It hadn’t been for the hopes or possibility of obtaining that demon stimulant that Nia had suddenly divulged her deepest woes to Hadwin (although, perhaps a part of her did hope that he might cave and understand her desperate need to stay awake, and slip her some out of pity). It hadn’t even been her intention to break down at all in front of him, or in front of anyone, for that matter, but the Master Alchemist herself hadn’t even realized how close she was to her own breaking point until the words began to pour out of her mouth. She didn’t realize just how badly the continual lack of sleep, sufficient nourishment, and resultant head fog was affecting her life and her ability to function. None of what she explained was exaggerated, and neither were the tears trickling down her face. She was so spent, mentally, emotionally, and physically, and as irrational as it sounded, the idea of an herb that could keep her awake with ease in lieu of sleeping and suffering nightmares sounded like the only solution. Galeyn wanted her help; they wanted her to perform, to make up for, well, everything she had either done or hadn’t done. But she hadn’t had much capacity to work to begin with, and now with the nightmares on top of general insomnia and stress-induced loss of appetite, her trembling hands and her stiff, painful leg, she was grasping at anything and everything she could get her hands on. Anything to feel normal… To simply perform like any human being would.
But she didn’t begrudge the stubborn faoladh for his reluctance to yield, especially not since he had already provided her with something that might help, whether or not she was convinced of its efficacy. He wasn’t trying to fuck her over; he just didn’t want her to end up in the same position as Elespeth. For once, he was the rational one, thinking ahead so as to avoid the most disastrous outcome--and were she to get her hands on that stimulant, there were more disastrous outcomes than there were benefits. Finding herself at peak incarceration in the dungeons all over again was the least of her worries. Hadwin was being a friend, and doing what a friend should do: convincing her not to make an absolutely terrible decision. Nia, as a generally rational person, knew all that--but it didn’t matter to the raw desperation that fought its way to the surface by way of tears and body-wracking sobs.
She’d almost forgotten they were accompanied by her guard until the man was hauling her to her feet, putting even more stress on her injured leg. What was it with these guys? Were they really that convinced she needed to be locked up at any sign of weakness? Did they interpret it as a precursor to aggression or something? What the fuck did they expect her to do with an injured leg, and shackled hands that prevented use of her alchemy when she wasn’t using it for the community? “Can’t a girl have a good cry every now and then?” She tried to make a joke of her meltdown, but it wasn’t necessary. Because not only was Hadwin about ready to punch this guy’s lights out, regardless of consequences--he was not the only one to surprisingly come to the Master Alchemist’s defense.
Nia wiped the tears from her eyes as the Rigas couple crossed their path, and both of them--Alster and Elespeth--were not about to leave or to step down until the instigating guard took his leave. It was only after some long, tense moments of what was barely ‘negotiation’ that he realized he was not only outnumbered, but in the presence of the man who had summoned the Serpent to the D’Marian settlement. The Ardane woman had a feeling he wasn’t relenting so much because he had been convinced it would be fine, but because he valued his life, and feared whatever it was Alster was capable of doing to him.
After lobbying excuses and reason back and forth, at last the Galeynian guard stood down, and left Nia with her new supervising body--Alster Rigas. “Damn… so you could’ve been the one guarding me this entire time, Al? No one told me that!” Nia barked out a broken laugh, still shaky on her feet, and shaky from her tears. “If I’d known, I’d have commandeered you from your loving wife, though… and then I have a feeling no one would be happy. But--thanks for that. Really. You lot don’t need to go and get yourself in trouble over me. Especially if you’ve been down and out, yourself. But I’m glad to hear you’re coming around. You of all people could really deserve a break, you know? And… El. Elespeth Rigas, of all people.” Nia angled her head at the Rigas wife, her brown eyes wide and curious. “I’m sure you saw this question coming, but I have to ask: why?”
“Because I’m not your enemy, Nia. I’ve been trying to convey that, but… well, I haven’t had the chance. And, frankly, I’m not good at it.” The former knight met Nia’s eyes but couldn’t hold her gaze, and eventually dropped her attention to her feet. “Look, I’ve… I know I haven’t been fair to you. I thought it was justified when you were working for Locque, but honestly, it never was, because you have never been a threat to us. I mean, aside from that time you tore my good armor to pieces. Between you and me--it was uncomfortable, anyway. But beyond that, you were nothing but civil toward me and Alster, and I… responded with animosity. I’m sorry, Nia. Now might not be the ideal time for an apology, but if you’ll allow it, I’d like to put that behind us. I mean,” she gestured to Alster when she looked up again. “You’re friends with my husband; it would be awkward not to try to mend this bridge.”
