, best as I am able, given the circumstances. I have done the honor of drafting you a speech to memorize, should the appropriate words fail you in the moment.” He lifted his chin and the shadows shifted to envelop half of his features in a stern, austere portrait of unquestioned authority. “Do we have an understanding?”
“You should be tried for your heinous offenses against my son,” Nadira broke the seal on her silence, rolling her lips into a practiced sneer. “As the current ruling family, we have the power to motion for public executions without tribunal. For countless generations, we have exercised the patience of saints to rise above the Rigases in power and reclaim what you have stolen from us. The price of your head would pay but a pittance of the monumental debt you owe. Nevertheless, it would be a start!”
“I acknowledge your frustration and agree, in some respects, to the corruption rampant in the Rigas family.” Alster, who hadn’t touched his wine, approached Nadira’s rancor with a softer persuasion, as though to calm a rampaging bear. “And I am no better, for I inherited and once represented, poorly, its most problematic aspects—chief among them, flagrant abuse of power. I would love nothing more than to sit down and discuss ways in which we may improve relations between our warring families. However, as of present, we are beholden to the laws of Galeyn. Neither should we forget Lady Chara’s position as right-hand advisor to Queen Lilica.”
However well-meaning and cogent Alster’s argument, it fanned Nadira’s anger. “Who are you to commandeer the moral high ground, Serpent Bane?” She made to rise from her chair, but faltered when Ari anchored her in place with his very stiff right hand. Realizing her misstep, she sank, chewing on her lip to choke the life out of her razor-sharp retort.
“Before you address the crowd, Nia should have a look at your hand first, Lord Canaveris.” Alster said helpfully, ignoring Nadira’s interrupted tirade. “There’s no need to hide it from me, out of fear of discovery. Everyone in this room currently knows the ailment you suffer. Relax; no one told me. Your secret is safe. If you seek my help...I would have needed to know, eventually.”
Anyone who knew Nia would be hard-pressed to say she wasn’t a patient person, or that she wasn’t tolerant of vitriol and peoples’ foul moods. Someone so widely hunted and despised had no choice but to exude such tolerance, lest they worsen their own personal situation within society. However, the Master Alchemist had no room in her life for that mask, today, especially not before Chara Rigas. Unlike Alster, she was not there to reassure the guilty Rigas woman, but neither was she there to entertain the haughty woman’s glaring guilt and self-loathing. On any other day, perhaps under other circumstances, she might have attempted to brush it all off and redirect the conversation, but now was not the time to soften blows.
“You wanna explain why in all the hells I would want this kingdom to plunge into sudden chaos when I’ve been busting my ass off to keep the damn peace?” Nia retorted, not backing down, no matter how close Chara drew, or when she could feel the woman’s breath on her face. “If you had the capacity to pull your big head out of your ass for long enough, you’d know that the little wolf bitch isn’t exactly my biggest fan, and the feeling is mutual. I don’t know if she’s out there acting of her own accord because she wants to be sure other people are more miserable than she is, or if she’s managed to convince Locque that this is somehow a ‘good idea’, but I don’t want any of it--regardless of where I stand with Ari. Which, I should point out, is none of anyone’s damn business.”
Nia’s cheeks coloured a faint shade of pink. She had never been even remotely embarrassed or self-conscious of her flings in the past, but with Ari being her first serious relationship, she couldn’t help but go a little on the defense. “Here’s the deal, Princess: I’m not doing this for you. I’m not doing this to help you or make you feel better, and I’m not doing this for the Rigases. I am doing this because this was never Rowen’s story to tell. Frankly, it isn’t even your story to tell. It belongs to Ari alone, but that secrecy was taken away from him unlawfully, and I am getting myself involved because I don’t want him to have to deal with this alone. Frankly, I don’t even want to know the details, myself.” Her lips pressed into a firm line, as she breathed slowly through her nose to calm her nerves. “I asked him, once, what you did to him, and he didn’t tell me. At first, I was perturbed, but I quickly realized it doesn’t matter. What was done, was done, and no one, not even you, can take that away with an apology. All that matters now is helping him pick himself up after what he suffered at your hands. I can’t imagine that this secret getting out really served him in any way, because he honestly has better things to do right now than shit on the Rigas name. So, to answer your question--you’re right.”
Taking a deliberate step back, the Master Alchemist folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t like you. I can’t stand what you did to him, and where it left him in the aftermath. I can’t believe that anyone would hurt someone so profoundly when all that person did in return was love them… but this isn’t about how I feel about you, or what I think about what you did to Ari. It’s not about that at all. I just want this goddamned kingdom to calm the heck down, and that includes you D’Marians. So,” she gestured to the door, “I’m going to support Ari--and to hit home to the D’Marian crowd that Rowen is off her damn rocker, and not to hang on her every word as fact to take the pressure off of him. I don’t give a damn about how this makes you look, because that would imply that I care about you at all! You want to be a villain? Then go ahead, own it! But you don’t get to take Ari down with you, and I am going to make sure of it.”
It was a long, and painfully slow ride to the D’Marian settlement, and the small party of three didn’t so much as exchange glances. Neither Chara nor Nia were on speaking terms, for a variety of reasons, and Alster’s impartial presence wasn’t enough to break the ice between the two cold shoulders. His laudable effort to stimulate conversation also did not go down as well as he had hoped, either.
“What--you didn’t know? I needed special permission to get Ari’s dear mother clearance to enter the kingdom. Guess Locque didn’t see fit to inform your lover.” Nia blew air from between her lips. “You want my advice? Well of course you don’t, but I’ll give it to you anyway: the less you say around her, the better. Let Al, here, do the talking for you. Believe me, you’ve got way more to fear from that woman than you do Ari. But, if it’s any consolation,” she laughed in spite of herself, remembering how every attempt to have a logical, civil conversation with that woman seemed to end poorly. “She hates me as much as she hates you. Well… maybe a little less than she hates you, right now, but it doesn’t matter. This is gonna be loads of fun.”
The sun was already prepared to set by the time they arrived and the carriage ground to a halt, near a mountainside, and nowhere near the familiar Canaveris villa. Nia felt as though she were trapped between a rock and a hard place, wondering what was worse: being stuck in a carriage with Chara Rigas, or stepping outside to face the scowling face of Nadira Canaveris, who she swore could kill from across a room with a look alone. Ultimately, the decision was obvious, considering she had come for Ari… and to deplete any suspicions that this grand idea had been Locque’s brainchild. She hadn’t had time to speak with the summoner Queen directly, in favour of putting out these wildfires, but all of this just reeked of Rowe Kavanagh, and her insatiable appetite for discord and misery.
It came as no surprise to find Ari, as usual, dressed like he could be a prince. No matter the situation, he was determined to always make a good impression, leaving her (as usual) looking the least well dressed--save for that lovely ribbon in her hair, a gift from his sweet, young niece. The Master Alchemist had to remind herself not to stare for too long: while her dalliances were no secret to the majority of people present, the most important thing was that it wasn’t yet obvious to Nadira. And she had to keep it that way; not only for Ari’s sake, but her own.
