When she left the infirmary, Sigrid wasn’t consciously aware as to where she was headed. She knew these corridors; had spent enough time in them for muscle memory to take her to places she hadn’t been in what felt like eons (even if she had spent the entirety of Locque’s spell living under this very roof). Since she’d awakened, the former Dawn warrior had, for the most part, chosen to avoid the palace, and instead had slept outside in a tent next to the Night Garden now that the weather had taken a turn for warmth and less precipitation. Wherever her feet took her, Bronwyn currently seemed happy enough to follow; and she was grateful for the company.
“It has always been my understanding that life and the world is what we make of it. If you choose only to ever see darkness and treachery… then that will be your world, and everything else will be invisible to you. Perhaps that’s the case with your brother… I mean, in addition to what is undoubtedly madness.” She rolled her blue eyes. “Or complete disregard for anyone and anything--but I’ll admit, he and I have been at odds for a while now. Perhaps I’m biased. Your view… whether or not it is a direct result of your Sight, it is refreshing. Especially considering that you… you’ve had your fair share of hardship, have you not?”
Her step faltered for a beat before picking back up. Something occurred to her then that hadn’t occurred to her in a while... and she felt like a complete fool for forgetting that her last encounter with the faoladh woman had not been particularly amicable. Nor had their primary meeting, when she had treated her so harshly upon her arrival in Galeyn, looking for her younger sister. “Bronwyn.” She glanced briefly at the woman next to her, before she lowered her gaze, just as she had done in the presence of Lord Canaveris. “I believe I am… long overdue for owing you an apology, as well. There is no excuse for my actions, the way that I treated you upon your arrival, or any of our interactions thereafter. The world, in my eyes, turned very dark when I lost Naimah, just as it is so dark in your brother’s eyes. And I took it out on everyone who came within feet of me, and for no good reason. It does not excuse the way that I have acted… or, have been acting, ever since.” Her attitude toward Haraldur, even toward the Ardane woman, was not lost on her. The warrior was still very much reacting to her own pain: and, like before, she was making others pay for it. Even those--no, especially those who were just trying to help.
“I suppose I should be heeding my own words, and start making something better of life. I could have died: it could have ended far worse for me. I really have no reason to be turning a cold shoulder to everyone just because… just because, for a moment, maybe death was what I wanted. It wasn’t what I got. So, I can choose to continue to lament it, or to make the best of it, but none of that will be possible if I don’t first make something of myself. I… do appreciate that neither you, nor Lord Canaveris, holds me accountable as they would a murderer. But, just as I have expressed my apology to him, I hope… that my apology to you will resonate as equally sincere. Because I am sorry, Brownyn. For more things than I can rightly account for.”
Perhaps she was right, though. Perhaps ‘useless’ wasn’t the right word to describe what she was feeling right now. Sigrid Sorenson had plenty of uses. Not only could she fight, but where that was not required at the moment, she was strong. She could build, she could assist, she even had knowledge of the Dawn Guard’s medicines and methods for pain management. No, she had her uses, but disgraced? Directionless? Not even knowing what it was she wanted at this point? ...Bronwyn was right. “Yes. I am fortunate, whether or not I deserve to be.” The warrior admitted when they turned a corner. She still had no idea where she was going--not even at that given moment. Directionless really was the right word. “People care about what happens to me. Like it or not, I’ve made imprints, both good and bad. But… mostly bad. I’ve alienated the Dawn Guard, the people who accepted me when I had no home or purpose and nothing to my name but my name itself. I turned a cold shoulder to my cousin and his family. I’m not sure that I deserve these people who care about me, but they do. Perhaps that will not change--and like the rest of life, it will be whatever I choose to mke of it. But… that is not exclusive to me. The same goes for you, Bronwyn Kavanagh. Tell me,” she tilted her head and took a good look at the faoladh woman. It was intriguing, how she certainly bore resemblance to both Rowen and Hadwin, and yet looked completely different from both of them. Her logical and calm persona softened her features, something that did not apply to her siblings. “Who first told you you were useless? Forgive my prying, but you speak of knowing the feeling as if it is a burden you have shouldered for a very long time. And you’ve come to believe it so intimately that it has become part of your reality, even if it seems irrational. The truth is, if you were to die… if any of us were to die, you have no idea how many would mouran. Because you often never know what you meant to people until they no longer have you. So unlearn that belief, Bronwyn. Remember, your life and existence is what you make of it. And this entire kingdom is starting over, in light of a longtime threat finally being lifted. What better time to pave a path more favourable to you? One where you recognize you are useful? I don’t know you well; you have little reason to show me kindness. And yet, you accompanied me here simply because I asked.”
Sigrid arched a pale eyebrow and toyed with the tip of her long braid. She’d decided it would probably do her well to look presentable to Lord Canaveris; it was the first time she’d braided her hair since she’d awoken from her own near-death experience. “I bet you haven’t considered how your small kindnesses have impacted other people. Add them all up--and that does not spell ‘useless’. It…”
Her voice trailed off when she found herself reaching for a familiar latch on a familiar door. Her chambers--which she hadn’t used since losing Naimah (not consciously, at least; she had no idea where she’d slept under Locque’s thrall). What had brought her here? Force of habit? Because Naimah accompanied me here all the time. Somehow, walking side by side down the halls of Galeyn’s palace with another woman had triggered an old habit that had not died along with her lover. Slowly, Sigrid lowered her hand from the latch. “...I’m sorry.” The blonde woman sighed her quiet words and dropped her arm to her side. “I was on my way to oblige Lord Canaveris’s request to bestow some leniency on behalf of the Ardane woman, so that she may meet with her lover in the Night Garden. I… don’t know why I stopped here. I’m not even headed in the right direction. I haven’t been here since…” She didn’t bother to finish the sentence. If her reasons weren’t evident, then she didn’t care to explain.
“Please accept yet another apology, Bronwyn Kavanagh,” Sigrid turned away from the door and offered a smile that didn’t reach her blue eyes, “for completely and utterly wasting your time, this past handful of moments. I’m afraid I’ve occupied minutes that you will never get back, and for no good reason.”
Unlike their last conversation, where Nia had been full of bleeding, oozing hurt, and sought to bleed all over the Canaveris lord for what he had done to her, how he had so staunchly betrayed her feelings and her faith in him not to deceive, the short time they’d spent in the infirmary that day left Nia… reconsidering her position. It had been very easy to adapt a polarize cut-and-dry interpretation of what was going on, the night that guards had taken the weak and barely-recovered Master Alchemist from what she had perceived as the safety of the Canaveris villa, to the unforgiving cold dungeons of the Galeynian castle. Betrayal--it had been betrayal, hadn’t it? When he had told her that she was safe with him, yet not so long after, had stood a trial that had asked for her life in exchange for her dedication to the witch that had terrorized this kingdom? There was no other way for her to interpret what had occurred than that she had been wrong about Ari. That she had, once again, foolishly fallen in love, thinking that there was a light at the end of her ten years spent running for her life and hiding. Once again, she had put her faith in someone who had more important ties to appeal to than to her?
That was the sentiment she had carried with her the day of her arrest, and then going forward. She was not so petty as to wish death or harm upon her betrayer; on the contrary, stubborn feelings for the man and those times when she had been naive to his motives still fluttered in her mind and heart, upon broken butterfly wings. Seeing him in pain or in danger did not bring her any joy, and instead, it had frustrated her to her core when he had not sought help for his petrified hand. Nia didn’t hate Aristide Canaveris: she didn’t even despise him for doing what was best for him and his people, because that was the kind of man he was, and to hold a grudge against someone for what was very much their own honourable nature and dedication to their home and citizens was certainly nothing short of petty. It was so much less about anger and disdain, and more about… hurt. About an old wound on her heart from long ago that had been torn open anew. The scar on her neck frequently ached and burned, when there was no new trauma to the flesh. Nia hurt on a whole other level, one that transcended physical pain and kept her up at night, twisted her stomach into knots, and prevented restful, dreamless sleep… but none of that made her hate Ari. And, after what he had told her in the infirmary, whispered in her ear when no one else was around… she began to question the legitimacy of her feelings of betrayal.
I wanted to save you. Those words… and more. In no outcome would I have allowed you to die—even if it ruined my standing among the Galeynians. What had he meant by those words? Would Lord Aristide Canaveris really have jeopardized his relationship and his peoples’ relationship with the crown and the kingdom of Galeyn if her death sentence had not been overturned?
Those words stuck with her for the remainder of the day. After tending to Ari’s hand on so little food and sleep, the Master Alchemist had remained the majority of daylight hours in the infirmary to rest. Of course, sleep never came easily to her, and she often fought it off moments after her eyes would close. It was as if her body knew better to struggle awake before she was once again plagued with terrible dreams of past events that she was helpless to change. But in that time she spent under the careful watch of the healers, who were also unsuccessful in getting her to eat, she considered Ari’s request to meet him at the Night Garden, come dark. What did he want to show her there? She’d seen her fair share of it during her employment to Locque, always curious about the lovely and unusual flora never properly registered under her Master Alchemist’s touch, because there was nothing to which she could compare its design. The request seemed odd, and without purpose, and a strong, stubborn part of her wanted to decline and leave him waiting, alone. To cut herself free of this lingering infatuation with the second man in her life who had broken her too-trusting heart, and try to find a path without him, whether it brought her back to Ilandria, or otherwise. Yet, if she were being honest with herself… that wasn’t what she really wanted. That desperate, hopeless romantic in her wanted things to return to the way they had been. Before she had come to know of his deceit; before she hadn’t had a reason to trust him anymore.
Later that day, as she finally obtained permission to leave the infirmary, the typically silent guard that escorted her back to her room spoke up for what was perhaps only the second time she had ever heard him speak. “I have been instructed to inform you, you’ve obtained permission to visit the Night Garden this evening, without an escort. You will be accompanied off of the palace grounds, should you decide to go, but your cooperation has earned you an hour without guard accompaniment within the Night Garden itself. Upon conclusion of your visit, you will then be escorted from the Night Garden and back to your room at the palace.”
“Wait… so, would you say I’m gonna be getting my freedoms back?” Nia’s voice sparked with hope as she walked alongside the guard, struggling to keep up with his pace, but refusing to show just how much it hurt her leg. “Or, at least, you think there’s a chance I will be left alone in peace in my own damn room? I’ve been good, you know.”
“My orders this evening, on behalf of Commander Sorde who has been overseeing your detainment, relate specifically to your foray into the Night Garden.” He replied, without much inflection in his tone, and still didn’t make eye-contact. While the Forbanne guards were far rougher, these Galeynian guards clearly held more disdain for the convicted Master Alchemist, and appeared far less willing to give her the time of day. “Any further liberties you earn in due time will be contingent on your behaviour, and your willingness to cooperate with the healers’ instruction. You won’t eat and hardly sleep; you have yet to demonstrate to anyone that you can be trusted with your own well-being enough to serve your sentence in this kingdom."
“Hey--I’m fucking trying, you know!” Nia interjected with a childish pout upon reaching their bedroom. “And I’m better off than you all think. I’m a Master Alchemist--you have no fucking clue what I had to physically go through to be a Master Alchemist. A little sleep deprivation and fasting is often part of my damned job description. It’ll take more than that to render me unhealthy to the point of needing a healer.”
“I don’t make the rules.” The guard opened the door for her, escorted her inside, then locked it behind him. “You’re getting a modicum of freedom tonight, which is frankly more than a lot of people think you deserve. At this point, you should be grateful that you are allowed as much. If you are fit to take a foray into the Night Garden, and don’t pull anything stupid… then the higher powers that be may consider give your leash a little more lead.”
If part of her hadn’t already secretly wanted to meet Ari in the Night Garden that evening, then this tipped the scales for Nia. A chance at earning even more freedom, if she played nice on this little play date? That in and of itself was incentive enough. “You got it. A reprieve from these four walls in exchange for promising to play nice?” She motioned to the walls of her bedroom, which had stopped feeling like a safe haven to her a long time ago. “That I can do.”
“This is also contingent on your ability to physically make it as far as the Night Garden.” The guard added after a beat, and raised an eyebrow as he took up his spot next to the door, arms folded. He nodded to her injured leg; it hadn’t escaped his attention that she continued to favour it. “Nothing was said about providing you with a Night Steed. The Night Garden is in and of itself a fifteen minute walk from the palace gates for a healthy person.”
Nia could have sworn he took some sick satisfaction in not making this little taste of freedom easy for her. But, whatever; he was free to feel whatever he wanted. She’d prove him wrong. “I’m not a damn invalid, you know. And you can fucking believe I can walk as far as the Night Garden. Gimme a pair of steel boots, even, if you’d like to derive even more enjoyment in seeing me struggle.” She mirrored the guard and folded her arms in turn, meeting his challenging gaze. “Don’t think I won’t rise to and above whatever you want to throw at me. Say what you want, think what you want, but you can’t go through as much shit as someone like me and not learn how to carry yourself along the way. Let it be known,” she pointed at the door, “I will be there tonight, in steel boots, or hopping on one foot. Try to stop me.”
As it stood, not only was Nia now driven by curiosity, and by the potential for more freedoms in the days to come, but also to spite the hell out of the asshole who thought she wasn’t capable of walking a few minutes on a stiff leg full of muscle spasms. Ari could count on her being there that night, for whatever reason he wanted her company (which remained a mystery to her, considering how often she gave him the cold shoulder, of late). Determined to present herself to all parties as healthy and capable, she even tied her hair back in a braid and coiled it into the shape of a rose, just as she used to do in the past, when she’d had the time and inclination to take pride in her appearance. She’d even have sported better clothes had that been an option, but alas, was stuck with the tunic and high-waisted work trousers she’d sported earlier that day, and chose not to push her luck by asking for anything nicer.
When darkness fell, the Ardane alchemist, accompanied by two guards, left for the Night Garden to meet with the Canaveris lord--and, damn, whatever Ari wanted to show her had better be worth it, because the trek was not easy. Five minutes on her bad leg triggered discomfort; ten minutes was about the point where she would start to complain, were she in the right company. By the time she reached the Night Garden, she wanted nothing more than to sit down and not stand up again for a few hours, at the very least, but Nia said nothing during the short yet arduous trek to the bioluminescent garden at the heart of the kingdom. It wouldn’t do for anyone to think she was less than physically fit; fortunately, she was good at faking it until it was true.
Sure enough, Ari was there waiting for her, and she registered the look of surprise on his warm-toned face when she showed up. Had he really thought she would stand him up? On one hand, that kind of hurt; on the other… a part of her had considered arriving late. If only to see if he would wait for her; if she still, really and truly, meant enough to him to be someone he would wait for (if what they’d had had ever, in fact, been real). “Thanks for the escort, good men, but I believe here is where you cut me loose for a while?” She smirked at the two Forbanne guards, whom she tolerated more than the Galeynian guards. They didn’t care either way what she did or what happened to her, stoic and unbiased and simply following orders. They did not pursue when she crossed into the Night Garden, but neither did they retreat, having been instructed to wait there for no more than an hour before they went in after her to take her back to the palace.
“Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long. Though I’d say I made pretty good time, considering it feels like I’m crushing my own leg every time I put my weight on it.” Nia tried to joke, and took the liberty to put a hand on Ari’s arm. To a bystander, it would have looked like a gesture of affection; in truth, she desperately needed a means to lessen the weight she put on that leg. She wouldn’t make it through this little foray without using the Canaveris lord as a minor crutch. “In all seriousness,” she murmured in a lower tone, as the two of them retreated from the entrance, “I hope we’re not going too far, unless you plan on summoning your big golem manservant to carry me. I think the Galeynian guards thought it would be damn funny to see me struggle all the way to the Night Garden. Joke’s on them, they didn’t even get to accompany me here. So… what is this about, anyway?”
Nia turned her head to study Ari’s face, as if she thought to derive answers from it in case he was not up front with her. “Hard to imagine there isn’t a part of this Garden that I haven’t seen. I’ve spent many an afternoon getting to know it. That said… I’ll admit, it is difficult to get to know something you can’t fully understand.”
Darkness and treachery… It quickly became obvious to Bronwyn that by referring to her brother in terms of darkness and treachery, she was deftly avoiding the controversial figure impacted most by society. Referring to Rowen in such a roundabout method didn’t, to her chagrin, lessen the blow of her loss, nor eased her into discussions focusing on her as the subject. Perhaps she’d never grow comfortable speaking of the prolific ex-murderess to anyone—let alone to Sigrid, who suffered the tragic death of a loved one on her account. However, much though she tried to tailor conversations away from her infamous associations, all exchanges ended up reminding her of Rowen. Small, surface-level aesthetics, a woman knitting in the Night Garden, for instance, dredged as many painful memories as something large and significant—like now.
“My brother doesn’t see darkness as something to fear,” she clarified, wondering why she was so quick to spring to his defense when in the past, she was happy to watch him get pummeled—figuratively and literally. Either way, fixating on Hadwin was the safest and only strategy available when she wanted to reference Rowen, but secretly. Covertly. “Nihilism aside, he’s rather the optimist. Infuriatingly so. Or, well, he’s more a realist, seeing things as they are, but plowing ahead, damning the consequences. That’s what I mean when I say that to him, nothing matters, good or bad. It’s how he copes with the madness. It’s easy to navigate the darkness if you take nothing seriously and laugh at the shadows along the way. But it’s obviously a farce. He cares. Strongly and deeply. I can’t forget that he tried to protect me when…” she trailed off, shaking her head. Covert territory was fast transitioning into the overt. So she laughed away the discomfort, instead.
“Nah, he’s at odds with a lot of people. For some, it’s sort of an initiation trial into becoming his friend. You deal with the worst of him and he lets up. Eventually. Maybe. It’s hilarious to see how he and Elespeth became so close, actually, when they’re both the types to butt heads and clash with each other.”
You’ve had your fair share of hardship, have you not?
Bronwyn missed a step and stumbled, but corrected her gait in time so that it didn’t appear too apparent that Sigrid’s words had affected her. Did anyone...did anyone ever ask her such a question? Did anyone ever care to wonder about her past hardships, or if she experienced any, at all? Here she was, content in speaking of other people, of shoving the attention away from herself, as she was raised to do, because the individual never mattered, only the Clan, and yet her unexpected companion quickly recognized that she, as an individual, was entitled to her pain. Strangely, she felt...validated.
“Haven’t we all?” She shrugged, attempting to dismiss the comment in a lighthearted manner. “I’m no different. But don’t worry about before,” she threw on her best smile. “The circumstances back then were less than ideal. I wasn’t at my best, either. Prior to my arrival in Galeyn, I’d been wandering around for over a year in search of,” she twisted her hand into vague gestures, not sure that, even if she were brave enough to reference her sister by name, it would be well-received, “...I didn’t want to listen to reason, because what I’d learned made no sense. You were right to tackle me.” She rubbed a hand against the side of her neck. “I bet I looked extremely suspicious. It’s the Kavanagh legacy. But,” she tilted her head, receptive to the fact that Sigrid in part delivered these apologies for the sake of healing, and acknowledging them was better than dismissing them as unnecessary, “thank you, all the same. For the apology. I can tell that it’s sincere.” Again, she pointed to her temple. “If you ever need a morality check, come to me.” Something of a cheeky smile passed her lips. “I’ll let you know how you’re doing.”
As they cruised the palace corridors, following a natural rhythm as unwittingly established by the other, Bronwyn listened to the blonde warrior’s concerns, finding them almost...comforting. For Sigrid, a certain level of trust seemed to be a prerequisite for receiving her discretions and musings, and Bronwyn somehow met those requirements. As they continued to chat, she was reminded of her camaraderie with Elespeth, which began on similar terms. It also occurred to her that she still needed to apologize for her own behaviors on the eve of Rowen’s...death.
“I think it’s fine to feel...not so appreciative of your current situation. You don’t want to force yourself to fake feelings of gratitude or relief if you’re not quite there yet. I know I’ve been guilty of feeling less than pleased about developments that turned out for the best, or, at least, didn’t turn for the worse. It takes time to accept change, be it good, bad, neutral, or a combination of the three. But you’re making good progress by the simple acknowledgment of where you are now, and where you have next to go. If it helps, I’m still processing the fact that I gained a brother...and lost a sister.” At last, she came out and said it. Sister. Shamefaced, it was her turn to lower her eyes to the floor. “That was insensitive of me. She took so much from you. I can’t be allowed to...I know I can’t be allowed to…” To what? To grieve? To mourn?
She never finished her thought before a new idea formed on Sigrid’s lips...and, just like her statement on suffering hardships, she wasn’t prepared for this question, or its implications. “Who told me?” Rowen did, but for obvious reasons, chose not to say. “No one. Not recently. I’ve just...been out of sorts since leaving my clan. Like I lost my purpose. But then I sometimes wonder if I ever had a purpose. If Chief ever held me as a person of value. But that’s problematic thinking because in the Clan, no one is of importance. We’re all equal and no one is singled out. That’s the principle, anyway, but then...there are my siblings. Chief favored them. Over me. Because they were go-getters and out-of-the-box thinkers. Nevermind that they conflicted with Chief’s established rules of cooperation. So what does that mean? I played by his rules and got punished? Not...rewarded, or recognized for my hard work? I guess it was my fault for being too dumb to understand how to become an actual asset to Clan Kavanagh, not just someone who blindly follows orders and does what’s perceived to be right.” She planted the heel of her palm on her forehead, gauging the heat radiating from it, but being unable to stop herself from further embarrassment. “The unjust are rewarded. That’s what I initially believed, seeing my brother get everything and I, nothing. It was childish thinking. Life doesn’t follow any rules. He understood that lesson early on; that’s why he cheated. Because the world wasn’t going to play fair. But if life had to follow any rules at all, then it’s this one. The unremarkable...they’re forgotten. Fortune doesn’t shine on them because they’re dull and unimportant.”
She had gone too far. Lowering her hand from her forehead, she silenced herself by pinching her mouth closed. If it took physical restraints to cease spouting her rubbish to someone who was in desperate need of good tidings and not gloominess, then she would do so.
“That was...uncalled for,” she removed her hand once she felt safe enough to speak. “I’m so sorry about that, Sigrid. You’re right, of course. Small kindnesses aren’t to be discounted, but...I’m not sure I have many of those to my name, either. This was nothing,” he gestured between them. “But if you found it to be something, then I can’t argue with you. Perhaps…” she paused, not exactly sure what she was proposing, “I could accompany you to the D’Marian village? Your cousin will probably prefer it if someone he knew well came along and...there isn’t much I can do here, except be my brother’s minder, and I’m tired of chasing him all over creation. In terms of public opinion, I couldn’t do any worse among D’Marians, I think,” she quirked an uncertain smile. “But it’s up to you. Anyway, I really should go searching for Hadwin before I find him drowned in a wine barrel.” While she elected for a bit of dark humor, she wasn’t entirely speaking in jest. “Please waste my time more often, though. You’re free to do it. Because I’m truly the epitome of ‘busy,’ here,” she gave a sarcastic snort. “And...please accept my apologies, too.” Standing before the blonde warrior and her closed chamber door, she gave a contrite dip of her head. “I was wrong about you, Sigrid. You’re perfectly pleasant company.”
Ousting the earth mage responsible for tampering with the wall and almost harming Nia in the process was an easier feat than Ari had planned. The earth mage in question, proud for taking a stand against the remnants of tyranny, as he put it, admitted his hand and even spread the news to as many people as would listen before he willingly went with Ari. But his swift apprehension didn’t stop the earth mage from letting his voice heard.
“Lord Canaveris.” They were seated in a vacant room closest in proximity to the observatory. Since the “crime” had occurred in Galeyn’s palace, jurisdiction fell both under the Queen, whose palace he vandalized, and Ari, whose worksite he disrespected. As they waited for Lilica—or likely Chara—to arrive and explore the man’s punishment, the culprit turned his fierce eyes on the D’Marian leader. “You were once adamant in your crusade against tyranny. Why, then, do you allow this holdover from our darkest time here in Galeyn to roam freely? Why is your regard for her greater than that of your people, who have also suffered Locque’s horrid reign? Tell me—why did my wife’s mother have to die? Why did anyone have to die?”
“That is a question to which I have no answer,” Ari admitted as he hunkered down on a seat opposite the earth mage. “I can, however, clarify my stance on tyranny. Locque ran opposed from the start. We indulged her behavior to survive, but we never condoned her usurper’s position. Miss Nia’s efforts to foster peace between Locque and the kingdom of Galeyn, however misguided, prevented escalation for as long as was feasible. We have only the instigating nature of Rowen Kavanagh and her influence over Locque’s conscience—or lack thereof—to blame. Therefore, I will not punish a woman who had, from the start, solidified her role as a mediator and a diplomat. My decision does not, by default, betray the will of my people. There is no ‘either-or.’ There is ‘both.’ I advocate for the cessation of hostilities, and for the prosperity and safety of D’Marians. It may seem counterproductive to some, Mister Kosta, but Miss Nia’s life does not negate the concerns of the people. I still hear them, and I am listening. However; please respect Queen Lilica’s ruling, lest your punishment increases in its severity.”
“She never did it, you know.” The earth mage first spoke in so low a rumble, Ari strained to hear, but as he continued, his words grew in magnitude, the vibrations so grand, they vibrated and boomed underfoot. “She never publicly condemned Locque. Not in earnest. How do we know she won’t finish what Locque started? She’s a Master Alchemist. They’re not powerless. They’re crafty, and fully capable. My Lord better not accept her help to lift your malediction, if you cherish your life.”
“If that is what worries you, Mister Kosta, then let me allay your suspicions. Lord Rigas and Master Kristeva will be overseeing the procedure.”
“Lord Rigas. The man you dethroned, who, for certain, holds a grudge. And Master Kristeva. His friend. My, don’t you surround yourself with trustworthy individuals, Lord Canaveris?”
As if on cue, Chara Rigas entered the room, prompting the earth mage to devolve into a fit of laughter. “Trustworthy, indeed! You have all gone mad! Am I truly the only sane person in this kingdom? I must be! And if that is so,” he thrust his arms forward, fusing them together at the wrists. “Lock me up, and lock me up well because the moment I’m free, I won’t rest. I’ll do what everyone’s too cowardly and peace-loving to do. You have my word! I’m an earth mage; a prison cell won’t hold me!”
“No. You do not get to be a martyr in this kingdom,” Chara, who’d come upon the scene, directed two Forbanne to surround him. “You’re under house arrest. Let your wife see your piteous state. Also,” she nodded to one of the soldiers, who slapped an anti-magic manacle over his wrist, the very same model Teselin had used to restrain and stifle her own wayward magic, “you will not be digging any tunnels in the foreseeable future, earth mage,” she spat the title like a joke, laughable and ludicrous. “Take him away!”
As the struggling earth mage was manhandled out of the chambers and sent back to his home for surveillance, Ari rose from his chair, watching after the man, eyes dark with regret. “If we are this aggressive to every detractor, how will we repair the rift between the citizenry of Stella D’Mare and Galeyn?”
“You have been listening to Alster too much,” she scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “We haven’t the resources to address each case with delicacy and finesse. Such strategies will happen later, when we’re better equipped for the task. As of now, violent insurgences must be cut off at the head. We shall hear this man’s grievances. But not now, when he is unreasonable and full of rage.”
A knock on the door cut Ari and Chara’s impromptu conference short. A Forbanne soldier entered, saluting, fist to chest, as he addressed the D’Marian leader and the Galeynian advisor, before turning his attention to the former.
“Lord Canaveris. Your request has been processed and approved by Commander Sorde. Nia Ardane will be granted an hour, free of her guard and transferred into your temporary custody, starting at the eighth bell chime, tonight.”
“Oh?” Chara tilted her head, her eyebrow raising, intrigued. After the soldier departed, she glanced alongside at Ari. “This is the first I’ve heard of Nia’s nighttime gallivant with her gallant prince. Fancy rescuing her? Please don’t do anything stupid.”
“And please cease your drivel.” Sighing, Ari strode to the door, having little patience for Chara’s unpleasantness. “It is nothing but a short outing in the Night Garden. Inform Queen Lilica if you must.” Without another word, he exited the chambers, and returned to his station at the observatory.
That evening, after work on the observatory had ceased, Ari prepared for his upcoming rendezvous by donning his traveler’s coat, the only article of clothing on his person not affected by debris and pulverized stone. While a little heavy in design, not best-suited for summer humidity, the red color swirled with gold brocade was, as his mother so expressed, a combination he wore best. Now that he regained control of his right hand, he didn’t require Lazarus’s assistance as he washed up, dressed, and fixed his hair, gathering it into a low ponytail. While he often cared for his appearance and gussied up, he hadn’t done so in earnest since Nia’s hearing, as he steadily lost interest in all his hobbies—fashion included. Preening exclusively for a woman who wanted nothing to do with him was destructive, given the chances she wouldn’t show were significant. What, then? Would her rejection further set back his interests?
Yet, he waited at the entrance to the Night Garden, fidgeting with a cane he didn’t currently require. To his wonderment, not ten minutes after the eighth bell chimed from the palace clock tower, there she was, surrounded by her personal guard.
“Miss Nia.” Schooling his expression, he bowed at the waist in reverent greeting. This was promising, he thought. She hadn’t rejected him outright. A bold, optimistic part of him greedily clung to hope, to a favorable outcome. But if not...At least I will have kept a promise to you, Nia. One promise. The sole promise I am able to manage.
“Good evening,” he said, smiling in greeting. “Your hair is lovely tonight,” he remarked on her rose braid, happy to see its return. “No, I was not kept long. You did well to walk this far on your own. Here.” He extended his arm at the same time she reached for it, concealing the impact and warmth of her touch as it emitted a pleasant burn that he longed to lose himself in. For additional balance, he handed her his cane. “We are not to venture far. A little ahead, there is a walkway that leads into a thick grove.” He gestured before them, at a dark cut of vegetation among the blue and green luminous fungi and flowers showering their path. As they began their stroll, at a measured, gradual pace, the Forbanne guards in charge of Nia disappeared behind thick brush and trees, erasing them from view. They were, for all intents and purposes, alone.
“I do not doubt you have seen the bulk of the Night Garden, in daylight and in moonlight. However, it is not the Garden itself I wish to show you.” Together, they plunged into the dense thicket of trees that fringed the grandiose Sentinel Tree at its center. When they arrived in the dark patch, his mouth worried into a line. What if the fireflies migrated elsewhere? What if he’d imagined them, or confused his sense of direction?
But then he saw a flicker of lambent green-yellow signal from one of the trees, to which a grounded flicker responded—a most fortunate sign. And as they encroached deeper into the thicket...the entire landscape filled with floating, green-yellow ghost-lights, a cascade from above and below. Owing to their ethereal location, these fireflies behaved a little differently from their non-Night Garden variants. For one, they were twice the size of their contemporaries, and for another, some appeared orange, blue, or even purple in color, providing a rainbow in the dark, ripe for catching on one’s finger.
“They are not Ilandria’s Solstice lights,” Ari began, a little shy and unsure of himself, “but we are approaching a Solstice, and...I did not want you to miss the fireflies when their season is so ephemeral and fleeting.”
“Yes… it is blatantly obvious that your brother does care. It isn’t lost on me who he has helped, time and again…” Even Sigrid couldn’t turn a blind eye to how he cared for Teselin. Those who mattered to him, mattered a lot. Hadwin wasn’t someone who acted in accordance with darkness: he acted in spite of it. “There was a time when he and I were on rather good terms as well. Somewhere along the line, we turned sour, when Elespeth…” The former Dawn warrior trailed off. Brownyn hadn’t been present during that fragile period of time when Elespeth’s health and her relationship with Alster had been falling apart, and she wasn’t sure if the Rigas woman had divulged those details. It was not her place to fill in the blanks.
“Anyway… I believe that he and Elespeth have experienced a lot together. Or at least, in the same vicinity. I believe they’ve been suitable distractions for one another, and somewhere along the way, it turned into legitimate friendship. Sometimes, you just can’t help but learn to like certain people…” It wasn’t lost on her how the faoladh woman suddenly seemed to diminish at the mention of hardships, and Sigrid considered stepping back. Had she hit a nerve? She barely knew her. If she didn’t want to talk, then that was her prerogative, and she could only respect it.
Well… perhaps that is what she should have done, but she couldn’t help but wonder… had anyone broached the subject of Rowen Kavanagh to Brownyn, since Hadwin had killed her? Had she so much as had closure of her younger sister’s death? Death of the very person who had brought her to Galeyn in the first place? “Indeed, we all have had hardships. Some long past… and some very recent.” Throwing her better judgment to the wind, the blonde warrior paused in step, and placed a hand on Bronwyn’s shoulder. “I lost Naimah a long time ago, at this point. Months, seasons… it’s been a while. And yet, it doesn’t feel that way. It still feels very fresh, and I don’t know how long it will continue to feel that way. I can only imagine that for you, Bronwyn… it has not been so long since you lost the one person you had initially come here to save. As much as I appreciate your sensitivity to how I or others might feel, and how they might be rejoicing in Rowen’s death, you do not have to take part in that mentality. You have suffered a loss, and you not only have the right to feel it and to grieve--you need to. If you don’t, then you will be opening a wound in yourself that will never fully heal.”
It was only then, hearing the faoladh woman’s account of what she had experienced in her homeland, with her family, that it became apparent to Sigrid that perhaps that wound was already there. And thanks to all of her prying questions and comments that she really had no right to say, she might have touched on something that already was hurting, and that Bronwyn had become an expert in hiding. “If one uncalled for comment calls for another--then let me tell you something that I haven’t considered in a very long time.” With her hand still on the faoladh’s shoulder, the former Dawn warrior turned a corner, taking a route that she had frequently experienced in the past to be less traveled than other corridors. These days, she often kept to those less-popular routes so as to avoid people and their unwanted gazes or words.
“A long time ago, my family… I assume they were in danger. They wanted me safe, so they traveled all the way to Braighdath, and left me behind. I can only assume it was to remove me from the danger that was following them. I don’t remember much from my childhood, but when I came close to death in the Night Garden… some distant memories came back to me. I remember what my father told me, on the journey to Braighdath. That we were going on an adventure, but if I wanted to come along, then I must be brave, and I must adapt: be brave, and adapt. So I did, even when he left me alone in a strange city, and never returned. I needed to be brave, and I needed to adapt, but… as time passed, and I realized Braighdath wasn’t my real home, and those who cared for me were not my real family, I forgot what my father had told me. I was still brave--to the point where I was foolish, and stupid. But along the way… I had forgotten to adapt. I refused to.” Slowly, her hand slid from Bronwyn’s shoulder. The irony wasn’t lost on her: since Naimah’s death, she had forgotten to adapt all over again, and still clung desperately to the past, as if the future had nothing to offer her. “I… seem to go through phases where I stubbornly refuse to adapt. Like now, in the way that I push away my cousin and everyone who tries to help me, because I cannot see what the future could possibly offer me and how I can make a difference. Our circumstances may be different, but I believe the same philosophy can be applied to your situation: that you must be brave. And you must adapt.”