“Ah; giving in to reluctant friendships to make the marriage easier, I take it?” Nia chuckled. “Should’ve seen that one coming.”
Elespeth blanched and realized it was too late to backpedal on what she had already said. “Nia--that’s not the only reason--”
“Hey, I’m just teasing. Lighten up! Apology accepted and all. Hells, I never wanted to be at odds with you in the first place. And you just stuck your neck out for me. Put ‘er there.” Instead of offering her hand, Nia grabbed Elespeth’s and gave it a good, firm shake. “Consider us friends. Gods know, the only reason I’m sane right now is because of my friends.”
When Alster turned his attention to her leg, which she was clearly favouring, the Master Alchemist’s instinct was to hide it--never show weakness--but who was she trying to fool? Alster had been the one who had siphoned the infection from that very leg and sealed up the wound. He already knew when she was at her weakest and most disadvantaged. There was nothing left to hide. “The Gardeners and physicians have thrown all manner of topical shit at me that hasn’t done a thing for it.” She commented, gently stretching the tight, restricted limb. “Tried soaking in hot water, but the damage runs too deep for heat to fix it. Could try to massage it out, but you know what it feels like putting pressure on a bruise? Well, it’s ten times worse than that. And the Dawn Guard’s not coming near me with their needles, no matter how well it might work. Yes, I am fully prepared to admit that my own pettiness is contributing to my discomfort.” She lifted her hands in a, what can do you? gesture, but didn’t brush off the Rigas mage’s offer to help straight away.
“I’ve got a lot of faith in you, Al. You fixed my cracked skull right up without much discomfort and fixed that nasty infection I got without any excruciating pain--or, was there excruciating pain? I was delicious; to be honest, I can’t even remember. But,” Nia dropped her hands and flashed a tired smile. The pendant around her neck had ceased its glowing; it was just a matter of time before she’d realize she would have to wear it beneath her clothes, lest it indicate to the entire world every time she was under duress. “If you can help this bum leg heal enough to be able to at least wander around this Garden without pain, then I fully accept.”
As soon as Alster mentioned ‘sleep’, the Master Alchemist almost physically recoiled, and the reluctance swam through her brown eyes just as distinctly as fatigue. “Look, you wanna work your dark magic on me, I’m happy to close my eyes for a while. But not under any other circumstances. You can thank this Garden--it fucked me up real good. The stuff I see when I sleep…” She shook her head violently. No, she wasn’t going to picture it right now.
That prompted Alster to ask precisely what was ailing her, and beyond not wanting to think about sleeping, Nia was really touched that someone other than Ari really wanted to listen. Giving her leave to cry, her eyes were almost prepared to spill a few more tears when she accepted the waterskin from Alster, but their conversation was interrupted by a buzzing in his pocket. A resonance stone--and it was Ari. It was difficult to make out the other side of the conversation that was directed to Alster’s ear, but it appeared that for some reason, he wanted Hadiwn’s help--and it had to do with Bronwyn. She had the opportunity to ask him, herself, when the faoladh was kind enough to toss her the stone. “Ari? Is everything all right?” She didn’t ask for the details on Bronwyn; Hadwin could fill her in on that, later. Her concern was for whatever impact the situation was having on the Canaveris lord. Ari must’ve heard the tension in her voice from her previous breakdown, because he asked after her well-being as well, to which she simply replied, “Hey, don’t worry about me. I’m here with Hadwin, Alster, and Elespeth--oh, and big news, El has decided to be my friend! Couldn’t be in better hands.” She threw a teasing glance in the Rigas wife’s direction. “I’ll let you deal with this, but talk to me later? I refuse to be left out on planning for these upcoming festivities!”
Albeit reluctantly, she returned the resonance stone to Alster, confident that she’d be using her own later on. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere fast, anytime soon. Who would I tell?” Nia winked at Alster, the secret safe between them. “I’ll be waiting here with my new friend. I get the need to help and all, but make sure you don’t push yourself beyond your own limits, hm? I’m not the only one who’s far from my best potential right now.”
“I agree with Nia--please be careful, Alster.” Worry creased Elepseth’s brow, as she stood in to let Nia lean on her for support. “Don’t land yourself back in the sanctuary… sleeping on a stool is incredibly uncomfortable. I’d like you home in our bed again, tonight.”