Wordlessly, the trio from the palace followed the trio from the settlement through the cavernous corridors of the mountainside, where they eventually found themselves in what looked to be an antechamber. Typical Ari… you can make a cozy home out of any rock, can’t you? While it did not shine a light onto the exuberance and majesty of the grotto, which she had visited not long ago, it was better than the dives she had grown used to when she’d been on the rub. Prior to securing her safety under Locque. The table might as well have been square, for the way the two groups sequestered themselves: Chara and Alster on one side, and the Canaverises and their hulking manservant on the other, with obvious gaps in between the two polarizing parties. Much though she wanted to sidle up close to Ari, Nia purposely chose a spot situated between the two groups. Ever the mediator of peace, that was quickly slipping through her fingers.
For once choosing not to opt for wine, in favour of having all of her wits about her, Nia listened carefully to Ari’s plan of action, warmed by the fact that he had no interest in using this development as fodder against the Rigases. His interests very much aligned with her own: keeping the peace, to the best of his ability (which would not be easy, if the entirety of the D’Marian settlement was hellbent on revenge on his behalf). So far, this was going better than she’d thought. “You even wrote her speech for her? No one can ever tell you you don’t come prepared, Ari.” She grinned, but it was short-lived. “For what it is worth, in all of this chaos--I need to reassure everyone here, this was by far not Majesty Locque’s idea. I’ve yet to confirm if she really gave Rowen Kavanagh the go-ahead, but let’s be honest, here: the little brat is manipulative and can get what she wants with the right words. Our summoner Queen has been extremely on edge in light of the very sudden and very suspicious death of our very own necromancer. If Rowen told her this would be a good move, then I”m sure she’d be inclined to believe it. Nonetheless… I hope you’ll accept my apology on behalf of all of this insanity. It was not her place to say what she did about Chara Rigas and Lilica Tenebris.”
While Ari might have been convinced, his mother was not. The word ‘public execution’ immediately raised Nia’s hackles, and she half-stood, placing her palms flat upon the table. “No no no… we don’t need any executions!” She gasped, then quickly collected her bearings and sat back down. “Lady Canaveris, I don’t blame you one bit for your feelings on this matter. Hell, I’m not here as an advocate for the Rigases, let alone Chara Rias. But this is exactly what Rowen Kavanagh wants--total mayhem. Allies against allies, with no peace ever again, because if she can’t have it, why should anyone else?”
Fortunately, Alster was able to back her up, and put it far more eloquently than she was able, under the immense stress of this debacle. “It’s just as Al says--you D’Marians might be semi-self governing among yourselves, with your family having the final say, but remember, this isn’t Stella D’Mare. I thought we were all working to put an end to unnecessary deaths. Not to mention… neither Majesty Locque nor Majesty Lilica have condoned this, and the decision between the two of them would not be unanimous, when Chara shares Lilica’s--” Nia managed to catch herself at the very last moment before uttering the word ‘bed’. “...when she has a seat on Lilica’s council, right next to the Queen, herself. And Queen Lilica also finds herself unfairly under fire for past offenses. I don’t imagine she’ll want to lend any further aid or Galeyn’s resources to the D’Marian Settlement if you kill her right-hand woman.”
She wasn’t convinced that Nadira would buy that excuse, but was taken aback when Alster abruptly changed the subject. Nia’s brows knitted together and she shot him a wary look. “What are you talking about?” The answer, however, was plain in the sudden pallor of Ari’s face. And that was when realization dawned on the Master Alchemist like a punch to the gut.
“I… I-I had nothing to do with this! Ari, I swear, I mentioned this to no one! Certainly not Alster!” Well… any hopes of earning Nadira Canaveris’s favour went straight out the window--and why? Why would Alster try to sell her out like that?! Was this some play of power on his part, to remind the Canaverises that the Rigases still had a modicum of control? Of course… Chara had been aware of Ari’s secret for a very long time. It was inevitable that she must have slipped it to Alster, at some point, but even if that deferred the blame from her… it didn’t do anything to shine a more favourable limelight on the haughty, blonde Rigas woman, whose ass they were all trying desperately to save. Well, not Nadira… and probably not Lazarus, either. At the very least, this must have made her look slightly better in the golem’s eyes, at the end of the day.
Feeling considerably less confident about being present for this issue at all, Nia decided to push her suspicions aside for a greater purpose. She’d been so paranoid of coming across as appearing too close to Ari that she certainly hadn’t touched him. He had gotten good at hiding his flare-ups, over the years; even from her. “...will you let me see your hand, Ari?” She asked quietly, her brown eyes flooded with apology and a plea to believe her when she’d sworn she’d kept his secret. Of course, with the cat out of the bag, there was no point in pretending, otherwise. Alster would have been the only person ignorant of his curse… but, clearly, that wasn’t the case.
The Canaveris lord complied, and she stood from her seat to take his side, no longer self-conscious of getting too close to him. She pushed back the sleeve of his silver-lined, graphite gray coat, revealing the hand beneath that was several shades paler gray than his clothing. Stone not only encased the entirety of his hand, but had crept up past his wrist, encompassing almost half of his forearm. “Please believe me… I didn’t tell Alster. I didn’t tell anyone.” Nia whispered in a soft tone near his ear, as she retrieved her small knife from her boot, and nicked the finger of Ari’s uncompromised hand to draw some blood. “I’d never compromise you like that. I don’t know how he came to this conclusion… but he’s right. He’d have to find out at some point, if he’s to help me help you.”
Nervous energy put Nia off of her concentration, with her own hands trembling a little from a rush of unwelcome adrenaline in her veins. She wasn’t working as quickly or efficiently as usual, but eventually, her careful hands buffed away the stone encasing the Canaveris lord’s appendage, returning it to its warmed toned flesh hue. “Can you move your fingers?” She asked, just to make sure her work was up to par. No issues with movement; feeling returned to his palm and fingertips. She might still be walking away with egg on her face, but at least her work still spoke for itself. “Right. Well, if everyone here is intact--should we get this over with? Lord and Lady Canaveris.” Nia reestablished distance between herself and the Canaveris family once again. “I’ve already spoken on behalf of the shit being thrown at Queen Lilica. Had to make it clear to Galeyn that it’s probably a good idea to take anything Rowen says with a grain of salt. I’d be happy to do that for you, as well, Lord Canaveris, if you are self-conscious of the details that Rowen shared. Just to take away at least a little bit of her credibility and not leave it all out in the open. Unless… you are fine in coming to terms with the details that are now out in the open for others to know. In which case,” she spread her arms and took a single step back. “I’m happy to keep my mouth shut. This is your life, and your past. No one but you should decide how to proceed with regards to public knowledge, at this point.”
Alster’s casual reveal served its intended effect. Nadira’s bronze cheeks tinged pink, livid, but at loss on where to direct her disdain, redirected her gaze to the half-drained goblet, feigning indifference. “Why, Lord Rigas, I am not quite certain as to what you are referencing. My son bears no such afflictions. He recently injured his hand, but it is not a permanent or recurring condition. I thank you to remove yourself from our personal affairs; they are unwarranted and, frankly, not conducive to polite conversation.”