Pressing her back to the doorframe of the chamber she hadn’t intended to enter, the blonde warrior crossed her arms and sighed. “The thing is… you don’t get to decide how what you say or do impacts people. Think of Elespeth. Of Hadwin… hell, even think of Nia Ardane. You spent time in her company even when you didn’t really want to. Of course my company would be preferable to you.” Sigrid couldn’t help but smirk at the slight that Nia would never hear; it was satisfying, all the same. “Regardless of how you feel, you’ve impacted people. So take it from there. Accept that you might not have ‘being useless’ as a legitimate excuse to not try and be useful. Be brave--and adapt. Whatever that might mean to you. And in fact--I think I would like your company in the D’Marian settlement. Someone credible is going to need to convince them I am not the villain that Locque made me out to be. I was wrong about you too, Rowen Kavanagh. I’m glad. Oh--and when you find Hadwin, will you pass this on, from me?”
Extending one arm, and still smirking, she curled all but her middle finger into a fist, and passed on her ‘salute’ for the eldest faoladh sibling to reproduce for her younger brother.
“Pfft, it’s not as complicated as it looks. I was tired of it hanging past my shoulders and tangling.” Nia rubbed the back of her neck, finding herself oddly taken aback by Ari’s compliment. Why? He had called her beautiful in the past, complimented her dress or something else she had done to improve her appearance. Why did it suddenly feel so strange now, that she actually saw fit to make excuses? “Anyway--I owe you a thank you, or two. Evidently, if I behave tonight, there’s the potential they might start opting to give me a longer leash! Not have two full grown men in my room all the fucking time would be a start. I don’t even remember what it’s like to have privacy.”
Of course, that was not the only reason that had brought her to the Night Garden that evening. That hopeful part of the Master Alchemist that still clung to the past, and all of those beautiful moments she’d experienced with the Canaveris lord, still desperately wanted to return to a sense of normalcy. That hopeful part of her wanted to pick up where they left off, completely ignoring the gaping wound in her heart from that night she’d been arrested right in front of Ari, who had brought her right to her captors. These two strong sentiments, her yearning to hope and her deep, stinging betrayal were at war with one another, and were likely the cause of knots in her stomach and phantom pain in her neck. She wanted, so badly, to push everything painful aside and act like nothing was wrong, if only for a single night of peace and happiness, but… would that even be possible? How far into the Night Garden would she be able to follow Ari, before she felt like she couldn’t breathe, before she felt physically ill, and had to turn around?
You gambled with my life. Nia couldn’t shake that fact. She couldn’t refuse to acknowledge the vulnerable and dangerous position that Ari’s actions had put her in. But…
I wanted to save you. Those words… they had stayed with her. She couldn’t shake them, either, or that sad glimmer of hope that she had witnessed in his dark eyes when he had asked her to meet him here this evening. However foolish his actions, or how close he had come to overestimating his sway over the crowd… he had acted out of genuine sincerity. Nia believed that he hadn’t wanted to see her hurt or killed, and that… That was what made all of this so difficult to reconcile. How did she begin to forgive, when the very last person she’d ever have thought of to turn her in had been exactly the one to lead her to her arrest?
“I truly hope it isn’t too far, whatever magic you wish to show me that I haven’t already seen.” The Master Alchemist lowered her voice to a softer decibel as they wandered away from the Forbanne soldiers. “I desperately need to take weight off my leg, and I’ve got another trek back to the palace ahead of me. Feels like it gets stiffer and heavier with every step I take… I’d appreciate if you don’t let on to anyone that it’s gotten that bad, though. They’ll be less likely to let me out of the palace like this again if they think I can’t get around.”
Aside from speaking directly with the healers, or her near mental breakdown in front of Alster Rigas, who had mercifully led her into a dreamless sleep, this was the first time she had been upfront to anyone about… well, anything. Having spent most of her life running, Nia Ardane had developed traits of a typical prey animal, one being that she seldom to never let on just how bad off she was, or was feeling. She hadn’t said anything to anyone about the dizzy spells she suffered from not eating enough; she didn’t go into detail about the debilitating cramps or nausea she felt whenever she did eat. She didn’t speak of how sometimes, out of nowhere, the scar on her neck felt as though it were searing with heat--with fire. Or how, from time to time, her heart raced for no obvious reason, making her wonder if it would cease its beating entirely. She didn’t speak to a single soul of what she dreamed, or exactly why those dreams made her want to avoid sleep at all cost, since the night she’d taken that Night Garden tonic. She never made mention of how badly her hands would tremble, and most certainly didn’t say a thing about her leg, beyond that it was a minor nuisance. Ari was the first to hear even a fraction of the extent her previous injury still had on her, and it was the closest thing to complaining that she would come, because it still wasn’t safe. But Ari… he was safe. At least insofar as he would have nothing to gain by letting the world know she was worse off than she was letting on.
But, pain be damned… Nia would have hopped all the way to the Night Garden on her single, bad leg to bear witness to what Ari had in store for her.
At first, she wasn’t sure what she was seeing. Was it another form of bioluminescent flora? Something that drank in the moonlight the way sunflowers drank in the sunlight, and danced to moonbeams? No… the movement was too quick. Like insects buzzing around flowers. Like…
Like the Solstice lights in Ilandria.
“These… these are…” With one hand still on Ari’s arm to steady herself, the Ardane woman reached out with her opposite hand to touch the twinkling lights, all a multitude of different colours, and constantly changingf course, thost lights scattered away from her hand, just as they used to when she and her sisters would seek to catch them in jars on that single, uncanny night of the year. It was a different time, of course, and their cheeks and nose would be tinted pink from the cold. Their toes and fingers would be numb, and they’d be shivering for hours afterward. Nia had none of that tonight: the air was mild, the temperature beginning to pick up in humidity. Her sisters were not here with her. And yet… none of that mattered. Because something in those tiny lights, the little insects flitting about, flickering in hopes of attracting a mate, might not have been as mysterious as fireflies hovering around a forest in the winter--but they were no less magical. And Nia felt them touch a part of herself that hadn’t been touched in a very long time.
“These are…” She couldn’t find the words. Nia dropped her hand to her side. Her throat felt tight; pressure was building behind her eyes, and her knees were suddenly very weak. “I’ve never seen these colours, but they move the same way… they’re just as fast. Almost impossible to catch.” She snatched her hand out a second time, to demonstrate how they were experts at avoiding capture--much like she was. Or used to have been. “I haven’t seen any of this, of any sort, in… in…” When had been the last time she had borne witness to fireflies? If it had occurred during her travels, then the memory wouldn’t have stuck. Memories on the run never did: there wasn’t the time nor energy to remember, when you were only trying to survive… It was really no wonder that the first pleasant memories she had made since her childhood had been here, in Galeyn, with Ari. When she had finally found the opportunity to stop running…
Whatever she was holding back, Nia didn’t have the strength to keep it at bay for long. Not even long enough to finish her sentence, or her thought. Tears blurred her vision and trickled down her cheeks, a barely-stifled sob wrenched its way past her tight throat, and the Master Alchemist fell to her knees, barely holding herself together. But the tears didn’t stop there; they continued and became more aggressive, a deluge of emotions she hadn’t felt for a very, very long time shaking her entire body. “I’m… fine. I’m fine…” She choked out, when Ari crouched to see that she was indeed alright. “I just… it’s been a really long time. And they’re so beautiful…”
It was as if she could see little bits of the hope she had unwittingly let go of over the years in the tiny, flickering lights. Every one of them a little piece of happiness that she hadn’t realized she had left behind. It was… overwhelming. But not in such a way that it was a burden on her heart; rather, it liberated something she had been holding inside for a long time. “Ari… Ari, why did you bring me here? Why show me this?” She asked through her tears, and turned away from the flickering lights to register her hazy vision on the Canaveris lord. “You knew… you know what those little insects mean to me. What did you mean to achieve by this?”
Nia had her answer, though. She saw it in his eyes; he looked at her the same way he had on her birthday, when he had taken her to the grotto and seen the hope in her eyes. That night, Ari had wanted nothing more than to… to make her happy. To see her happy. He’d remembered exactly what had made her happy, with no ulterior motive than to be happy with her, in that moment.
If he had a response for her, Nia didn’t wait for it. Maybe it was not a good move, or the right move, but she wasn’t thinking; she was only feeling. She took a staggering, trembling breath, and cupped his cheek with a hand that trembled just as much, and stole a kiss from his lips, salty tears and all.
Bronwyn found it hard to believe that the same woman who once called her naive for believing Rowen could be saved was now advocating for her to mourn the loss. The faoladh, herself, who was resistant to random acts of kindness lobbed in her direction, suspicious of their source and motives, couldn’t actually discover anything amiss in Sigrid’s heartfelt attempt to relate. In fact, most people she met in Galeyn’s palace—Elespeth, Alster, Haraldur, Vega, Briery, Teselin, and Nia, too—were nothing but supportive even when she snubbed some of their advances out of fear. Who then could she blame for her perceived uselessness but herself? Or, maybe, people pitied her as the sister of two problematic siblings, an interpretation that at least made more sense than unrelenting solicitude and care for a...for a nobody. Did she actually deserve so much praise for merely existing? What had she to offer these people but routine complaining and an untreated self-image issue?
You’re thinking too damn much, Hadwin’s voice chirped into her ear. Stop boxing yourself into a corner!
The blonde warrior’s hand made contact with her shoulder, an unassailable, steadfast grip too present, too punctuating, to ignore. Why did this woman care so much about the sister of a murderer? Frankly, why did she care enough to declare her accompaniment to the D’Marian settlement? Everyone else has someone—a lover, a spouse, a family—but I’m alone. She’s alone. I can’t be that self-serving, can I? Or pathetic.
But she was pathetic, because Sigrid somehow touched her with words she most needed to hear. They validated her pain and stressed the importance of grieving openly, among safe and trustworthy people. Alas, much as she appreciated the offer, she couldn’t take advantage of it, especially not to someone so terribly affected by her sister’s actions. Nonetheless, Sigrid’s ongoing sincerity warmed her such that she blurted, unprompted, “Naimah was lucky to have you when she did.” Immediately, she blanched. “I-I’m sorry. Was that uncalled for? It was, wasn’t it?” In embarrassment, she bunched the fabric around her tunic, adjusting the fabric in an excuse not to meet the woman’s icy blue eyes. But if Sigrid was affronted by this offhanded comment, she didn’t say, and apparently, Bronwyn didn’t offend her, either, because she not only resumed their conversation, but she thought to...confide in her about the final words conveyed to her by her father, as a child.
Be brave and adapt.
Didn’t she make an attempt at bravery recently? When she rose to Alster’s rallying cry to defeat Locque at all costs? She stood up and followed him outside the sanctuary, prepared to die. And hadn’t she, in the end, aside from intense relief, also felt a little...disappointed that she arrived too late to make any difference in dispatching the sorceress for good? It, much like every other attempt at usefulness, fell flat. Her search and retrieval of Rowen? Useless. Rescuing Hadwin from his own doom? Useless; she never would have succeeded without Teselin. Convincing the Galeynians to reject violence and anger in favor of goodwill? Useless.
My bravery has no merit.
Her father thought so. While she chose not to specify on who named her as useless, she hadn’t forgotten the impact of Chief’s words, delivered to Hadwin as she stood aside like a fly in the wall in her brother’s memories.
She’s useless to me.
How then, could she be brave and adapt when the one person she strove to impress the most cared nothing for her?
“So in other words, what you’re saying is: be more like my brother.” It was meant as a joke, as a necessary bit of levity to clear her gloomy headspace of its resulting cobwebs and distract her from the disapproving glare of her father, but the words became a little mangled in their delivery and came out sounding more...resigned. “No doubt about it, my siblings got things done because they understood the principle of bravery and adaptation. It was something I never learned how to do and...I’m not sure if I know how.” How often did she comfortably fall into routine, comforted in knowing her place, her dutiful obedience of her father’s rules? In clan Kavanagh, Chief never challenged her to adapt. On the contrary, if she erred, misstepped, or approached the situation from a different angle, he would lecture her on the importance of never straying from the path. Don’t be like your brother, he often warned. He’ll lead you astray.
But then he turned around and awarded him, and later, Rowen, for their ingenuity? Their bravery, and adaptableness? Didn’t I do everything right, da? So why? Why...do you hate me?
Bronwyn choked out an unconvincing laugh. “I still have a lot to learn about life outside my clan. You weren’t wrong when you accused me of being naive. I am naive. I know nothing about the world. But you—you have had a good head start. I’m sorry life began so rough for you, though. I’m fortunate in that I always had a home and I always had a family. It’s sometimes easy to forget that other people grew up with less. Your father must have cared for you a great deal, though, to dispense those words of wisdom to you before he disappeared. I suppose,” she tilted her head upwards at the warrior, whose height overtook her by a few inches, “we can stumble together, trying to figure out how to live by his proviso. Accountability partners, yeah?”
It was a bold suggestion, but she had already imposed her company on this woman by inviting herself to the D’Marian village. She had thrown shamelessness out the window! “I can’t say how credible I am. Most people only know me as ‘that other wolf,’ a nameless entity that just exists. But,” she nodded, her bronze curls also bouncing in affirmation from her bound tail, “I’m willing to try.”
Before she excused herself from Sigrid’s presence, aware of wearing out her welcome, she stopped mid-stride when she requested she pass along a message to Hadwin. Wondering what the warrior wanted to relay so badly to someone she didn’t fancy in the least, she saw the obscene gesture appear on her extended finger and, in spite of herself, released a loud, delighted chortle.
“Oh—gladly.” She cracked her knuckles in eager anticipation. “But be careful, Sigrid. He might interpret that differently. If it’s not your intention, watch you don’t accidentally win him over.”
Thankful for the dark, Ari’s concerned and guilt-laden features were shadowed by the moonlight-blotting tree branches canopying above their heads. Nia’s brief account of her injured leg had, by his interpretation, read not as a sign of her trust, but as a catalogue of her ongoing symptoms that he bore responsibility for aggravating. Her mention of it brought to mind stark reminders that her suffering, both physical and emotional, had a source, and he belonged to the source—among other factors, of course, but he couldn’t undervalue his contributions, either. After all, one could not deny the impact of his betrayal. How would the situation have differed, had he not played such a destructive role in Nia’s incarceration? At his most conservative estimate, she, perhaps, would not be limping at such a severe list as to require a firm hold on her against his chest. Perhaps she would suffer fewer nightmares, and regain her famed appetite, and...and still look upon him as though he meant something special, irreplaceable, and safe. But now, they navigated awkward conversation by skating on the remnants of their relationship, avoiding thin ice lest they sink into the freezing, uncompromising lake bottom, hoping their once-was would reignite a spark to keep them standing on the surface. If this venture is a failure, I will release you, Nia. I will not have my deadweight crack the solid ground at your feet, when you deserve nothing but stability.
“Please, if it will aid you, take my cane,” he again pressed the silver-tipped handle into her available hand, insistent. “Keep it. I’ve another one in my villa. I understand your goal is to mask your vulnerabilities from prying eyes and, as you know, I am well-versed in this sort of subterfuge. Carrying a cane can be, depending on how you wield it, quite the charming addition to your swagger and might not arouse too many suspicions regarding your current condition. I trust you to use it well, considering how ably you shield your troubles from public purview.” In an attempt to endear to her hush-hush operations, he offered a conspiratorial smile. “Your deceptions are safe behind my closed lips. I have even arranged a carriage ride to return you to the palace gates. None will blink twice if you are in my company. Bystanders will merely remark, ‘There goes Lord Canaveris, the gentleman fool.’ So, rest assured, Miss Nia. I’ve a plan to spare your dignity. No riding on Laz’s shoulders required.”
How easily his tongue could waggle and pretend normalcy, when nothing was further from the truth! No wonder Nia viewed him as disingenuous, when he relied on artifice and charming affectations to support his public-facing personality. So accustomed was he to the presentation, that when he slipped and crumbled, as before, in the infirmary, he considered it a most egregious oversight, akin to being forcibly stripped naked in the town square. He hated others to see that unpolished, cracked side of him, flawed and cratered and pockmarked, and yet, if it was Nia who bore witness to his raw hunk of unfinished marble on occasion, somehow...he could tolerate the embarrassment because she had already seen him at his worst, several times, and persisted nobly at his side despite everything. If anyone deserved to receive him, undressed and disheveled, then he would choose her to share in his imperfections.
But would she choose him? Dare he believe that he stood even the slimmest chance of winning back her trust and admiration? He’d betrayed her; it was over. This evening served merely as his last effort at an apology. One last kindness, before they walked their separate paths and carried on as courteous strangers.
He wasn’t expecting what came next.
“Nia?” He lowered into a crouch in conjunction with her knee drop, arms steadying her shoulders in case she collapsed from weakness. “Are you well?” He noted the tears glistening on her cheeks, the pained sobs that racked her body, and a surge of regret tightened his chest. Here, he believed visiting the fireflies would allow Nia to experience a modicum of joy and wonder, and she seemed to react well to the flashing rainbow lights at first, but then she sank, and he chastised himself for the destructive idea. What if his well-meaning yet insensitive gesture opened another wound in her gaping chest, disrupting her healing process and setting back her recovery for months? Could he have fallen so far off the mark that he refused to consider Nia’s actual wants and needs? Here, she had shared with him a sacred memory, and he dared to cheapen that memory, especially amid the heartbreak of his betrayal?
“Forgive me, Nia, I—“ He paused in the beginnings of his profuse apologies. I’m fine. He trained his eyes on her, ever watchful of her facial tics revealing contradictory information, but she wasn’t exactly one to lie about her feelings. Withhold, yes, but not lie outright. Allayed by her words, he allowed his shoulders to relax.
“Why did I bring you here?” He repeated her question, running a suitable answer on his lips, but they never uttered a response before they became occupied by another set of lips. On realizing what just happened, his eyes bulged, surprise stymying his muscles, petrifying him on the spot. No flare-ups had occurred in the interim, but he felt equally afflicted, equally affected, until he finally shook out of his temporary shock and, cupping the back of her neck, returned her kiss in kind; gentle as flower petals, and brief as the spring. Respectfully, he withdrew, bringing his gloved hand forward to daub at some of her tears.
“Is this...alright?” He whispered, afraid if he spoke any louder, he would disturb this fantasy and he’d awaken, alone in his bed. “Us? Are we…? I am always willing, but are you…with me? Ah, wait. Please pause that thought for a moment.”
A purple-lit firefly, disengaging from the swarm, fluttered between the two humans on the ground, as though inspecting them with curiosity. Ari, with his left hand, as his right was too stiff to engage any motor functions beyond a gradual curling of fingers, captured the nymph-like insect in the bowl of his palm and presented it to Nia, trapping it between their two hands before it lifted its wings to fly away. “For you,” he said, and the smile that curved his mouth also reflected in his eyes—eyes that carried a too-bright, misty sheen. “Make a wish, and when you are finished, release it into the sky. I realize fireflies are not equivalent to shooting stars, but humor me. Hold nothing back. When you are finished, we shall release this one, and catch another, and wish upon that one, as well. Again and again, until you make one hundred wishes...or until our hour concludes. Whichever comes first.” The smile he maintained began to leak, his voice a subtle tremble of barely-contained composure.
Like Nia, he, too, felt overwhelmed, and that overwhelming sensation arrested his heart, making it difficult to expand his lungs and breathe without fluttering—much like the firefly kept aloft in their intertwined hands, buzzing around in search of an exit point. A strange lightness floated to his head, a funny-smelling gas that dulled his senses and filled him with half-drunken ecstasy. Inspiration the likes of which he hadn’t experienced in weeks overtook him, twitching his fingers in anticipation to sculpt. To paint. This. All of this. And her. Her brown eyes luminous in the borrowed light of a thousand colored lanterns, the greens and oranges and blues bleeding into her hair, her skin aglow from the backlight of the gibbous moon peeking through the trees, desiring a place among this fae-like tableau. Try though he might, however, he would never capture this microcosm of a moment between them, no matter the medium or the time devoted. Moments like these were best appreciated as they were; untouched and unrecorded—released into the night.
Two streaks of hot water fell down his cheeks, then, and the suddenness of the sensation startled him from his reverie. “...Forgive me. I fear it is my turn to say, ‘I’m fine.’” He tapped her hand, reminding her of the entrapped firefly. “Are you ready to make your wish?”
Following her conversation with Bronwyn, which had gone far more in depth than she had anticipated or even intended, Sigrid made her way to Haraldur’s chambers to relay the message that Aristide Canaveris sought to convey. Although she had zero interest in helping Anetania Ardane in any conceivable way… she could not perpetuate her antagonizing stance against the woman if she hoped to earn Stella D’Mare’s forgiveness through a better association with its leader. Committed disdain wouldn’t make her feel better, and it wouldn’t get her anywhere; it was time she honoured the second part of her father’s advice: to adapt. The world was ever changing, and her very future had changed before her eyes… and it made no sense to make others pay for it.
When she knocked on the door of her cousin’s suite, Vega answered, and explained that Haraldur was still on duty patrolling the palace grounds for fits of discontent between the D’Marians and Galeynians, who juggled a very uneasy truce that neither side truly endorsed. Sure enough, she found him near the training grounds. Genuine surprise registered on his face when he heard his name on her lips.
“Haraldur, I’ve a request on behalf of Aristide Canaveris. He wishes that the imprisoned Master Alchemist be given some leave this evening to meet with him in the Night Garden. Whether you decide to oblige his request makes no difference to me; I am merely the messenger and promised I would pass the request along.” She could have stopped there; her task was complete. She could have walked away, and spent the rest of her day focusing on that hollow place in her heart where Naimah used to be. Naimah was lucky to have had you. Why did Bronwyn’s words resonate with her, so? They were words that should have plunged her right back into her despair, but instead… they uplifted her. That validation somehow made it feel a little more ‘okay’ that her time with Naimah, while it was in the past, had been meaningful. That she was meaningful and valid for having loved her. Bronwyn really had no clue, just how much her small acts of kindness meant…
“...I know I need to apologize to you. I haven’t been fair. Not since before I left; and not after I almost died.” The blonde warrior blurted the words before she could overthink them. A moment’s more hesitation, and she wouldn’t have had the nerve to say what desperately needed to be said. “I just… don’t know how. I don’t know how to make up for any of the damage I caused… although Lord Canaveris accepted my offer to put myself to use in the D’Marian settlement so as to atone for the death of the family that is on my hands. I don’t know that I can truly do or say anything to atone, but I… I really want to try. And… I might as well start with family, so…”
Tucking her braid over her shoulder, the former Dawn Warrior lowered her gaze and bowed her head. “I’m sorry. For how I have treated you and your family… You saved my life, and from the beginning, you have only wanted to help. And I pushed you away because I really, truly believed that there was no way out of the fog, for me. It was wrong; I am still in the wrong. I can’t guarantee that I can go back to being the person you first met: before Naimah, before Gaolithe, before… before I lost my future, regained it, and lost it again. I don’t know who that person is anymore, and I do not know that I will be able to reconnect with her, but… I hope that you will be open to welcoming the person I want to become. It won’t be instantaneous, and it may take a very, very long time, but… please know, I am doing everything I can to try and become someone better.”
Sigrid looked up to meet the Forbanne commander’s green eyes, for what felt like the first time in a long time. “And, if you would still desire to have me in such a position… I am happy to become a secondary guardian to your daughter. Or, at least, someone meaningful to her. I have no right to bemoan the loss of my family… when I have family standing right in front of me.”
There was no saving face or clawing at vestiges of dignity when Nia crumbled to the ground like a fallen tower, dissolving in her own tears and sobs, and all because she was… happy. Not because of the pain shooting through her leg, the cramps in her stomach, her light-headedness from lack of proper nourishment, or the headache gently pulsing at the back of her skull, but because this sliver of pure joy, resurrected from her past, reduced her to nothing but a pile of raw emotion on the ground. Vulnerable, raw, and completely fallen apart. Who’d have thought she wouldn’t need the snow, or Celene and Palla’s company to feel this way again? Or the chilly winter air and chocolate tea? It wasn’t the details that mattered: it was the symbolism. It was what it meant to her. That gentle feeling of peace and childlike bliss hadn’t been lost in the abyss of her bloody, tragic past: it was still there. Right here, in the Night Garden, with the rainbow hues of fireflies. With… Ari.
“Why did you bring me here?” She repeated after they disengaged from the impromptu kiss. A part of her already knew the answer: what she sought was his motivation. Why show her something so meaningful, something so sacred and special, when… well, when everything that had existed between them became so compromised? Instead of answering, Nia’s eyes followed Ari’s hand to a little lightning bug that had alighted on the ground between them. In a single, swift motion, he scooped up the flickering insect and trapped it between both of their hands. It buzzed and flitted between their palms, desperate for an escape from what it must have thought was certain doom.
“This is a much more humane way to go about making wishes,” the Master Alchemist admitted. Tears still trickled down her cheeks, and she had no way of knowing when they would cease their flow, for as long as she bore witness to the fireflies that dredged up memory after memory of her past. “When my sisters and I always sought to catch the Solstice lights, we would keep them in jars. The myth had it that if, in the morning, you found your jar empty, it was not an insect at all, but rather, a wish that would come true. Of course… the few times we did manage to catch them in jars, they would of course still be there the next day, but dead. Maybe that’s why our wishes never came true. Maybe… we were supposed to release them all along. So that they can carry that wish away to whomever or whatever can grant it…”
With the little bug panicking between their hands, Nia closed her eyes and meditated on her wish for a moment. Then, when she opened them, she removed her hand, and the insect buzzed and flew away, far away, until it darted well out of sight of its temporary captors. “...some people say you’re not supposed to talk about your wishes, or they won’t come true. I never told my sisters and of my wishes, and none of them ever came true anyway, so… I’m willing to take a chance.” Averting her wide, brown-eyed gaze to the rainbow of flickering lights surrounding them, the Ardane woman turned her attention on Ari, who, to her surprise, also glistened with trails of fresh tears down his warm-toned cheeks. “I wished… for things to go back to the way they were. Maybe not… maybe not with Locque. Obviously, that’s a lost cause, and probably for the better.” She laughed nervously, hoping that he wasn’t under the impression her wish entailed the return of the woman who had single-handedly terrorized the entire kingdom. Truth be told, she had no remaining attachment to the tyrant queen, and had lost all faith in her the moment she had unleashed those invisible monsters on Galeyn. That wasn’t what she meant when she stated she wished for a return to the not-so-distant past. “I mean that I wish for things to return to the way they were… for us. When we were happy and… safe. When I could feel safe around you. I want to feel that way again, because I never wanted to feel wrong about you, Ari. I still don’t want to feel that I was wrong about you, even… if you’re part of the reason I’m technically Galeyn’s prisoner, out and about right now only because my captors have decided to grace me with a small reprieve from my cushy cell.”
This was where Nia felt stuck. The reality of her situation was not something to which she could turn a blind eye in favour of trusting--fully trusting--Ari again. She was still a prisoner; he was still the one who had turned her in, even if he had pleaded for mercy and for her life before the entirety of Galeyn and the D’Marian population. But he… he was still the man she loved. Above and beyond all else, she couldn’t shut down her feelings for him, even in light of his betrayal, because he had already earned a place in her heart. “That’s my wish. What are the chances… you’d be on board with making it come true? As an aside,” her mouth curled into a nervous smile, and she shamefully cast her gaze down at the ground. “If you happen to see your dear ol’ mother around, would you mind passing along an apology from me? I… she came to see me in the dungeons shortly after I was arrested. I didn’t exactly have anything nice to say to her at the time, although she came to reassure me that she was on my side. Not exactly sure of the chances I’ll ever be on her good side, now…”
Deciding that it was probably much easier to catch more of the lightning bugs standing than it was sitting, the Master Alchemist allowed Ari to help her to her feet, and this time, she did accept his cane to abate some of the pressure on her leg. Her eyes were still wet from tears, but, slowly, the trickle down her cheeks ceased. This was not something to cry over; it was something to enjoy! As he had said, the season of these illuminated creatures was as short lived as their lives. And it was more than likely that this would be her one and only opportunity to see them. “I’ll say, these guys are way easier to catch than the Solstice lights in Ilandria. It’s almost like they’re not all that afraid of people; I wonder if that’ll change with assholes like us making wishes on them.” She chuckled and for a moment, stood very still, still enough for another bright orange insect to glimmer its way onto a blooming flower petal. Acting fast, Nia dropped Ari’s cane just in time to trap it between her hands.
“Here. Open your hands.” Turning to the Canaveris lord, she carefully transferred the firefly to his palms, gently closing his fingers around the antsy bug. “It’s your turn to make a wish. You don’t have to tell me what it is; but I’m all ears if you want to.”
She watched as Ari thought for a moment, and then, content with his wish, released the firefly into the darkness to reunite with its brethren, and hopefully attract a mate, as per its initial quest before it was so rudely apprehended. “...I like this method much better. Releasing them after making a wish. No more jars. If only I could go back in time and tell my younger self and my sisters that our wishes likely never came true because we might have been going about it all wrong!”
As they watched the flickering orange bug soar away in loops as swirls, someone else wandered onto the scene, equally as transfixed with the fireflies. The young woman, looking just a few years older than the little summoner that Hadwin was so taken to, was dressed in what appeared to be Gardener’s robes, although they looked… slightly different. The collar was a different colour, and the sleeves were longer, more billowy. At first glance, Nia would have thought it looked rather outdated, although she had no real reference as to the evolution of Gardener’s garb in Galeyn. The young woman’s dark, silky hair was pulled away from her face with a couple of hair accents that resembled white flowers. Her gait was almost childlike as she watched the fireflies, hands clasped behind her back. Her face and skin were very pale, almost translucent as moonlight. “Aren’t they lovely?” She commented to the Canaveris lord and the Master Alchemist, when she finally noted she was not alone in the clearing. “Some of the Gardeners find them distracting. But they’re not around for long; they’re a delightful distraction, to say the least.”
“If they’re not here for long, all the more reason to make a wish on them.” Nia commented, and tilted her head slightly to the side. She had never seen this Gardener before, to her recollection… and yet, she seemed oddly familiar. Why did it feel as though they had spoken before. Seizing the opportunity when it presented itself, she spotted a glowing green firefly hovering just near her face, and caught it between both of her hands. “Here--take it. Make a wish and let it go.”
The Gardener looked startled and uncertain at first, and stared at Nia’s closed hands with uncertainty. Then, after a moment of thought, she opened her hands to receive the tiny bug, held it for a smattering of seconds, and then opened her palms to release it into the night. Like the others, it buzzed and flickered away. “I don’t really have a wish,” she admitted after a beat, her dark eyes following the firefly as it retreated into the night. “Just a question. I’m looking for someone… A man with green eyes. He wears a tunic with dark, green stripes… Would you happen to have seen him?”
The question was rather perplexing to Nia, particularly for the utter lack of description. As if this stranger expected her to know exactly who she was talking about. Then again, Galeyn was a small kingdom… Had she not been confined to the castle for the past several weeks, maybe she would have laid eyes upon this Night Garden regular. “Can’t say I have, but we haven’t gone too far. I’ll let him know someone’s looking for him if I see him.”
“Thank you.” The Gardener smiled kindly. It was the same smile many of the grounded, earthen Gardeners had, but there was something a little different about hers. It seemed a little bit… well, sad. Her dark eyes mirrored the same sentiment. “I’d really appreciate it if you did. Please excuse me for interrupting your evening--enjoy the fireflies while it is their season.”
Reminder of the beautiful rainbow of lights that circled them like falling stars took Nia’s attention away from the Gardener, only for a handful of seconds, but when she turned back in the direction where the young woman had stood just a moment later… no one was there. Not only had she managed to leave in haste, but very silently so. “All of the Gardeners can’t stand me. I don’t think they were on board with my merciful sentence.” The Master Alchemist said to Ari. Her brows knit together in confusion. “But she didn’t seem to even know who I was… weird.”
Haraldur wasn’t prepared for the words ready to spring from his cousin’s lips following her request to allow Nia some private time with the Canaveris lord that evening. At first, he thought he imagined her apology. It had, after all, been a long few days, struggling to maintain peaceful ties between Galeynians and D’Marians and snuffing out any attempted uprisings before they grew in support and scope. As usual, his sleeping schedule remained spotty at best, and it wouldn’t surprise him to mishear or misinterpret someone’s speech. But then Sigrid kept talking, and he kept listening, and found that he was interpreting her confession correctly. Yet, he was dumbfounded, all the same. Perhaps it wasn’t fair to Sigrid, but he wondered what had brought about her sudden change of heart. It was certainly not something he said or did, but, nonetheless...he was grateful.
“Sigrid.” He caught the blonde warrior before she turned to leave, presumably out of embarrassment. Once he reestablished her attention, he did something not typical of the stoic Forbanne commander—and swept her into a hug. “Sigrid. You don’t know how happy that makes me to...of course. Of course you’re welcome to resume your role as Klara’s guardian. You were always her guardian. It was just a matter of when you were ready. We’ll take things slow.” Afraid of overwhelming her with his big gesture of affection, Haraldur withdrew from his impromptu embrace, a small, apologetic smile hanging on his mouth. “Whatever you need, we’re here for you, Vega and I. I understand it will take time, and...well, I’m sure you’re aware that I’m going to support you. If you’re going to enlist your services to the D’Marians, then so be it; I have your back. Also,” his hands, which remained clinging to her forearms, finally dropped to his sides, “I hope that means we’ll see you for supper some evenings. We always have too much food, and...I’ll reintroduce you to the twins. To Klara. They’ve grown so much; you’ll hardly recognize them!”
The question again passed on Nia’s quivering lips, and no secondary kiss arose to interrupt Ari’s response. Why did you bring me here? He could answer in any number of ways and every interpretation would ring true. But he wasn’t sure which explanation she wanted to hear. After giving it some thought, he lowered his head and said, “I wanted to keep my promise to you, Nia. One promise—since I failed you in every other avenue.” He squeezed his fingers tight around her hand, trapping the captured firefly into a relatively inescapable prison. “You spoke of the fireflies as something magical and wondrous and there was no denying the lights that would appear in your eyes at their mention. Their meaning provides you with such joy, and...I suppose I wanted to be privy to it, Nia. Your joy.” The smile he wore on his face faltered. The tears, unchecked, rolled to the bottom of his chin, but thankfully, no more spilled out of his eyelids to take their place. “Forgive my voyeurism. This was not done as a means to manipulate you into accepting me. I fully intended on showing you the fireflies as my last act of love...before retreating to leave you in peace. But—if it is your request that I stay, then I shall stay. Nonetheless, it gladdens me to enjoy this moment.” Like an obsidian mirror, the floating colors lit up his eyes in hues of emerald, gold, amethyst, and garnet, painting a picture of warmth and contentment. “With you.”