“Lord Canaveris, as much as I can agree that Hadwin might be the best able to locate Bronwyn… isn’t he currently recovering? To my knowledge, he hasn’t been at his best for a while.” Sigrid couldn’t blame Ari for wanting to reach out. Not long into their ‘investigation’, and the two of them, both sorely underqualified for what they were doing, were about ready to give up. The D’Marian settlement wasn’t exactly immense, but Bronwyn could be anywhere. “In any case, it’s broad daylight. The Night Steeds would only be traveling at a typical pace if he--”
The blonde warrior’s words were cut short when the fabric of the air before them broke, and two familiar faces emerged from literal nothingness. Ari stumbled back so violently that Sigrid shot her hand out to make sure he didn’t fall, and just as quickly reached for the blade at her hip--but stopped as soon as she realized who was standing before them. “...I stand corrected, Lord Canaveris.” She dropped her hand and stared in bewilderment at both Alster and Hadwin, who had not been there just seconds ago. “It appears Hadwin had exactly no trouble getting here in ample time.”
Few words were exchanged at the arrival of the faoladh, however. Ari didn’t much care how Hadwin got here, so long as he was here, now, and Alster must have been in some sort of rush, for he didn’t stick around to explain. The Canaveris lord himself was not long for departure, and while Sigrid couldn’t blame him (surely he had more demanding issues at hand than searching for a remorseful and possibly hungover faoladh woman), it did leave her in the somewhat awkward position of cooperating with someone on which she had been on quite shaky terms for quite some time. “Yes, Hadwin, we asked around at the last place where your sister was seen. What the fuck are we supposed to do?” She scoffed and folded her arms. “I’m not much of a tracker, and I hadn’t expected her to take off in the first place. She seemed really… Look, the D’Marian crowd was not kind to her yesterday. It really broke her. She was only trying to offer help, like I was, and it’s one thing for them to rake me over the coals. I’m responsible for a death. Bronwyn did… nothing. She’s innocent, but they still see her as guilty by association. Being related to you doesn’t help.” She couldn’t help but arch an eyebrow, although it wasn’t anything that Hadwin hadn’t heard before, surely. “Running off in the middle of the night, getting drunk, and starting a damn fight with the locals was about the last thing that I expected from her. It also tells me… that the D’Marians hurt her more than she was even letting on. But since this clearly isn’t the way to go about things… What, exactly, do you suggest?”
Sigrid should have known that the faoladh’s master plan would include violence (or, in this case, forced entry). It wasn’t long before she was sorry she asked. “I’m going to modify this idea a bit. We had planned on knocking on doors, anyway--knocking, not breaking in. The last thing Lord Canaveris needs to deal with is another faoladh stirring up shit in this part of the kingdom. But, you can make things easier by narrowing it all down.”
Knowing before he mentioned it that he might grow exhausted from climbing the hilly D’Marian streets, the former Dawn warrior offered her arm for him to lean on. “Try not to slow us down too much. Point out the places where Bronwyn is most likely to be. I can’t imagine that either of us will be received too happily, but please know that I have no intention to actually use my sword, or I’ll never find forgiveness in this place. But… if no one cooperates, I have nothing against flashing a little steel, rest assured. Come on.” She gave Hadwin a gentle tug. “Think of the bright side: on the way back, it’ll be all downhill… and I’m the one who has to worry about seeing two potentially incapacitated faoladh to safety.”
“Everyone has to go through that trial, y’know. The secondhand judgement from being associated with me.” While Hadwin gave a carefree little shrug, his pitch didn’t follow suit with the gesture, standing out as wistful and contemplative, a huge departure from his normal candor. A smile, devoid of pep, stretched across his face like an imposition. “Some folks deal with it easier than others, like Tes or Briery, but not Bron. S’why I told her to get lost and follow you here. I thought it’d be better to put distance between her and me, but fuck it if I didn’t anticipate just how badly she’d get it from the D’Marians. She has a shit brother, easy as that. A shit sister. A shit family—and none of these people will let her forget. For Bron, reputation means everything, and now that she’s convinced nothing she does or says will ever matter…yeah, I expect that broke her.” He threw his hands into his pockets, withdrawing a black, coiling plant that resembled a rope. He ripped off a huge chunk with his teeth and chewed the fibrous thing until he swallowed all the plant matter down in one difficult gulp.
“In any other circumstance, I’d be fucking proud of Bron for stepping it up and kicking arse. She deserves to make some noise and not be so damn afraid of existing. Hells, I still am kind of proud she raised hell for once in her goddamned life. But the timing’s kind of fucked and it sounds like she’s doing it for all the wrong reasons, so sure as shit she’s gonna feel terrible about causing everyone so much grief when all she wanted was to turn things around for the better. You know, be the good Kavanagh. The responsible one. Save the tattered remains of her dignity. Hah,” he released a half-hearted laugh, more spoken than exclaimed, “fat chance of that happening when I’m here.”