“You spoke of execution, Lady Canaveris. Polite conversation was never your goal. But if I may explain myself…” Alster passed a reassuring glance to Nia, “I identify as a healer. Ergo, it is in my interest to observe and analyze what ails each individual in the event that I can lend my specialized services. I’ve a vested ability in reading energy signatures and noticed Lord Canaveris bears a peculiar sort of patterning that reminds me of a crystalline structure, an odd recurrence to see in any organic, living body, and certainly worth noting. I came to the conclusion all on my own. No, Nia did not tell me,” he chose to omit the detail about how her drawing his attention to an anonymous figure who battled brief periods of stone-petrifaction alerted his suspicions towards the Canaveris family; he wasn’t trying to implicate her as an unreliable blabbermouth. “Nor did Lady Chara tell me. Like you, Lord Canaveris, I have no intention of besmirching the Canaveris name. Some would say I have the motive, but as Lady Canaveris so eloquently stated, your family, too, has a motive. A deep-rooted, millennia-spanning motive. Your hatred for the Rigas family has been recorded in the annals of history; we are well aware you have bad blood. I am merely here to remind you,” by ‘you,’ he referred mainly to the Canaveris matron across the table, whose nose scrunched as though to imply his words generated a strong odor, “that we gain more by cooperating with each other than by declaring a family feud-generated civil war. Knowing the incredible clout and influence each of our spheres carry, it would be a war of attrition, riddled with too much bloodshed and grief to justify.”
As an example, I’m no stranger to the illicit activities that resulted in Lord Canaveris’s unique malediction, activities which I’m sure you’re not keen on escaping to the surface.” Again, he aimed his tongue at the one responsible; at Nadira. “With Rowen Kavanagh at large, this could very well happen. My advice to you is to prevent her from aiming those darkness-scrying eyes at your family. No secret is safe when she is nearby, and she doesn’t care about stirring conflict. Don’t give her the satisfaction of your proximity. Between a strife-bringing wolf and a disgraced Rigas, wouldn’t you rather the latter to learn of your indiscretions? A fellow countryman who is looking out for your interests? I mean what I say; I don’t want a war. In a show of good faith, I’m being completely upfront and transparent with you, because I have no interest in keeping secrets from allies, including their secrets.” While the tone he kept was level and professional, beneath the surface, he commanded his feet not to shift in reaction to his own dialogue. I’m keeping secrets from everyone, even my wife. My friend. A grieving sister, who yearns for closure over her brother’s death. I’m tired of it. Let them know. Let the Canaverises know, and maybe my burden will lessen.
“I concur.” Placated by Alster’s persuasive call for a ceasefire of hostilities, the surprise pallor faded from Ari’s cheeks. “To protect our own, sometimes we must do what is unlikely, such as choosing a lesser evil in the battle to defeat a greater evil. The Rigases are not our friends, but they are not our foes. Rowen Kavanagh has chosen to be our foe. She is who we must defend against, come the onslaught of her defamatory remarks, which seek to divide and disunite. Lord Rigas is no oathbreaker; neither is Lady Chara. Our tumultuous history notwithstanding, she has never revealed Canaveris secrets for personal or familial gain. If she had, I never could have campaigned to supplant Lord Rigas from his position of leadership, for surely, she would have discredited me long before I gained any political advantage. Despite her...” He faltered. Raising his head, he sought Nia’s friendly face and focused on the soft waves of her hair in the glowlight. Sylvie’s ribbon added a lovely new dimension to the Master Alchemist’s ensemble. Its forked ends fluttered playfully in the light, venting breeze of the underground. His good hand twitched in an almost magnetic response to lean over the table and fiddle with that ribbon, forgetting the forthcoming performance that awaited him outside, forgetting his company, forgetting their precautions. He cleared his throat, flicked his gaze to the wall, and regained his traction before the distraction unmoored his momentum. “Despite her transgressions,” he said, with difficulty, “Lady Chara has demonstrated a modicum of integrity. She sees value in maintaining harmony between Galeyn and Stella D’Mare, even if that harmony comes at the expense of her family’s loss of power. I cannot find fault in the good work she has done as both a leader and an advisor. It is...just unfortunate.” Fingers tapped a distracting rhythm against the stem of his goblet. “Just unfortunate...that it has come to this.”
It was the only allowance he let slip past his carefully curated facade. A second later and he was straightening back to his professional best. “No need to hide, then.” He pinched the ends of his glove and slipped it off his affected hand, displaying the granite gray stone that had encased it into a half-curled state of uneasy repose. “I have shown my hand—literally. In good faith—because I believe in the honesty of my three guests. Now,” he linked eyes with Chara, who had fallen uncharacteristically silent, “what is your decision, Lady Chara?”
“Let’s get this well and over with.” In no mood to talk, let alone defend herself, Chara nodded her full and unerring compliance. “If it so pleases you, I shall act as your puppet.”
Ari nearly flinched from the wording. “There is no such puppetry afoot. A gentle reminder; your public apology benefits you, not us. I am not forcing your hand. You are free to decline, but if you do, I cannot guarantee your protection should D’Marian citizens decide to demand justice in my stead.”
“Let her take the full brunt of the fall!” Nadira remained unconvinced over their ‘peace talks’ bordering on blackmail (as Alster not-so-subtly mentioned his awareness of their ‘illicit activities.’) For a time, she yielded to her son out of respect, hence her silence, but soon exhausted her patience for clemency and riled into an animated flutter. “It seems she would rather destroy her reputation than receive your merciful handout, Ari. You speak of cooperation, Lord Rigas, but Lady Chara continues to shower us with disrespect when my son is going above and beyond to accommodate for her egregious offenses.”
“She is cooperating. Poorly.” Alster sighed and twisted in his seat to face his cousin. “Pride won’t save you, Chara. You’re not in the position to sass the Canaverises when they are doing you a favor. Say what needs to be said. Lead by example.”
“Very well.” Chara clamped on her jaw and bowed her head. Her response was automatic, devoid of emotion. “Thank you, Lord and Lady Canaveris, for your bottomless benevolence. I owe you a debt of endless gratitude for sparing an absolute wretch like me.”
“I suppose that will have to do,” Ari said, disappointment crinkling his brow. “I do hope your acting is better than your attempts at solicitousness. Have a look at the speech,” he nodded to Lazarus, who passed a rolled-up parchment to Chara. “Whilst you review your lines...Miss Nia,” he stood, propped his chair facing away from everyone at the table, and gestured to the Master Alchemist to kneel in front of the negative space. “I would appreciate your specialized assistance. At your leisure.” As she neared his side and lowered to a level conducive to the work ahead, he leaned forward, beseeching her gaze. I’m glad you’re here, his eyes conveyed. Given his strategic chair placement, back to his mother’s scrutiny, he risked sliding his good hand atop her own. “Do not fret; I trust in you,” he whispered in return. Up close, the stressors of the day were all the more prominent under the concealer paint, veritable cracks appearing under the evaporated riverbed. But regardless of his wearing mental fortitude, he reserved a small, reassuring smile for her. “After the events of today, I frankly do not have the energy to be fazed by Alster’s discovery. Really, it was but a matter of time before he knew.” Offering his petrified arm into her custody, he quietened, giving her an uninterrupted space to convert stone to flesh without distracting her concentration. Used to the process by now, he sat back in his seat, relaxed—perhaps the only time that day he found an opportunity to relax.