At mention of the buzzing firefly trapped in their enfolded hands, he raised his arm, tugging her own to follow in the process, and brought them, along with their unwitting captive, to rest between their chests, folded as though in prayer. “I have never done such a thing before, making wishes on fireflies—let alone cupping one into my hand. But, seeing as I have no jars on my person, I opted for a compromise that would spare the lives of these little glowing critters. It did not occur to me that to release them upon whispering your wish was perhaps more proper or more auspicious than collecting them to serve in a menagerie of sorts—so do not give me too much credit for the idea. It is your wonderful interpretation that has sold for me this humane method of firefly-wish cultivation. So I am in full agreement, Nia. Release this living lantern in miniature, so that it may convey your hopes and dreams to the proper authorities, wherever they may exist and flourish.”
Feeling the muscles of her hand relax and withdraw, Ari also disengaged from her touch, prompting the once-enslaved firefly to launch out of its temporary holdfast and float serenely back to its place of origin, among the collective of blinking, pulsing lights. Mesmerized by their almost rhythmic visual symphony, questions appearing on the upbeats with the answers flashing on downbeats, he almost didn’t hear Nia’s voice beside him. Blinking away the dream-like visions and their meditative flashes from his blurred and softened gaze, he returned to give his companion his complete and undivided attention. When he did, surprise registered on his features at what he just heard.
“You want...that is your wish? Sincerely?” He searched her eyes, finding that they, indeed, radiated truth. He nodded, pressing his hand to the ground in an attempt not to float skyward along with all the other dancing lights. “I...would love nothing more, Nia. To return to how we were. To be given another chance. While I cannot regret what I felt I had little choice but to do, given the suddenness of what happened and the necessity of compromising my plans, please note that I never intended on ‘gambling’ with your life. Should events have taken a turn for the sour, I would have begged Lord Rigas to portal you away from here, to a place of safety, and accepted the consequences, come what may.”
“Alas,” his lips blew forward into a gentle sigh of defeat, “I will not make excuses, nor try to commandeer your valid feelings with trite and tired explanations. To you, I have committed a most grievous betrayal. To you, I have compromised your safety and forced you to live on as a prisoner. These are verified truths, and I will not endeavor to argue them to satisfy my guilty conscience. That said,” he lowered his wobbling knees to the ground, screaming to change positions from their crouch, damning the dirt that would stain his trousers, “you are not aware of how much your wish has...has moved me. To be given this opportunity, it is surely more than I deserve, for the innumerable stresses I have placed upon your heart, and for how they affect you physically. No, it has not escaped my notice. And yes,” he laid a hand over his heart, the heart she saved, concentrating on the gesture to deflect from another fresh spill of tears leaking past his cheeks, “I will endeavor to make your wish come true, Anetania Ardane. That is my solemn vow to you.” He dipped his head at so severe an angle, loose hanks of hair, unbound from his ponytail, tumbled over his features. “I, Aristide Canaveris, kneel here before you, your most humble and obedient servant. I hereby swear to grant your wish. And if there is anything else you desire, ask it of me, and if it is in my power...I shall make it happen.” Apparently, she did have a request for him. Raising his head, he tucked away the loose hair behind his ears and gave the woman before him a reassuring smile. “That will not be a problem. Nadira forgives you. She will not so easily forget how you have saved my life, however much you disregard her attempts to help. The same goes for Sylvie, as well. We are, all of us, at your service.”
Not wanting to squander their hour crouching in the dirt and lobbing declarations of loyalty in lieu of forgetting the primary reason for their outing, Ari lent Nia a hand—and his cane—and guided her to her feet. Happy to watch instead of engaging, he stood aside as a pillar of support, smiling fondly whilst Nia searched and hunted for some more incandescent beetles to capture. “It is entirely possible,” he said in response to Nia’s comment about the languid speeds of their quarry. “I am apt to believe you, as I’ve nary encountered any fireflies before settling here in Galeyn. Stella D’Mare employs a similar tradition, only we implement light magic to mimic the forms of witch lights and ghost lights and fairy lights, all, and send them bouncing on the ocean breeze. They are catchable, but will disseminate into stardust upon contact. Sometimes we implant the lights into flowers and illuminate gardens at eventide, or drop them into the ocean in tribute, a celebration of life and death. And—as you have your Solstice lights in Ilandria, Stella D’Mare has its Solstice festivals, an indulgent affair where parades and floats travel through the main thoroughfares. Each family who participates creates a float to showcase during the parade, to be judged by the master of ceremonies and his council. It should not surprise you to hear that the Rigases and Canaverises are in fierce competition to win the title, and as a result create elaborate sculptures in a bid to secure fame and accolades.”
“And, well,” he frowned, not particularly enthused to admit defeat aloud, “because the Rigases command light, they, by default, create a more impressive spectacle, ensuring their victory--every single year. This might have inspired my grotto,” a nervous laugh peppered the air. “A testament to the tenacity and engineering and creative might of earth mages. What we build does not fade into the night. It remains.” He swept a hand in the direction of the in-progress observatory tower. “Of course, not to discount this,” his hand moved inward, to indicate the compelling scene before them. “Rather, it is a humbling experience. Beauty does not need to leave a legacy. In fact, we can better appreciate what we are about to lose. But look at me, pontificating on worn adages and spouting platitudes. Forgive me, Nia.”
But she did not seem bored, or affronted. In fact, she thought to gift him with his own firefly, a spirited orange bug, its color as alluring as a hearthfire flame. His hands captured that flame, like a brazier, keeping it contained, but lit.
After formulating his wish, he moved one hand aside, and watched the flame release, very much living up to its namesake as it blazed across the night, leaving streaks of embers in its wake. “One shared wish deserves another, especially when it acts as your complement. My wish,” he plucked the fallen cane from the earth, then turned to Nia, “is to reinforce your wish. To make certain I do my level best to bring you stability and happiness—for I never ceased in wanting to make you feel safe, and loved.”
Their intimate moment was interrupted when another figure converged upon the two, seemingly from nowhere. As an earth mage, he was well-attuned to the vibrations under his feet and this woman, a young Gardener by virtue of her similar, but not equivalent, outfit, floated into the woods, weightless, as though she were a firefly wished into human form.
“Good evening, Miss Gardener. I hope you find this evening well?” In spite of his curiosities, Ari did not forget his manners and greeted the woman, lowering into a respectful bow for emphasis. “I concur with your analysis. These fireflies are a most welcome and fascinating distraction. So much so, I prefer to use the term ‘attraction,’ instead, out of appreciation.”
It didn’t escape his attention to see the sorrow swimming in the young woman’s eyes as she released the firefly offered to her by Nia. “Ah, well, I only know of one green-eyed man, but he does not sport a tunic of that color and design. Green-eyed individuals are quite rare, so fortunately for you, he may not be so difficult to locate. Might I have his name, or your name, so we may optimize our search?”
But she was already thanking them and before he could repeat his inquiries, in case she didn’t hear him the first time, she...vanished. No footfalls arriving and no footfalls departing. Had her short tenure as a human reached its terminus, transforming her back into one of the glowing wisps haunting the night with their splashes of color?
“She seemed unfamiliar with me, as well. But that is far from the strangest thing about her,” he mused aloud, staring at the spot she once occupied. “Every grounded creature, however light-footed, makes a vibration. While I am not as sensitive to the subtle shifts and sensations of the earth as Lazarus or other earth mages—I could not tell you a bird has landed on the grass or a worm has emerged from its burrow, for instance—I would detect the approach of a person in my vicinity. She provided no sound on arrival or on departure. Almost as though...she were a ghost. Or,” a jocular grin removed some of the chill from his words, “a firefly, perhaps? The green-bulbed insect you gifted her was not the green-eyed mate she desired. Let us hope she finds her lost companion. Oh!” He punctuated, a stressed syllable more than a shout of exclamation, “before I forget…” From inside his coat pocket, he retrieved something that slinked over his fingers like cool, clanking metal. Like the line at the end of a casting rod, the slinking metal grew taut as it fished something spiky out of the surface of his pocket—a five-pointed, uneven starfish, sharp, jagged...and ugly.
“You abandoned this necklace at the hearing and...I plucked it from the stage in case you wanted it returned, one day.” He stretched open his palm and thrust it forward, the necklace sitting and waiting atop his glove for Nia to take, at her discretion. “Here. It is yours. Alternatively, if you are not yet ready to receive it, I’ll keep it safe in my possession until that day should arise.”
Later that same evening, hours after Ari and Nia’s firefly viewing excursion, Alster was traversing the Night Garden, alone, following a long and fruitless day of mediation. Today, he based himself in one of the many villages surrounding Galeyn’s palace, hoping its proximity would place less of an emotional strain on his drained and careworn body—to no avail. The grievances of the people, Galeynians and D’Marians both, were too numerous to escape, even for a quick reprieve behind the palace walls. More often than not, the grievances in question, posed by D’Marians, had less to do with Galeyn and more to do with him. It was one question in particular, asked by a commoner, a tailor who possessed no magic, that sank him into the throes of despair—not for lack of an answer. The logical side of him provided an adequate response and it placated the tailor for the time being, but after hours, when many had retired to bed, Alster, liberated of his duties and left to his own devices, was reminded of that question, rather, questions, as they spun around and around in his head like mosquitos he could not swat.
How is it that someone as powerful as you could stage a Serpent attack on our village, but not defeat Locque?
If you focused your attention on her instead of fighting those monsters, is it true fewer people would have died, in the end?
It was true. What did Alster actually accomplish? If he prioritized Locque instead of Galeynians and D’Marians, and dispatched her quickly, not only would he have saved more lives, as Locque’s demise would have lifted the darkness and killed the otherworldly creatures outright, but he would have his revenge, and the gnawing sensation that inflamed his stomach raw would have vanished. Instead, he contended with the physical manifestation of his emptiness and resentment. Anything he consumed sank like weights in his gut and stayed, moaning its frustration and beating at the delicate lining of his esophagus, creating painful cramps, constant discomfort, lightheadedness, and nausea. With no outlet for the food he ate, he sometimes induced vomiting, or otherwise, for the temporary relief the purging effects had offered him. Needless to say, he lost interest in eating and, therefore, his abandoned appetite, desperate for nourishment, wore away at his body, diminishing his already minuscule weight. Lean of build though he was, Alster largely consisted of muscle and bone, and as he needed to pay the toll somewhere, his muscles steadily shrank, and deflated.
Originally, he had hoped his Night Garden sojourn, a replacement to Night steed travel, would lift his fractious mood and relax his worries, but on the contrary, it had the opposite effect—when his eyes caught the dead patch of earth whereupon Locque met her fiery end. Weeks later, and no new growth pierced through the gray, ashy earth. It remained a blight on the Night Garden. A scar. A reminder.
Veering off the established path, Alster went towards the bald, barren patch of land, daring to pass his feet over the threshold and enter. The immediate drop of the Garden’s life-bearing energy sloughed from him, replaced only with the intensity of death too dense to siphon and remove in order to clear and replenish the land. From his quick analysis, it was well and truly beyond refertilizing, a sacrificial space good for naught but reflection. So he lowered into a crouch over the dead earth, felt the gritty, superfine silt in his fingers, and reflected.
“It’s petty. It’s childish. But I have to ask. Why?” He said aloud to no one in particular. “Why couldn’t I be the one to defeat her? Why does she get to leave after hurting me so much, before I could repay the favor? In life, she wouldn’t acknowledge me, like I was a useless bug not worth her time. Even when she acknowledged everyone else. I...I just wanted,” he squeezed his eyes closed, trying to level the wavering pitch of his voice, “I just wanted her to notice me.” A hand clawed over his face, trying and failing to stifle a pained sob. “To notice I existed, to notice what she did, to give me any recognition. Anything at all. But she disposed of me so easily and when I returned, still acted like I was gone and defeated. Maybe...maybe I wouldn’t be so filled with...with...rage if she just looked at me as if I mattered!”
Amid his sobs, his steel hand curled into a shivering fist. Black miasma leaked from the fist, spiraling into the shadowy form of a serpent, its cavernous maw unhinging to reveal awful, serrated fangs. “Locque, if some part of you exists somewhere...fight me. Fight me!” It was both a seethe and a shout, delivered in equal parts fury, hatred...and despair. His body quaked with it, singing its unfinished requiem, a requiem liable to wake the dead rather than bring them to rest. More miasma leaked from his fingers, threatening to assail him whole and blacken him with its bitter, self-inflicting poison—and blacken unsuspecting others in his vicinity, were he not careful.
Her joy--that was the reason Ari had brought her here, tonight. Because he wanted to be privy to her joy… just to see her happy again. Nia’s heart swelled just a little bit with the sincerity of Ari’s words, and even more so when he divulged to her his wish--which, he explained, was no different than her own. “Ari, you know you’re allowed to be selfish with wishes, right?” The Master Alchemist gently teased him, but the remnants of tears glittering in her eyes, and the soft smile at the corners of her mouth betrayed her gratitude. “You don’t need to lower yourself to swear your undying servitude to me. What happened with… what you did…”
Nia faltered, trying to find the words. She was through with having him feel guilty for what happened, when so much of it really had largely been beyond his control; something she had always known, deep down, but the night of her arrest and how he had handed her over so willingly left a scar that she couldn’t ignore. But it was only that--a scar. It was there, and perhaps it always would be there, but to far less obvious degrees as time passed. She wasn’t going to refuse to walk because of the painful scarring on her calf muscle; likewise, she wasn’t going to turn her back on Ari any longer, simply because of what had happened weeks ago. It couldn’t be taken back or undone, but she was only further harming herself by not moving forward, when all she wanted was another night in the grotto with the man she couldn’t help but love--or another night like this, surrounded by fireflies, so unlike any she had ever seen before. “I don’t want to think about it anymore, because I’ve been thinking about it far too much, and all I want is to move on from the past. So can we do that? Do you think it’s possible to go back to the way things were before, without… without any of that pain? We saw the fireflies together; now… I want to see another springtime with you. Like you said before.” Her hands curled around one of his, her brown eyes wistful at the memory of them beneath that cherry tree. She hadn’t brought it up, but through her attempted flight from Galeyn, several changes of clothes, and her incarceration, she still had that tiny, crystallized blossom he’d given to her. It had been confiscated at first, upon her arrest, but she had begged the authorities not to dispose of it. Eventually, when her sentence had been reduced and they’d relocated her from the dungeons, they had returned it to her.
“Not to mention… I’d like to be a fly on the wall for one of your D’Marian Solstice parades, if not an active participant. Sounds like a helluva lot of fun.” Nia grinned ear to ear at the prospect. “The Rigases might have a leg up with their celestial magic and all, but have you ever had a Master Alchemist add some flare to your floats? I bet if we went head to head with Alster and Elespeth, we might be a force to be reckoned with. And, Ari?”
Without any hesitation, the Ardane woman drew the Canaveris Lord into a gentle embrace, where they knelt on the ground. How reassuring it felt to share space with someone special again; to hold them close and be held back, knowing that you were valued, just as much as you valued them. “...spout all you want. I’ve missed your words and your voice and all of your artistic ramblings. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who finds so many creative ways to express how and why they find something beautiful.”
Reassured that this touching moment together would not be their last, and that Ari wished for more of them just as much as she did, Nia was not particularly bothered by the unanticipated interruption as the Gardener wandered into view. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that, unlike the other Gardeners, she did not regard the Master Alchemist with disdain; or, congruent with Ari’s uncanny observations, perhaps it was just that her fleeting presence did not seem to take up any space at all. Nia was always happy to share her love of fireflies with anyone who was willing to listen to her childlike ramblings regarding them. There was a sad sort of wonder in the young woman’s eyes, when she accepted the firefly, then let it flutter away into the night… “Now that’s a theory I haven’t heard of before. Fireflies temporarily taking on human forms.” She commented with a soft smile. “I think I’ll settle on that instead of ‘ghost’. Sounds way less creepy. You know, weirdly enough, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her before, but… I dunno. Something about her seems strangely familiar. Maybe it really is all about that ethereal firefly magic. I’m with you, though--I hope she finds who she’s looking for. She seemed kind of… well, kind of sad.”
Before she could ruminate for too long on the ephemeral stranger that had interrupted their magical, romantic evening, Ari reached into his coat pocket as a reminder struck him. Nia followed his hand, as it came away with a very familiar (and, admittedly, very ugly) piece of jewelry, which she hadn’t consciously thought of in what felt like a very long time. The space between her collarbones, beneath the high collar of the tunic she sported to hide it, was red, inflamed, and very obviously scratched from where she clutched her throat unconsciously in the absence of that pendant, but it hadn’t crossed her mind that it was still missing until the moment she saw it nestled in Ari’s gloved palm. “My pendant.” Her words were slow and uncertain. Any other time, and under any other circumstances, she’d have snatched up the piece of jewelry and fastened it quickly around her neck, just as she had done when Hadwin had found it for her the night he’d taken her to Ari’s villa to hide, injured and very sick. But now… Why did it suddenly feel so different?
I’m not alive right now because of Celene. I’m alive because of Ari; because of what he did and said on my behalf to convince Galeyn to spare my life.
“I don’t… I mean, thank you. For finding it and keeping it safe. I’ll admit, I definitely wasn’t in the best state of mind when I went all melodramatic and threw it away.” Curiously, she made no attempt to reach for it, which was perhaps more of an answer that her words could convey. “I… I honestly don’t know how I feel about it now, because if I am being honest, I meant what I said. Well--sort of. I mean, I’ve honestly changed my mind about wanting my initial sentence, but…” Her shoulders drooped, and she averted her gaze from the ugly, oxidized star in Ari’s hand, as if she couldn’t make eye contact with the last gift her older sister had ever given to her. “...I really have been living for my sisters all of this time. I’ve been living for my whole family, because they’re not here to live their own lives. I’ve been living for everyone… but me. For the past decade, they have been my only reason for living, but I want that to change. I want to live for me, now. For… us. Is that okay…?”
Gently, the Master Alchemist closed his fingers over the proffered pendant, and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for being so considerate as to keep it safe. Maybe I’ll want it back, one day, but that pendant was my reason to run and to keep on running. Right now… I want to focus on a reason to stay.” Her chocolate-coloured eyes were filled with as many lights as those tiny, flying insects which surrounded them when she looked into Ari’s. “Help me focus on that, instead.”
Alster wasn’t alone, kneeling in the charred, black soil of the charred, barren and largely abandoned area of the Night Garden--at least, not for long. Soundless steps circled the area. Pale, bare feet tread upon the burnt soil without really moving it, nor disturbing the flowers and flower petals that Galeynians (and even some D’Marians) had left in the spot to commemorate the lives lost to the monster who had died upon that very spot. Where Queen Lilica had risked her own life to take down a single, inexorable pillar of power that never should have belonged to someone so unhinged as Locque. At first, the stranger didn’t see Alster. Her dark eyes seemed fixed on the tiny, glimmering green bug that flew in circles and in loops through the air, as if she were following it. Her pale robes barely moved in the faint, summer breeze, as if she were walking within an entirely different atmosphere than that in which Alster existed.
As the lightning bug twirled and spiraled higher and higher, until it was nearly out of sight, the young woman who looked to perhaps be a Gardener paused and took note of Alster’s face--and his eyes. “...how curious! I was looking for a man with green eyes… and it brought me to you.” The young woman looked up at the disappearing green firefly once more before returning her attention to the stranger kneeling on the ground. “Your green eyes are not the ones that I sought, but it really is curious, all the same. Just like him, you don’t look as though you hail from Galeyn. A woman just told me that these little insects can carry wishes… I wonder if it’s true. I wonder if I...” Her words seemed to trail off along with her thoughts. She clasped her hands in front of her and bowed her head.
“Please forgive me for disturbing your evening. I’m looking for a man with green eyes, with a tunic of deep green stripes… have you seen him? I’m afraid he might still be very hurt, or that… that perhaps another Gardener has found him…” Concern clouded her dark, obsidian eyes, and she took several silent steps forward. When she spoke again, she lowered her voice to barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t… supposed to help him. Not while the Night Garden has been so overtaxed in its capacity to heal, but he… he was dying. And I am a Gardener--what was I supposed to do? Please… please, sir, do not tell anyone what I have done. The other Gardeners and Head Gardeners are all very kind and forgiving, but I’ve gone against orders and protocol. I don’t want to think of what the consequences might be… If that man is... if he is still unwell, I must find him before someone else does. I saved his life--and I must finish what I started. Although…”
The Gardener examined Alster’s face a moment, then knelt upon the charred earth of the Night Garden’s barren scar. Her knees didn’t appear to disturb the earth. “You’re unwell. I won’t walk away from someone I am able to help…” The Gardener reached into what looked like nothing more than a pile of ash in front of her, but… when her hand came away, three fully intact flower petals, one yellow and two alternate shades of blue, sat delicately in her palm. “They say the Night Garden isn’t capable of healing anything beyond physical aliments, but I’ve never believed that to be true. Mind, body and heart are too intricately linked to all be mutually exclusive. This does not replace rest and adequate nourishment, but it will help put your mind at ease.” With a reassuring smile on her lips, she set the three petals in front of Alster. Perhaps she didn’t notice the dark miasma emanating from where he sat, or maybe she just didn’t care, but curiously, the miasma seemed to retreat from where the flowers sat. “Don’t bother with teas--they are too diluted. Consume the yellow petal whole, with plenty of water. Then, the next day, consume the blue ones. If you are able, try and rest near a little hut at the heart of the Garden. It is called the Sanctuary.”
When the Gardener stood, there wasn’t a single trace of dirt or ash on her robes. As if her very form somehow… repelled it. “I don’t know what has brought you here, to Galeyn, or to the Night Garden… but I hope you can find peace and rest, here.”
Following her conversation with her cousin, which left her feeling slightly better than she had before (although she still had no idea how she would be an effective guardian to young Klara), Sigrid spent the remainder of the day alone, deep in thought. It was one thing to realize that now was the time to take strides toward healing, and entirely something else to understand how to go about it effectively. After speaking with Aristide Canaveris, and then smoothing out her relationship with her cousin, she recognized that everything was well on its way to falling into place, but… where did that all leave the matters of her heart?
It was a difficult decision, but ultimately, in lieu of sleeping in the barracks or tents near the Night Garden that evening, the former Dawn warrior opted to return to her chambers at the palace for the first time since she had lost Naimah. She didn’t make it in until after dark on purpose, and when she shut the door behind her, even the gradual fatigue from a day working on the memorial garden was not enough to entice her to sleep in that bed. Not since Naimah had shared it with her the last time she laid her head on that pillow… How am I supposed to move on to a future without you? She thought, as she sat, but did not lie down on her bed. I know I don’t have a choice… but I don’t know how to be as happy as I was with you. You were my future…
It hurt more than she’d imagined, remembering the time the beautiful Kariji woman had spent with her in this room. If she’d had any tears left, she might have cried, but the last time she had seen Naimah’s face, in that space between life and death, it had not seemed as though she’d wanted Sigrid to cry for her. Wherever Naimah was now, whomever she was with on the other side, she was not sad, and not unfulfilled. So, neither would she want Sigrid to feel this way…
“You can’t make me forget you.” The blonde warrior said aloud, when she finally reclined on top of the quilt and stared at the ceiling. Getting under the covers alone was too much; she needed to take things one step at a time. “I won’t forget you…”
It was very late into the night by the time Sigrid fell asleep, and she awoke very early the next morning, well before the sun had risen. Though tired to the bone, it did not stop her from cleaning up, dressing in cleaner clothes, and re-weaving her long, thick blonde braid. When she had still been a part of the Dawn Guard, this would have been the time of day when she’d take to some early morning training, and a part of her desperately wanted to return to that, for stability, if for no other reason. It wasn’t happening this morning; she was still too tired, too out of sorts, but she would try again tomorrow. And she would continue to try, until she achieved some semblance of a routine. Failure today did not predict failure tomorrow.
At the very least, she had the motivation she needed to get out of bed--and, if luck was on her side, she would find the courage to commit to the promise she had made to Aristide Canaveris yesterday.
Sigrid had the decency to wait until the sun had fully risen before she knocked on Bronwyn’s door that morning. The surprise in the faoladh woman’s eyes did not escape her, but neither did it deter her. “Did you think I’d forget so soon that you offered to help out at the D’Marian village?” She lightly teased, and took a step back from the door to give Bronwyn some space. “There’s no rush. If you’re still interested, then eat and do what you need to do to prepare. I haven’t spoken with Lord Canaveris yet, this morning; I can wait until you’re ready, but if you’ve lost interest… then please, don’t indulge me purely out of kindness. I promise I won’t take any offense.”
“To the contrary; I am being selfish,” Ari countered, readying his defense when her teasing tone also revealed its skepticism. “If I weren’t selfish...perhaps I would have allowed you to run.” The admittance threatened to douse some of the secondhand happiness from his eyes, so he focused them towards the brightest, most brilliant cluster of fireflies, and their colorful mating display pacified him. “I feared circumstances would prevent us from a future encounter, or otherwise complicate one, and...I was not ready to lose you. Even now, my wish contains a similar entreaty; to have you near, to regain your loyalty and love, very few requests you ask of me are objectionable. I am simply ecstatic to be given another opportunity to walk alongside you, tonight, enjoying your ever-enchanting company.” Half in earnest, half in playfulness, he scooped up her hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles. “I shall never tire of treating you as a lady, for you are someone most deserving of my ongoing respect and admiration. I do hope you can stomach my relentless fawning,” he drew from her hand and offered a defiant smile, “because I do not intend on stopping anytime soon.”
The smile, however, faded a little in its light-bearing intensity, as if some of the fireflies migrated elsewhere, leaving the bulb-strewn path a mite less illuminated. “If you so easily remember what I declared at the base of the cherry tree, then you will also remember my musings on time. We move forward, Nia. We do not turn back. So let us shift the terminology, shall we? Instead of attempting to reset our history and return to what is gone, let us promise this to one another.” As her hand slipped into his, he folded his fingers over it, like flower petals blooming in reverse; a contrary message to what he was about to convey aloud. “We march onward, together, to our next spring. No retreating to a moment when the petals have already fallen. Why mourn what will surely bud and blossom again, when the cycle repeats? With that said,” giving her hand a little squeeze, he gazed into her shining eyes, “will you herald this new beginning with me, Nia?”
Unbidden, something of a delighted laugh burst from Ari’s mouth, cutting short their heartfelt exchange of relationship vows—but he welcomed the levity, the ease in which he could converse with Nia on any range of subjects and have each one be as appreciated as the last, no matter the wild differences in tone. “If only we had access to a Master Alchemist; perhaps you were our missing ingredient to assured victory, after all. Lord Rigas is not particularly artistic, but he is quite the accomplished illusionist, so I’ve heard, and if he also enlists the services of a Master Alchemist, then I’d say our competition is rather fierce, yes? Joking aside,” his eyebrows furrowed, his expression turning thoughtful for a moment, “I wonder...if we could introduce such a spectacle of a parade in Galeyn. The celebration itself would be too belated for honoring the Solstice, but timing aside, one needs no excuse to host a jubilee of sorts and make merry, and this kingdom is desperate for morale. I shall have to pose this idea to her Majesty, once she convalesces in full. Ah, thank you, Nia, for providing me the platform for my self-indulgent ruminations, for I would not have conceived of such an ambitious plan, otherwise.”
But before he was able to demonstrate his appreciation through an intimate act of physicality, she outpaced him by a few seconds, and enfolded him into an embrace. Oh, how he pined for her delicate gestures, always deliberate in their ministrations, and considerate for his comfort levels and touch-related limitations, which sometimes varied, depending on the day. Such limitations, however, rendered themselves nonexistent when he long-yearned to hold her, as before, especially when he thought his far-flung wish impossible until tonight. Already, the fireflies were proving themselves quite capable of spinning dreams into reality. Closing his eyes, he rested his head against the crook of her neck and pulled her closer, his mouth aligned with her earlobe. A sigh of contentment escaped his lips, blowing its warm air to tickle her cheek like the essence of a kiss. “And I have missed everything about you,” he whispered straight into her ear. “So much so, I am afraid I’ve lost my ability to paint an adequate explanation of my wanting through words alone. You must excuse me; I am losing my senses, but it is to be expected, considering how being in your presence arrests my heart—in the best possible way.”
While the Gardener’s interruption startled him out of his reverie, forcing him to withdraw from Nia’s embrace and stand (lending his hand for her to do the same), he, too, found that this woman’s entrance didn’t disturb or annoy him, the roots of his good mood ran that deep. When the mysterious Gardener departed—rather, disappeared—the two naturally returned to their evening’s rhythms with ease. “Perhaps we will see her again. If she is, in fact, a Gardener and not a firefly in human skin, that is,” the playfulness in his voice re-emerged. Like Nia, he also preferred the idea of fireflies carousing as humans in the moonlight, over ghost hauntings, and as far as they were concerned, it was exactly how they would interpret the sighting—unless more evidence came to light.
Curiosity tugged at his serene features when Nia hesitated to reclaim the pendant from his proffered hand. Before he could inquire, she offered her explanation freely and in lieu of concern, his expression brightened. “You have certainly put much thought into the symbolism surrounding your sister’s necklace. But in that case, very well.” Withdrawing the prickly, misshapen star, he deposited it back into his pocket, taking care not to have the dagger-sharp tines stab him as he rearranged it to rest along the cushy lining inside. “I shall keep it in a safe place, should you one day request its return.” Thank the heavens, he thought, hiding his palpable relief. That thing was truly an eyesore of hideous proportions.
“Of course that is ok, Nia.” He cupped the side of her face, his thumb caressing her cheek. “It is more than ok. I think it is a beautiful sentiment, in keeping with our mutually shared promise to move forward. My thoughts, as of late, have been of a similar bent. I have been focusing too much on emulating my brother.” It was the first he spoke of his doubts, to anyone. Not to Lazarus, or his mother. Neither of them knew the circumstances behind the remnants of Casimiro’s statue all succumbing to dust. At the time, he thought only of destroying his creations in a fit of lamentation over his inability to preserve and nurture his most sacred treasures, but perhaps he shattered Casimiro’s statue for different reasons. You are not your brother. Alster Rigas spoke that assertion to encourage Ari to withdraw his statement of aggression and collaborate on a peaceful solution on behalf of Nia’s life. Hadn’t Ari uttered something similar to his mother, recently, in defense of his actions? I am not Casimiro. So then why was he so preoccupied with copying his mannerisms, his policies, his perfections? While it might be too late to separate the persona he crafted from the man, like a mask he attached to his face, which absorbed and assimilated with his true face impossible to wrench apart, at the very least, he could attempt to allow shafts of his authentic self to shine through—for Nia’s sake.
“I have been so determined to keep his torch lit, his legacy alive, that I have forgotten to...to live for myself. I suppose we are blisteringly similar in that regard, hm?” He cocked his head, and the tilt of an abashed smile followed. “Therefore, I am very much on board with your proposal. Let us remain here, the two of us, and live for ourselves.” To punctuate his words, he captured Nia’s lips in a kiss. “Alas,” he frowned, disappointment quickly setting in where joy once proliferated, “our outing is fast approaching its end. But there will be many more to come!” He rounded an arm around her waist, steadying her against him, as they gave the den of fireflies one last wondering appraisal. “Look forward to them, as I surely will.”
Hatred gripped Alster’s chest, twisting his magic into some grotesque mockery of its original form. He felt the poison drip, drip, drip, contaminating the pool that contained his pure and radiating essence. Aware of what he’d sapped from the soil, some residual holdover of Lilica’s released toxicity, a sensation he recognized from the last time it blackened his heart and almost impelled him to kill the then dark mage out of rage, he didn’t resist its validating pull that whispered for him to surrender. Surrender to your basest emotions. You’ve stifled them for far too long, now. Release them. Free yourself of the burden.
The wall of miasma thickened, emanating smoke rings from the soil so thick and viscous, they almost behaved like water, flowing and oozing skyward, heedless of gravity. The chthonic serpent, drawn to this feast of dense, raw energy, sucked and suctioned the smoke, growing fat from the offerings, bulging in size and killing intent. He was ready for whatever, whoever came at him. Ready to strike and snatch and tear and destroy. Everything he had been made to store and suppress in his gut for well over a year, the core of his hatred for Locque, exploded outward, coalescing with the slivers of toxic magic he siphoned from the ground. To free the monster of resentment lurking from within, munching at his insides and sharpening its claws against his organs, tearing them to shreds, was so liberating, like an anchor lifted from his neck. He floated to the surface, buoyed, and breathed for the first time. No water in his lungs. He wasn’t drowning, no, not anymore.
But his world was black. And impossibly dark. And he didn’t know where to go. Where to aim, first. What to destroy.
Then, he heard a voice in the black waters. A yellow-green light flashed in the far distance, like a lighthouse beacon searching for lost ships at sea. He swam to it, to the light, to the voice, and when he drew near, he opened his eyes…
And saw a pale-faced Gardener regarding him with curiosity.
Green eyes. He blinked, confused. Was she referring to him? His eyes were usually more blue than green, the color of a tranquil southern ocean, turquoise-teal and gentle, rarely turbulent, but how could she see a wink of that color amid so much darkness? Perhaps the green she saw was the color of the bilious ichor that churned around him like a maelstrom. What was she doing here? Did she not see the miasma? Was she not afraid?!
Then, she spoke again, and what she said was akin to injecting cold water in his veins. I’m looking for a man… Wasn’t he familiar with this story? He had seen snippets of this history. The man with the green-striped tunic, an overburdened Night Garden, littered with the bodies of sick and infirm, a young, sweet-natured woman desperate to help one, to the detriment of many…
Was this some kind of cruel trick?!
He knew this woman, for she was exactly who he was searching for, but...not quite. Not...not her.
His confusion deepened, his hatred losing traction under the pull of this young woman’s...soothing energy. Just as it soothed, it was awash with unprecedented sadness. Tears fed that ocean wave, but they provided some antidote to the caustic, bilious bitterness that fed him...and he couldn’t rightly understand why. He hated this woman. Despised her existence. Cursed her to suffer a million eternities tumbling through space. Yet...he couldn’t bring himself to despise this iteration. She, so wide-eyed and innocent, who longed for a just and fair world where none existed…
This isn’t who I asked for. This isn’t who I want to fight!
She knelt beside him, suddenly, and looked at him, really looked at him. As though he mattered. His breath hitched in his throat and he almost barked at her to stay away, but...he couldn’t do it. Not when she was extending a hand to help him. He watched, fascinated, as the ash pile in her hand transformed into three petals, not fabricated, not an apparition. They chased the miasma as she set them down before him. He stared at the offering, hesitant to accept the gift. Finally, his fingers laid on top of the petals, protecting them from sailing off in the summer breeze. As suspected; they had tangible form. Their silken texture brushed against his palm. Real. All real.