“Thank you, Miss Nia,” he effused, and the welling appreciation behind his thanks denoted more than the ability to move his fingers uninhibited, though restored mobility on his dominant hand, a hand responsible for crafting his art, certainly accounted for part of it. “Yes, I can move them just fine. You have my unerring gratitude.” Before she rose and retreated from his vicinity, he slipped a piece of paper into her hand. The note read: If tonight presents a clear forecast and you are unburdened at the palace, meet me at our previous rendezvous time and place.
“I have considered discrediting Rowen Kavanagh by demystifying her unsubstantiated ‘rumors.’ Insofar as the D’Marian citizenry is concerned, they are only that; rumors.” Ari rotated his chair towards the table, addressing everyone; not just Nia. “However, after some deliberation, I shall not go forward with my original plan. As I have come to understand, the she-wolf is vindictive and will take umbrage if I reference her as a liar. She has seen the darkest reaches of my soul. What else has she gleaned? My curse? Its unglamorous origins? Lord Rigas speaks no falsehood; she poses a far greater danger to the Canaveris reputation than a small handful of disgraced Rigases do. Rowen Kavanagh will not hesitate to let slip a follow-up deluge of damning information, should our handling of the first deluge displease her. It is best to exercise transparency and admit the truth so we may decrease the likelihood of future retribution. Rowen Kavanagh is in the unique position to prove some of her insights as true. What would prevent her from spearheading an investigation on the Canaverises at request of our truth-seeking D’Marians? If we deny her initial spate of allegations, we create a gulf of deceit and divide our D’Marian populace. We cannot have that. They are desperate for stability.” For emphasis, he smacked his hand on the table. “Our goal is unity. To unify, we must sometimes dispense what we would rather not shine into the light.”
On that rallying note, Ari, his small retinue, and his guests ascended from the cellar not an hour later, emerging, above ground, in the courtyard of the Canaveris villa. Alster, on his word, blanketed his appearance amid folds of concealing magic, looking to the world as though he did not exist on this plane. As reassurance, he periodically touched Chara’s shoulder, allaying her suspicions that he frontiered to the ether-realms for another indefinite vacation.
A crowd of D’Marians, easily a majority percentage of the village’s populace, (minus the Rigases, who nowadays secreted themselves on their property and seldom left), assembled on the lawn outside the Canaveris villa, crying intermixed messages of support for their leader, declarations of war on the Rigases, protestations against Stella D’Mare’s surrender to Locque, and requests for Ari’s story of abuse, in his own words. No longer able to delay their bristling curiosities and demands, Ari, accompanied by Chara, Nia, Nadira, Lazarus (and a vanished Alster, who took to the shadows for additional cover) stepped through the entranceway, fanning out around a narrow patch of grass. To instill order, other Canaveris mages and Forbanne soldiers deployed to the village for crowd control urged the fray to offer a wide, protective berth around the D’Marian leader and his party. At times, it was a tall order. Nia herself elicited hisses of suspicion, and the mere glimpse of Chara Rigas, in her Rigas-colored dress, sent half the crowd into a frothing fury. Ari brought an unassuming gray stone to his mouth; when his voice hummed over the coarse surface, it amplified to several times its volume, sending a ripple effect over the D’Marians that stayed their borderline violent uneasiness, for now. As their leader spoke, the gathering’s noisy chatter fell into hushed compliance.
“Thank you, my valued citizens, for your patience. It has not escaped my reach that many of you have been waiting at my door for the span of half a day, hopeful for answers. Please be assured that the time for wondering has at last reached its blessed terminus. Some of you have noticed I am accompanied by Majesty Locque’s Master Alchemist, Miss Nia, and Majesty Lilica’s trusted advisor, Lady Chara Rigas.” A series of boos and outrage charged the air. Ari raised his hands for order, and the crowd reluctantly obeyed the command. “They are my guests, here at my request, and I ask you that refrain from delivering your ire in their direction. Now,” he launched into his speech-proper, skipping the preamble, “there has been some...colorful hearsay regarding a decades-ago series of dalliances between myself and Lady Chara. To set the record straight; yes, it is true. All of it.” The crowd muttered uncomfortably, not certain on how to react. “We were young, the both of us. Young, and impetuous. Neither of us understood the social contract in relation to our agreed-upon roles, nor were we aware of where to draw the line. We established no limits and, as such, lost sight of ourselves and what we wanted. Emotions ran high, as emotions tend to do when introduced in volatile youngsters, and yes, I sustained a few injuries. Lady Chara has wronged, but she is not my enemy. Let her step forward and share, with her words, the extent of her penitence.”
That was Chara’s cue to clasp her hands, bow her head, and spin her tale, but she hesitated—hesitated long enough to receive a concerned glance from Ari. And maybe she imagined it, but she felt a phantom poke on her arm. How did you do this for so long, Alster? She wanted to pick the brain of the hidden presence beside her. I thought I knew what it was like to invoke derision, but this is...universal. She could feel each individual stare boring into her skin like fishhooks, stifling her courage, her resolve. Where she stood, every D’Marian became Rowen Kavanagh, their multiplicative gazes able to see and judge every ugly aspect of her despicable soul. What could she possibly say to displace their anger? Her past crimes weren’t political in nature, not the equivalent of an unpopular policy enacted by a figurehead in power. No, the crime was personal. It affected a human being at his most vulnerable. No manner of spinning the abuse in her favor, or downplaying its damage, would make what happened less objectionable or gruesome. Chara Rigas was long someone who wielded her pride as a weapon and who crouched behind it as a shield. Her clout as a Rigas fashioned her the best protections that privilege could buy. But the age of the Rigases was crumbling, and so was her armor. Before the D’Marian majority, she was a relic that lost its value and its enchantments, rubbed bare to face a scrutiny that influence had oft disappeared in the past. While she still had influence, it was an influence with circumstances attached. As a representative of Galeyn...she had to do better. Be better. Shed your Rigas ideals, your elitism. Why do you cling so to them? They are outdated. I thought you learned. When you severed the symbols of your wealth and rejected your name, for a time, what did you actually learn?
I...don’t know.
She rubbed the ravaged nub of one ruined Rigas ear, an injury she passed off as Mollengardian-made and not self-inflicted. “We made each other’s acquaintance at quite a young age. Lord Canaveris was but a child, and I was old enough to know better.” Ari raised an eyebrow at her. She was going off-script, but she didn’t care. “He felt indebted to me, at first, because I saved his life from drowning in the ocean, and I took full advantage of his naïveté to force him into servitude in everything but name. Over the decades, I did cruel things. Very cruel things. I shall not detail them; Queen Locque’s informant probably spared no flourishes. Yes, I was young, but I certainly understood the wrong I inflicted. Yet, I had too much self-loathing, too much hatred for the world, to stop. Apologies cannot account for the pain I’ve brought to Lord Canaveris, but I do hope this apology is a start.” Her lips trembled. She pressed her feet together, at the heels, wanting to diminish and disappear, like Alster behind her. “Please forgive me, D’Marians, Canaverises, Rigases, Galeynians—and you, specifically, Lord Canaveris.” She bowed her head to him, hiding the flush of mortification blossoming on her cheeks with her hair. “If it suits the crowd, I shall pay my dues with the appropriate punishment.” Again, Ari looked at her, alarmed. What are you doing? His eyes warned. “Name your conditions, and Lord Canaveris will choose which punishment to implement.”