The miasma retreated, growing smaller, the oily substance sloshing downward, into the ground whence it came. The smoke serpent, displeased, gnashed its jaws and disseminated, dispersing on the winds like a banner of defeat.
And Alster, still confused, hunched over this small kindness, floods of silent tears streaking down his face.
“I...I know who you are. You’re Locque. Your name is Locque,” he said, his whisper breeze-light and soft, but in his naming, there followed no barbed tongue of hatred or anger. Only...bafflement. Defeat. Uncertainty. And weariness. “Why...” he closed the hand which held the petals into a loose fist, and cradled it against his chest, “Why did you come to me like this? Why...show me any kindness?”
But he knew the answer. Because the figure before him represented the remaining vestiges of purity and goodness that still resided, deep within Locque’s heart. When she was defeated, those vestiges released into the Night Garden, forming an imperfect shade of the woman she once was, long, long ago, before darkness corrupted her. And here she stood, reaching him, preventing him from succumbing to a similar fate.
Having dispelled his chthonic magic, Alster stumbled to his feet and to address the apparition properly—but she was gone. Vanished. Like she never existed...save for the three petals in his hand that proved the hard-to-swallow truth behind the encounter.
Still dazed, unsettled, and shaken, Alster wiped away his tears with the back of his sleeve, and found himself inextricably wandering in the direction of the sanctuary, somehow following the young Gardener’s advice as instructed. When he reached the doors to the small hut, he turned to one of the guards on duty, stationed there to protect the queen, who was still recuperating inside. “Do you have room for one more patient? Just...for an evening or two. Would you tell my wife that I checked myself in here and to assure her that I’m not injured or hurt? And…” after he was given clearance to enter, he paused before opening the door, “could I trouble you for a carafe of water? Maybe two?”
Although Bronwyn was naturally an early riser, the difficulty in occupying a room without windows—a room still warded to seal Alster’s magic and one she never bothered to exchange for a sunnier one, at risk of sounding ungrateful—was that she seldom knew the hour, upon waking. Sometimes, she would rise well before dawn and other times, mid-late morning, embarrassingly before the lunch bell rang. For the most part, she grew accustomed to the interior room, relying on other senses to gauge the hour. The more frequent the sound of footfalls outside her chamber, for example, the later the day.
Today, she guessed it was early, just barely after sunrise, when she received a knock at her door. Strange. Usually, Hadwin would barge in (though he was becoming marginally more considerate), but he would never disturb her at a time when he was still asleep. Elespeth, too, hadn’t been calling on her, either, likely because she believed Bronwyn was angry with her and required space, on top of running errands for the kingdom, where needed.
After throwing on her loose-fitting tunic and trousers—a deliberate preference in case of an emergency transformation—she fixed her hair into its usual ponytail and opened the door.
Her surprise was palpable; so much so, that her visitor saw fit to comment on it.
“Sigrid! Excuse my reception. I just...didn’t think you knew where I lived? Not that you couldn’t find out from the palace staff, of course,” she said, giving the side of her nose a self-conscious scratch. “But no! I haven’t forgotten. It’s...well, what’s the time?” She peeked behind the blonde warrior’s head, trying to determine the position of the sun from the far-off corridor window scraping the edge of her vision. “Ah, no matter. To be honest, I haven’t done much of anything today, save wake up, but it wouldn’t take me long to pack and I don’t need to eat.” As if wanting to expose her lies, her stomach let out a low growl just then. She covered the affected area with her hands, making her hunger all the more obvious. “Disregard that!” She said, nervously. “So I am hungry but really, I’ve been hungry ever since I set foot on Galeynian soil. No offense to the cuisine here, but...it’s very difficult for a carnivore to get by. Fish is fine but...not great, and people aren’t...I don’t think they’d appreciate it if I wandered around as a wolf so soon after…” she looked down at her feet, choosing not to finish the thought. “Ah,” realizing she drifted off for a moment, she jolted into action. “I’m being idle! Excuse me—give me a moment!”
She dashed inside her chambers and a moment was all it took for her to pack her personal effects into a bag, of which there was startlingly little. Two sets of clothes and a small purse of money comprised her paltry livelihood.
Not five minutes later and she was locking the door behind her, looping the canvas bag around her shoulder. “I’m ready. Let’s go!”
When they reached the base floor of the observatory tower, they encountered not Aristide but his mother, Lady Nadira Canaveris, who was overseeing the construction process in her son’s stead. Upon inquiring, she informed them that Aristide was at the D’Marian village, making preparations for Sigrid’s arrival, and that a carriage would be arranged to take her and a guest to the Canaveris villa, shortly. “In an hour,” she calculated, somehow managing to appear elegant in a dusty work jumper and apron, hair bound and cloth mask covering half of her face. “Meet the carriage driver at the palace entrance promptly at the tenth bell.”
“Maybe we’ll have time for a small meal, after all,” Bronwyn said, following their formal retreat from the Canaveris matron. “Have you eaten? Forgive my prying, but...it seems like you haven’t. We can get something now if you’d like. Might be for the best if we stay out of sight.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper and leaned into Sigrid’s ear. “I relayed your message to Hadwin yesterday...and now he’s promised to get payback by hounding you with his insufferable company at the soonest opportunity. Let’s keep a low profile and get out of this place as soon as possible, before it’s too late and he’s found us.”
Nia did not regret her words or her decision to put the pendant away for the time being. While she would never admit it aloud, she, too, had always found it to be something of an eyesore which frankly resembled a weapon more than it did a piece of jewelry. But a part of her wondered if somewhere, wherever Celene was, she was feeling just as betrayed as Nia had when Ari had turned her in. Would the ghost of her sister haunt her in her dreams, along with her dead mother, now that she had removed the very last thing that had linked the two of them. She’ll understand… and if she doesn’t, then she will have to learn to. Surely, Celene would rather her move on and live a happy land fulfilling life to honour the Ardane family instead of cling to vestiges of the past that she would never get back.
“Your brother… Casimiro’s statue. It was crushed when you were attacked by that monster.” She settled a sympathetic gaze on the Canaveris lord. “I remember. You had no choice but to move on from that commemoration… If you are able to do so, then I will find the courage to do the same. I’m tired of running and running without a destination. I want… a purpose. And something to look forward to. I wanna live for our promises.”
Ari’s kiss was a reminder of those promises, and it was all that Nia needed to feel convinced she’d done the right thing, and chosen the right path--and the right person. “...I’m gonna play my cards right. Play the game, do it well, and earn more of these little freedoms. In hopes that we really can go back to the way things were. You know… with me sneaking in your window at ungodly hours of the night.” The Master Alchemist grinned and held his warm hands. Hers still trembled, but a lot less violently when she was relaxed and happy in his company, it seemed. “...but if we want more liberties, then I’ve gotta prove I can play by the rules tonight. We should go back before they come looking for me. But will… you come with me? Back to the palace? Forget the carriage; we’ll get there too fast. Just walk with me. It isn’t far… and it’ll be easier if I can borrow your cane. I promise not to complain. Well…” She winked. “Not too much, anyway.”
Following Alster’s decidedly uncanny encounter with a woman who had almost defeated him along with an entire kingdom, the Gardeners did not hesitate to make space for him in the Sanctuary, given his dazed and disoriented state. With the gradual yet sure recovery of the casualties of the now dead witch’s vengeance, and the return of Sigrid’s strength and soundness of mind, only Queen Lilica remained as a patient at the heart of the Night Garden. After excessive use of tonics to keep her fever at bay, and then nearly collapsing before her entire kingdom, the Head Gardener had all but ordered her to strict bed rest without the use of herbs or medicines to mitigate her symptoms which accompanied the fever, forcing her to ride it out until it broke and dissipated on its own. As a result, Galeyn’s queen spent the majority of her days sleeping off the symptoms of ailments the Night Garden had forced on her to burn away her darkness once again, and she didn’t so much as stir when another patient entered the sanctuary to take up a bed across from her.
No one asked what ailed Alster in particular, but considering no one ever willingly checked themselves into the sanctuary, neither did they question the legitimacy of his arrival. Upon his request, he was given water and guided to a cot, and instructed to call on the attending Gardeners if he needed anything. But what the Gardeners did not know was that he had already been tended to, and was already given his medicine in the form of three simple flower petals. And no sooner did Alster consume the first petal--the yellow one, as per the ghostly Gardener’s instructions--that he drifted off to a deep sleep.
His sleep was not dreamless, however. In fact, it was vivid--so vivid, it was as though he were watching a scene play out before his very eyes. That scene took place in Galeyn, although it seemed slightly--different. In particular, the Gardener’s robes appeared different, and the presence of the Dawn Guard was ample… although many had fallen. A battle had recently taken place and found its conclusion, but not without claiming or threatening the lives of the soldiers from a neighbouring city who had dedicated themselves to protect a kingdom without ample defenses of its own. The Night Garden was not currently a place of leisure; the injured and the dying well overflowed the sanctuary, with many battered bodies lying directly on the ground to absorb the most of the healing energies that Garden had to offer. Gardeners ran to and fro, sleepless and obviously overtaxed… all except for one.
She knelt at a far corner of the Night Garden, over a man in a green-striped tunic that was bloodied at the front. Though appearing barely awake, barely alive, he managed to speak to her through his pain. “...I’m a thief. The whole reason I’m here… was to steal.” He rasped. There was blood on his lips; he looked to be in immense pain. “Why… do you help me?”
“Because you are in need of help, and I am a Head Gardener.” She replied, as her hands mixed a hurried paste in a mortar with a stone pestle. “...I’ve seen you before. Time and again in Galeyn. You pass through, and you steal… but I have also seen why you do it. I’ve seen who you are trying to help.” Her dark eyes softened as she rubbed some of the paste on the inside of his lips for him to consume. “You do the wrong thing, but for the right reasons… just as I am doing now, I suppose. Now stop speaking.” She looked up, wide-eyed, hoping that no one bore witness to her treating someone who did not sport the Dawn Guard’s indigo tunic. “Please rest. Struggling to stay awake resists the Night Garden’s ability to mend your wounds… if all goes well, then you will heal from the inside out. I intend to make sure of it.”
Before she could stand, his weak fingers caught her sleeve, and she found herself met with a pair of warm, green eyes. “...no Gardener. Not you. You’re… some beautiful… goddess of mercy.”
True to her word, Locque did make sure that the stranger recovered in full, for she spent the night directing whatever sway she had over the Night Garden’s energies to the thief who she knew stole on behalf of a traveling community of orphans, waifs, and other unfortunate misfits who did what they had to do to see the light of day each morning. Though even she hadn’t realized just how well she had succeeded in accomplishing the impossible and healing a man overnight. The next morning, he was nowhere to be found… and she had to be very, very careful as to whom she asked about his whereabouts.
“I’m looking for a man… he had green eyes, and a green-striped tunic,” she approached a conscious Dawn Warrior, who was stable, but still recovering from an arrow wound that had narrowly missed his heart. “Have you seen him?”
“I have.” From behind, a handful of Gardeners approached Locque. Their faces were solemn and… betrayed. “Locque… please come with us. There is something grave we must discuss.”
And grave it was, indeed. For the first time in recorded history, a handful of Night Garden patients had succumbed to death, all of them warriors of the Dawn Guard. The only conclusion anyone could draw was that the Night Garden’s energies must have been manipulated and redirected to another source, thereby failing to sustain fragile life… and, as it turned out, more than one had taken note of the injured man Locque had been treating, who distinctly was not of the Dawn Guard. “I… I’m sorry. I know it was wrong,” the Head Gardener wrung her hands, “and I abused my authority, but he was a casualty of a battle that never should have included him. I am a Gardener. It is not in my nature to turn away someone in need.”
“The Dawn Guard fought, fell, and died for Galeyn, Locque.” An elder Gardener shook his head sadly. He wouldn’t make eye contact. “Regardless of our nature, we owed it to the Dawn Guard to prioritize them, given our alliance. And now… now, the unthinkable has happened, and our watch. Now, we must face Braigdath and explain that we have let them down, despite that they came through for us and defeated the small army that sought to possess the Night Garden’s capabilities. All because you broke your oath and manipulated the Night Garden at your whim. Locque…” Finally, he looked up, and like the Gardener’s surrounding him, there was no anger in his face. Only sadness. “We have already spoken with His Majesty on this matter, and it has been decided… that you must leave Galeyn, immediately. And that you… are not permitted to ever return.”
The scene shifted, then, from the carnage in the Night Garden to an unfamiliar road through the woods. It was not Galeyn any longer, but one of the many roads that led away from the kingdom, and Locque walked it alone. The former Head Gardener had nothing to her name but the robes that no longer represented anything meaningful--not even survival skills on her side. Having grown up privileged among the Gardeners, she had lived a sheltered life, one that hardly required her to so much as gather her own food, let alone understand how to survive the elements. It had been several days since her exile from Galeyn, and as she wandered, tired and hungry, she finally ran out of endurance when she found herself caught in a rainstorm. With the winds too strong to push against, the former Gardener found the only shelter she could at the base of a large tree trunk to wait out the storm. She was exhausted; her body was sore, her clothes were drenched, and her heart was heavy and homesick, and eventually she fell asleep shivering. When she awoke, sometime later, she was dry, warm, sporting different clothes, and beneath the shelter of a tent. And, to her side, was a familiar face, and familiar green eyes…
“We found you unconscious outside our encampment… you were well on your way to losing to hypothermia.” His face was scrunched up with concern, a deep crease between his brows. “I know you you are, where you’re from, and what you did for me. What the hell are you doing, all the way out here?”
The man with the striped tunic and green eyes… he had saved her. Returned her favour and brought her to safety. “Galeyn… isn’t my home anymore,” she explained softly, her voice hoarse and her throat raw. “But… thank you. For your kindness…”
“That so? It just so happens that we lot don’t have a home, either.” The green-eyed man smiled and offered her a cup of water. “You’re free to tag along and find a home with us, if it suits you. It’s the least I can do. I wouldn’t be alive right now if not for you.”
“I think… I’d like that.” Locque replied, and with a sad smile, she accepted the water.
But it became evident very soon, that despite how she drew closer and closer to the man she had saved, Locque never felt at home in the little vagabond troupe. And it didn’t escape the man’s attention when she fell into quiet phases where she stared off into the distance for hours at a time, not to mention her utter lack of life skills, such as foraging through the forests for food and crafting basic clothing items out of scraps. The former Gardener was completely out of her element, and far from thriving, and despite how she protested otherwise, the green-eyed man knew he was the reason for this.
“You’re denying the truth. I know why you’re here.” He said to her one evening, as they sat around a fire (one that she had failed in starting all on her own). “You weren’t supposed to help me. They kicked you out, didn’t they? Galeyn punished you because of me.”
The young woman wouldn’t look him in the eye. Instead she stared into the fire, though melancholy hung off of her like her loose clothing. “Please understand… I have no regrets, regardless of Galeyn’s decision. You were dying. I wouldn’t have found a way to live with myself, had I let you die, knowing I could save you…”
“...then we will circle back to Galeyn. And I will personally ask them to reconsider. We all will.” He gestured to the expanse of the encampment. “We won’t stop fighting until you are home again, Locque.”
“But--really, it’s alright. I… miss Galeyn. But…” A small smile played on her pink lips when she looked up. “I’m happy here. I’m happy to be with you.”
“Then perhaps I will have to see what it takes to become part of Galeyn, myself.” He mirrored her smile, and reached across the little fire to take her hand. It was the first time she had felt a hopeful warmth in her chest in so, so long…
And it would be the last time, for when the vagabonds and thieves made their way back to Galeyn, negotiations did not exactly go as planned. As per his word, the man in the striped tunic demanded an audience with those who’d made the decision to exile their most powerful (and probably most kind-hearted) Gardener, but they would not hear him. In fact, they very narrowly saw him, and he barely made it to the palace gates when the guards on duty took note of his weapons and interpreted his anger as hostility.
Locque knew something was wrong when it took him so long to return. A split-second decision at the last minute encouraged her to push her way past the kingdom’s border and into the central capital, in search of the one who had so desperately sought to speak on her behalf. She found him, eventually… but not before he had been cut down, a fatal wound at his neck.
“No… no! You must get help! Take him to the Night Garden!” She frantically ran to the fallen man’s body, making demands on the very people who had ended his life, but in her heart, she knew it was too late. “Please! Why won’t you help him?! What… what has this kingdom become!”
She couldn’t find a pulse, nor breath. His green eyes, once mischievous and full of life… were dull. There was no life left in them. “...you took him. You took everything from me. My home. My… my dearest friend.” Something dark and hot began to gather in the pit of the former Gardener’s stomach. Tears streaked her face, but her eyes… something pained and violent flickered in her eyes that no one had ever seen before. “You took everything… and you will know how it feels. One day, you will feel what I am feeling, if it is the very last thing I ever do. That…” She pointed a finger past the guards, and at the palace. To the king she couldn’t see, who would one day be the grandfather of the one who sent Galeyn into a hundred year sleep. “That is my promise.”
“Alster… Alster, wake up. It’s me--it’s Elespeth.” When Alster finally awoke in the sanctuary the next morning, his wife was at his side, gently shaking his shoulders. Her face was a study in concern. “You were thrashing about… the Gardeners weren’t able to wake you. So they sent for me. Are you.. Are you alright?”
She dabbed perspiration from the Rigas mage’s face and placed a cup of water in his hand. “They said you came here tonight… because you were unwell. I was so tired last night I hadn’t even realized you hadn’t come home. What happened…?” The former knight’s green eyes strayed to the two remaining flower petals on the table beside Alster’s cot. “Have the Gardeners prescribed you something? Alster, if you are unwell, please be transparent with me. I thought we were no longer keeping secrets… I had hoped as much.”
“There’s no rush, you know.” Sigrid tilted her head at Bronwyn’s frantic apology, mixed up with explanations. “It’s very early--and I haven’t eaten either. Gather what you need, then we can approach Lord Canaveris. He’s a reasonable man; I highly doubt he will take offense to us partaking in a meal before voluntarily working for the D’Marians. We’ll see if we can find something more appealing to you than fish and vegetable meals.”
The former Dawn Warrior waited patiently for the faoladh woman to prepare herself, and was frankly impressed at the speed at which she was able to do so, considering she had come by, largely unannounced, and on the assumption that Bronwyn actually wanted to pursue this alongside her. After all, Sigrid had still been entertaining the possibility that she might have only offered to be nice.
It was not Aristide who they ran into near the ground floor of the observatory tower, but rather, a woman who they had come to understand was his mother. While her reputation rather preceded her, she was nothing but helpful in her instructions as to when and where they might find her son, and as it turned out, they did have time for a quick meal. “I have fully come prepared not to draw attention to myself,” Sigrid agreed, and pulled up the hood that hung behind the collar of the gray tunic she sported. “But not to hide from your brother; I can take him on any day, any time, and for any reason. I’m just… not sure the D’Marians will receive me particularly well. At least, not until Aristide tells them to. Follow me,” she gestured with her arm before leading the way. “I think I know where you can find something palatable… provided I’m still welcome in the establishment.”
Sigrid led her companion through the winding streets of Galeyn’s capital city, established in the perimeter all around the palace, and stopped just outside of a bakery, where an older woman was busily kneading bread on a counter. Taking a tentative step inside, she cleared her throat to catch the woman’s attention. “Marda… it’s been a while. I…” Feeling suddenly shy and anxious, she took a step back, toward Bronwyn, just like she had when facing Lord Canaveris. It was reassuring, knowing she wasn’t alone. “I’m not sure if I should even be here--if I am overstepping, feel free to ask me to leave…”
“Sigrid? Of the Dawn Guard? Please, please come in! Your friend, too! Oh, Sigrid,” the kind woman wiped her flour-dusted hands on an apron and approached a shelf full of freshly baked goods. “Sigrid, dear Sigrid, I have sorely missed seeing you and that lovely lady friend of yours stop by. It’s such a blessing to see you again, looking healthy… and being yourself. I’ve wondered about you since… well, since this kingdom fell to its darkest hour. I am just happy you are alright. Please, tell me what I can get for you, and,” she tilted her head at Bronwyn, “your new lovely lady friend?”
“Ah…” A flush crept across Sigrid’s face. Marda meant well; she was just trying to be friendly, and had already welcomed them both into her establishment, probably eager to chat. The blonde warrior didn’t have the heart to correct her and cause her any embarrassment. “I don’t suppose your husband has been out hunting beyond the kingdom’s borders, since they reopened to travel recently?”
“Oh--well, as a matter of fact.” Marda snapped her fingers. “I know exactly what you’re after. He returned from a hunting trip just a few days ago, and you can bet we’ve made the most of it!”
The elderly baker shuffled off to a room in the back, leaving Sigrid awkwardly shifting her weight from side to side in the silence that elapsed. “...I’m sorry for that. She… you see, I used to bring Naimah, my significant other here frequently because Marda and her husband are great admirers of the Dawn Guard, and when her husband came back with the spoils of a hunt, she would bake pastries specifically for the Dawn Guard, since she so ardently believes we need the meat to stay strong. They’re not foods that are available to the rest of the public; not even the palace guards are in on this secret. I have a feeling Haraldur and the Forbanne aren’t, either. Yet, I am no longer part of the Dawn Guard, and you… probably didn’t expect or want her to assume we’re… that is… so close. But,” with a sigh, she shrugged and clutched her elbows. “I am hungry, and so are you. So I’m willing to swallow my moral high ground and play up to all of her expectations this time around if it means getting a savoury meat pasty, if you are.” A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "I promise it'll kill your craving for another animal's flesh, at least for a little while."
Although he prefaced his arrival on the assertion that he was without injury, Alster wasn’t being entirely truthful. In terms of sustaining physical damage, yes, he lacked the requisite dents, scratches, and gashes on his corporeal body. Spiritual and magical damage, on the other hand, took its toll on him, manifesting as aches and pains, an ocular headache, flushed, hot skin at the onset of fever, a heaviness that dragged his limbs about like weights, and a pall floating over his mind like bog mist. Curiously, his stomach, which before acted as a receptacle absorbing all his stored hatred and resentment over the long months spent stewing over Locque’s demise, no longer suffered an affliction, as if Alster well and truly let free the demon churning inside. But to where, he wondered? Sealed in the dead earth, or dispersed by the energies of the disease-fighting Night Garden?
His sentiments towards Locque, after all, hadn’t yet shifted. They merely grew...more complicated. The resentment, taking the form of the bilious liquid still swimming in his veins, wasn’t extinguished, merely pacified. Dormant. He felt a bruise over his aura, an ugly purple welt splashed on the canvas like an accidental ink stain. Though it didn’t expand in size or blacken, neither did it show signs of fading on its own. Whatever combination of near-disasters he summoned—a perfect threefold storm of combining toxins from the earth, from the person, and from the soul into a deadly, destructive cloud—wreaked significant havoc on the self. Luckily, it only happened to the self, but he couldn’t deny the potential disaster if any passerby came upon his circle of miasma.
Recognizing the danger he had become, which also didn’t escape the notice of his unlikely and intangible benefactor, he entered the sanctuary, granting the guards and the attending Gardeners on duty no reason other than ‘fatigue.’ Not that he was handing out a false diagnosis. In the barest of terms, he was experiencing fatigue. But if he divulged the full story, not only would he cause unnecessary panic among Galeynians who barely escaped under the shadow of Locque’s wrathful rule, but they might deem him a madman. And maybe...the title wasn’t unfounded. The three colored petals tucked in his hand served as sole evidence disproving his descent into madness, but even they might represent a false lead. In his vivid hallucinations, perhaps he misremembered how he came upon the flower petals, and that he in actuality had plucked them, himself. Dare he still ingest them? For, if it had been Locque who prescribed him the cure, wouldn’t it be all the more reason not to trust the properties of his medicine? While he trusted his ability to read energy patterns with accuracy and sensed nothing hostile from the youthful aspect of his most reviled enemy, he couldn’t rule out the possibility of foulplay—from beyond the grave.
“Thank you,” he said to the Gardener who handed him a tin full of water. Upon his cot, he glanced across the darkened room, to the singular figure in the corner, her chest gently rising and falling in the throes of deep slumber. Were she awake, Alster could probe Lilica for her opinion, but he suspected her insights would be few. No one, save for the deceased necromancer, knew better the behavior and capabilities of ghosts, but he wasn’t completely ignorant or uninformed about what he’d allegedly seen.
With care, he selected the yellow petal from the nightstand beside his cot, twirling the satiny, dainty thing between his flesh and blood thumb and forefinger. “Nothing can kill me in the Night Garden,” he muttered to himself, nodding along to his words almost hypnotically. Convinced of his next step, he took the gamble, popped the petal into his mouth, and chased it down with plenty of water. Moments after consumption, a sudden drowsiness overtook him. Eyes fluttering shut, his head fell upon the pillow, and he drifted into a deep, deep slumber.
He was in Galeyn, still, standing in the Night Garden, but it slightly differed from the kingdom with which he’d grown familiar. The Gardeners, for one, possessed a garb he never saw worn, and the Dawn Guard proliferated the surroundings, as common in abundance as wildflowers on a mountainside, and all wilting from various bodily injuries. But his brief wanderings over this post-battle scene shifted to another direction when he spotted a youthful Gardener kneeling over a green-eyed man...wearing a striped tunic.
“I know about this already,” Alster said aloud, to the skies, to the Gardener, to the dream itself, whichever was listening, in a bid to lodge himself free, prematurely. Well-acquainted with the structure and atmosphere of a dreamscape, it seldom took him long to parse figment from reality—a skill he honed and sharpened as a defense mechanism in the event he succumbed to another sleeping curse. Knowing he was dreaming was the first and most essential step in escaping. “I saw this in Locque’s fractured memories. I don’t need to see it again to understand.” But in truth, he viewed only out-of-order snippets and fuzzy, hard-to-discern images. Evenso, he managed to make sense of them at the time, enough to report his findings to Lilica and the council prior to Locque’s soft takeover. What would it do, to soak in the details? “Life wasn’t easy; I’m not disputing the hardships suffered. But seeing the greater context, the bigger picture, won’t help me to forgive...or heal.”
But the foray into the impressionable Locque’s past continued to unfold, heedless of Alster’s reluctance to watch. He could challenge the dream, invoke his will, burn the Night Garden to the ground and suction everything, including this young woman who would become Galeyn’s greatest villain, into the void, strip her soul into the tiniest, most unrecognizable pieces and fling them to the ends of the universe…
But he wasn’t keen on doing such a thing, either. Not...not anymore. Not if perpetuating his hatred would bring irrevocable harm to the innocent, and to the people he loved.
“Fine.” With a resigned sigh, he ceased resisting what the dream was so hellbent on showing him, and gave his full and undivided attention to the series of vignettes unfolding before him. “I’ll watch.”
As scene after scene unfurled, no developments surprised or galled Alster, but the prolonged exposure to Locque’s story, coupled with his anticipation of knowing how it would end, began to...wear him down a little. Leave it to him to empathize with a woman who almost killed him, he thought, bitterly. But it wasn’t the first time he felt pulled by her plight. Even when he sought her out in the etherrealms, didn’t there exist a part of him who, like Teselin, wanted to disperse her darkness and recover the person she once was...if such a thing were possible?
Why? Beyond the far-fetched plan of providing healing in an attempt to unravel her desire to reign, why did Alster care then, and why was he caring now? She was dead; it didn’t matter what he thought about her. It wouldn’t change her current status, the hundreds of lives lost, or the method of her demise—and the fact that he failed to make a final, lasting impression on her, as she did for him. Alas, he was ever the empath, not immune or unmoved by what he witnessed anew: her call to exile, her lonesome wandering, her feelings of isolation, her loss of a precious someone, and her ensuing rage, the twisting in her gut as her embittered voice declared vengeance. He understood it all, because he lived and experienced something similar. Didn’t he also declare vengeance on the city that wronged him, as a youth, and didn’t he carry it out, spelling the death of hundreds of innocent citizens? Wasn’t he also sent into exile, and hadn’t he later lost his parents to the darkness perching in his soul? Couldn’t it happen again? Wasn’t it happening now?
Throughout Locque’s short tenure as a Galeynian figurehead, Alster was always reminded of how he might misstep and lose himself to a similar pattern, should he cease caring about humanity, about his connections to this plane of existence, and to the people who brought meaning to his life. All it took was one small accident, one tragedy, and who was to say? He could become the next Locque...with ease.
“Is this why you brought me here? As a reminder?” He yelled into a space that had since faded to black, leaving him standing on the thresholds of oblivion, as before. Before she pushed him and he tumbled for eternities upon eternities, his soul guttering like a candle in a gale. “To let go of my hatred and vengeance so I won’t become consumed by it, and become like you? Don’t I have more of a reason to want vengeance? Didn’t you do much worse to me than what was done to you? Why do I have to be the better person? Why is it up to me...to forgive you?” He balled his hands into shivering fists, but as his convictions began to muddy and weaken, they quaked for a different reason, and the fury that once screamed from his lips now sighed. “Why should I let you rest? I could...I could seek out your spirit. I have the means. I could search for the remnants of your soul and trap you and ensure you never have a moment’s peace ever again. I have enough restraint. No one else needs to suffer. Just you.” He grimaced, but the expression lost all convincing sharpness, the angles lost in the soft, suffusing darkness.
When he unclenched one of his fists, a petal appeared in his palm. A yellow petal, sunlight bright, stood stark against the black, in open defiance of the oblivion in which they occupied together. He stared at the dainty thing until he squinted, a gift from a young Gardener who didn’t know him and yet, recognized his suffering, what he needed, and never hesitated to help because...
Because she wanted to save everyone. Like him.
“This little salvation has come too late,” he whispered, falling to his knees in the void. Though he said it, he didn’t quite believe in the words. They rang hollow and cracked, like a bell tolling the hour because it was obligated to, not because it desired to. “It’s too late. Too late to change my mind…”
Alster. Alster. Alster…
Something reached for him and shook. The darkness rattled away, allowing for slivers of outside light to beam down, giving a body and form to the depthless space he occupied, shattering the illusion. A room. He was in a small room, littered with cots. A woman hovered over him, her hand gentle on his shoulder. Blinking back his confusion, realization slowly dawned, that he was awake, in the sanctuary, and the woman, his wife.
“El...espeth,” he said weakly, trying to hoist himself into an upright position, but pausing when his aching arms whined and protested the movement. Instead, he transferred the hand to his face, hot and flushed...and streaming with tears.
Accepting Elespeth’s help, he remained limp as she hoisted him against the pillow and gratefully took the tin of water she offered him, gulping a few liberal sips of the cool liquid. His mouth was parched and screaming for relief, and he drained the cup dry in moments. “I’m...I’m,” he paused. Was he alright? He wasn’t certain about anything anymore. How he felt. What he wanted. His blurry, bleary eyes drifted to the bedside table, at the two remaining petals Elespeth had referenced. It wasn’t a delusion, then. Last night...had happened.
“Yes, a Gardener prescribed me something,” he said, vaguely, but didn’t elaborate. He passed the empty tin to Elespeth in a silent request for more water.
“I’m...unwell,” he confessed, clutching the newly-filled water tin in his flesh and steel hands. “I did something last night that affected my magic and...it made me sick. I...I could have hurt someone. So I have to stay here until I feel better. I...want to tell you, El,” his haunted eyes caught her concerned gaze. They appeared blue-green again, like the D’Marian sea, but dulled, like the sea on an overcast day. “I want to tell you what happened, but I’m trying to make sense of things, myself, and I just need a little time to...to process. And then, and then I’ll tell you everything, I promise. Even if you think I’m mad or foolish. Or reckless. Because the whole situation, from start to finish...it is mad. I might be losing my mind; I don’t know.” His cracked lips sought another refreshing swig of the water. Tilting his head back, he took a few more lengthy sips, heedless of the dribbles leaking out the sides of his mouth. “Will you stay? For a little while?” He brought one hand to rest on her arm. “I might not be forthright with you right now, but it doesn’t mean I won’t lie about how much I need you here. Full transparency.” Something of a pathetic smile tugged at his lips. “Tell me something good. Uplifting. Positive. A story with a hopeful end, or with a hopeful future. I need to hear it. A reason, a reminder...not to give in. Not to hate, or despair.” The hand on her arm twitched its fingers, gripping weakly at her sleeve, almost in desperation. “Can you help me, El? Help me to see the brilliance of yellow in the sun again...and to feel its warmth? I don’t...I don’t want to be trapped again in the darkness.”
With the exception of the few forays she had taken to the capital city, once with Elespeth, Nia, and her brother, Bronwyn mostly kept herself confined to the palace, for shameful reasons: she feared these people, their sideways glances, the suspicious curls of their mouths, their whispers of judgement and wide-eyed fright. Her sensitive ears would sometimes detect their soft-delivered warnings. She’s the wolf’s sister. Be careful of her! So when she discovered they weren’t staying put in the palace for their meal, and venturing out on the streets, she not so subtly ducked behind Sigrid and secretly wished she also had a cloak for hiding her face under a hood.
“How do you deal with it?” She asked Hadwin a few days ago, on her return from a village she helped rebuild, to little recognition, credit, or gratitude, “And how is it they don’t hate you nearly as much as they hate me?”
He rolled his shoulders into a pop and shrugged. “Nah, you got it wrong, Bron. They don’t ‘hate’ you. They’re just quietly sizing you up right now. See, I got a headstart over you. They’ve known me for a damn while, heroics and dumbass antics included. We’ve got history. But be patient, and keep doing what you’re doing. It’s bound to stick with ‘em eventually. And c’mon,” he tilted her head at her meaningfully, eyes probing with a preternatural knowingness. “Mean to tell me you don’t know these answers, yourself? Folks might not say shit to your face, but can’t your Sight reveal the depths of their appreciation for what you do?”
She never gave him a reply. But the answer was, ‘No.’ No one truly appreciated her help. Her Sight revealed nothing. Nothing at all. If people said anything to her aloud, they were being nice. Sigrid, though sincere in her approach and apology, was being nice, but Bronwyn would take those sympathy handouts at face value like a starving dog thrown a bone. Or in this case, a wolf desperate for meat. Though she was suspicious of them, Bronwyn trusted words marginally more than she trusted her Sight. Both devices were apt to lead her astray, but one spelled ruination more than the other. Her sister died from clinging to her Sight, and her brother suffered ongoing bouts of madness from his. She’d rather take her chances interpreting a conversation free of her uncanny—and unreliable—ability than painstakingly sifting every encounter through a dirt-filled pan by the riverside on the off chance she’d discover a gold nugget or two. Even if it meant she would keep her head down, and look no one in the eyes, then so be it.
She was all ready to adopt this strategy and slink through the city streets, avoiding everyone’s gaze, until she and Sigrid entered a quaint little establishment and shirking eye contact became unavoidable. The first thing she noticed on arrival was the flaky, buttery, yeasty smell of baking bread, a staple scent for her, considering her brother’s once respectable vocation as a baker’s apprentice. The second thing she noticed was the baker, an excitable older woman who preened and gushed over Sigrid—and over her, by association.