Of course, she wasn’t surprised to hear some of the crowd’s range of suggestions, from the extreme to the marginally less extreme.
“Death by hanging!”
“Death by Canaveris!”
“Lifelong servitude to the Canaveris family!”
“Sell her into slavery!”
“Disband the Rigas family, for good!”
“Have her resign as advisor to the Galeynian Queen!”
“I desire no punishment!” Ari’s voice roared over the litany of overenthusiastic (and graphic, in some cases), ideas from the audience. “Her transgressions are towards me. Ergo, the decision is mine to make. Not yours, Chara,” he rumbled the last part into her ear, away from the amplifying stone. “D’Marians, please desist. We are not a lynch mob. We are trying to establish peace, not further strife. The cycles of abuse will only repeat if Lady Rigas becomes beholden to me, as her captor.”
“We are all captors!” One bold person whistled from the crowd. “Here, we surrendered to Queen Locque, and her little lackey is making fools of us all!”
“And why is she here?!” Another D’Marian pointed a finger at Nia. “To add insult to injury? She is on the same side as the wolf!”
“It shows how much Locque’s word is worth!”
“She said she wouldn’t hurt us, and her attack dog aimed for your jugular, Lord Canaveris!”
“Can we even trust Queen Lilica? Her advisor is a monster!”
“Haven’t you heard what they’ve been saying about Queen Lilica? They’re saying she’s worse than Locque!”
Before Ari could calm the buzzing crowd, Nadira thrust an amplifying stone into Nia’s face. “Let us hear from Queen Locque’s advisor! She has come to answer any and all of your questions. Do proceed, Miss Nia.”
That small gesture, when Ari rested his hand atop her own, was a much needed sign to calm Nia’s nerves and reassure her that Alster’s uncanny observation had not destroyed her relationship with the Canaveris lord or his family. Nonetheless, it was more difficult than she’d imagined to maintain this balancing act, as someone who did appear to care for Lord Canaveris’s wellbeing, without appearing too invested… especially under the hawk-eye scrutiny of Nadira Canaveris. “The gratitude belongs to me, Lord Canaveris. You are one of the few who offered me friendship and camaraderie in a kingdom where I’m widely disliked.” The Master Alchemist beamed her wide smile, tucking the note casually into her sleeve in a gesture that she hoped would not draw attention as she rose from her kneeling position. “Lending my specialized aid where it is needed is really the least I can do, especially during a time of such duress. I only wish I could be of more help; today, I hope I can be.”
While it concerned Nia that Ari chose not to deny any of what Rowen had declared, it was also a decision that she was ready to respect. After all, he spoke the truth: if he sought to unify and placate the angry crowd seething for answers as to what the terrible Chara Rigas had done to their beloved D’Marian leader, then being open and honest with them as opposed to hiding his demons was arguably the best strategy, especially if he had managed to get Chara to agree to cooperate. This was something the Ardane woman loved so much about the Canaveris Lord: his openness and his honesty. Ari did not deceive, did not hide things from those whom he deemed important. And to him, his people were all, collectively, important. They deserved the truth. “I shouldn’t expect anything less of you, Ari. Honesty and transparency all the way. If that is how you want to proceed,” she clapped her hands together. “Then that is how we’ll proceed.”
With Chara’s agreement to go along with Ari’s plan and written apology that was entirely written in her favour, Nia followed the small party out of the cellar, and into the courtyard, where the D’Marians eagerly awaited an explanation for the very concerning news that Rowen Kavanagh had delivered, unprovoked. It came as no surprise that they did not exactly receive a welcome reception--well, at least, Nia and Chara didn’t, and those hisses and glares certainly were not aimed at Ari or his family. While Ari even went so far as to peaceably request that the crowd before them retracted their claws, there was nothing he could say that would change their mind about the Ardane or Rigas woman in his company. Even Chara’s apology would not exonerate her of her crimes; and Nia hadn’t even come here to apologize. Though it had not escaped her awareness that one day, when Ari was comfortable enough to be more open about their relationship, that she would likely find herself in the very same position as Chara Rigas. Explaining her actions and affiliations before a crowd that had no intention of forgiving her. Explaining why she had stood back and done nothing while Locque had made an example of her power by actively seeking to snuff out the lives of innocent people. That was not a day that Nia looked forward to, because, like Chara, she had no honourable answer. There was nothing that Chara could say, no possible reason she could give for her treatment of Ari during their relationship, and during such a vulnerable time of his life. Just as there was nothing that Nia could tell them that would justify her support of a tyrannical queen. She did what she did to survive: to see another day, to stop running and catch her breath. But that didn’t justify any of it. No one cared what she wanted or needed, and people had died just so she could fall asleep without waking up every half hour out of paranoia that she would have to run again.
No, when that day came that she was forced to explain herself, just as Chara was, she wouldn’t even be able to rest on the laurels of curing Ari’s curse (or seeking to do so, depending on the timing). There was no excuse for Chara; and Nia? One day, she knew she would find herself in even hotter water. But that day was not today, and she couldn’t spare a thought for hypotheticals when there was a very serious situation already at hand that required her utmost attention.
It all started off fairly well. Chara Rigas stuck to the carefully worded script, only ad libbing to make the words her own, and to make it less obvious that Lord Canaveris had carefully crafted this very apology for her. She was honest, transparent, and remorseful for her actions… and then, toward the very end, she took her apology into her own hands entirely. And that was when all hell broke loose.
“What in the sacred fuck are you doing?” Nia couldn’t help but hiss at her, eyes wide with surprise and frustration. “Ari handed you your best damn chance on a fucking platter--why are you fucking it up now?!”
It was too late. The crowd was riled up, with enough anger and incredulity to spare that even Nia got some of their hate thrown her way. Fortunately, for better or worse, it did not faze her: she was used to it. She was long accustomed to the glares and the polite requests to leave taverns and restaurants and even some artisans shops throughout the kingdom, because people were not comfortable partaking in daily activities or let their guard down in her vicinity (it had not stopped at Osric’s tavern). But the difference was, she couldn’t simply shoulder that strong dislike and ignore it in front of a crowd that demanded answers. Ari had said he hadn’t wanted her to discredit Rowen, for the sake of full transparency for his people. But she didn't have the luxury to leave the young faoladh out of it, if she was now forced to speak for herself--because Nadira Canaveris, specifically, put her in a position where walking away was not an option.