New lovely lady friend.
Bronwyn’s face heated instantly. “Uh, that’s…” but she looked to Sigrid for instruction, and as the blonde warrior—also sporting a flustered flush—made no attempt to correct the woman, she followed suit and kept her mouth shut.
When the baker moseyed off to the back of the establishment, a preppy spring in her step defying her old age, a nervous, uncertain smile crossed over Bronwyn’s face. “I can see that she’s an adoring admirer of the Dawn Guard,” she said, a rather inane comment when she not only paraded her love for all to see, but when Sigrid confirmed the truth moments before! “But, if this is the price to pay for meat pasties—I mean, I’m a horrid liar—but,” she rubbed at a patch on her sleeve, deliberately averting her gaze from Sigrid, “I’ll try to play along.”
On the elderly baker’s return, Bronwyn slapped on a big, clumsy grin and threw an arm around Sigrid, her errant hand swinging like a club and hitting the other woman on the back a little too hard. Dammit. Too much! “Well, sorry about that,” she turned to Sigrid, guffawing all the way. “You know I couldn’t contain my excitement.” She explained, winking. A wink!? Why the hell did she wink? Luckily, the tray sitting between the friendly woman’s mittened hands refocused her attention. The aroma alone about killed her. The tender, sizzling meat, combined with the sugar and salt of the dough pocket, basting in butter and spices, almost caused Bronwyn to salivate on the spot. “Is that...venison?” She questioned, dumbfounded. When was the last time she consumed deer? Years, probably. “This is...for us?” Six freshly-baked pasties lined the tray, all ripe for consumption. She wanted to devour each delectable pasty, funneling them into her mouth with sloppy, slavering efficiency, but out of respect, and so as not to ruin appetites, she waited until Sigrid selected the first one off the tray and followed suit, taking only one, as well.
“You’re...you’re really too kind. Thank you very much.” She eyed the treasure in her hands, again waiting for some natural conclusion in the exchange that would allow her to eat without risking a breach in etiquette. Yet, even when the baker gave them the go-ahead, she suspended her desire to eat until Sigrid took the first and second bites. Only after she did so did Bronwyn bring the delightful meat pocket to her lips and, try though she might to nibble on it politely, tore through it like she was ripping the hindquarters off a fleeing goat. Ignoring its scalding temperature and the burns it left on the roof of her mouth (they would heal in moments anyway), she inhaled the thing in three bites and licked the greasy remains off her fingers.
It took her a few silent, awkward seconds to realize her unforgivable mistake!
“I’m sorry!” She blurted, her eyes wide with horror. “That was...I was just so hungry, and that pasty was just so delicious and...the best thing I’ve eaten in Galeyn by far. I wasn’t paying attention to how I must have appeared. I...here.” She shuffled through her bag, removed her changepurse, and dug out a few copper pieces, more than the asking price for even the most decadent and elusive of meat pasties. “You must take this as a sign of my gratitude. And of my sincerest apology.”
There was no doubt in her mind that Alster was unwell, seeing his tear-strewn, feverish face, but what concerned Elespeth most was how she had managed not to see these symptoms until now. Yes, the both of them had been kept exceedingly busy since Locque’s demise and Galeyn’s return to peace. Responsibilities had not let up since they had all worked alongside Ari to exonerate Nia, or at least reduce her sentence to something less lethal. Now that they were not occupied with saving that exhausting Master Alchemist’s life, there was still the matter of picking up the pieces of the kingdom and facilitating mediation between Galeynians and D’Marians, who were still at odds with one another ever since the trial. Most days, the Rigas couple didn’t see one another but for breakfast, sometimes dinner, and often one or the other would come to bed after the husband or wife was already asleep. Nonetheless… how could she have been so blind to Alster’s condition? How had he become so unwell without her knowing? What had been brewing beneath his skin that had escaped her attention?
“What did you do with your magic…?” She asked for clarification, but the Rigas mage was parched, and he had more interest in consuming water than answering her questions. Elespeth didn’t pry too much, since it was abundantly clear whatever was the matter with him had left him dehydrated. “Who… did you almost hurt? Alster, whatever happened, whatever you did, you know you can talk to me.” The former knight covered his hands, steel and flesh, with her own. He felt clammy, and simultaneously hot and cold. “I know… I realize I can come across as--no, I won’t deny it. I am judgmental, and I pit people against my own code of morals and ethics all the time. The way I once treated Hadwin, and how I’ve spoken of and treated Nia Ardane… I understand why you would hesitate to divulge anything to me. I wouldn’t want to talk to me, either, but it is a distinct character flaw that I am working on. In the past, I’ve spoken to you very harshly when you’ve pursued dangerous magical feats… and I want you--” She sighed, struggling with the words, and returned her hands to her lap. “I need you to know that whatever happened, whatever you did, is less important to me than how you are now. Judgment is living in the past, but we, the two of us, are here in the present. And all that matters to me is that you are well.”
But Alster did not elaborate; he didn’t even hint as to what had landed him here, feverish and shaken and dehydrated in the sanctuary. However, his wife was not under the impression that his silence was inspired by his desire for her not to know the details. Whatever ailed him, he currently wanted to get away from it, fearing that he would lose himself… again. Just like she had very nearly lost him to the void of the etherrealms, not so long ago. What he needed wasn’t to ruminate on what happened, with the expectation that he explain himself. He needed to be grounded--and Elespeth needed to be there for him to help that occur.
Taking his empty tin after it was refilled twice with water, she set it aside and gently took his shoulders, helping him recline against the pillow. “The darkness is all gone, Alster. Locque is gone--forever. Lilica is recovering, and Nia is not going to die. The D’Marian settlement and villages sprinkled throughout Galeyn are being put back together as we speak. The sun is shining--it’s so warm, summer is nearly in full swing. And, if I recall correctly… your birthday is fast approaching.” Elespeth smiled and brushed some damp locks of blonde hair from his forehead. “You need only open your eyes, Alster. Everything is bright. It is the first time in so long that we can feel like everything has fallen into place, and that we are on the right track. This time, last year, the kingdom was holding its breath in anticipation of the dark shadow that was soon to terrorize it--but that is not the case anymore. The kingdom is healing, and people are coming out of their homes to bask in the sun, completely unafraid, probably for the first time since some of them have awakened from that century-long sleep. There is no limit to the abundance of brightness in the world, right now… but, I suppose, it has been difficult to see it when you are so focused on all of the cracks that still remain. Some people picking up the pieces of their homes, and the discord between the D’Marians and Galeynians… I’m sorry that you haven’t had the chance to appreciate all the good surrounding you for focusing on the negative. Perhaps it is high time you take a break from your duties; you are not the only one capable of smoothing relations between D’Marians and Galeynians, after all.”
“No… he is not. In fact, it should not be his responsibility at all--it should be mine.” From across the room, Elespeth turned to see that Lilica had woken from her deep sleep. Weeks later, the Galeynian queen was still in the process of recovering from what it had cost her to destroy Locque. Unlike before, where she suffered a constant state of delirium, her fever now came and went, no longer a constant, but her health was not yet stable enough to qualify for release from the sanctuary just yet, and while she did what she could for her kingdom from her sickbed, many of her tasks as a leader had been delegated to Chara’s capable hands.
“Lilica--I’m so sorry,” the former knight apologized with a grimace. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
The chthonic mage gently shook her head. “You didn’t--rest assured. My rhythms are off… I sleep several hours, then wake, and repeat. At least this time I happen to be awake during daylight.” Lilica sighed and reached for a cup of water sitting beside her. “The Gardeners won’t permit me anything to break down the fever; they said it needs to run its course, do what it needs to do, and only then when it leaves of its own accord will they release me from this tiny, comfortable prison. I imagine I am going to miss out on the summer Solstice. But… it’s gotten me thinking, just because a celebration is late, does not mean there should not be a celebration at all.”
“A celebration? Of what sorts?” Elespeth tilted her head. It felt rather rude not to put herself in the direct vicinity of someone initiating a conversation, but she was loathe to leave Alster, when he so desperately needed an anchor right now.
“I was thinking… a celebration of freedom. Of renewal. Galeyn has celebrated before, yes, but not without the looming threat of Locque. This is the first time in well over a century that this hidden kingdom has actually known true peace… If that does not deserve a holiday, then what does?” The Tenebris daughter raked a hand through her dark hair. It had grown so long, reaching past her waist since she had unearthed her kingdom, and the Night Garden had purged the darkness that poisoned her the very first time. With her body having been restored to a healthy state for an extended period of time, small changes, like colour in her cheeks, and lengthy, thicker hair, had ensued--even if those changes were temporarily on pause. She was beginning to think she needed to trim her dark locks so that she did not risk sitting on them. “This freedom is something to celebrate… and I think Galeyn needs it, desperately. It needs a reason to smile. Celebrations bring people together--it may be just what the Galeynians and D’Marians need to get past their differences. And I know for a fact that D’Marians are rather partial to festivities. What do you think?”
“It really has been some time since this kingdom observed and sort of festivities,” Elespeth observed, and flashed a smile at her husband. “Your birthday, and the birth of the Sorde twins, were the last times these people ever really celebrated a reason to be happy. You’re not the only one who needs to see the light in the world right now, I think.”
“Elespeth--would you mind seeing if a Gardener can go and fetch Chara?” the Galeynian queen asked, knowing better than to send Elespeth herself when her husband looked to be in a time of need, and required her company. “I know she won’t want to miss out on the opportunity to plan a party--in fact, she’ll punish me with the cold shoulder for weeks if I don’t consult her on it.”
“Well, I’m not much of a liar, either,” Sigrid confessed with a guilty smile, “I’m just playing on this poor old woman’s assumptions. I’ll… come clean to her, later. But right now--like you, I’m hungry. So morals can step aside.”
When Marda returned with a tray full of freshly-baked pastries, the savoury smell of cooked meat filled the air, and it was enough to make Sigrid’s mouth water--though before her stomach churned with appetite, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret. That familiar smell brought her back to the last time she had tasted Marda’s delicacy: sometime in the fall around the time the twins had been born. Not long, in fact, before Naimah… before she…
Sigrid found herself so wrapped up in an unearthed memory that she hardly took notice of Bronwyn, who was easily making a fool of herself with her over-the-top charade. Well, she had to give the woman credit--there seemed to be little she wouldn’t do for the taste of venison, and it was rather… well, endearing to the former Dawn warrior, watching her eat with such gusto. “I’ve been telling Brownyn about your secret pastries--she could hardly wait to try them for herself.” She explained to Marda, and tried to act casual as she slid an arm about the faoladh’s waist. “No surprise, these always live up to expectations.” With a smile, she took one of the proffered pastries, but Marda frowned at the money that Bronwyn insisted she take in exchange.
“Oh--no, my dear, consider it a gift. Or, incentive to keep a secret.” The elderly baker said, putting her hands up to refuse the money. “This is only for the Dawn Guard… and the close members of their families. Promise not to tell any meat-hungry Galeynians about my secret savoury pies, and enjoy your repayment.”
“I don’t know that you’d consider allowing me to tell Commander Sorde about your secret?” Sigrid couldn’t help but ask. “He isn’t part of the Dawn Guard, but he does lead the Forbanne, and he’s my cousin. Not to mention, the father of two almost-toddlers... You can probably imagine he’s a hungry man.”
“Well, you go and tell Commander Sorde that if he would feel so inclined to bring his two little cherubs here for a visit, I’ll be sure to have something extra special prepared for him. And for them.” Marda winked. “There’s not much an old woman like me can do to help out in this broken kingdom… the least I can do is lend a hand to those keeping us safe.”
While it wasn’t the old woman’s intention, the comment stung Sigrid just a little. What the hell had she done to keep anyone safe these past several months? Deep down, she knew she couldn’t take advantage of Marda, and couldn’t come here again without feeling too embittered with guilt… but, better to let Haraldur butter her up with two adorable twin toddlers and secure a tasty meat-fill puffed so that she would at least continue to allow him to keep coming back, before she laid her honesty bare to the baker.
“I’ll do that. Thank you so much, Marda--but will you at least let me pay for seconds? We’re a little greedy, today, because we plan to help out at the D’Marian settlement. Not sure when we’ll have the opportunity for another meal before the day is through.” Despite Marda’s protests, the woman eventually yielded and accepted a few coins for two more venison pastries, before Sigrid and Bronwyn took their leave.
“I’ve seen my fair share of hungry soldiers and how much they can put away, but I don’t think I have ever seen someone enjoy meat so much.” She commented when they were a safe distance from the aromatic bakery. It was still early, and not many people had yet taken to the street, but it wasn’t difficult to take note of Bronwyn’s paranoia, looking this way and that, as if to see who was watching them. “...if you’re seeing if people are staring, then for one--it is probably at me, not you. I’m responsible for being Locque’s weapon. People aren’t going to easily forget that. And, two,” she grinned and gently nudge Bronwyn with her elbow,” if they’re staring at you at all, then I guarantee it has nothing to do with your relation to Hadwin or Rowen, and everything to do with how fast you can make that pastry disappear.”
Looking overhead, the sun was in such a position that soon the tenth bell would mark the time of morning. “Let’s get back to the palace before the carriage leaves. It won’t set a good example of my intentions if I am not punctual… thank you for coming with me.” The warrior rubbed the back of her neck, underneath her long, textured blonde braid. “I don’t know if I’ve said that, yet.”
While Ari was busy with affairs in the D’Marian settlement, the next day, Nia returned to work on the observatory tower, unperturbed by the nearly catastrophic event the day before. The only way that Ari had permitted it, however, in his and Lazarus’s absence, was that a handful of trusted attendants, along with Nadira herself keep an eye out for danger, or anyone else who might have sought to follow suit from the event the previous day and seek out more creative ways to put an end to the Master Alchemist. And, as much as Nia did appreciate the gesture to prevent her sudden demise… being in the vicinity of the woman who she’d insulted in a number of colourful ways during her stay in the dungeon didn’t exactly sit well with her.
Fortunately, there was so much to be done that the Master Alchemist didn’t find it difficult to immerse herself in enough tasks so as to avoid having a conversation with the intimidating Canaveris matriarch. She assisted the masons and earth mages in their work, fortifying and strengthening materials that would become support structures, and softening other materials to make them easier for the not-magically-inclined to work with. It was exhausting, especially considering she hadn’t slept the night before after Ari had walked her back to the palace, but she was happy to be busy instead of ruminating alone in her room. And keeping busy meant she didn’t have to make any small talk.
That is, until noon rolled around, and Nadria clapped her hands to announce that everyone was due for a break and to eat--Nia included. There was no avoiding the Canaveris matriarch when the masons and mages began to file out of the room, leaving her last to make her way doorward the arches where doors would be installed at some point. Nadira intercepted her before she could sneak by, unseen.
“Lady Canaveris… ah…” Unsure of where to look, or what to do, and very reluctant to make eye contact, Nia adjusted the hem of her high-waisted trousers, which felt too big, even with a belt cinched around her waist. “I’ll just… I’ll had back to my room until everyone returns. No chance of being killed there, unless the guards are secretly corrupt--and they’ve had ample opportunity to off me by now.”
The more his consciousness expanded into other realms and planes, the better Alster became at keeping secrets, and of concealing the ever-deepening waters of his personhood. It was a talent that came innately, and not out of willful deception or disrespect for one’s intelligence. For, he didn’t desire to keep secrets from Elespeth, or from his close friends, but he also had a responsibility to the greater universe not to reveal too much of what he had seen, what he had learned, so as not to disturb or upset people and their surface-level perceptions of the world. Oftentimes, burying such an integral and legitimate part of himself from the one person who shared his soul felt like such a fundamental betrayal, and brought him a great deal of grief. Was he, then, doomed to a lifetime of loneliness in plain sight of his beloved counterpart and twin star? It wasn’t fair to Elespeth, to expose only a small facet of himself when she invested so much in their relationship and in his life. And while the matter involving Locque wasn’t exactly a situation beyond the scope of human understanding, it also wasn’t something he was keen to divulge when doing so would also call into question the hidden parts of himself he’d rather not allow her to see, in fear of isolating and alienating her, for good. He couldn’t expect her to exercise saintly levels of patience and calmness whenever he explained yet another idiosyncrasy to his magic. He already asked too much of her, every day, just in remaining as his wife. He was...impossible to deal with, even on the best of days.
“No, no, I didn’t hurt anyone with my magic, don’t worry,” he hurried, trying to allay her concerns with the serene, reassuring wave of his hand. “No one was in the area at the time. I experienced a little blowback, but it’s nothing a few days recuperating in the sanctuary can’t rectify. It’s not...I hope you realize this isn’t because of you. I would love nothing more than to tell you about last night, Elespeth, but,” he clanked his steel fingers against the hollow tin in his hands, listening to the sweet tingle in his ears; a pleasant sound, like music, and what he wouldn’t give to lose himself in the gentle swell of an uplifting melody, “I’m not ready. While I’m happy to support your pursuit in minimizing your judgments towards others, and it’s noble to acknowledge and address your limitations, I’m afraid I can’t confide in you right now. I’m so sorry, El. Please know it’s not your fault. I’m...well, I’m me,” he half-scoffed, half-laughed through his nostrils, an airy stream of self-dismissal. “I always have to make things needlessly complicated and frustrating for you. But even though I want—I need—to focus on something else at the moment, I appreciate that you’re here. I do. More than you’ll ever know.” Surrendering his empty cup to Elespeth, he aimed an encouraging smile at her before sinking back against his pillow, with her guidance. “So tell me about the silver lining, El. Tell me about what I’m missing. What I’m failing to see, stuck where I am in this deep, deep ditch.”
Though he tried so hard to heed her words and the light she weaved in them, the fact that even the most positive news centered on Locque’s defeat tainted the hopeful angle she was striving to highlight.
Locque is gone—forever.
No, she’s not, Alster nearly said aloud. She’s out there. And in here. His steel prosthesis rested atop his chest, still racing in asynchronous drumbeats as a holdover from the dream he fled. She’s in my heart and she won’t escape. To not cause Elespeth too much upset, Alster nodded, his flesh and blood hand never leaving her arm as it lowered to rest on her wrist, reveling in the cool feel of her skin compared to the fire scoring his veins. Though it wasn’t his intention to shut down Elespeth’s attempts at levity, Alster was refuting some of her points. “I’m already a century old, El. There isn’t much of a reason to celebrate any year above that milestone—not until I reach two hundred, that is. And the sun...it shone in the spring, too. The earth was reawakening to spilled blood in the form of rainfall, fallen corpses as fertilizer. But I suppose...if I spent more time with my head up than down, maybe I might catch something bright and sparkling in the sky. It’s possible.”
An additional voice joined in on the conversation, prompting Alster to raise his head from the pillow, towards the source. Lilica, awake and aware, lay upon her cot across the room, her recovery hovering on the better end of limbo. From a cursory glance, her fever, at least, seemed to have stabilized and shown signs of breaking altogether, in the next few days.
“Lilica. Glad to see you’re doing better,” Alster shifted in his cot to face her, but his adjustments, owing to the aches in his joints, were too minor to make much of a difference. In defeat, he raised his eyes to the ceiling. But when the Galeynian queen mentioned a kingdom-wide celebration, his interest piqued, and he tried, with better success, to crane his neck in her direction. “A festival to celebrate freedom…” his voice drifted, floating on a wistful cloud. There it was. A hope that was tangible and concrete, not an abstract just shy of his reach or difficult to grasp. He could...touch this idea, manifest it, make it a reality. “It’s...a wonderful sentiment, and exactly what we need,” he nodded in agreement with Elespeth. “You wouldn’t have to convince many D’Marians to partake. In fact, I’m sure Lord Canaveris is more than happy to contribute to the cause. The man loves throwing parties as much as Chara loves organizing them.”
Speaking of Chara…
The Queen’s advisor arrived at the sanctuary as promptly as she could, given the endless lists of tasks she was in the process of checking off and completing. An hour later, she strode into the hut, eyebrows lifting in surprise to see Alster bedridden in a cot across from Lilica, with Elespeth at his side. “Alster, praytell what did you do this time?”
“You know me so well,” Alster said, lifting himself upright on noodly elbows to deliver a feeble smile. “Just a bout of illness. And it’s not the reason you’ve been called here,” he gestured over to Lilica, who wasted little fanfare before announcing her brainchild into conception. Chara, absorbing the information, tapped on her foot, her expression unreadable, but contemplative, as if tabulating the costs and measures required to throw something of Lilica’s proposed caliber.
“Logistically, with our resources already stretched so thin, not to mention the various construction projects in progress and beautification efforts underway, the steadying depletion of our treasury, and general unrest between D’Marians and Galeynians, your proposal, while well-meaning, is a nightmare to achieve. What is your time window? Two weeks? Three?” She hooked her thumb and forefinger around her chin, considering: “Perhaps if I am given a month to prepare, we shall have a respectable little soirée, gods willing. But I expect you want it done much sooner.”
“I’ll volunteer,” Alster raised a willing hand. “Once I’m able. Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it.”
“Very well, Alster, but you alone cannot replace a dedicated team of organizers, and your skillset veers towards...spectacle. Do what you can, but...heavens, are you sure this is what you want, Lilica?” She clutched her head, already feeling the cloying ache on her temples. “While I enjoy the challenge, I am fairly certain this event will necessitate intense collaboration—with our old friends, the Canaverises.”
Out of sneer mortification, Bronwyn kept her head bowed in contrite silence, relieved, at least, that the kindly woman didn’t comment on her atrocious table manners! As a faoladh, there were some things she preferred to do as a wolf as opposed to a human. Running was one—and eating, another. It seldom occurred to her that she dedicate her time to chewing her food before swallowing, or minimize the smears of sauce and crumbs that clung to her mouth like a toddler’s soiled bib. But people tended to judge a woman’s etiquette over a wild animal’s, and so it fell on her to perform as a convincing representative of humankind, lest people treat her as less. As some dirty mongrel, mucking up their broken kingdom, a Wolf closer in association to the murderous Rowen than to the fun-loving Hadwin.
On exiting the elderly woman’s fine establishment, Bronwyn, peppering her apologies throughout, left carrying a tied and packaged cloth bundle containing the two pasties Sigrid had purchased, an honor she didn’t believe she deserved. “I made such a fool of myself in there,” she gasped, yanking a handkerchief from her pocket and wiping the damning evidence off her face. “Please, you have to let me pay for the damages at least. If I turned your appetite or made you uncomfortable, tell me, now. And take this.” She all but shoved the copper coins into Sigrid’s hand. “You can’t take me to this wonderful place and be expected to pay for everything, especially after how I acted. I’m sure you’ll never be able to set foot in there again, for how badly I butchered your image in front of your admirer!”
Horror gave way to confusion, however, when the blonde warrior reacted not in disgust to her objectionable behavior, but...approval? “It’s...well, no one can accuse me of eating like an animal if I am an animal. Maybe you were better off having me pretend I was your beloved pet instead of a lady friend,” she belted out a nervous laugh. “If there’s one thing I’m confident about, it’s in my ability to excel as a wolf. More’s the better when I can’t talk in that form! I can’t say folks would appreciate that appearance much, though,” she cast a few furtive glances at the stray Galeynians wandering the streets, still vigilant in spite of Sigrid’s assurances. “No one owns any dogs in this kingdom, so I’d surely stand out!”
The duo arrived at the palace entrance minutes before the tenth bell rang across the clock tower. As described, they were greeted by a small carriage, large enough for two passengers, and a D’Marian driver who bowed and opened the door, politely ushering them inside. In daylight and unaided by the Night steed’s nocturnal magic, the trek to the settlement lasted about an hour, a quiet affair spent looking out the window at the sweeping countryside. When the outer limits of the village crept into view, indicated by a ring of stout, whitewashed buildings crowned with colorful rooftops and flowering vines, Bronwyn opened her mouth to break the silence.
“I also forgot to mention,” she flitted her dark amber eyes from the window to Sigrid, “that...I’m glad to be coming along. I needed to get away from the palace. I thought maybe that by offering to help rebuild the hardest-hit villages, I’d...I don’t know, I’d find acceptance? A community? But the Galeynians are slow to place their trust in strangers. At least, now they are. And I’m not needed at the palace. My brother has plenty of support and neither requires nor wants additional assistance with his rehabilitation. I guess that puts me in a bind because,” she slumped in her seat, “I’m so used to being a part of something. Contributing and collaborating, lending aid...my whole life has revolved around Clan Kavanagh. To lose what’s made me whole...hasn’t been easy. I can’t find my rhythm anywhere I go. I’ve tried to find a place among Hadwin’s little family of misfits, but that’s his circle, not mine, and...I’m talking too much,” she finished with a sigh. “What I’m failing to say, succinctly, is that...I’m happy you invited me along.”
Thankfully, Bronwyn didn’t need to stew in her blushing discomfort for long before the carriage lurched into a stop before a stately villa of white marble colonnades and manicured gardens. Upon closer inspection, one large section of the estate, roofless and missing half a wall, was amidst reconstruction of its own, similar in execution to the observatory tower project in central Galeyn.
No sooner did they step out of the carriage than the Canaveris lord appeared at the large oaken doorway, resplendent in a peacock-blue longcoat, his fair and handsome features smooth, unmarred by stress-generated knots between his brow or bags under his eyes. Compared to yesterday, Aristide Canaveris appeared well-rested, and in much higher spirits, almost as if…
Her Sight caught a glimpse of it, in his dark eyes. Love, restored. Had he and Nia rekindled their relationship? Though she didn’t enjoy the bothersome wisps her voyeuristic ability flitted into her vision on the regular, when it came to seeing love and how it uplifted a person to their highest, most beautiful selves, she couldn’t help but smile, warmed by its secondhand firelight.
“Sigrid Sorenson—and Bronwyn Kavanagh. My esteemed guests.” Aristide swept into a welcoming bow, and gestured towards the door. “Please, come in. I’ve rooms prepared for you here, should you choose to stay for a longer interim. Oh, but do not worry about interacting with the D’Marian citizenry today. I am in the midst of preparing an adequate plan of action which we shall discuss tonight and commence, come morning. For now, you are free to relax and to make yourselves at home.” On entering the villa, he led Sigrid and Bronwyn down a long hallway, past a courtyard alive with sculptures, to an area where two bedrooms sat adjacent to each other. “Here are your rooms; I hope you find them comfortable and to your liking. Dinner tonight will be at the seventh bell. Please honor us with your attendance. We have duck on the menu,” he added, aiming his smile at Bronwyn in particular. “In the meantime—do you fancy anything to drink or eat?”
Nadira Canaveris had an innate sense for knowing when people were avoiding her, and she found it rather a fond pastime to drown out their burrows, expose them to the scrutinizing pierce of her blazing eyes, and watch them melt into a puddle of fear at her feet. Nia Ardane, however, was one person she didn’t wish to frighten, though it made no difference when the fidgety Master Alchemist was so determined to remain frightened of her. Seeing as no method of approach guaranteed any hope of mitigating the other woman’s rampant anxieties, Nadira didn’t bother with employing deescalation tactics and instead allowed the situation to run its natural course. By virtue of occupying the same workspace, run-ins were inevitable, and Nia couldn’t hide forever, considering the Canaveris matron’s role as acting foreman of operations. Fortunately, Nadira happened to be standing on the other side of the doorway when Nia, presumably alone in the observatory and believing it safe to cross, passed through the threshold and ran practically into the path of the woman she most wanted to avoid.
“Miss Ardane,” she said, a stateliness to her tone, one that demanded attention and compliance. She brought a hand upon Nia’s shoulder, trapping her in position and closing off her avenues to escape. “You must dine with me today. We have much to discuss. I take my meals in privacy, so none shall bother or interrupt us whilst we engage in some much-needed R&R. Come,” she goaded, gripping Nia’s arm in a way that suggested ‘No,’ was an unacceptable answer.
Under duress, Nia followed her captor to a vacant room in the adjourning hallway connecting the observatory tower with the rest of the palace. Inside the small chambers, a table festooned with assorted fruits, vegetables, breads, and cheeses awaited consumption. As promised, no other guards or attendants occupied the room, save for Nia’s personal guard, who remained outside. Nadira waggled one arm forward, to one of the two dining chairs. “After you.” Pulling back a chair, she all but sat her unwilling luncheon guest down upon the cushion. “Help yourself to the food. There is far too much for me to eat alone.” After settling on the chair opposite Nia, Nadira lifted a plate, heaping a generous sampling of mixed salad and sliced fruits, followed by a bread roll and a wedge of cheese, and handed it to her stunned companion.
“Oh do relax, dear; I have no intention of biting off your head.” She set the plate down in front of Nia. “My opinion of you has not shifted since last we spoke, in spite of your...dissertation. Rest assured, I have been called far worse. I remain unmoved and unshaken by your failed—and frankly, elementary—attempt to insult me. Did I not proclaim how we Canaverises will never forget your heroic act of service? Need I proclaim some more?” She leaned over the table, grabbing Nia’s hands, her expression both solemn and intense in its devotion. “You have saved my son’s life, Anetania Ardane. My debt to you is unpayable. Say what you will and act how you will, but my loyalties are not so fickle as to disavow you based on quaint and uninformed diatribes spouted in the heat of the moment. Do grant me more dignity, dear. My skin is quite thick, thank you.”
In the past, this situation, and Alster’s reaction, may have incited frustration in Elespeth as what had been intended as her words of comfort failed to stir her husband’s heart or sway his dismal outlook. But the truth was, she had seen this coming for a long time. Alster thought he could hide things from her--and some things, he could, such as what it was that had happened that had landed him in the infirmary the night before. But his feelings were another thing, considering how intricately they were linked. She had noticed it during the time they had spent in that old farmhouse toward Galeyn’s boundaries; even moreso when they’d returned to the palace. Both before and after she had nearly lost him to the etherrealms, but moreso after. And when at last Locque had been vanquished, wiped clean from this realm… it hadn’t gone away. The feeling that something was eating away at him under his skin, it only got worse. She knew it was there, simmering, festering, and that it would only be a matter of time before it all came to a head. It was her own fault for being too distracted in the aftermath of Locque’s defeat to notice that it would happen sooner than later.
But the truth was… it probably wasn’t something she could have stopped, even if she had been more diligent in her observation. Because the same feeling, though perhaps to a lesser extent, had also been eating away at the former knight. She couldn’t convince Alster otherwise of the darkness he perceived and suffered because she saw it, too. Frankly… her own words didn’t even convince her, truthful though they might have been. “So you really don’t see the point of celebrating the fact that you’ve survived another year?” Elespeth challenged, raising an eyebrow. “Even after seeing just how delicate and transient life can be? ...you’re right. The sun shines, regardless of what stage we are in in this vicious cycle of life. And we… it seems like we’ve hardly had a reprieve from tragedy to tragedy. We haven’t had much of a break from it since we met, all that time ago in Messino’s war camp…”
Knowing she had already failed to lift her husband’s spirits, her shoulders drooped, and she dropped her hands into her lap. “We made it through these trials--but there will be more. And more people, by some means or another, are going to die. There’s no guarantee some of the older D’Marians will ever see the soil of their homeland again. Even more people in Galeyn are left completely alone, without families. Nothing will change that. There is nothing that I can tell those grieving people that will make them see a silver lining or bask in the sunlight as if nothing has happened… but isn’t that all the more reason to find joy in the little things that we would otherwise find insignificant? Otherwise, what is the point of going on at all, if we’ll only experience pain after pain, and tragedy after tragedy?” She turned her head toward the window. “Sometimes, the only thing we have to celebrate is the fact that we are alive--and that things didn’t turn out differently for us.Think of what might have happened. I… might not be here, were it not for Isidor. Vega would not be here, were it not for Haraldur convincing Vitali to help. Hells, Nia would not be alive were it not for you, Aristide, and oddly enough, Isidor speaking to her defenses. As dismal as it sounds, at times like these, the silver lining is that things did not turn out any worse. We might be few, but not fewer. This kingdom has suffered, but it has endured. And now, for the first time in over a century, it has a chance to breathe--a chance to recover from everything. The spell, Locque… I know it might be hard to believe, but we are lucky to be sharing in this rare moment of peace. It might not be enough--but it’s something. Being here, right now, when under other circumstances… we might not have been.” Glancing away from the window, Elespeth sought understanding in Alster’s tired eyes. “That is the way I see things… does it make sense? I know it might not be the silver lining that you wanted, but… we are still here, Alster. We still have a future, and the potential to build on that future. It may not seem like a lot now, but one day… maybe it will. Maybe you’ll see it that way, too. Surviving is just the first step, but it is the potential it brings that is to be cherished.”
Where she failed to show Alster the brightness that he sought, Elespeth was surprised to find Lilica so easily pick up the slack. She noticed her husband visibly brighten at the prospect of a celebration. Even if there wasn’t much to celebrate, or much to work with in terms of resources, even the idea of celebrating just for the sake of celebrating could breathe some life back into this exhausted kingdom. She wasn’t even angry or disappointed that it hadn’t been her idea, or that she’d unsuccessfully lifted Alster’s mood: whomever or whatever got him to relax and smile was worth investing in, and the former knight promptly left to find a Gardener who could summon Chara. Sure enough, the haughty, blonde Rigas woman never failed to respond to a summons, and within the hour, was listening at Lilica’s bedside to what she surely assumed must have been a fever-induced, manic ideal.
“Two weeks. What can we get together in two weeks?” The Galeynian queen asked Chara, her dark, feverish eyes genuinely curious as to what sort of genius the Rigas woman could come up with, considering the obvious constraints and limitations they faced. Regardless of obstacles, Lilica knew without a doubt that Chara could make it work. “It doesn’t have to be exclusively what the palace or Lord Canaveris can put forth. What if we invite anyone who cares to participate in the event to volunteer some of their own efforts? Whether it is food or decorations or entertainment, what better way to bring two warring communities of people together than to have everyone contribute to the common goal of having a good time? Recruit anyone who cares to help organize. Offer a local platform to encourage and harbour ideas. As a kingdom, right now, no single person has much to give… the palace included. But, united? I think we have all we could possibly need. And it would give people the opportunity to really take part in something meaningful to them. To take their minds off of everything they have lost… ” Tilting her head curiously, she reached out and took Chara’s hand, a sly, teasing smile on her face. “Chara… don’t be coy. I know you can do it. I know we can do it. I should finally be discharged from the Gardeners’ care long before the allotted date, but you know I will do whatever it takes to help. I know you have planned celebrations with far less time to prepare.”
“She has a point, Chara; you managed to pull off quite a grand party when I became a Rigas.” Elespeth chimed in with a half-smile. “You even managed to make me look presentable in record time. Truth be told, I haven’t looked that good since then.”