Pressing her lips into a firm line, Nia took the stone from Nadira and spoke over it, as she’d observed Ari do just moments before. “Please let me make one thing clear. While, yes, I am an advisor of Majesty Locque, do not for one moment think that I condone what Rowen Kavanagh has done, today.” Despite that the stone amplified her voice to an adequate extent, Nia still raised it, just to make a point--and to hear herself think over the flammable ire of the crowd. “In fact, I came here today to speak against the faoladh’s actions. I cannot tell you if Locque sanctioned what she did, but I can tell you that if that is the case, it was because Rowen convinced her it was a good idea… and I was not in the right place at the right time to convince her otherwise. The palace is shaken with the sudden death of our resident necromancer, and it left Locque in a particularly vulnerable position. Locque does not seek chaos in this kingdom--it’s her home. Literally, every single measure she has taken, questionable or otherwise, is because she’s wanted her home back. Now that she’s got that, she won’t do anything to compromise what she’s got going. But, the thing is, Rowen doesn’t have much interest in seeing peace in this kingdom. That has never been her goal, although Locque--naively--trusted her, anyway. Rowen’s got her own agenda, and she’s miserable, so she wants the rest of the world to be more miserable than she is. I imagine that is why she is trying to stir dissent. Can’t confirm anything, but you wanted my honest opinion, so… there it is.”
Unfortunately, that wasn’t all they wanted. Not only was she expected to answer for Rowen, and for Locque, but also for the Galeynian Queen by birthright, whom she hardly knew. “Honestly, I don’t know what to tell you about Queen Lilica, because I don’t know her that well. Didn’t she live among you lot in Stella D’Mare for quite some time? Frankly, you should know better than I do. But what I can tell you is that she has vested interest not only in her own people--but in all of you! And that is because of her relations with Chara and the Rigases. She recognizes all of you as part of Chara’s people, and is aware that compromising you would hurt Chara--who, while she’s too fucking proud to say it outright, also gives a damn about all of you. She obviously cares about what you think and feel--and believe me, I did not come here today to defend Chara Rigas. Yes, she’s done some dark, inexcusable shit. So has Queen Lilica. So have I--I’ll openly admit that! But let’s be honest, nobody is without faults. Some just happen to have faults that affect more people. And I know none of you are really here to hear that right now, so let me tell you about what you’re interested in. I’ll sum it up for you.”
Taking a bold step forward, Nia extended her arm and swept through the air, encompassing the crowd. “Your biggest enemy right now is not Chara Rigas. Nor is it Queen Locque, Queen Lilica, or even me! Your enemy is Rowen Kavanagh--and the collective dissent and chaos that she wants to cause, and that you are all giving into. She wants you--she wants everyone to lose control. But I can tell you how to maintain that control, how to control your own narrative… and you’re looking right at him.” The Master Alchemist dropped her arm to gesture to Ari, and took a step back, placing her free hand on his shoulder. “Listen to this man--and for the love of everything, let him control his own narrative! What Rowen Kavanagh released was not her story to tell, and she had no right. She took that opportunity from Ari. And now--what? You see fit to follow suit and take away his right to decide how he will proceed in light of his private life being leaked to the public?”
That comment seemed to give at least some people in the crowd pause to reconsider their anger and their words. The glaring and shouting died down, but only slightly. And Nia was getting out of breath! “Whatever you choose to do to Chara or the Rigases won’t change what happened. Revenge sure sounds great at the time, but it’s gonna leave you feeling empty. And, honestly, the best thing you can do right now, to ensure Rowen Kavanagh has no power over you, is to react just as Ari is trying to encourage you to: with civility. The moment you let the wolf get to you, you’re lost. So hold onto your agency, accept this miserable woman’s apology, and let her discuss with Ari how she will make it up to him. This isn’t about your centuries’ long Rigas-Canaveris feud. It’s about two people who have some past demons to figure out amongst themselves. I am only sorry that the lot of you, people with far greater concerns at hand, got roped into all of this.”
And that was it. Nia had no more ammunition, and nothing more she could possibly say to persuade this crowd to listen to their beloved leader and put their flames out. Casting a glance in Nadira’s direction, one that asked Are you satisfied?, she stepped back and handed the stone back to Ari. She did not envy Chara, not one bit for facing that crowd. Galeynians were one thing. Sure, they were angry, they were scared, and they didn’t like her either, but unlike the D’Marians, they weren’t out for blood! With any luck, they had enough respect for their leader to calm the heck down and realize that they were being manipulated by a miserable little wolf. If they couldn’t be swayed with hopes of having some compassion, then all that was left was to rely on that infallible, D’Marian pride that they held so close to their chests.
The most ridiculous part about all of this was… Nia didn’t even like Chara. Hardly cared for what would happen to her, after what she had done to Ari. But if there was any hope of this crowd sparing the Rigas woman’s life… then perhaps, someday, they would see fit to forgive her transgressions, as well, and wouldn’t give Ari any flack for their relationship. If there was hope for Chara Rigas, there might also be hope for her.
The rest of the day progressed in a blur. Nia hadn’t eaten, hadn’t had anything to drink, and ran on pure adrenaline alone. So lost in the mayhem that Rowen had caused, she very nearly forgotten to read the note that Ari had slipped to her much earlier in the day. The sun had set; soon, most of the D’Marian settlement would be retiring for the evening. Having eventually parted ways with Ari, as Alster and Chara also parted ways following a private discussion between the Rigas woman and the Canaveris lord, they were prepared to climb back into the carriage and return to the palace. Fortunately, the Master Alchemist’s eyes scanned the words of that hastily written note before she agreed to go with them.
“I’m going to stay behind for a bit longer and check in on Ari,” she informed them. “Make sure he’s not about to suffer another flare up after what he put up with today.”
So they departed without her, at which point Nia simply bided her time, keeping to the outskirts of the D’Marian settlement in the mild, spring evening so as to avoid running into any locals. She wasn’t sure what impression she’d left on that crowd, and frankly, didn’t have it in her to deal with any more confrontations that day. So the Master Alchemist waited until midnight, until there was stillness over the village and over the Canaveris villa, and made her way to meet Ari at the same spot where they’d rendezvoused on her birthday. She half wondered if he would be too spent to even make the commitment that he’d incited, but sure enough, there he stood, in the same smart grey overcoat and dangling pearl earrings he’d donned earlier in the day. He looked tired, and understandably so, but she didn’t imagine she looked much better. Fearful that he had had another flare up under all of this duress, the first thing she did was touch his face, the runes on her hands discreetly scanning his body for any abnormalities that were not present earlier.
“Are you alright?” She asked, already knowing what the answer would be. “I had no idea… that Rowen would do what she did. Of course I am going to speak with Locque about it, because that behaviour is completely unacceptable. And, I’m… I’m sorry I spoke up to your crowd. But your dear mother didn’t give me much of a choice.” Her sad smile was as sincere as her apology. “I just wonder… if your people can’t forgive Chara for what she did, do you think they’d ever be able to forgive me? Even if I stepped down this very night as Locque’s advisor, even if I swore to turn away from her and never look back, the D’Marians will never trust me. Makes me wonder if… we can ever be anything but a secret?” With a soft and dismal sigh, Nia let her hand drop. “I don’t want to make life hard for you.”
Nia’s speech stirred collective confusion among the crowd. While she had succeeded in lessening the intensity of their ferocity-fueled demands, what replaced them was furrowed brows and uneasy mutters.
Finally, one D’Marian cut through the hush, posing the question everyone had been mulling over. “So what’s going on? Aren’t you and the wolf both working for Locque?”
“Are you throwing your own to the wayside?”
“To make yourself look better?”
Emboldened by the rising sea of anonymous voices, more comments burbled and washed to shore.
“If Locque‘s court is so divided in opinion, how can we trust what any of you say anymore?!”
“If Locque can be swayed by whatever counsel rings in her ears, then what’s to stop her from doing worse?”
“She has no restraint!”
“This is a violation of our truce!”
“What happens if Locque and her court do wrong again? What excuse will you give? Who else will you blame, Master Alchemist?”
“I don’t give a shit about this tyrant queen’s feelings! It doesn’t give her the right to disturb us, again, when we’re just trying to follow the law and live our lives!”
It was as Ari had feared. The second Nia condemned Rowen Kavanagh, she ended up discrediting herself by outing Locque’s court as disorganized and prone to temper tantrums. Not that it took much to rile the D’Marians; they were ripe with excuses to blame anyone for the disturbance of their peace. Frankly, Nia could remark that the sky was blue and they would ready pitchforks.
“Rowen Kavanagh wasn’t targeting Lord Canaveris. She was targeting me, and Queen Lilica.” Chara Rigas found another opportunity to wiggle into the dialogue before Ari could discourage her participation. Again, he was left powerless in her presence. She commanded an audience with a no-nonsense authority that compelled everyone to listen. Considering how the D’Marians’ wrath had, by default, trained on her, transfixed on her every word and movement, it also, ironically, made them more apt to listen. Presently, her narrative, the narrative as the proclaimed “monster,” held more ground, more intrigue. “She leaked my darkness, and aimed it well; she aimed it at this village, knowing it would catch fire and spread until no amount of water could contain it. Never was this about you, or Lord Canaveris. She wishes to weaken the Galeynian council and our alliances, and it’s working!” A ghost of a laugh split her mouth in two, a worrying sign, which put Ari on edge. The last time someone lost their mind in the D’Marian village, the Serpent burst through the sky. But Chara Rigas, on the contrary, wasn’t spiraling in the direction of her wayward cousin. Clarity deepened the color in her oceanic eyes. Previously washed-out from defeat, they sparkled. It seemed that mention of Queen Lilica, and the risk of her reputation should her advisor stumble too far into a ditch, revived the purpose in Galeyn’s doomed advisor.
“Look upon our present actions, not at the distant past, and judge what you see before you. Choose who is most deserving of defending, of your support. Do you defend a wolf whose purpose is to bring out the worst of people, who would not blink if you died tomorrow, or do you defend a Queen who contributed to the Serpent’s defeat and saved Stella D’Mare? A Queen who provided us a home when circumstances forced us to flee? Never mind what she did; focus on what she is doing. What we are doing.” She waved an inclusive hand to the bewildered D’Marian leader occupying her left side. “Lord Canaveris may punish me however he sees fit, and that is his prerogative. In the eyes of the law, I committed no offense worthy of prison or execution. Alas, I leave to him to decide my fate. However,” she smacked a hand into her palm, “our priority, right now, is unifying against whoever threatens our unity. If you find me that sole threat, then so be it. I am here to accept your judgement. That is why I left the palace and Queen Lilica, who suffers similarly amid the ravages of her people. I speak for her when I say; we want nothing more than to protect you from harm. This is why we surrendered to Locque; to protect you. Does that protection not still stand? Rowen Kavanagh’s latest spate of verbal attacks and dirt-spewing hurt the reputations of leaders, but not you. The day that happens, D’Marians, is the day I will well and truly motion to end our alliance with Queen Locque!”
Now you decide to reference parts of the speech I wrote for you. “Well said!” Ari vaulted forward, brimming at the chance to regain his footing on this public conference before it lost its orbit and catapulted itself into the sun. “But it is far too soon to cut our ties with Queen Locque based on an ill-advised mishap, whether Rowen Kavanagh acted independent of her sovereign’s wishes or not. Let us await a statement from Queen Locque, herself, and agree to reconvene at a later date. D’Marians,” he spread one expressive arm wide, shifting the mood to something more uplifting, “I always value your input and your opinions, and your overwhelming support for my well-being is an enduring source of comfort for me. Your kindness continues to inspire me to build and improve our humble home away from home. And as proof that Lady Chara’s past infractions are no longer relevant, I shall closely collaborate with her on future projects and endeavor to create a productive environment between us, one which can and will be overseen by you, my concerned D’Marians. Thank you for your resilience as we navigate these uncertain times together. You are so strong. Continue to keep that beacon of strength lit and shining in each of your souls. Please, get home safely!”
The crowd, realizing Ari’s dismissal meant the end of further discussions, slowly dispersed, feeling like they were heard, if nothing else. Little had been resolved, but the objective, at least, was met. The D’Marians, for now, were sated, bolstered and praised by their leader, and promised a follow-up to their very legitimate concerns in the near future. For Ari, they were not empty words, and the D’Marians could sense in him his intentions to touch base again, in the coming days.
On returning to the villa, they regrouped in the parlor. Ari, the closest anyone had seen him to bristling, rounded on Chara. “May I ask what you were trying to accomplish, and why?”
But Chara, hands again clasped before her like a penitent, chewed on her jaw, her eyes cast to the floor. “I’m sorry.”
His arms deflated, dropping to their sides and losing all of their wiring to stay molded and firm in high, kiln-firing temperatures. “Pardon?”
“Do not make me repeat myself. I made a mistake.” She hugged her arms, a seldom-seen morsel of vulnerability in place of the fierce, no-nonsense figurehead that always commanded a room. “All I thought about, in the moment, was my need for punishment, but not about who it would affect. Lilica is relying on me to return in one piece. I haven’t the luxury of an exacting and immediate retribution—as if it could magically erase what I did to you.”
“That’s wise, Chara.” Alster, who’d since materialized into corporeal form, aligned beside his cousin, but made no move to allay her woes with a comforting pat on her shoulder. The last thing he wanted was for her to interpret his support for condescension. “I daresay you broke the Rigas curse of choosing the most melodramatic path possible. You did what was responsible, not what was immediately the most satisfying or desirable. You’ve realized it’s not your punishment that matters; it’s how you give back to the people you’ve wronged.”
“Something like that, I suppose,” she muttered, still avoiding direct contact with Ari, who appraised her in a different light—and the light was approaching favorable.
“Well, I for one am pleased for the turnaround. As mentioned, we shall work closely with the D’Marian people in the future. All of us.” Ari swept an inclusive hand over to Nia. “You are also part of this equation, Miss Nia. Your effort to appease the crowd was an admirable one. I regret that public opinion of you harbors little kindness, but given time and plenty of persuasion on my end, I hope they recognize your commitment to peace, in spite of your associations.”