“Feel free to consult with the Canaverises. I might yet have words for Aristide and the way he behaved when he bullied you into his services,” Lilica mentioned, and her smile faltered. “I am far from enamored of the man. But… he did exhibit remorse for the way he treated you--and me. From what I have heard, he and his earth mages are doing a spectacular job restoring the observatory. I suppose I have to give credit where it is due. So--what do you say? Come on, Chara.” The dark mage gently tugged on the Rigas woman’s arm to encourage her to sit down next to her. “I know you are a Rigas, and no party that is not lavish and expensive would meet your standards, but simple pleasures can be just as satisfying. No one has to be drinking from gold-tipped goblets to have a good time. Good food, good spirits, and perhaps a little bit of music will be all we need. And if it all turns out to be a bad idea--then I will fully take the blame for this and suffer the consequences for you. That is my promise.”
It didn’t matter whether Nadira had been standing just outside the observatory, or even further away. The woman had a way of getting what she wanted, and most likely had never actually been denied a single thing in her entire life (and if she had been, then she’d found a way to acquire it anyway). There was no avoiding her if she wanted something, whether it was her company or to finally berate her for all of the colourful things the Master Alchemist had called her the last time she laid eyes upon her. Even if she’d wanted to, Nia was too shaky on her bad leg and had lost too much muscle tone from lack of eating to resist. “Ah--I-I don’t know if I’m even allowed to do this, Lady Canaveris.” She made a last ditch, feeble attempt to convince the astute woman that the tall, silent guard who always had an eye on her might not permit more liberties so soon. “Maybe… another time?”
She had no idea how she did it, but leave it to Nadira Canaveris to convince (or was it intimidate?) the guard who followed them down the corridors to stand outside of the room where the Canaveris matriarch chose to take her meals. Nope--not even her captors could save her from this woman’s will. Before she could think of any other means to protest, Nadira sat her down in front of a wide array of food which she’d once have eaten with the utmost gusto. Now, combined with her psychosomatic symptoms, and the company she kept, her stomach was already tying itself into knots. “You know… I probably shouldn’t,” the Master Alchemist tried to politely refuse with a nervous smile. “Master Alchemists actually do better work on an empty stomach. If I don’t do my absolute best working on the observatory, it might give people the idea I’m not trying hard enough…”
Nadira could see right through her excuses, right down to what frightened her the most (as if it wasn’t bad enough she couldn’t hide her fears from Hadwin!) But instead of basking in the glory of having one up on the Ardane woman, the Canaveris matriarch grabbed Nia’s trembling hands and simply repeated to her what she had said before, in the dungeons. As if Nia had never once smeared her character to her very face. Needless to say, this left the Master Alchemist feeling light-headed and very taken aback. “I’m not… you don’t owe me anything, Lady Canaveris. I didn’t do it to try and get in your good books--I just couldn’t stand around and watch another person I love die when I could have prevented it.” Nonetheless, a compliment from a woman who was that hard to please did leave a little bit of colour lingering in Nia’s cheeks. “Besides, you more or less saved my life, too. Well… Ari did, along with Queen Lilica and Alster and… oddly, Isidor, who may or may not be more tolerant of me for some odd reason. But anyway, there is no debt and nothing for you to repay. If anything, I should be apologizing to you--and I’ve meant to. I’m just… bad at it, and I haven’t really found the words, but I didn’t mean what I said, back in the dungeons. I was just in a really bad place and frame of mind, and at the time, I didn’t understand what was going on or why Ari had turned me in…”
Realizing she was rambling, and it would only get worse from here, Nia cleared her throat withdrew her hands from Nadira’s surprisingly gentle grasp to pour herself a glass of water from a crystalline decanter, only spilling a little bit on the table with her unsteady hands. “Look, I know there is no way to hide that I’m hella uncomfortable around you, especially after all those less than complimentary words I last said to you. But please don’t take it personally. I’m not good around mothers in general. The only other one I ever knew made sure I was well aware every day of my life that I’m not worth my own existence. And she’s apparently decided to haunt me in my dreams, lately, so you’ll have to excuse me if I’m a little… raw and unwieldy.” Holding the glass with both hands to keep it steady, Nia took a long sip of water. It didn’t do much to kill her hunger pangs, but it did soothe the knots in her stomach a little bit. “But I’m grateful for the second chance, if that’s what you’d call it. Unfortunately, you have yet to see me at my best, but…”
A soft sigh upon a realization escaped from Nia’s lungs. When she put down the glass, she swallowed her nerves around the intimidating Canaveris martiarch, and rested her unsteady fingers upon one of Nadira’s warm-toned hands, resplendent with rings on almost every finger, not unlike her son. “If you are concerned that I’ve changed my mind about what I initially proposed… well, I haven’t. So long as Alster and Isidor are still in agreement, I will rid Ari of his curse. I’m not such an asshole that I’d rescind a promise like that. I’ll make it so that he is restored to live the normal sort of life any Canaveris would live, and whether or not I’m in the picture at all after the fact… well, I guess that’s gonna have to be a negotiation between your feelings and his. He already knows how I feel.”
Nia had prepared to ask for anything in return; it wasn’t what this was about, after all, and requesting anything from a woman who still made her stomach ball up in nerves had been the last thing on her mind--until just now. “But--if it wouldn’t be too inappropriate… could I ask you for a resonance stone? One through which I can contact Ari? I lost the one he initially gave me when I was running for my life; who knows where it ended up. And there is really only so much we can say when we’re busy in the observatory, pending any other authorized outings I’m allowed…”
She could hardly believe it when, later that day, before she was dismissed from her work at the observatory, Nadira handed her a stone which she promised was linked to one she would then give to Ari upon her return to the Canaveris villa--and, frankly, she couldn’t have received such a gift at a better time. With exhaustion catching up with her, Nia’s typical nighttime distraction to keep her from sleeping and dreaming finally failed her. She’d been working away on repairing and polishing the harp Ari had returned to her, a task that kept her focused enough to remain awake for long periods of time, but not tonight. She wasn’t sure at which point she had drifted off, with her back pressed against the frame, but she immediately fell into the same, cyclical dreamscape that she suffered every time she closed her eyes. Her old home, bathed in blood, and her family, gone. Her mother, with her throat slashed and her hands severed, speaking to her one last time through her dead lips and reminding her that she’d failed her family, even in death…
Nia awoke in a frenzied panic, just like she did every time, hyperventilating and sweating and disoriented. The worst of it was, her exhaustion had not lifted, and she was terrified to so much as blink and return to that horrible memory-turned-dream… so in a fit of desperation, she reached for the resonance stone Nadira had given her, and hoped to every existing god and deity that Ari really was on the other end. “Ari? Ari, are you awake?”
If he wasn’t before, then he certainly was now. Nia sighed audibly in relief, reclaiming control over her breathing, slowly but surely. “Oh--I’m fine. I just missed you. Gotta give your mom credit for actually coming through with these resonance stones…” She didn’t want to tell him how terrified she was to fall asleep, or that she had contacted him as a means to try and stay awake, so instead she asked, as if it were not the wee hours of the morning, “So, what were you up to today? Don’t think I didn’t notice your absence at the observatory. I was worried you maybe had second thoughts about the other night…”
Too the poor, exhausted man’s credit, Ari briefed her on the arrival of Sigrid Sorenson and Bronwyn Kavanagh, who sought to help the former Dawn warrior make it up to the D’Marian community for the lost lives she was responsible for. Besides that, Chara Rigas had evidently contacted him earlier that day. Queen Lilica saw fit to organise a day of celebration for D’Marians and Galeynian’s alike--celebrating freedom, life, anything that they could be grateful for. Of course, overburdened though he was, he could not pass up the opportunity to agree to help.
“A celebration, huh? Well, hey--maybe we can make a little parade and a few floats happen. Oh, hell yes, I will be contributing to this. Just try and stop me.” She smiled genuinely through her shaky hands and gradually receding sense of panic. “You know, this kingdom has a lot to celebrate. More children have been born in this kingdom since the Sorde twins; people without families are finding family among one another. Marriages have taken place on paper, if not in ceremony. Galeyn is healing at its own pace. I think there are ample opportunities and occasions to celebrate. I mean, I know the D’Marians and Galeynians aren’t on great terms, but… aren’t the D’Marians themselves rather divided of late as it stands? Those who stand with you didn’t want to see me dead. Those who remain loyal to the Rigases… well, at best, they’re indifferent. If you can bridge the gap there and find mutual solidarity amongst your own people once again, I could see that being pretty contagious throughout Galeyn. Hey--here’s an idea. Why not mend the rift between Rigases and Canaverises for good? In fact, I’ve got an idea: if we’re celebrating anything and everything, whatever the hell people wanna be happy about, then amidst festivities, let’s throw a wedding. For Alster and Elespeth.”
She could practically feel Ari’s incredulous confusion through the resonance stone at such an absurd idea, but she had come prepared to explain. “Okay, now, hear me out. Yes, technically they’re already married. But do you know how it happened? Elespeth was still on trial for murder because Locque made her do it--not unlike your esteemed guest, Sigrid Sorenson. She was under arrest at an inn in Braighdath. Not only that, but she was still very, very sick at the time. Her heart was giving out. The dress she wore didn’t even fit her; she could barely stand long enough to exchange vows. Her ring was too big for her finger. And few were present but the one who officiated it, Haraldur Sorde. It was more of an elopement, really, and largely because Elespeth’s health was so unstable at the time, it was up in the air whether they’d ever get the opportunity to marry if they didn’t take it then and there. Admittedly, I didn’t bear witness, myself, but Locque had eyes and ears everywhere. So I say… work it in. Show your people and Galeyn that you’re willing to extend such a gift to an arch rival, because you believe in solidarity more than a divided nation. If the D’Marians can be swayed… I guarantee, so can the Galeynians. The call for my death notwithstanding--they’re a pretty docile people. And again, I will help. Even if I’m not allowed to attend. Probably better that I don’t, anyway--parties make me kind of anxious.” She couldn’t help but chuckle in spite of herself. “What do you say? I know it sounds crazy… but we do kinda owe it to Alster a little, don’t you think? Even if his wife’s not my favourite person in the world.”
Nia’s attempts to explain herself to Nadira failed, simply because there was nothing to explain. The Canaveris matriarch was no dunce. She understood human nature and the intense emotions which drove a person to lob strings of curses at the party responsible for their imprisonment. So while Nadira tolerated the apologies and the clumsy explanations, she also dismissed them outright—with an open-mouthed chuckle.
“Oh Nia, I am afraid I must stop you there. Do you realize you are speaking in circles? These are redundancies. I have already recognized your prisoner’s speech as an expression of betrayal and hurt. I expected such a reaction prior to my arrival. As a matter of fact, Ari opposed my visit. We all knew and understood your fractious mindset at the time. Alas, one could not fault this old crone for her well-meaning yet highly inappropriate courtesy call. For that, I also must apologize for any festering wounds my appearance likely agitated.” She lowered her glossy head of dark hair into a contrite bow. Despite toiling all day among clouds of pulverized rock and muddying her hands in slurries and assorted brick-adhering mixtures, her appearance was pristine, not a hair out of place, nor dust or residue clinging to her work clothes.
“As well, I am fully aware of your reasons for saving Ari’s life. I may possess the mind of a cynic, but neither am I unmoved by selfless acts of love. You have more than demonstrated your fondness, dedication, and loyalty to my son, and for that, you have won—whether you like it or not—a mother’s respect.” Nadira did not forget Nia’s frantic shouts over Ari’s unconscious and half-petrified form, pleading for him not to die and become another casualty in her tragic, death-cursed existence. Bearing witness to such raw, unfabricated emotion changed Nadira’s perception of the Master Alchemist immediately, transforming her from a shifty character to a sincere and genuine one.
“Listen well, Nia.” Releasing her hands in tandem with the other woman, Nadira rose from her chair and rounded the table, aligning on the same side as her honored guest. “I am about to make you extraordinarily uncomfortable, and for this, I bear no apology.” Without much warning, she knelt down before Nia and slid one arm across her shoulder in a modified, but no less heartfelt, hug of support and appreciation. “If ever you are in need or want of a mother figure, please do not hesitate to call upon me. Contrary to your late mother, I find you very worthy of existence and would be devastated to lose you. Anyone who has demonstrated, and who continues to demonstrate so much investment in my son’s life, well-being, and quality of life is deserving of a place in my family. You have earned as much, my dear, for you cannot know what you have truly done for me. To lose my husband and my eldest son...to lose Ari would have been unbearable beyond comprehension. You brought him back to me, and here I am, unable to express it properly in words. I suppose we are not so dissimilar!” In addition to the tears that pricked her eyes, she let loose a weepy laugh before lowering her arm and rising, albeit with some difficulty due to her creaky, knobby knees.
“Now,” she cleared her throat, acting as though her wellspring of emotion had never occurred, “I shall grant your request for a resonance stone, Nia, on the proviso that you eat at least one-third of your dish—bread roll included.” She crossed her arms over her chest, and aspects of the intimidating Lady Nadira Canaveris, the woman Nia admitted to fearing, reappeared in her fierce brown eyes. “Go ahead. I will wait for as long as it takes.”
True to her word, Nadira delivered the resonance stone, as requested, satisfied by Nia’s performance during lunch, during which she pretended to enjoy the food heaped on her plate, when the inverse was true. Hearing from Ari about the woman’s tendency to clean off a table full of food, it worried her, as a mother and not as an investor (for she had invested in this Master Alchemist’s curse-removal plan) not to see her eat with gusto and watch as her limbs shriveled and shrank from emaciation.
But Nadira was not the sole person concerned for the Ardane woman’s health. In the D’Marian settlement, Aristide put aside some carving tools and retired to his bed. Since receiving it from his mother, the resonance stone always remained on his person. Beneath the sheets, he clutched the smooth rock. In anticipation for Nia’s verbal summons, which Nadira posited might be forthcoming, he was determined to make himself available to her whenever she needed him, heedless of the hour. Afraid of drifting too deeply into slumber and missing her call, he barely scraped the outer fringes of sleep before the resonance stone emitted its characteristic buzz beneath his fingers, and he bolted upright in bed, fumbling with the thing as he brought it to his mouth.
“Nia.” A smile on his lips transcribed into a smile in his voice, one he hoped would carry over to her ears. “It is always lovely to hear from you. Are you well?” As she offhandedly brushed aside the question, almost eliciting a frown in response, he perked up at the words, I just missed you, and the smile returned.
“I have missed you as well, Nia. My apologies for the abrupt transfer of duties. Rest assured, the only mention of ‘second’ in my thoughts of you pertained to fervent plans for our second outing.” Pushing back the bedsheets, he planted his feet out of bed, which had since been returned to its rightful place from its loan underground, and wandered over to the courtyard-facing window. “I had intended on overseeing construction on the observatory today, but realized the importance of arranging for the imminent arrival of Sigrid Sorenson and her companion. I must say, I have not been formally introduced to Miss Bronwyn Kavanagh prior to today, but she is by and far a refreshing and most delightful presence in comparison to her troublemaking brother—and her appetite rivals your own,” an amused chuckle filled the inside of his cheeks, like a squirrel storing its cache of tree nuts until bursting. “I find it difficult to believe the two are in fact related!”
“In addition, I received a call from Lady Chara prior to dinner, which altered my original intentions for Miss Sorenson by a significant margin. Not for the worse; on the contrary, she and Queen Lilica have conceived of an idea similar to my own, in terms of hosting a celebration for the kingdom.” He lifted the window latches and leaned out, resting his elbows on the ledge. A refreshing summer breeze wafted inside, ruffling his raven hair in playful swirls around his face. “They are enlisting my aid in this endeavor and I am, of course, elated to contribute to any capacity. In fact, I have informed them of my interest to host a parade float competition and a ball, here at my villa. We have collectively decided to spread out festivities over the course of several evenings, split between the Galeynian capital and the D’Marian village, not only for maximum efficiency and resource preservation, but as an expression of solidarity between the two communities. We each give our equal due. Queen Lilica has granted us a two-week preparation window, so now I’ve placed Miss Sorenson and Miss Kavanagh on the party-planning committee, as it were.” He tilted his head at her enthusiastic agreement. “Should I add your name then, Nia?” His voice grew wistful, almost dreamy, as he added, “Perhaps we can create that float of ours, after all.”
His romantic musings were cut short when Nia launched into suggestions on how best to utilize their party platform to mend relations between the Canaverises and Rigases. “While I applaud your optimism and spirit, the Rigas-Canaveris rivalry dates nearly three thousand years, and Lord Rigas himself hardly represents Rigas sentiments as a whole. Pleasing him will not vanish tensions altogether. However,” he conceded with an agreeable nod, “it is a start. I have heard tell about Lord and Lady Rigas’s slapdash Braighdathian inn-wedding, but not to the extent of detail you have provided me. Goodness,” he clucked, a pitying sound in his throat, “they are ripe for a proper ceremony. I owe Alster Rigas my life. Arranging a wedding would be but the smallest gesture of repayment for his heroism, and perhaps you are correct in that doing so will demonstrate a willingness for more cooperative relations between Rigases and Canaverises, in the future. At any rate, I am quite attracted to this wonderfully wholesome idea of yours, Nia. Who else should we involve?”
Before he further brainstormed arrangement details, Nia’s dismissive chuckle caught his ear, and he circled back around to address it. “Nia. What if I hosted a masquerade ball? Would you attend, if no one could see your true face? If anonymity cloaked your identity, then you could rest at ease, knowing you could move about without worry of detection. I...would love to dance with you again.” From his vantage point at the window, he raised his head to the sky, at the flicker of stars as vast and twinkling as a field of fireflies. “And if we are all to move forward in solidarity, does it not stand to reason that you come along, as well, as an attendee to the festivities? Further, if Galeynians and D’Marians learn that the Rigas wedding was your brainchild, I daresay they might take more kindly to you. This is your opportunity to disseminate tensions and strengthen alliances as much as it is mine.”
Although he wanted to speak with Nia for the remainder of the night, they both recognized the need to rest and retire in anticipation of the marathon of busywork, come morning. At least, she recognized that he needed rest, while she made no mention of following suit. Turning from the window, he looked to his small work desk, at the carving tools and the half-finished project sitting there, awaiting completion. “If it is at all conceivable, I pray you find adequate rest, Nia. You deserve as much. Good night.” He lowered the deactivated resonance stone from his mouth and, in lieu of returning to bed, he sat at his work table, and resumed carving at a small hunk of glistening stone.
When dawn approached, one of the guards assigned to Nia burst into the Master Alchemist’s room unannounced, plopped a small wooden box on her bed, and stormed out wordlessly. The box in question was intricately carved, circular in shape, its lid decorated to resemble the night sky framed by two stylized tree branches. Inside, a beautiful, silky green jade carving of a leaf flashed sat cushioned on a red silk pillow, its two heart-shaped dendritic segments folded together like the wings of a beetle. If Nia were to turn the carving over, she would also notice a smooth indentation, a shallow bowl perfect for the shape and placement of a thumbprint. Pulling it free from the box revealed a braided gold chain wound through a small loop on the top, and a small, handwritten note folded over the clasp. In golden, elegant calligraphy, it read:
For nightmares. You may wear it as a pendant or keep it beneath your pillow; whatever pleases you. This worry stone seconds as a glow stone; if it senses your distress, a touch will emanate a gentle and soothing, pulsing green light, and fade when the mood improves.
Take this, an immortal firefly of your own; may you carry it through each season, as a reminder of summer.
~Ari
Despite the lack of adequate sleep, Ari presented to others as refreshed and energized, which, aside from the limiting factors caused by an interrupted night of slumber, wasn’t entirely a lie. For all intents and purposes, the Canaveris Lord had vigor and pep to spare for the celebratory undertakings proposed by Queen Lilica, conveyed by Lady Chara, and reframed by Nia—so much so, that he made an announcement in the public square that morning pertaining to the queen’s decree for the jubilation. D’Marians, who as a whole needed no excuse to celebrate, each showed their support with a collective cheer of approval.
“This will be a collaborative effort between Galeynians and D’Marians, mind,” Ari gently reminded the crowd. “It is not a competition for dominance. However, I see no harm in a little friendly competition.” A little mischief danced in his dark eyes. “Let us replicate a Solstice festival that will be the envy of all Galeyians, and then let us share our cultural bounties with our kind neighbors and benefactors. Let us recreate the Solstice parade, replete with floats, music, and illusory lights. Please demonstrate your mastery of spectacle, Rigases,” he gestured to a few grim faces, conspicuous eyesores in the largely ebullient crowd.
Here is where I may lose support, Ari thought, as he turned his attention to the two women half-hidden in shadow.
“Aiding in our festivity preparations are two esteemed guests from the palace. They are neither D’Marian nor Galeynian, but they are much interested in lending their services for this noble and meaningful cause. Please show them no disrespect, for they are here at my behest. To mistreat them is to mistreat me. May I present Sigrid Sorenson and Bronwyn Kavanagh!”
As expected, the crowd devolved into confused and outraged mutterings as the faoladh and the former Dawn warrior stepped forward, their gait faltering and uncertain. “Please desist,” Ari warned the restless D’Marians, his voice crisp and commanding through the amplifying stone he wielded. “If you have any grievances, take them to me, but need I remind you, we have already established Sigrid Sorenson’s innocence. While it is understandable to feel uncomfortable or confused, do remember that before she suffered Locque’s uncanny thrall, she performed a multitude of heroic duties in the name of D’Marian safety and independence. She is not a maligned villain, but a hero who fought to detach us from Mollengardian rule and provide us a temporary safe haven in her home of Braighdath. In that same vein, Bronwyn Kavanagh,” the faoladh bristled, hardly expecting a shout-out of her own, “is not responsible for her sister’s crimes. Same as her companion, her brief tenure as Locque’s puppet cannot be used as a condemnation.” Nodding towards the two women, he lowered the amplifying stone from his mouth and whispered, “Would either of you like to address the crowd?”
“Perfect--I knew you’d be all about the idea.” Nia all but beamed and stared up at the high ceiling of her room. Just talking to Ari already put her anxious mind at ease; the next best thing to being with him at that moment. “I think the wedding should be arranged on the sly--as in, don’t breathe a word of it to Alster or Elespeth. Everyone loves a good surprise party, and I’ll admit… they’ve kinda been through a lot, as a couple. It’s about time they had a nice surprise. How about this.”
Ideas already swimming through her fully awake brain, the Master Alchemist shifted her position again to lie on her stomach, positioning the stone close to her lips. “If you want a masquerade, I’ll leave that to you, and you can leave the wedding planning to me. I have a feeling Chara, and maybe even Queen Lilica, will be on board for the idea, as they are both friends and allies of Elespeth and Alster. As for the float? Well, let’s see if we can secure the permission to tackle that together. And, speaking of permission… Wanna call in some favours and see if I can take a day off from working away in the observatory? I’ll head to the Night Garden tomorrow and run my idea by the royal couple.”
Ari promised to do what he could to arrange a reprieve for the Master Alchemist so that she could dedicate her time in other ways that would benefit the community, but Nia detected the deep fatigue in his voice, and recognized with disappointment that she couldn’t keep him up all night for her benefit. She’d have to find other ways to escape her nightmares. “I don’t know if I’m really in the mood for sleep, with all of this exciting news.” She lied, but did not want to worry Ari for the real reasons she couldn’t commit to slumber. There was no sense in plaguing him with concerns that were well beyond his control. “But I’ll let you get back to sleep. Let’s talk again tomorrow?”
Still shaken from her most recent Nightmare, Nia was particularly eager to find creative ways to stay awake until the early hours of morning. Somehow, between jotting down ideas for these upcoming festivities, along with her never-ending venture of researching methods for Ari’s eventual ‘cure’ (she had to hand it to Nadira for convincing her ‘caretakers’ to let her borrow some books from the library), she managed to bear witness to the sunrise--around which point she was ‘blessed’ with the arrival of one of her guards, who didn’t even bother to knock or state his business, deposited a box on her bed before leaving. “Well good morning to you, too,” she muttered, and soundlessly stood from her desk to take a look at the curious box. It wasn’t any ordinary box; the cover was too intricate for it to be anything but a gift.
And a gift it was, she noticed almost immediately, as she picked up the lovely, carved jade pendant. It was weighty in her palm, and she noticed the indentation on the back was just the right size for her thumb. Like a worry stone… She didn’t need to read the note to know who this was from, but also knowing that his words were often as beautiful as his art, she read the tiny note that had been tucked under the pendant. “If only this could vanquish my nightmares…” She sighed, and immediately arranged the pendant around her neck. It was reassuring to have the weight of something beneath her collar bones, again. On contact with her skin, it did, indeed, begin to glow faintly with the vestiges of her previous night terrors. It might not be a be all, end all solution, but the gesture still meant the world to her.
When word came later that morning that she was granted permission to visit the Night Garden (accompanied, of course), Nia did what she could to dress her best, applied ointment to her ever-aching leg, and didn’t complain once on her trek to the healing gardens that had somehow opened up the most grievous wound in her mind. Lovely as the fireflies had been, it would rain frogs before she’d ever willingly consume anything from that Garden, again. However, the people she needed to speak to, she’d been informed, were both occupying the sanctuary--so that was exactly where she headed.
She didn’t even flinch at the surprise and confusion on Lilica and Chara’s faces when she stepped over the threshold of the doorway, while her accompanying guard stood outside. “Your Majesty. Lady Chara.” Nia dipped into a bow and put on her brightest smile. “I hope you can forgive my intrusion. Word has spread of the festivities you are planning, and I had an idea that I simply couldn’t wait to share. I think you’ll both be on board with it, if you’re willing to listen.”
Nia detailed her ideas to incorporate a ‘surprise wedding’ into the celebrations that would ensue in two-weeks’ time, and her reasons for thinking it would be a good course of action, not only on behalf of Alster and Elespeth, but to smooth over internal conflict in the D’Marian community. By the time she was finished, she felt half-winded, and took a seat upon an available cot. “So? What do you think? To have it all officiated by Galeyn’s very own queen--I think it would be hella meaningful!”
“I will be frank with you, Miss Ardane. Considering how hard you made it for me, for Alster, for Chara and Lord Canaveris, for that matter, to advocate for your life, you can consider yourself lucky that I am entertaining any ideas you might have right now.” Lilica did not crack a smile, and her voice was firm. “I’ve yet to be discharged from the sanctuary because of that trial. But… I will say, your idea is admirable. And for everything Alster and Elespeth have done, I think they deserve something akin to a respectable ceremony. However, Alster has expressed interest in helping with these festivities… keeping it a secret may be difficult.”
“Keep him busy with other areas of the celebrations. Ari mentioned erecting some floats for a parade--a D’Marian solstice tradition, if I understand correctly? Why not bring back some friendly rivalry?” The Master Alchemist turned to Chara with a bright smile. “Lady Chara--could I count on you to help arrange a venue? Maybe find something suitable for the both of them to wear? You’ve got a knack for making people look their best. Tell them there are alternate reasons for dressing up--it’s a party, there will be a multitude of excuses we could use. I think, if the both of you are on board, we could pull this off. It’ll be a touching gesture all around, and if true love doesn’t ease up some of the tensions running amok in this kingdom, then I don’t know what will.”
When Sigrid had offered to do anything that would put her in the direct service of the D’Marian population, it had not occurred to her that it would land her as an organizer for a party that she’d had no idea was happening. But sure enough, the next morning when she awoke in the guestroom Lord Canaveris had so graciously prepared for her, he’d summoned both the former Dawn warrior and the faoladh woman to attend a light breakfast with him to go over what he had decided in terms of what they could do to help. And while it was not the most absurd request he could have made, it was enough to take both Sigrid and Bronwyn off guard.
“A… celebration?” Sigrid repeated the words slowly, completely forgetting about the food on her plate as soon as the Canaveris lord explained just how she could be of help. “Lord Canaveris--I spent most of my life hiding from parties, if I am being completely honest. Celebrations of the sort never… sat well with me.” The blonde warrior fiddled with her utensils, staring down at her plate without making much of an effort to put a dent in the food. She did not bother to detail the reasons for her shyness among crowds, feeling it irrelevant to mention that in addition to her somewhat introverted nature, she’d always found it awkward to turn down dances with men, while never really having the courage to ask for one from a woman. There had been a point where Naimah’s soothing company had made such events more tolerable, and the woman had truly lended her the courage to be a bit bolder, but for the most part, that courage had died along with the Kariji woman. Of course, planning was not at all the same as attending, but mere mention of such an event triggered memories in the Dawn Warrior--both good and bad. Some of those memories, she was not ready to face. “I’m not sure how useful I would be in contributing to the preparation of festivities…”
Sensing her discomfort (or perhaps it really was just that obvious), Aristide had reassured her that she was welcome to apply her skills to the physical labour involved in preparations, and there was by all means no expectations that she personally coordinate any events. That put her at ease until he asked if she and Bronwyn could accompany them shortly after breakfast to address the D’Marian crowd about upcoming festivities. Of course, that was inevitable; she’d known when she’d offered her services that at some point, she would be required to face the people who had sought to condemn her while Galeyn had fought to condemn Anetania Ardane. After all, what would be the point of secretly working on behalf of these people without ever showing her face or addressing the reason why she was present in the D’Marian settlement?
Bronwyn, who hadn’t exhibited quite so uncomfortable a reaction to helping to plan a celebration, did share in Sigrid’s adverse reaction to standing before a crowd. The faoladh woman had, after all, made her own insecurities known, and she had good reason to be afraid. Hadwin wasn’t exactly a popular figure among D’Marians or Galeynians, and for that matter, neither had been their mutual sister who had terrorized the kingdom and its people for months. Two very controversial figures before a crowd that would likely eat them alive… there was no possible way it could go well. But, they weren’t in the position to refuse, or else their involvement among the D’Marians would be null and void. It was inevitable--but nonetheless, Sigrid had hoped she wouldn’t have to face it so soon. “I am sure it goes without saying… there is nothing I would rather not do than face your people right now, Lord Canaveris.” Sigrid confessed, anxiously toying with the tip of her long braid. Though she feared insulting Aristide’s generous hospitality, she couldn’t stomach a single bite of food on her plate--the complete opposite of Bronwyn, who had successfully found her meal a home in her stomach in mere moments. “But… this is why I wanted to be here, in the first place. I promised to do whatever it takes to atone for the tragedy that I brought upon this community, even if it was never my will or intention to do so. I trust your citizens won’t be quite so bloodthirsty if you are present to act as mediator.”
Swallowing her fear, the blonde warrior accompanied Bronwyn as she followed Lord Canaveris to the public square at the heart of the D’Marian settlement, where a crowd began to form around their beloved leader. At first, the denizens appeared confused at the proposition of a celebration during a time when everyone was just trying to put their broken lives back together, but as he proceeded to detail the reason behind Queen Lilica’s desire to celebrate, they appeared to warm to the idea. After all, D’Marians did enjoy a good party, and what better way to lift everyone’s spirits than to find any little reason to celebrate? It was rather uplifting, the way a few faces in the crowd lit up, eager to put forth their ideas or lend their skills, and for a moment, Sigrid--who purposely kept to the shadows, for the time being, couldn’t help but feel a little hopeful. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea. Just because she wasn’t partial to parties did not mean it was not a conducive way to encourage healing. And if she could take part in healing a community that she had hurt, perhaps it would not be so difficult to sleep at night.
Her building feelings of hope did not endure. As soon as Ari drew attention to the blonde warrior and her faoladh companion, the mood of the crowd changed almost instantaneously. Recognition dawned on their faces, and there was nowhere for either Sigrid nor Bronwyn to run or hide. This was never going to be easy--Sigrid was not so naive as to think she could show up in the D’Marian settlement without being on the receiving end of anger and vitriol, but at the same time, she feared she’d overestimated her ability to deal with it. The Canaveris lord, to his credit, did his best to dampen the flames by reminding the D’Marians their innocence, but there were some mindsets that could not be so easily changed. When he offered to allow either the warrior or the faoladh to step up and speak for themselves, Sigrid had never wanted so badly to decline anything. But one glance at Bronwyn who stood just behind her shoulder, and who looked far more worried than she was, somehow gave her the courage to face the people who had called for her punishment when she hadn’t even been on trial.
“D’Marians… I know you are angry. And your anger is justified. Your community has suffered a terrible, tragic loss, and even if it had never been my will or intention… that loss is still on my hands. And I know loss. I know what it can do to you… what it can make you think and feel. These hands…” She looked down at her calloused palms. There had been a point in time when she’d been self-conscious of them; but not since Naimah had pointed out that they were proof of all of the dedication she put into her training and her mission to fight for others. “These hands were supposed to protect someone very dear to me--and they couldn’t. Instead, they ended up being the weapons at a witch’s will. Something I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life. Please understand…”
Sigrid dropped her hands and looked up at the crowd before her. Some faces remained angry; others appeared as though they wanted to listen. “Bronwyn Kavanagh and I are here of our own accord. I approached Lord Canaveris with the desire to do whatever I can to make it up to this community. I realize that there is nothing I could possibly do to earn forgiveness, and I recognize that while I was never put on trial for murder, the Master Alchemist, Anetania Ardane, was nearly put to death and is currently serving a sentence when she is not directly responsible for any such deaths. Therefore, I wish to invoke my own sentence, and to be of service to Lord Canaveris and all of you. Not until I am forgiven; I realize I may never earn that. But at least for long enough for it to become clear to all of you that I recognize and validate the pain of your loss. Long enough for you to understand… that I know I can never make things right. But neither will I refuse to hold myself accountable for the tragedy I have caused this settlement. If, of course, you’ll have me… well,” she spared a glance over her shoulder at Bronwyn. “If you’ll have us.”
At Sigrid’s self-imposed sentencing in service to him and to the D’Marians, Ari tried not to frown his disapproval. Why was everyone such a glutton for punishment, and why did facing D’Marians especially bring out the inner martyr in people? First, Alster forced the crowd to vilify his existence, then, Chara Rigas demanded she pay retribution for the sins of her past (a retribution he had yet to resolve among those still determined to have her commit to the Canaveris family). Next, Nia had argued in favor of her death sentence, which, in a twist of irony, helped placate not the hard-to-please D’Marians, who had elected to support her, but the peace-loving Galeynians. And now, Sigrid Sorenson attempted to appeal to the crowd using the same method. At the very least, she has chosen not to employ the most extreme version possible, Ari reasoned, with an inner sigh.
“Bear in mind, D’Marians, a confession is for the guilty, and Sigrid Sorenson, while innocent, has recognized our tragedies and struggles as a community, and has opted to offer her services, in spite of the accusations and smears against her upstanding character,” Ari added, after retrieving his amplifying stone from the targeted party. “Although she owes us naught, she presents herself to us as a goodwill ambassador, and stands humbly before you so that she may mend the rift her inadvertent actions have caused. Please allow her a place within the boundaries of our garden city in miniature. To usher in a new era of prosperity and peace, let us first begin with our neighbors and alliances. As you have shown clemency for Anetania Ardane, I ask that you extend your hearts for Sigrid Sorenson and Bronwyn Kavanagh, as well. That is my fervent request to you, as your leader. Let us not punish them for perceived slights of the past, but grant them the platform to prove themselves worthy of your respect.” He spread out his arms in a sweeping gesture of supplication. “Do this for me, D’Marians. Do this for them, and for yourselves.”
At once, the crowd descended into a cacophonous hum of dissenting opinions, with some deliberations speaking louder than others. To Ari’s horror, he caught the mumbled commentary of a nobleman perched aloft, at the far end of the stage, and heard the dreaded words spoken to his wife at his side, “We musn’t upset our lord. Who here wants to be responsible for reverting him to stone?”
“Yes,” his wife chimed in. “Should that occur, we would have to contend with the incompetence of Rigas rule yet again. Best we play along, or Lady Canaveris shall have our heads.”
Some other D’Marians followed through, their sentiments similar, but a little less self-serving, on the surface. Concerned voices cut through the din, addressing Ari head-on. “My lord, we shall do as you say, if it will put you at ease!”
“Yeah, don’t petrify on our account!”
“Please don’t stress or overtax yourself!”
Is that what you think of me? As a fragile being, liable to crack? Ari held his expression, noble yet impassive, betraying no damaged pride, affront, or anger. “D’Marians, I appreciate your well-wishes, but my health is not the subject of today’s conference. Please let us keep the topic relevant.”
“Then let the wolf bitch say something, too!” An anonymous speaker spat from towards the rear, his indignation apparent, even with his appearance hidden. “Her bitch sister slaughtered nine of us! Who’s gonna hold her accountable now that she’s dead?”
“D’Marians,” Ari refrained from massaging the headache developing on his temple, careful not to express a drop of emotion in case they would misconstrue it as weakness, or the onset of a flare-up, “have we not addressed an equivalent case vis a vis Sigrid Sorenson? I will not have the practice of scapegoating occur in this village. If we cannot be civil, then I shall forthwith declare this gathering adjourned.”
A timid yank on his sleeve rerouted his attention to the newest subject of debate, her hands wringing into tight fists to prevent from revealing her abject discomfort. Uncurling one of those hands, she nonverbally asked for possession of the amplifying stone, which Ari delivered to her palm.
“There’s no reason for me to say I had nothing to do with those nine murders,” Bronwyn began with faltering cadence, “because you’ll find a way to blame me for them, anyway, even when they happened long before I arrived in Galeyn. And it’s true, I later had a hand in the killing of the D’Marian family insofar as I was compelled to comply with Locque’s orders. Same as Sigrid. Same as Nia. I suppose people believe I’m guilty by association because, as the eldest Kavanagh sibling, the existence of my younger siblings’ deviating and objectionable behavior must mean that I, too, am complicit. The sins of the family fall, too, on my shoulders, isn’t that right? And if that’s the case, then maybe I’m just as rotten to the core, capable of murder, violence, and delinquency. But should I be judged for crimes I haven’t committed yet? I ask that you judge me for what I did do, and nothing more.” Her eyes drifted to Sigrid, silently taking in her bravery, her courage. If she could find her voice amidst the odious stares and leers of disapproval of the crowd, then so, too, could Bronwyn. “Because, as you can see, I chose to accompany Sigrid Sorenson to your village for similar reasons. To earn forgiveness, and also to prove that...I only want to help. I don’t want to cause destruction. I just want to undo the damage wrought by my siblings. Please,” she folded her hands together and shuffled her feet, looking the picture of misery and defeat, “allow me to help. You’ll find that I’m a very hard worker. If you need something built, I can build it. I can also track, and hunt, and guard. I’ll protect you. I’ll earn your trust, slow and steady, but you first need to give me a chance. So,” she breathed, and opened herself to the crowd’s gaping scrutiny, “will you?”
“Sure!” one jaunty voice piped up, his lazy interest oozing its slime for all to hear. “Your whore brother gets around, so how much are you worth, hon? Or will you be handing out freebies? Give me that help and we’ll call it even!” Some other D’Marians chortled at the comment, offering up their grunts of agreement.
Bronwyn paled. Whatever reserves of strength she’d possessed just a moment ago fizzled and died on her tongue. Embarrassed, shameful tears clung to her lashes. “E-excuse me,” she squeaked, tossing the amplifying stone back to Ari and fleeing the stage in a blind run, away from anything and everything that could harm her.
“This gathering is adjourned!” Ari roared, no longer caring about wearing his intense emotions. He let his roiling fury known, and emitted it forth like a ruinous landslide. “By insulting my guest, you insult me gravely. There will be proper recourse for the man who threw the stone, and his accomplices.” He nodded at Lazarus beside him, who nodded in turn and thundered off the stage in search of the culprit. “Of those who can behave appropriately, meet me in the community hall and we shall delegate tasks. There will be no disrespect, else I will escort you from the premises, myself, and ban you from any and all festivities therewith!” As the disquieted throng of people began to disperse, the Canaveris lord approached Sigrid, worry clinging to his brow. “Would you go and fetch Miss Kavanagh? Have her retire to the villa. Stay with her, if necessary. I will not abide this level of maliciousness running rampant in my village. Go—and I will deal with matters here.”
Chara Rigas, content to spend what little quality time her busy schedule afforded, did not anticipate Nia Ardane to barge inside the sanctuary and disrupt precious discussions with her recovering partner. If possible, she exercised even less patience than Lilica as the Master Alchemist detailed her ambitious plans for throwing Alster and Elespeth a legitimate wedding ceremony. While the idea itself was attractive, Chara cocked an eyebrow, suspicious of the source who generated such a bold and altruistic plan.
“This is all well and good, Ardane, but indulge my bluntness. What are you trying to accomplish through this maneuver? A full pardon? It will take more than ingratiating yourself to Alster and Elespeth, and by extension, us, to earn your freedom. You cannot be doing this solely from the goodness of your heart.” She wanted to sour her face to a pucker and freeze out Nia, pluck the idea from her hands and send her off to the dungeons where she belonged, but in the pacifying presence of Lilica, she was willing to play nice, and she agreed with the cause, however questionably self-serving its inception.
“There is no friendly rivalry between Canaverises and Rigases,” Chara huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “There is only warfare. Alster is not usually competitive, but he is a perfectionist and as such, is physically incapable of doing a shoddy job. He will eviscerate his competition and Rigases will again reign victorious over the Canaverises. I am not so certain that is what you want?” She eyed Nia’s new necklace, undoubtedly Ari’s handiwork. “But it will provide an adequate distraction for him, nonetheless. Providing suitable dress and a venue is child’s play when I’ve outfitted the hapless duo on multiple occasions already, and made do with abrupt and hackneyed stages in the past. But I’m afraid I have to chop this merry little spitballing session short.” She tossed her head in the direction of the door. “Alster is currently a patient here and should be returning from his garden stroll shortly, with Elespeth in tow. If you don’t want to arouse suspicion, it’s best that you leave now. We’ll,” she wrinkled her nose, as if the thought of collaborating with Locque’s former lackey brought her olfactory distress, “we’ll be in touch, Ardane.”
But Nia hardly exited the sanctuary’s vicinity when another figure joined her side, matching her bruised gait almost lope for lope. “Hiya.” Hadwin Kavanagh, who, like his unwitting companion, had seen better days, grinned his shit-eating greetings, but couldn’t remove the tired lines beneath his haunted, golden eyes. Even his arrival, usually loud and startling, like a thunderclap on a raging battlefield, seemed mellow, defanged, and wispy, almost transparent, as if he weren’t quite alive. “So I couldn’t help but overhear. Nasty habit, I know. But it’s not like I can up and close my ears! So,” he rested a chummy hand on Nia’s back, not his usual slap of force, but a tap, “count me in, yeah? Al and Elly, we go way back. I’m invested in those two little headcases. ‘Specially Elly. You need a cake? I’ll fix ‘em up a cake. Entertainment? Pah, I’ve got that, too. I’ve befriended some local bards—as you’re probably aware,” he winked. His failure to mention the Missing Links as a primary or even secondary form of entertainment seemed a touch concerning, but he didn’t linger on the outlier, and the manufactured mirth in his eyes expertly deflected any hint of a problem.
“I also make an ace distraction. Don’t want them to sniff out your deceit? You got it! I’ll misdirect the ever-loving shit out of ‘em. By the way,” he threw out a finger, pointing to the copse of flowering trees a mid-distance away, “they’re gonna pop out of those woods any moment now. So mum’s the word. Say,” he scanned her neckline and tutted in approval, “I dig the new look. Very stylish. Better than the battle starfish, though I appreciated how that fucking thing could give you tetanus if you so much as looked at it wrong. Well hey,” he slid off his hand and stepped back, “I’ll let you run, or toddle off, since your running’s shot. Don't I know it?” He chortled and tapped his own chicken legs for reference. “But if evenings get you down and you need a reprieve, there’s nothing like upending a tankard or five down your thirsty gullet to drown out the nightmares. Whenever you're free from confinement, or allowed nighttime guests—whatever comes first—I’ll join you for company. High time we get together for drinks anyway. We can even start a club. Dub it something like ‘The Sad Sacks’ or ‘The Insomniacs.’ Cuz,” he pulled down one of his red-rimmed eyelids, “like hell either of us is gonna get a good night’s sleep anytime soon.”
Despite Lilica’s uplifting news of a large, overdue celebration spanning across the kingdom, Alster’s interest fluctuated, ranging from cautiously hopeful, to apathetic. On the second day of Locque’s flower-petal “treatment” process, which he continued to take for reasons he couldn’t explain using sound mental processing, he veered towards apathetic on the mood spectrum, having experienced nothing except that, when he awoke from his dreamless sleep, his fever broke, and his aching limbs felt less achy. Whatever poisoned his magic drained out of him, little by little. The physical symptoms, at least—but not the low-burning fire of his unfinished business, which still carried its residual torchlight for Locque.
Elespeth, bless her, stayed with him for the majority of the second day, a steadfast fixture who accompanied him for meals and short walks around the Night Garden. They did not speak of his affliction or why it ended him in the sanctuary, and she continued to respect his discretion and silence on the matter, though it likely ate her up inside not to know the context behind his pain. Nonetheless, she humored him, and they kept conversation light and flowing, seldom veering from festival-related talks, the majority of which focused on their specific roles and tasks.
But upon returning to the sanctuary, Chara wasted no time assigning them to their actual, and not envisioned, roles for the event. “Parade float duty?” He said, incredulous. “I doubt anyone in the D’Marian village wants to compete against me. I’ve always been accused of toeing an unfair advantage. It’s why I never contributed in past solstice parades; to keep things balanced. I also know how seriously the Canaverises take this event. We’re trying to get along, not sow further discord.”
Chara, however, wasn’t to be dissuaded, and Alster sighed his hesitant agreement. He then spent the remainder of the day drawing up float ideas and plans, but scraping every half-formed design with a groan of frustration and the shredding of paper. Knowing the sorry state of his concentration, he retired to bed early. After all, no one wanted a grouch in charge of party planning, and maybe, if he consumed the last and final petal...maybe, everything might…
He banished the thought before he gave it form. No. I won’t fill my head with unrealistic hopes. Plucking the remaining petal from his nightstand, a rich, cornflower blue, he chewed up the fragrant blossom remnant, finished his tin of water...and drifted into deep slumber.
This time, once crossing into the threshold of unconsciousness, he took immediate control of the dreamscape, allowing Locque no opportunities to strike first. “It’s my turn,” he spoke into the dark, and painted over oblivion with the backdrop of Stella D’Mare—the mottled ocean, the multicolored roofs, the dust of stars overhead—including the one unflickering white-blue dot dangling in the summer sky, like an apocalyptic shooting star about to descend. “I learned about you, Locque. Now, learn about me. Learn about the monster I became when I was too young to know better, the same monster I every day push down and moderate so I don’t lose myself to its pull. I am Serpent Bane. ...I’ve always been Serpent Bane, but I’ve tried, Locque. I don’t know about you, but I tried, and am trying, so hard to fight and overcome the darkness.”
What followed were, true to form, scenes of his life as a small child up to his adolescence. Alster Rigas, the golden boy, celebrated and despised for his impressive power. Rigases jeered at him, from afar and to his face. “You can’t play with us. It’s too unfair. Go away.”
His mother fell in love with his magical potential, her too-high expectations manifesting into a heavy hand. Thwap! “Your form is abysmal, Alster. I did not raise a failure. Do it again, and do it correctly, or you will go to the dark room to reflect on your correctable mistakes.”
“But I don’t know what I’m doing wrong!”
Thwap!
“Do not talk back to me! You know very well what you are doing wrong. Ungrateful child, that is what you are!”
He spent many tear-filled, dinnerless nights huddled in the dark, windowless room, alone...but for one companion. Always present. For years.
I’m here, the darkness whispered. Free me...and I will free you, too.
“I know how I can be free.”
But the dagger he smuggled into the dark room, and the wavering hand that held it, refused to mark his chest and feast on his heart. He dropped the knife, tears spewing anew.
You don’t desire to die, the darkness hissed. You desire revenge. Your family failed you. Your city failed you. They never listened when you screamed for them to listen. They’re the failures. Not you.
Not you…
So let’s scream a little louder. You will be heard!
So he did it. He made a pact with the darkness. With the Serpent, who infiltrated his mind and used his voice, his resentment, and borrowed his power to rouse from Its slumber and thrash a section of the city in its awakening throes. The D’Marians rallied against the Rigases, rallied against him, shouting their aspersions and demands.
Serpent Bane.
Die!
You are ruin.
“But I’m just a boy!” He cried. “I...I didn’t know! Please, I didn’t know!”
I’ll always be with you, the darkness effused, even when his carriage of exile separated him further and further away from the city on the sea. The only city he had ever known, and the city which despised him. However far you go, I’ll find you, Alster Rigas.
Fifty years later, it did. Broken bodies. Blood-soaked sand. Black, miasmic serpents circling the sky like dreadful smoke beacons, signaling the site of a massacre. And it was a massacre in miniature. His hand, outstretched, clawed, shivering. His expression, hooded, hateful, twisted. His parents. Gutted. Suffocated. Unresponsive eyes frozen, wide-eyed in fatal surprise.
“Your darkness is noted, Locque. As is mine. I understand it. I understand what it can do to you. How it can shape and warp you into something ugly. And I also understand that I’m fortunate to have been surrounded by good, supportive people. Dear friends and companions, who each taught me the meaning of kindness when everyone else had turned their backs on me.” Alster lowered his hand, and the macabre image shattered, slithering retreating, into welcome oblivion. “But understanding doesn’t mean I condone or accept you. So why come to me like this? Why try and force me to care when you’ve done nothing but hurt me, hurt my wife, and proceed to destroy my entire existence? There’s nothing for you to prove here. No mind-blowing revelations that I’m not already aware of. You’re not saving me. You’re not allowed to save me after everything you did. So I’ll ask again. Why?” His voice became plaintive. Tight. “Why are you here at all?!”
It came as no surprise that Lord Canaveris’s words did a far better job of speaking on her behalf and Bronwyn’s than did Sigrid’s words. But she was a warrior--not an orator or even a leader. And all she had wanted was to present the crowd with the honesty they all wanted and deserved. Aristide called her innocent, but she knew she wasn’t; at least, not in the eyes of D’Marians. Galeyn was not quick to anger, even if they had at first called for the Master Alchemist’s death, but D’Marians were far more passionate in their love and their hatred. Perhaps speaking up hadn’t helped at all… it appeared only to spark their ire all the more, such that they then called on Bronwyn--who had never really, truly been under fire the same way the Dawn Warrior had been--to speak up as well.
Sigrid turned to see that the faoladh woman, pale and nervous, approached Ari for the amplifying stone--and she wanted to stop her. Perhaps it was intuition, or simply given how poorly the crowd had accepted her apology, she didn’t want Bronwyn to have to suffer the same. “Bronwyn,” she whispered, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder, but her reach was just shy by an inch. Her brow creased deep in concern. “They’re already angry… it is like Ari said. You don’t need to be their scapegoat: you don’t have to do this.” You didn’t even have to be here, she almost said, but the thought wasn’t brought to words. You’re only here… because of me. Because you offered, and I asked you to honour it…
But Brownyn Kavanagh had already made up her mind, had taken the amplifying stone, and her words surprised Sigrid. The faoladh woman spoke with far more confidence than she had, choosing all of the right words, and making a solid effort to turn the direction of the narrative. Frankly, she did a better job of articulating the reasons why the D’Marians should give her, and Sigrid, a chance to redeem themselves, and earn the respect, if not the forgiveness, of the people who had suffered. Yet, alas, the response was not at all what the trio amidst the crowd wanted, and definitely not what Bronwyn had intended, as a result.
Seeing the mortification on Bronwyn’s face, when the woman had wanted nothing more but to reach out and ask how she could help these eviscerating people, triggered immediate, innate anger in the former Dawn warrior. It harkened back to the times she noted people treating Naimah with disrespect, all due to her chosen profession. Naimah had always told Sigrid not to step in, that she was fully capable of taking care of herself--and she had been. But Brownyn’s skin was not quite so thick, it seemed, and when her eyes filled with tears and she darted away, the blonde warrior could not help but give her last thoughts to the crowd that sought to make a mockery of them both.
“Is this really characteristic of Stella D’Mare? To insult and mock people who risk what little is left of their pride and dignity because they want to help?!” She was not the meek and contrite woman she had been moments ago. Sigrid’s voice carried, without the need for an amplifying stone, and her blue eyes flickered like fire. “Your homeland has been claimed by another nation. You are as much guests in Galeyn as you are citizens. You cannot pretend like you are not just as broken on the inside as the Galeynians. So what is the difference, then, between you and them? Currently, they have Anetania Ardane working for them--helping them, however she is capable, and however they see fit. Because they recognize they have more to gain by utilizing her skills and her desire to make amends than to shit all over her. You would all do well take a chapter from the book of your Galeynian brethren, or to at least see reason the way your capable leader does, if this is your response to anyone who wants nothing more than to help you!”
Ari needn’t tell her what was necessary in that moment: she had fully prepared to find Bronwyn, regardless of what he asked, but she did have the courtesy to murmur her apology. “Forgive my outburst, Lord Canaveris… but I cannot stand for that level of disrespect. But, please let me know if there is anything I can do to help.”
Trusting him to be alright on his own, Sigrid set off in the direction she had seen Bronwyn run. She had her work cut out for her: the woman was fast, just like her brother, and it was a few long minutes before she found her wiping her eyes on her sleeve with her back pressed against the outside of a tailor’s shop. The blonde warrior took care to approach quietly, and carefully, so as not to spook or further upset the mortified faoladh woman. She didn’t speak, instead waiting for Bronwyn to acknowledge her by looking up. “This was… a disaster, but by no means was it your fault, or mine. All of those comments were completely uncalled for--particularly toward you. I once had someone very dear to me who worked in the field of human pleasure. Even if you were quite so ‘ouvert’ with your desires as your brother--which you are not, and that only makes that comment all the more inappropriate--they had no reason to disrespect you so. Unfortunately, we can’t change these peoples’ minds in a day. I don’t want to be out here, out in the open anymore…” The blonde warrior extended her hand to Bronwyn. “Will you come back to the villa with me? Neither of us should be wandering these streets alone, until Lord Canaveris gets his people under control.”
“Pardon? Hey, this whole party idea wasn’t my idea, you know. Ari gave me the summary and I’m merely trying to contribute, because--I’ll be honest,” Nia leaned in conspiratorially, and cupped her hand around her mouth, as if sharing a mock secret, “it is a hell of a lot more interesting than standing around the earth mages and masons while they remodel the observatory. Ari’s got a capable bunch, there; I’m honestly barely needed, but for the occasional consultation. Well, that, and it’s kinda disconcerting not knowing who’s gonna try to off me next because they don’t want me there. Ari hasn’t said as much, but considering how heavily monitored the vicinity has been since that wall collapsed and almost took us both out, it’s pretty obvious he’s being overprotective because he doesn’t trust anyone else to make an attempt on my life. Believe me, Lady Chara, I am more than well aware I’m not exactly ‘welcome’ here, and probably won’t be welcome at the festivities, either… but if you really need a motive, here, then I’ll just say, I owe Alster Rigas.”
The Master Alchemist tapped the knee of her bad leg, which she had positioned carefully across the cot upon which she sat. “Got a pretty bad wound when I was running for my life. Al didn’t have to do it, but he helped me. Could’ve turned me in, himself, when I was weak and injured and couldn’t fight back, but he didn’t. Could’ve left me to die, because at the time, there were not available healers at the Canaveris villa adept enough in dealing with a rather dire situation, but he didn’t. He’s really a good guy, and hasn’t really caught much of a break, himself. I feel like organizing something meaningful for him is the least I could do in return. His wife, on the other hand…” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “You know, I really did want to be friendly with her. And I tried, time and again, but she seems to be of the opinion that I’m better despised than liked… but whatever. She makes Al happy, and I’m willing to swallow my pride to do something nice for him.”
“I’d thought by now you might be used to rampant dislike for your character, Miss Ardane.” Lilica commented dryly, mirroring Chara’s disdain for the woman who she had tried to help, and whose stubborn self-erasure had forced her to work so hard that it landed her in the sanctuary ever since, practically starting the healing process all over. She didn’t want to be bedridden--she wanted to be up and about and tending to her kingdom! If only Anetania Ardane hadn’t proceeded throughout her trial with such defeat, she believed things could have gone far more smoothly, with less detriment to her health. “And Chara is right--Alster is currently himself a patient of the sanctuary under the care of the Night Garden, and is currently only absent because Elespeth has taken him for a walk in the Garden for the benefit of his mental and physical health. We’ll have to postpone any further discussion of this for now.”
“Alright, alright--I won’t overstay my ‘unwelcome’. But before I go… I know I kinda fucked things up for you when you were just trying to prevent my untimely demise; for that, I am sorry.” The Master Alchemist gingerly stood up, favouring her bad leg, but all the while trying not to draw too much attention to her current handicap. “And I wanna thank you for it. I know, I’m not easy to deal with, and I really didn’t make things easy for you, but… thanks. For not giving up on me.”
“Make no mistake, it was not for you that I fought so hard during your trial, Anetania.” Lilica mentioned; not unkindly, but frankly, nonetheless. “I simply did not want this kingdom to veer in the direction of earning unnecessary blood on its hands. It has never sentenced anyone to death, before, and I won’t have a precedent set now. You’ve simply benefitted from my decision not to allow Galeyn to let go of its mercy. Otherwise, I cannot begrudge my people for their hostile feelings toward you, considering you are responsible for the turmoil they suffered, even indirectly.”
“I know--I get it. I’m not gonna try to pretend like I wasn’t trying to save my own ass. And I’ll happily serve this sentence for as long as you and Galeyn see fit. But--and I’m not saying this to try and earn my way into your good graces,” she nodded to the Galeynian queen and her advisor, “I hope that one day I can make it up to you, specifically. I mean it! But, right now, I guess the best way to do that would be to get outta your face, sooo…”
No sooner did she turn toward the door that she was met with a familiar figure, sporting a gait as wounded as her own. “Hadwin!” Nia honestly couldn’t recall the last time she had exchanged words with the faoladh since he had taken her to Ari’s villa, not long before her arrest, or when he’d visited her once in the dungeons. She’d never harboured ill will toward him for the outcome; it wasn’t his fault things had turned out the way they had. And he’d continued to be friendly to her, even in the aftermath. It was reassuring to have someone other than Ari she could rely on not to scowl at her in her presence. “So you think you can help out in the realm of a surprise wedding? I’ll take all the help I can get! Round up your bards and figure out how to distract them so they don’t suspect I’m up to anything. Chara’s already agreed to deal with the venue and getting the two of ‘em looking suitable to renew their vows. So you’re good if I leave the fanfare to you? Don’t let me down, now!”
It took Nia a moment to realize when Hadwin was referring to her new necklace. It already felt like such a permanent fixture on her body, sitting comfortably between her collar bones. she’d forgotten it was there. “It really is more attractive as a piece of jewelry… I couldn’t bring myself to wear the star anymore. I really want to focus on moving on, looking toward the future, not the past. And--I mean, yeah, I guess it’s a little bit of a step up from hauling around a piece of jagged steel.”
It hadn’t escaped her attention that she wasn’t the only one physically in bad shape. Hadwin looked thinner, slower, and far more tired than she remembered. It made her wonder… “...what are your dreams like, lately? They gave me some shit from the Night Garden when I couldn’t sleep, and it really fucked me up. Whenever I’m unlucky enough to fall asleep, I… see stuff that I’d rather forget. It doesn’t give me a break--it doesn’t end. Al was able to help me a while back with his ‘kill without actually killing’ magic. I was kinda hoping I’d be able to locate him to beg him to repeat the favour, but if he’s not doing too well, himself…” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. She wouldn’t bother him; not if he wasn’t physically capable of it, and she didn’t need to give Elespeth any more reasons to hate her even more by stressing out her husband to his very limits.
“But, whatever--such is life, right? I do miss shooting the shit with you, wolf-boy. I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed a nice, long drink. Although I’m not sure which establishments will actually let me sit and drink… we may have to find another means, huh?” She leaned in and laughed at first, placing a friendly hand on Handwin’s shoulder, but once she was out of hearing range of the guard who stood just a few paces away, Nia lowered her voice to barely above a whisper, and her smile faltered. “Hey… word has it you’re someone particularly acquainted with herbs and substances. At least, your pipe seems to think so. Tell me what, in this massive, weird as fuck Garden, a girl can find something to keep her awake--like, all the time. I’ve had it with sleep, but I’m too exhausted to function, and yet I need to function if I ever want to see an end to my sentence and life freely again.”
At first, it was as if the former Gardener had no place or purpose in Alster’s mind, in his dreams. She did not show her face throughout his own recount of his life, and what he had suffered. It was like she wasn’t there at all--at least, not until she was. Her very presence shifted the scenery behind her, and with every quiet footfall, the Night Garden returned. After all, it was the only terrain she, the most despised person in the history of Galeyn, was able to tread. She could wander, venture nowhere else but here. For a moment, it looked as though she was but a shadow, just as she had been when Alster had borne witness to her history. But then she looked up, and her dark eyes held a clarity that hadn’t been there before.
“Why am I here?” She repeated the question, as if she, herself, was confused at the wording, and took a moment to ponder an appropriate answer. “If you mean in the Night Garden, then I guess, it is because I have nowhere else to go. Galeyn is my home; the Night Garden is my home. I don’t really know how to thrive beyond it, because it’s the only home I’ve ever known. But, if you mean, why am I ‘here’, in your dreams…” She cocked her head to the side and smiled. Like the answer was so obvious. “Well, you invited me, didn’t you? Whatever is left of me wanted to help you. Gave you those petals, that you consumed, all on your own. Not because you would see anything different, or anything you wouldn’t already know--but to remind you of what you do know. It is like you said--you have people who have your best interests at heart. I am not here to show you that we are the same. We are similar, but not the same, because those people will not let you fall to the call of your darkness. Nor am I here to save you; I can’t. But you don’t need it. Can’t you see? You are already saved. We are different. Your friends and allies will never let you fall; they anchor you to the light. It makes me wonder…”
She touched the smooth bark of a tree, feeling its intricate knots with her fingertips. “Was this always my destiny? I wonder, if there had been a different path for me, all along, but somehow, I missed it… because I failed to notice that the Night Garden anchored me, too. I was a Gardener--a Head Gardener. The Night Garden was all I ever needed. I thought I was doing the right thing, but perhaps… I reached too far. And, perhaps, I shouldn’t have hoped that it would take me back. That Galeyn would take me back, all those years ago. If I hadn’t hoped… then he might have lived. A full, long life…”
Locque slowly dropped her hand, and her smile faded at the edges. “I wonder… if I could have found happiness, on a different path. One with him, and his friends, his family. I thought I was following my heart, but… was I really? I was so homesick. I never even gave alternatives a chance…”
Shaking her head, the meek Gardener, who had become a terrible sorceress, turned away from the tree. “You’ve found the right path, Alster--so follow it. Follow your friends, your loved ones. They are keeping you safe, from the world and from yourself, whether you know it or not. I can’t guarantee you will not see me again… I was born in the Night Garden. It is also where I met my end. I wish I could tell you otherwise, but I’ve nowhere else to go.”
Run away. It was all Bronwyn could think to do. No one cared for reason, forgiveness, or delicacy. D’Marians as a whole did not shy away from intense displays of emotion and opinion, electing to share their disdain, loudly, uninterested in sparing the targeted party the brunt of their harsh criticisms. Brutal honesty was their model, but also brutal anger. Insulated and effectively homeless, with nowhere else to go, D’Marians thirsted to lash out, for entertainment, for justice, and for catharsis. The holes punched inside their chests were too great to ignore, and required immediate attention to heal. Unfortunately, they grabbed whatever was available, not for healing, per se, but they desired the essence of life and living, regardless of the harmful methods employed to milk and obtain it—such as public ridicule and humiliation.
And Bronwyn, equipped with this knowledge, should have gauged the crowd better by not engaging at all. Sigrid warned her thus, and she chose to ignore practicality and throw herself out there because…
I want to be brave. And to adapt.
And for an instant, she was brave. She strung together the correct words and presented them to the audience, firmly believing in her ability to be heard for the first time in her life. But then she buckled at the first sign of adversity, and ran in lieu of facing her aggressors, thereby refusing to heed to the second instruction. She did not adapt, and in doing so, she forfeited her bravery.
Bronwyn ran to the outskirts of town, descending the tiered levels and streets like a topper sliding off the top of a wedding cake and falling to the flat, plated bottom. On reaching that plated bottom, a small dockside street facing the lake, she paused on the boardwalk planks when her running lost its sense of direction. Where to now? Plunge into the lake and swim to the other side? Reverse directions and make for the forest, where she’d presumably flee to the palace and lock herself inside her room for time immemorial? Or she could change into her wolf skin and forsake her human form, a decision not foreign to some faoladh, who, according to unverified accounts, changed in one direction and refused to change again. As a wolf, she needn’t bother with the convoluted hierarchies of human-social interaction and could live simply alongside other wolves in a quiet forest…
But wouldn’t that also amount to running away?
She ducked in the narrow alleyway between a tailor shop and a boathouse, her overflowing feelings of being trapped stymying her runner’s endurance to a standstill. It required minimal effort on her part to carry on for several more miles without stopping, but bereft of a destination or a purpose…
Someone approached. She froze from her hiding spot within the shadows of the alley, but her muscles relaxed upon recognizing the odor of her would-be interloper. Opting to show herself, she emerged from the space between the two buildings, head ducked to conceal the residual wetness on her cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Sigrid,” she said, her voice small. “You must have thought my reasons for accompanying you to this village were pure, but it turns out, I had ulterior motives. If Galeynians wouldn’t recognize me, maybe I could convince the D’Marians to accept…No,” she blew out a sigh, and a half-crying laugh followed in its breath. “I’m ridiculous. All I ever wanted…was to fit in. But I’m doing it wrong, aren’t I? I do everything wrong. I don’t…want to be this person anymore.” Her hand fluttered up to cover her thundering chest. “So pathetic and small and scared. Who can’t even defend herself. It’s so effortless with my brother. He fits in wherever he goes, without ever trying. There’s so little that bothers him. Meanwhile, everything bothers me. Why does my reputation matter if this entire community has already made up their minds about the kind of person I am? I might as well…give them what they want.” Her hand curled into a tight, aggressive fist. “A wolf bitch.”
While she agreed to return with Sigrid to the villa and spent the rest of the day indoors, allowing Lord Canaveris the time to douse the fires before they spread all across the village, Bronwyn slipped away from the villa that evening, undetected…and never returned the following morning. During breakfast, Ari and Sigrid received a report, from Lazarus, about boisterous activity occurring in a dockside establishment called The Black Cove, a public house notorious for attracting riffraff after hours.
“People claim to have spotted the Kavanagh woman on the premises,” Laz relayed to the both of them at the table. “There was an altercation, and a fight, but no one can tell me what happened, or provide information about her current whereabouts.”
“They will once I become involved.” Ari rose from his seat, mindful of accidentally rattling the dishes and spilling the goblets in his haste. “Apparently, D’Marians have yet to realize the depth of their ignorance in continuing to disrespect my orders not to inflict harm, emotional or physical, upon my guests. Those involved will wish not to have laid a hand on poor Miss Kavanagh.” The Canaveris lord turned to Sigrid. “I hate to impose, but will you accompany me on this investigation, Miss Sorenson?”
“Ah, lookie you! Fancypants got into your head.” A more genuine grin filled up Hadwin’s infectious features. “I for one approve of your union. It’s fucking adorable how the two of you are going for it, despite your rocky patch—no pun intended. Anyway,” he cleared his throat, his voice raspier than usual, as if he was the one to swallow rocks from the proverbial patch, “it’s a damn treat to see you up and about! Now don’t tell Isidor I said this—nah, you can tell him cuz he doesn’t even give a shit,” he amended, his hand waggling flippantly, “but you’re my favorite Master Alchemist. Would’ve been a right shame to see Galeyn lob off your head, y’know. So good on you for the all-clear, and for sticking it out. In celebration of your successes, yeah, I’ll bite a little.”
His tone was casual, as usual, and he’d even rested his arms behind his head in a decidedly carefree posture, but there was no mistaking the strain that lined his eyes, or the slight squirm of discomfort in exploring the subject of nightmares beyond on-the-surface references. For someone who professed himself as the master over fear, he wasn’t immune to all the nasty side-effects such a lofty title betokened. “Eh, you know, nightmares are nightmares. Every dream I get’s a howler, and I’m used to them, but on occasion the big fish come out to play, and ain’t nothing stopping them when they’re ready to snap. You know the type. You haven’t been spared its like, oh no.” His golden gaze passed her over in silent scrutiny, nodding along to the visions only he saw in her fear-stained eyes. “I can see where the teeth snapped and lodged into your skin. Bites all around. You’re a pockmarked mess. I mean, I suppose so am I, enough to get Gardeners all up on my back about the shit I need to take. No fucking thanks, though. Been in and out the sanctuary for...damn, can’t even remember what it’s like to walk without a hobble!” He wheezed, a laugh without the force to give it a push of warm, resonant energy. “If I’m out of commission for just one more fucking hour, I’m gonna tear my arm out of its socket and beat someone with it, I promise you that. ‘Sides, they wanna give me the stuff that wee Gardener concocted, and maybe it’s not fair to her snuffed out little life, lamb that she was, but I ain’t touching that shit. I’ve seen what it did to R—“ he clamped on his teeth, cutting off his tongue from enunciating the sound beyond that initial ‘R.’