“I find I must also apologize.” Alster bowed his head to Nia, an expert dip that demonstrated his mastery in the art of seeking forgiveness. “In sharing my...observations, I didn’t mean to incriminate you by association. The truth is, I had my suspicions, even before you came to me for help.” A stretch of the truth. After a fashion, Nia had revealed Ari’s identity, not so much through her words, but through her actions; her little tells. But he was honest about one thing; he didn’t want her to take the fall. On his part, precautions weren’t necessary, because, if he read the situation accurately, Ari wouldn’t allow her to drown. Either way, Alster wasn’t ready to lose Nia’s good favor. If he could at all help it, only Locque would founder, no one else. However...Rowen Kavanagh was playing a dangerous game, and should she continue to proceed, her safety wouldn’t be a guarantee. But he was sure both Hadwin and Bronwyn understood where their little sister tread. “Be that as it may, forgive me.”
Nadira, who hadn’t spoken a word since shoving the amplifying stone under Nia’s lips, competed with Lazarus beside her for the stoniest, craggiest of looks. A fold of suspicion also appeared over her brow as she secretly spied the not-so-secret glances of affection passed between Nia and her son.
Without much more to discuss as a group, and with the fast-evaporating gestures of hospitality wearing thin on Ari, of all people, the trio took their leave of the Canaveris villa, following a private meeting exchanged between the two rival families and their most eligible representatives. The meeting was kept brief, and vague. Mainly, they informed Nadira of their plans to overthrow Locque, but to spare Nia, referenced Ari’s pebble golems strewn about the palace, and last, Alster offered to cast the mind-shield spell over mother and son to protect them from Rowen’s darkness vision. Nadira, of course, was vehemently against carrying the stink of Rigas magic on her person, especially from Serpent Bane, but Ari made a strong case for compliance, and so she reluctantly agreed to accept the celestial spell, flinching all the while it was performed.
Finally, after traversing the winding underground tunnels, the trio reunited with the waiting carriage and said their farewells, worried if the fracas at the palace had climbed in their absence. It hardly surprised either Alster or Chara when Nia changed her mind last-minute and opted to stay at the village.
“Will you find your way back to the palace, tonight? Ah, no matter; I’m sure Ari has a Night steed he could lend you. Goodnight, Nia,” Alster waved from the window as the carriage jerked to a start, swiftly rolling him and Chara away from the mountainside outcropping en route to central Galeyn.
Ari, meanwhile, had to contend not only with busywork following the aftermath of the unscheduled D’Marian congregation, but his mother’s vast and bottomless discontent. She visited his office in midst of his tackling a stack of documents required to notarize and sign before day’s end. On his desk, an untouched tray of food grew cold, but the goblet of wine was drained dry, depleted of even one lingering, ruby drop. When she inspected his stress-diminished form and the hollowness in his eyes, she fizzled, losing all resolve.
“Ari, dear, give yourself a rest. Let me relieve your burdens for the evening.”
“No; I have things well in hand,” he said without looking up from his papers.
An uneasy silence wafted between the two. Then; “Why; why did you never tell me? Everything that vile woman did to cause you so many decades of pain… Why,” she swallowed the tightness in her throat, refrained from scooping him into her arms like she used to, before the curse taught her to regulate her physical affections so he would not rely on or crave touch.
Ari lowered his quill, sighing. He brushed some hair behind his ear to rub at his right temple, uninhibited. “I cannot have this conversation right now.”
“Have I failed you, in any way? Failed to provide, failed to love?”
“No!” His response was loud, louder than he intended, and full of bite. He flinched to hear it. “No,” he said, at a softer pitch. “You haven’t. You are not at fault. I am grateful to be alive. Always grateful. Please, mama…” he fixed his weary eyes on her. “Not now. Leave me to my work. We shall talk later.”
His relief was palpable when she exited his office and clinked the door softly shut behind her.
By some miracle, he finished his work with time to freshen up a little before his projected rendezvous in front of his workshop. The hour was late, and most of the villa, his mother, included, had taken to bed. Careful not to alert a slumbering household of his midnight wanderings, he slunk down the hallways, his steps featherlight, and reached the door to his workshop, too mentally spent to worry if Nia would or would not show. A rustling from behind whirled Ari in the direction of its source. Sure enough, Nia emerged from the darkness. He leaned into her hands, closing his eyes as they cradled his cheeks ever-so-gently. He had come to rely on her companionability, her reliability, and...it was what would make the coming conversation difficult to initiate.
“Nia—I am fine. Well, as fine as one could expect, given today’s events. No flare-ups,” he said, and it would be a statement spoken with pride, if only he hadn’t cheated by partaking in enough wine to shave off the needle points that jabbed into his skin to herald the arrival of unwanted plates of stone armor. “Come with me.” He took hold of her hand and guided them to their grotto getaway. A flick of the wrist and the hidden cave crumbled into view, lighting its aurora of color upon their collective entrance. Together, they settled on the cushions; he hadn’t removed or added any decorations since they last occupied the cave, just a few days ago.
“My mother...is not taking the news too well,” Ari admitted with the humorless curl of a smile. “Rightly so, she is furious, and frustrated by my inability to be furious alongside her. It may be difficult to believe, but she is on her best behavior. Apart from a few outbursts, she understands not to overstep. The crowd would have wanted to hear from you, regardless. In hindsight, I should have requested Alster to vanish you from sight, as well, but...it was imperative for the D’Marians to be made aware that not every personage under Majesty Locque’s employ is obsessed with calamity and discord.” He lifted her gloved hand, brushed his lips over her exposed knuckles. “At one time, brief though the time, D’Marians forgave Alster Rigas for his many, terrible faults. I am afraid I exacerbated the peoples’ trust in him to further my own agenda, but if I can rally a crowd against someone, surely I can do the opposite. Give me some time. I shall turn the public opinion in your favor, best as I am able.”
He raised his eyes and searched her own, his once steadfast hand weakening his grip.
“Would you? Does a reality exist in which you would step down? I ask because,” he hesitated; the conversation he did not wish to broach, but which was necessary, fluttered on his lips, “the D’Marians have expressed a cogent point. If Rowen Kavanagh acted in service to Majesty Locque, then they—then all of you—have violated the terms of our surrender, which stipulates no harm to come upon D’Marians, Galeynians, or their leaders. Harm can be defined in broad terms, of course, but it is not limited to the physical variety. I would argue that mind games played expressly to upheave the status quo and spread unrest and mistrust among the populace counts as ‘harm,’ especially when conducted by an agent of Majesty Locque in response to a death we did not cause. For your sake, yes, please speak with Locque on this matter. Otherwise,” he withdrew his hand, shades of shame darkening the shadows already dancing across his visage from the roving fairy-lights, “I cannot foresee how much longer our surrender will hold ground. I, too, do not want to complicate your life when you have found safe harbor, at last, but I must take care of my people, foremost. If the situation grows dire, and as long as you remain by your lady’s side, I,” his brow split, pain lodging their splinters into his sorrowed eyes, “I cannot guarantee you asylum.”