“I mean, it hasn’t done you any favors, either, looks like!” He said, recovering his rhythm. “Normally, I’d be the one to tell you to deal with it head-on; the same advice I give myself when there’s no way out but through. ‘Course, I currently don’t have the luxury of losing my shit to get there, and neither do you. I never work alone, besides. Always need a little something extra, no matter what; yeah, you’ve sniffed me out for sure!” In an expert swing of his arm, he hooked her shoulders and scooped her close, as though to engage in a friendly tussle or congratulatory pat on the back, when really, he wanted the attention of her ear. A low whisper answered her question and request. “Candy root,” be said, slapping her arm for good measure. “Doesn’t taste like candy, so don’t get excited. Just my name for it cuz it resembles a licorice whip. Check your pockets when no one’s looking. I slipped you some. Eat as is, but not the whole thing at once—unless you’re ready for that kind of commitment.”
Normally, Hadwin bore little concern when it came to handling and handing out addictive substances, but ever since Elespeth’s accident with the stimulant, he became a mite more cautious about dispensing strange and experimental plants to others. Typically, the things he acquired stayed with him and entered only him, but on occasion, he shared his stash when he wanted the camaraderie and social accolades. This was not a social gathering, true, but better for him to outfit her a few relatively harmless bits and nibs than deny her needs and have her get desperate. The desperate always found something ineffective. Or effective, but worse in every other conceivable way.
“Could be it only works for me, biology being different and all, but see how you take to it. One of those ‘whips’ will last you two days to finish, probably more, since you’re resilient, but not faoladh levels of resilient,” he instructed as they continued to play-act at taking a chummy stroll down the Night Garden path. “Good thing about a lot of Night Garden shit; they’re easy on the side effects, and there’s antidotes to everything if you’re having a bad trip. The stuff here’s good; don’t go for Mollengardian stimulant, got it?” A growl curled his words, punctuating his warning. “Papa Sorde guards that stuff like a dragon’s hoard. Not only will he fuck you up if you steal from him, and there goes your amends-making, but it will fuck you up right proper, no matter how fucking careful and measured you are. Guarantee you’ll also complicate shit with Al and Elly, so don’t. Stick with what I’m giving you. If you need more, or something else, hit me up. I’m no Gardener, cuz if I was, I’d be giving you stuff for sleeping, but,” he withdrew his arm and stepped free of Nia’s immediate space, “everyone knows to come to me when they wanna make bad choices.” At that, he grinned, but his eyes sagged a bit, unaffected by the proclamation he usually took a fair amount of pride in celebrating. Nowadays…he hadn’t much to celebrate, other than survival. He survived. Others in his sphere of influence had survived. And that was good enough for him, but not enough to crown with laurels and rouse for a good time.
It was sacrilege of him to think so, but…he didn’t have the energy for a party. Planning it? Sure. Joining it? He wasn’t so sure anymore…
“So then let me ask this; why do you want to help me? You can’t claim your former creed as a Gardener as your sole reason for…answering my challenge and handing me those petals to eat.” Alster focused not on the woman who materialized but on the backdrop of the Night Garden, the serene brush of the trees that painted the sky with their flowering hues in the playful breeze. Oh, to find peace there, peace for the heart he slashed bloody just to prove the entirely wrong point. But stubborn pride and unrelenting bitterness kept him from moving forward, delaying his own healing, as he stayed standing on the precipice between the balm he needed and the oblivion that validated his pain.
You are already saved.
He knew this. He knew this, and yet, her assertion struck him like a bell, and the resulting reverberation gonged in his ears, refusing to fade, until he listened, truly listened, to the underlying melody. You are already saved. It is fruitless to reverse your progress and discard your life to nurse a vendetta, when people have sacrificed so much to see you happy.
What he failed to reveal in his centennial summary of tragic events was exactly that; the people who carried him when he struggled to balance on his own two legs. His father, who assumed a gentle role opposite his inflammatory mother, and taught him how to accept some of his faults and failures by focusing not on the outcome of his practice, but on the knowledge acquired. Through him, he learned to love learning for learning’s sake, regardless of the end goal. And when his parents were gone, and he struggled not to sink beneath the inky-black waves anew, Elespeth stepped forward, and taught him how to forgive himself. How to love himself, by loving her. Chara, for her part, taught him how to present as confident, with pride for his achievements, and how to lead. Because of them, and because of others, he wasn’t lost, never doomed to wander alone for long--if only he invited them along, and credited them as essential characters of his story. To do otherwise was disrespectful and belittled their achievements, their conscientious care and love for him.
“Stella D’Mare was never a home to me. I was happy to leave it behind,” he admitted, finally addressing his Locque-shaped wound by dislodging some of the self-inflicted barbs stabbing into his side. Reflected in his attempt to heal, he crossed the threshold from the void of his despair, touching his feet upon the fertile earth. The thriving, verdant energy immediately reached for his heart, pushing it back into its whole and unmarred position. “So I suppose it’s hard for me to relate to your feelings of homesickness. For a place, that is. Why you couldn’t…make a home wherever you were. I don’t believe in destiny insofar as there is one fixed path we must tread. No one can convince me I was meant to awaken the Serpent. But I do believe there exists, for some people, an unavoidable point in the universe around which they unfailingly gravitate. For me, it’s Elespeth…and the Serpent. For you, perhaps it was the Night Garden. But it’s difficult, impossible, to know how different our lives would have been had we decided not to do the one thing that singularly defined us in our respective communities. Would you have found another purpose, outside your home? Would I have left mine, or met Elespeth? Or bonded with the Serpent? No one can say.” Was he seriously and levelly discussing this subject matter with Locque, of all people? If Elespeth, or Chara, or Lilica saw this conversation unfold, they would deem him mad, or call him soft, too invested in a diplomatic outcome than in dispatching the enemy he so badly wanted to annihilate. But...she was no longer his enemy. Not in this form, presented to him as a young, kindly woman he might have liked to befriend, if their paths had converged differently.
“Good. I hope this isn’t the last time I see you. I’m not done with you, yet,” he said, maintaining the edge that threatened to waver and extinguish on entering the Garden and accepting her symbolic hand of peace and healing. “I...don’t want to fight.” He caught a petal in his outstretched hand, the same shade of cornflower blue he consumed in the waking world. “I thought I did, but...to harbor all this hatred is...it’s tiring. It’s exhausting. It damages me more than it damages you. I can’t do it anymore. So,” he gave a grim smile, “I suppose you win. Again, you’ve defeated me. Not that you treated this as a battle, but...I was unable to see it as anything else, for so long. If the remains of your existence bring you home, to the Night Garden, then exist, Locque. I won’t stop you.”
He released the petal, along with the remains of his hatred. It floated on the updrafts of the Night Garden, and vanished into the sky. He didn’t forgive Locque for her actions, but this was never about forgiveness. It was about remembering his values, his priorities. And above all, what he valued most: his friends and loved ones, without which he would not survive. I’m saved. They saved me. They’re always saving me...“I’ll do what you couldn’t,” he called out, as the dream broke to pieces around him and disseminated. “I’ll resist the darkness. I’ll walk my path, towards home--towards the people I love.”
He woke in a start, but not to the thrashing of limbs, to tears, or to fever. Sitting upright in bed, he was surprised to see Elespeth hunched over a chair at his bedside, half asleep from allegedly standing vigil over him all night. The gesture caused his eyes to well, but he corrected his composure, and pressed on her arm, tenderly arousing her alert. “Elespeth.” He hardly waited for a response before he captured her lips in a long, lingering kiss. “Thank you,” he whispered, cupping her cheek with his flesh and blood hand. “Sometimes I worry I don’t say it enough. Thank you, Elespeth...for saving me.”
“Bronwyn, I had no expectations for the reasons why you chose to accompany me. Those reasons are yours alone. I’m… just happy not to BE alone.” Sigrid smiled, but the faoladh woman wasn’t looking up to see it. “Look, we all want to fit in. And we do what it takes. I did what it takes to become part of the Dawn Guard, and now I will do what it takes to atone for the blood on my hands, if only to prove to Lord Canaveris that I still have honour. It does not make you weak or pathetic--it makes you mortal. The D’Marians… just aren’t a good people to turn to, right now. Everyone is hurting; they are lashing out, and that does not make it right. Not by a long shot. You just have to try… not to take this personally. Alright?”
The blonde warrior squeezed her shoulder, but it was perhaps a little too hard at Bronwyn’s defeatism. “Bitch? No. Don’t play into that, because we both already know it isn’t true… I would only use that word to describe Locque. Maybe Nia… but I’m trying to be nice. And also--well. Nevermind.” She wasn’t going to drop her decency and bring up the faoladh woman’s dead sister. “...come on, Bronwyn.” Her hand loosened, but only a little, but to her relief, she followed her back to the Canaveris villa that evening, though said nothing more to her on the way, or before she retired for bed.
That was the last Sigrid saw of the faoladh woman until the next day, noting immediately when she did not show up for breakfast. She didn’t think much of it, assuming she was choosing to keep to herself because of what had happened the day before… until she heard the news, and almost immediately lost her appetite. “...altercation? Bronwyn…” The former Dawn warrior groaned and pushed away from the table, at the same time that Ari did. “I’m afraid that if you told me not to accompany you, Lord Canaveris, I still would. I’m concerned for Bronwyn. The way the D’Marians received her yesterday… it affected her more than I believe she wishes to let on.”
The two of them departed and took a carriage to the other side of the D’Marian settlement, where this notorious public house was present, and given the size of the settlement, it didn’t take them long. The establishment was quiet, for the morning, and after ‘gently’ interrogating a few witnesses from the night before, Ari and Sigrid managed to narrow it all down to two possibilities: she was still at large, or one of her few ‘supporters’ (someone who had been egging her on) had offered to put her up for the night to lick her wounds after a drunken brawl. Of course… it wasn’t too ‘narrow’, considering how packed the public house had been.
“Alright. So, two questions: how many doors are we knocking on,” she asked Ari, as they returned to the carriage, “and do I keep my sword visible? I’m not supposed to be here as an intimidating presence… but I am worried for Bronwyn.”
“Hey, he got to my heart long ago. Hard not to notice such a handsome face… or to forget everything he’s done for me. Even when I thought his actions spelled out my doom. I guess I’m just some sort of sucker for love, or something. Word has it…” She planted her hands on her hips and arched an eyebrow at the rather guilty-looking faoladh; well, to be honest, he always looked guilty of something. “You orchestrated our union. Maybe not our meeting--that was my work, because I was so fucking tired of hiding, and really wanted some good company. But, according to Ari, you worked pretty hard to keep me coming back. To think, I was your damn pawn this whole time… I feel like I should be kinda pissed off. Instead, here I am, wanting to thank you. But,” Nia lifted a finger and jabbed it playfully, albeit meaningfully, at his chest. “No more meddling from this point on--got it? Our relationship is hands-off for you, because right now, I need to see where it is going, organically. I need to see… what is really out there for me and Ari, and where it’s going. Thanks in advance for understanding, pal. It just so happens that you happen to be my favourite faoladh! But,” the Master Alchemist leaned in as if to whisper, “don’t tell Bronwyn. She’s fine and all, but you definitely know how to have more fun.”
If only she had the luxury of just talking about what was fun, but there was no telling when she would have the luxury of an outing upon which she would run into perhaps the only person left who could help her. Nia didn’t go into great details about what ailed her; she knew she didn’t need to. Hadwin probably saw those nightmares dancing in her sleepless brown eyes, and there was no need to explain the impact it was having on her. The pallor of her skin, the dark circles beneath her eyes, her slightly more uneasy than usual gait when she walked, and the pronounced trembling of her hands. Deep down, she prayed he would not turn her away, or reveal that he was unable to help in his current position, heavily monitored by Gardeners as she was by guards… but, Hadwin came through, much to her great relief.
“Nah… I know they meant well, and all, but I have no intention to keep taking poor little Breane’s concoction to have it keep fucking me up until it just all magically stops. I mean, that sort of shit usually needs to be overseen by a Gardener, to my knowledge, and not many of the Gardeners are all too keen on helping me in the first place. So no thanks.” Nia had to resist the urge to check her pockets for this candy root in full view of the guards trailing them. Good to know I’ve still got an ally in you, she wanted to tell Hadwin, but he already knew. Nonetheless, that small gesture of kindness and understanding was enough to bring a fresh layer of tear to her eyes, which she struggled not to let spill, even as the roguish faoladh spelled out his warning that she not seek out anything else if it did not come from him, if for some reason she proved to be resistant to the effects of the candy root, just as she had been every other remedy for sleep that had been offered to her.
Scuffing her boots on the ground, Nia took a slow breath, and decided to confide. “...I’d thought about it. What Haraldur took. What Elespeth took. I saw what it did to Elespeth, but still… still…” Her voice was so low now that the brush crunching beneath their boots was almost louder. “I’ve got all these expectations heaped on me, Hads. To be productive and work off my sins or whatever. But to do that, I’ve gotta be awake, and capable, and I can still barely eat. My hands won’t stay steady for a moment, and if I try to sleep… it all gets worse when I wake up. Like every time I think I’m just beginning to get over whatever continues to be eating me and fucking me up, I fall asleep again, and I’m… like this.” She held out her hands--still shackled, but the shackles had been broken, and she was now forced to wear them only as bracelets when she was not using her alchemy to work. “And now, now that I’m trying to make things right with Ari again, I need to be there for him, too. But I’m barely getting by, and I know I’m not fooling him, or anyone else, at this point. So I’d… considered seeing if I could get my hands on whatever it was Haraldur was taking, see if I could get a moment alone just long enough to replicate it alchemically… Because then, I could really put on a face, you know? I could look like I’m well on my game, even if I’m not. Thought it might be enough to get this sentence out of the way so that I could just go on with my life, try to make a life with Ari… ‘cause the slower I am, the longer I’m gonna take--don’t you see? It’s all feeding into one vicious cycle, and I need it… I need it to end…”
The jade leaf charm hanging between her collarbones began to gently glow as Nia’s stress escalated, just shortly before her footing faltered, and she dissolved in her own tears, all but crumpling against a tree so that she didn’t knock Hadwin off balance with her own flimsy footwork. “...gods… look at what I’m reduced to!” She almost laughed, but it sounded more like a strangled sob, as her attending guard stepped into her personal space.
“What’s going on?” He demanded, wary of the sudden change in the normally upbeat Master Alchemist’s attitude, but Nia brushed him off.
“Nothing--it’s fine. C’mon,” she sniffled and wiped her tear-filled eyes on the sleeve of her tunic. “Can’t a girl have a little breakdown every now and then?"
When she wasn’t duty-bound to other tasks, Elespeth spent as much time as she could in the sanctuary with Alster since he had admitted himself. Whatever was truly the matter with her husband, he chose to keep close to his chest, and as frustrating as it was to not know what was really going on, the former knight was determined to respect his privacy, so long as he recovered. It seemed as though one of them was always in a state of recovery: their time together at the farmhouse, where he had trained her in the ways of her magic, and she had helped him build muscle and strength, had been such a rare and precious moment for the two of them, when they had physically and mentally been at their very best. Yet they’d hardly had a chance to savour that time, as they had spent the majority of it prepping to take down a sorceress, who ultimately had fallen to someone else’s hands entirely. Now, they were picking up the pieces of themselves in the aftermath, and Alster… once again, something harmed him beyond his wife’s reach. And she couldn’t have felt more helpless.
While there were a couple of free cots in the sanctuary, Elespeth knew better than to occupy them in case someone more in need required a place to rest their head, so she decided to pull over a chair next to her sleeping husband. It was difficult sleeping alone in their bed without Alster there, and the Gardeners had given her leave to stay with her husband so long as the sanctuary was not over capacity, so the nights that Alster spent there, so, too, did she spend those nights, though perhaps in a slightly more uncomfortable position. But on the third morning, after a restless sleep that left her sore from her awkward positioning in the chair, it was not the sunlight spilling in through the window that woke Elespeth--it was Alster, and his desperate, hungry kiss. He clung to her suddenly as if he were afraid to lose her, and while she was of course more than happy to indulge, she couldn’t quite understand why.
“Alster… what are you thanking me for?” She wanted to laugh, but there was something too genuine and sacred about the Rigas mage’s reaction to interrupt it with laughter. “You know you have saved me more times than I can count… I’m just here because I wanted to be near you. Are… you feeling better?”
He certainly looked better: his eyes were bright and his skin was not feverish. Whatever had happened while he’d slept, this morning he’d awoken, completely renewed. Elespeth might never know what aliment had afflicted him, but in that moment… she really didn’t care, because she realized it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he was here, and well, and smiling. Hadn’t they only sought to enjoy one another’s smiles without the looming threat of a witch for quite some time, now? “Come--you’ve been more or less bedridden for days. We’ll need to work on getting you back to the form you achieved back at the farmhouse… eventually. The strength suits you.” She grinned, and offered him her hand. “For now, will you walk with me around the Night Garden? We haven’t really had much of a chance to enjoy it since things have settled for the better, in this kingdom.”
For his high spirits, Alster readily agreed, and once he secured the laces of his boots, the two of them left just as Chara arrived to visit Lilica (and it was better to give them their privacy, anyway). The two of them perused the Night Garden, taking in sights and flora they hadn’t seen before, and on that sunny morning, where all was still relatively quiet, the Rigas couple was able to see the beauty of the Night Garden for what it was: a place of peace and serenity, where the very soles of your feet healed as you tread its soil…
That serenity, however, was broken when sometime later, they came upon the sound of someone in distress. Picking up their pace, they turned a corner, and came upon a surprising pair of familiar faces. “...Nia? Hadwin?” The former knight furrowed her eyebrows and noted the Master Alchemist seemed to be in a particularly bad way, while a Galeynian guard (whom Elespeth assumed must have been assigned to her) looked to be losing his patience. “Everything alright?” The former knight, for better or for worse, inserted herself into the situation and stepped forward.
“Everything is fine. Perhaps it’s time for us to go.” The guard didn’t make eye contact as he took Nia by the arm. “You’ve already come to do what you said you would.”
“In case you haven’t noticed--she’s crying. Why not let her stay?” The ex-Atvanian folded her arms, and stood at her most intimidating. “Haraldur Sorde has the final say over her liberties, doesn’t he? Well, it just so happens that he is a good friend of mine. So if it is not too much to ask, please give us privacy, and trust us to return Nia to the palace soon enough. You will not be faulted: if Haraldur takes issue with this decision, then tell him to please come and speak with Elespeth Rigas.”
“I--”
“We’ll return her to her room within the hour. For now, give her some clemency.” When the guard didn’t budge, the former knight leveled him with a look. “If you please.”
Taking an indignant breath, the guard pressed his thin lips together and put space between himself and the others. “I’ll inform Commander Sorde of your own personal change in plans right away.” He uttered it like a threat, but Elespeth wasn’t worried, because Haraldur wasn’t a monster. A brief explanation of what went down and no doubt, he would understand… if not be a tad annoyed, maybe.
Needless to say, Nia was taken aback by the exchange, and gawked at the Rigas couple when Hadwin helped her to her feet. “Alster. Elespeth. That… wow. Can’t say I ever expected that. But thanks!” She tried to laugh away the fact she had just been sobbing as she wiped her eyes on her sleeve again. “Really appreciate it--but don’t worry about me, I’m fine. Just a minor breakdown. How’re you doing by the way, Al? Just popped into the sanctuary, and Chara said you’re currently a patient there. Not overworking yourself, I hope!”
Elespeth’s confounded expression warmed Alster to the point of laughter, releasing a delighted titter as he pulled away from his sudden and intimate morning greeting. “When you’re sitting in the sanctuary with nothing to do, you’re faced with plenty of self-evaluation, for better or worse. And…I’ve thought a lot about us these past few days. About everyone, really, and how much you all mean to me. And…I suppose it’s made me a little saccharine. Perhaps moreso than usual. But all that aside,” he smiled his confirmation, “I am feeling better, El, to the point where it’s strange because…I can’t recall a time when I’ve been this buoyant.” He glanced at the empty nightstand whereupon three flower petals once rested, now only a ghost of a reminder, just like his unlikely helper. While not yet ready to divulge the identity of the anonymous Gardener, or the mysterious circumstances that landed him in the sanctuary, he figured to give credit where it was due. “I daresay my treatment sped things along quite well. I’m no longer sickly, and neither is my magic.”
To confirm, he overturned his hand and created a spark of light in his palm. It popped and spat, taking on the shape of an ethereal butterfly splashed with purple wings. It took flight from his hand, landing on Elespeth’s nose and disappearing into a shower of silver sparks.“I have to practice my incendiary and light magic, as per Chara’s meticulous instructions. It’s a work in progress. Say, what’s your favorite animal? I’ll make that my next trick.” He shook away the residual sensations that tickled his palm flesh. All the while, his stomach, often a knot of inflammation, heavy and bloated and sharp like knife pricks, didn’t react. Cleared of its molten, leaden core that amassed like a cancerous tumor for the year since Locque’s malicious emergence in Braighdath invited its creation, its curious lightness made him feel a little imbalanced—as evidenced by his stumble and tilt in Elespeth’s direction as she helped him to his feet. She caught him by the arms, and righted him before he fell, impelling him to clutch his stomach just to supplement the weight it lost.
“Yes…I have my work cut out for me, it seems—as do you. So what do you say? Are you up for the challenge of whipping me into shape again?” He rested his prosthetic hand on her arm and teased out a grin. “Which begs the question—have you been practicing your magic? Don’t lie; I’ll know if you‘ve been shirking your teacher’s instruction.”
Hand in hand, they exited the sanctuary and proceeded to circle the Night Garden. For Alster, whose preoccupations focused not on enjoying his surroundings, but on planning Locque’s defeat for so long, exploring the tranquil territory was like seeing it for the first time, and he marveled at the smallest of roses, the most minute of grass blades, the intoxicating perfume in the air, and, of course, the steadfast company he kept. With every step, an aura of peace washed over him, like an invigorating wave on a hot summer day, at once refreshing and crisp. Free of his hatred and resentment, everything popped; colors, sounds, the music of the wind in the trees…
Something caught in the corner of his eye, and he raised his head to catch the movement in the brush. Clothing, cream-colored and billowy, fluttered like a flag before him, revealing a Gardener stooped in the midst of her work, collecting pink buds from the loamy earth…but it wasn’t her. It wasn’t Locque.
“Those three flower petals, the ones a Gardener prescribed to me,” he began, preparing to reveal an aspect of the secret he carried close to his chest. He wouldn’t reveal the identity of his ghostly visitor, not yet, but he wanted to offer his wife a little clarity, as proof of his transparency. He owed her that much. “I know this might sound inane, but this Gardener was—“
His tongue clipped short and the sound died, when another, pain-stricken voice reached his ears from around the corner. Acting in tandem, the two increased their gait to investigate the source of distress.
“That, I can’t promise you.” Despite his less-than-salubrious condition, Hadwin stood tall and punched his chest in a gesture of pride. The faoladh didn't like to keep guilt in his lexicon, so he didn’t wear it on his face, choosing instead to display his smiling satisfaction. “Hells, months later and I’m still meddling in Al and Elly’s affairs. Thing is, my buzzing lovebug, everyone’s my damn pawn. Don’t you know by now? I’m always playing a game,” he tilted his head and winked. “Sometimes several at a time. But I get you,” he threw up his hands, offering surrender. “I’ll put this one aside for now. I set out what I wanted to do, anyway, so it’s all on you and your raven-haired suitor to do the rest.”
As they pretended to support each other while operating under the illusion of a slow, measured walk (which wasn’t entirely bunk, considering their rusty, unresponsive appendages) Hadwin lent an ear to Nia’s varied troubles, another new development for a faoladh who wrenched the truth out of people more often than not. “Yeah, you’re not touching that stuff,” he shrugged, shutting down her argument. However well-reasoned, she was still advocating for use of a highly volatile substance that even the most careful of users struggled to wean out of their system. “It’s not that I don’t get the struggle; hells, I almost blackmailed Papa Sorde for access to his stash cuz I needed something potent, fast. But he’s in charge of your incarceration. Steal from him and you ain’t helping anyone, cuz he’ll see to it that he throws you head over feet in your old holding cell downstairs. Then, what are you gonna do? Gonna have to earn everyone’s trust all over again and climb out the ditch, stone by stone, which, to me, sounds like a slower process than, you know, chewing on some candy root and hoping for the best. And let’s say you do get your hands on some stimulant and miraculously, no one catches on. Once you decide to go clean, you’ll be outta commission a good week or two, and there you go, skidding into another wall.”
“Between you and me,” he spoke out the side of his mouth and passed Nia a significant look, “I want that shit, too. I wanna be buzzing so loud, I drown out those pesky voices telling me to lay down and die.” They did more than that, and the newest voice embodied Rowen, sporting her gaping chest wound and post-death pallor, but the fewer details uttered, the better. “As is, my energy levels are so weak, my rehabilitation is marching in the opposite fucking direction and I can’t break through the glass bubble no matter how hard I punch. It doesn’t budge, doesn’t crack or pop, and all I get are bloody fists and bloody smears. So, I’m with you, I want the strongest shit imaginable, to get on my feet and move the hell on cuz this bubble is suffocating.” He pinched the word closed before he convinced himself to nab some stimulant, after all. Look at him, well on the way to bruising! “But, similar to grumpy-man’s serum of invincibility, which was damn terrific in the moment, that hard Mollengardian stuff is gonna take what you already have in order to operate. And to be honest, you don’t have much, your resilient Master Alchemist body notwithstanding. Neither of us does. We’ll both be skeletons once the week’s through, if we had it our way.”
He couldn’t say he enjoyed watching Nia dissolve into tears and slide against a tree in defeat, the curious flashing of her new pendant announcing her distress, but as far as distractions went, he latched onto this one, because it meant ignoring the mess inside his mind that he up and declared for no reason other than to contribute to their shared and fucked-up state of being. “Geez, just give her a moment, will you?” He turned on the guard, who all but forcibly hauled Nia to her feet. When the obstinate guard wouldn’t relent, the faoladh strode close, as though ready to start a fight of verbal fisticuffs that would for certain devolve into violence, but Elespeth and Alster happened upon the scene in the nick of time and took charge of the situation.
“I know Nia Ardane’s rights,” Alster explained to the guard, as a diplomatic counter to Elespeth’s intimidating stance and Hadwin’s aggression. “I was with Commander Sorde when we drafted them. As long as she’s accompanied by a palace guard or Forbanne, she can go to whatever public area she pleases, the Night Garden and the D’Marian village included. Her curfew, unless otherwise stated, begins at the tenth evening bell. As it is morning, I don’t see why she’s required to return to her chambers. Inform Commander Sorde if you must.” He positioned himself beside Nia, resting a hand on her shoulder. “In the meantime, I will act as Nia’s stand-in replacement, as her Majesty has granted me permission to assume this responsibility on a provisional basis. I am invoking the provision, per your absence. Thank you for your cooperation.”
As the Galeynian guard skittered off, looking none too happy about his dismissal, Hadwin slapped his two hands together in a round of applause. “Wonderful show, you two! I was just gonna punch him in the face, so you saved me some trouble with the law, for sure!”
“Please don’t do that,” Alster frowned, not sure, as always, if Hadwin was being serious or facetious. “For your safety. He’ll whip you to a pulp. I know you heal cuts, bruises, and broken bones quickly, but regeneration must be a constant strain and burden on your overall health. Speaking of,” he removed his hand when Hadwin grabbed for Nia and steadied her to a standing position, “I’m doing well, Nia. It was, as you say, a,” he hesitated, “a minor breakdown. Stress-related illness, but I rested a few days and I’m ready to discharge myself from the sanctuary—just in time to plan for the kingdom’s upcoming festivities,” he made a mock-daunted expression and mouthed, ‘Wish me luck.’ “But all that can wait.” He lowered his head to observe the angle of her bad leg, which perched against Hadwin for a support crotch. “I’d like to have a look at your leg, whenever it’s convenient for you. I might be able to relieve some of the tightness and muscle tension, and encourage the scar tissue to heal at a faster rate. And then--I’d like you to sleep.” He evaluated the lines in her sallow, sunken features, the lines under her baggy eyes and the red veins swimming in the sclera around her brown irises. “In fact, you could use some of it, yourself,” he gestured to the equally sleep-deprived Hadwin. “I can offer you what I did last time, but we can’t make a habit of it, for various reasons.” He chose not to spell out those reasons, in case they created something of a self-fulfilling prophecy for the vulnerable and addiction-prone Nia.
“We’ll address these concerns once we return to the safety of your chambers. But how are you now, Nia?” He presented her with a gentle, disarming smile. “You’re free to speak of what ails you. Or, alternatively, you’re free to say nothing at all. You’re also free to cry. I won’t judge you when I’ve been doing little else these past few days,” his smile turned self-conscious and sheepish. “Here,” he unclipped a waterskin from his belt that he’d carried for his and Elespeth’s walk, in case of thirst, and handed it to her. “You’re dehydrated and need this more than I do.”
No sooner did he transfer the waterskin into much needier hands than his pocket buzzed, alerting him to an incoming message.
“Ari,” he brought the resonance stone to his lips. “Is anything the matter?”
He listened to the lengthy, garbled tones on the other side, nodding along and frowning in equal measure. “As a matter of fact, he’s right here with me.” Alster faced Hadwin and waggled the resonance stone at him. “He wants to speak to you. It’s about your sister. Bronwyn,” he specified, hurriedly, when a hitch of something akin to a flinch shuddered through the faoladh’s body.
“Well that’s something else,” they heard Hadwin remark in midst of receiving Ari’s message on the other side. “Damn. Color me fucking surprised! Alright, I’ll stop over. Yeah, yeah. Psh, I’ll be fine,” he dismissed a question obviously pertaining to his health. “Hey, I’ve got Nia loving up on my arm right now. Wanna say ‘Hi’?” The stone yet again transferred hands. “Here, talk to Fancypants for a bit.”
While the two briefly exchanged pleasantries, Alster knitted concerned eyebrows in silent inquiry to Hadwin, who obliged.
“It’s the damnedest thing,” he said, addressing both Alster and Elespeth. “Bron got heat from the D’Marian crowd and disappeared last night. Never returned to the villa. Now she’s missing, but was last seen at The Black Cove of all fucking places. Seediest place in town, that. She was taking some shit there. Like, the kind that burns your nostrils and rots your gut. Then she got into an argument with some bloke and fucking ground him into pestle with her fists. Got herself kicked out, which is an impossible task in an establishment that dodgy, and no one’s seen her since. Fancypants and Siggy did a sweep and still couldn’t gather any other details. They don’t wanna make a big stink of an announcement in case it sends the D’Marians into a tizzy, and Ari has a bunch of important meetings he can’t cancel, so he’s sending for me to go down and search in his stead, with Siggy. They’re worried something’s happened to her and hells, can’t blame them! Bron’s not the type to go rogue like this.” He scraped back his tangle of unkempt, neck-length hair which he had yet to trim and style. “Though, I can’t play dumb and say I couldn’t see it coming. That woman’s as repressed as they come. She was bound to snap.”
“If you think the problem is this serious, I’ll get you to the D’Marian settlement faster,” Alster volunteered, noting the twitch in Hadwin’s usually self-assured and poised countenance, the clench in his jaw, and the prominent tic in his brow. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was worried for his sister, his last living sister, and the direction her antics might lead her. “You’re in no condition to travel by steed for that long under daylight, and a carriage is too slow. We’ll go through the etherrealms.”
At Alster’s suggestion, Hadwin’s eyes lit up like a child opening his birthday presents early. “You mean it, Al? I’ll finally get to portal around all hell and creation with you? At fucking last?!”
“…Yes? Just…don’t make it weird. I remember the last time we were stuck in close quarters together,” Alster shuddered, recalling their ill-fated carriage ride whereupon Elespeth walked in on Alster leaning over Hadwin, with the faoladh gazing intensely into his eyes.
“Gotcha. I’ll be as compliant as a lamb.” He transferred Nia over to Elespeth. The Master Alchemist had just finished her brief conversation with Ari, returning the resonance stone to its proper owner. “I’ll leave my fellow bow-legged fawn in your expert care, Elly.”
“So I’m technically breaking the rules by leaving you when I told that guard a different story, but,” a mischievous glint appeared in Alster’s oceanic eyes, “I won’t tell if you don’t, Nia. I’ll return in moments, rest assured.”
Before Hadwin had the opportunity to make any punchy comments about their proximity, Alster clamped his hands on the faoladh’s shoulders, instructed him to hold on tight, and as the air folded around them, a shimmer of light and a whip of a breeze, they vanished into the sub-zero vacuum of stygian space. The sensation lasted only the length of an eyeblink before the two reappeared in a new location; on the dockside boardwalk, mere steps away from The Black Cove. Ari and Sigrid, not expecting the intrusion, leaped out of the way in surprise.
“Sorry,” Alster said, releasing Hadwin’s shoulders and looking to the startled duo. “I should have given you ample warning. It was a last-minute decision, but I thought it’d aid you better if we sped things along and made this a little more instantaneous.”
“That was...fucking amazing,” Hadwin clutched his head, breathless from using such a novel form of travel. “Way too short, but I guess that’s the whole point!”
“It is well and truly a convenient method of travel, yes,” Ari cleared his throat in agreement. “But a warning would suffice for next time. In any case, I am glad you are here, Mister Kavanagh. Please excuse my hasty departure,” he nodded towards the waiting carriage down the street, “but I must take my leave. Miss Sorenson here will provide you with any details I have missed.” With a parting bow, Ari disengaged from the small party, followed shortly by Alster, who promptly went back the way he came, leaving Sigrid and Hadwin alone and in each other’s company.
“Well, didn’t think I’d be seeing your stink-frozen mug again so soon, Siggy,” Hadwin said, in a form of ‘greeting.’ “Bron’s really having a day, yeah? What a treat for you, catching her in the act of losing her shit. I take it you already asked after her with the folks in this fine establishment?” When she nodded, Hadwin barked his amusement. “Oh, what a crock. You went to a night-owl pub, at the fucking crack of dawn--ok, a few hours removed--and expected the place to be open and full of witnesses? Let me guess, it was just the owner inside? Yeah, you and Fancypants don’t do this underbelly lurking shit very often. Lucky for you,” he brushed an invisible spot of dust off his collar in a show of finesse, “I run with the worst of them, so I know where these regulars live. Keep your sword handy, because we’re gonna be busting down some doors and I need someone who can watch my back while I dip inside to catch my sister’s scent. I’m assuming we’ve got Fancypants’ blessing to cause a few disturbances.” Cracking his neck from side to side, he strode along the boardwalk as though he owned it, waving at Sigrid to follow. “The wind makes her scent trail tricky to follow, so we’ll have to do this the old-fashioned, marauding way, cuz I don’t have the physical acuity, the dexterity, or the patience for sneaking about and lockpicking into houses. So excuse me if my lungs explode in the process of climbing that.” As they turned down a narrow sidestreet, he pointed up a rather steep grade steadily sloping further and further uphill. “Damn D’Marians and their fucking love of hills.”