If you died…
…Wouldn’t she be better off?
He didn’t justify those disembodied whispers with an argument, because he had already played out that scenario. Thousands of people died to produce the answer to that question—and the answer was ‘No.’ His death didn’t solve shit. But his life and its varied exploits solved nothing, either. If those within his protective circle were doomed to suffer for his insolent behavior, then it fell on him to get clean and do better…didn’t it?
Was that even possible for him? And hadn’t he made huge strides, saving lives and playing hero, since making Teselin’s acquaintance and becoming someone she could rely on and trust? What more could he realistically accomplish that would alter public opinion? No matter what he did differently, people always saw a rogue, a ne'er-do-well. A fuck-up.
Cursed by the darkness, that’s what you are, the ghost of Rowen spat into his ear. Be the man that I see. Irredeemable poison, to all who have the misfortune of knowing you.
You can’t change. And you will lose her, like you did me.
“So whatever, Siggy,” Hadwin gave a resigned sigh, batting at his left ear to smack a pest mid-air. Treating the voices like so was the only way not to rage at seemingly nothing in public and call his sanity even further into question. At the very least, he knew how to pretend like nothing about him was horribly askew, save for how his feet wobbled and shook from the energy required to keep those haunting voices, those haunting images, at bay. But people chalked it up to physical overexertion, or habitual restlessness, anyway. “We’ll do it your way. Polite knocking or some such. But the second these blokes start something, or give us a hard time, they’re gonna get a what for from yours truly. Don’t worry; it’ll be the ‘nice’ version,” he compromised. “Out of consideration for you and Bron. Wouldn’t want to fuck things over irreversibly for you two.”
He arched a brow in amusement when Sigrid offered her arm as if they were about to go spinning on the ballroom floor together, arm in arm. “Well thank you, my gallant knight,” he teased, accepting the gesture and latching around her elbow. “Believe you me, the last thing I want is to slow you down. Cry bullshit all you’d like, but I’m just as invested in finding my sister as you, and on the quick.”
The layout of the settlement was arranged such that the roads spun around the hill in one unbroken spiral until the summit when it leveled out, but some streets too narrow to comply ditched that setup in lieu of straight-up climbs, supplemented by stone steps carved into the rock.
“I’m…going to kill…Al,” Hadwin wheezed as they ascended the stairs at a regular pace, as promised, to the faoladh’s detriment. “He designed this fucking vortex of nightmares.” As they crested and cleared the first hill, he pointed across the street, to a stout house with a blue door. “There,” he said, taking a few precious seconds to catch his breath. “Go on. Knock. See what…happens.”
At the door, Hadwin stood aside, waiting as Sigrid placed three solid knocks on the blue wood frame. Silence. A few seconds later, she tried a second round of knocks. Again, silence. Tapping his foot impatiently, Hadwin groaned and pulled a dagger out of his boot, a flat piece of steel perfect for resting flush against the contours of one’s arm or leg, and he shimmed it in the crack between the door and doorframe closest to the latch. With a click, the latch released and the door popped open. Sticking his head inside, Hadwin peeked around the small, one-room home, took a good sniff, retreated, and promptly locked and swung the door shut.
“All clear,” he announced, tugging Sigrid’s sleeve away to the next destination. “You said you didn’t want me slowing you down, so a little ingenuity and law-breaking was required. And hey, we did do it your way first. ‘Sides, no one was home. No harm, and no one saw.” He jerked his head to the empty street. “Next house, you can do the whole concerned citizen knocking responsibly thing and I’ll check the bolt on the side windows. All I need’s a sniff.”
For the second house, he did exactly that, jimmying the window to a crack large enough to spy inside with his eyes and nose. Although people were home, the two were sound asleep, and didn’t stir from either the knock or the rattling on their window.
“Nope,” Hadwin confirmed as he regrouped with Sigrid on the street. “Nothing here. Next house.”
This time, someone did answer the door, a well-to-do merchant dressed in silks. Upon glimpsing his two visitors, his cordial expression immediately turned sour and borderline hostile.
“Knew it was only a matter of time before we’d get this wolf-rat poking around town again,” he snorted. “With Locque’s puppet as an accomplice, no less!”
“Hey!” Hadwin saluted the merchant. “Long time no see, Beryl! You know that was a fair game. Also, it was you who decided to bet half your assets. But you’re still doing well for yourself, despite the blow to business!”
The merchant’s eyes looked like they could burn coal. “You’re looking for your bitch sister, hm? Well I have to say; the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
Hadwin slid forward, bushy brows lowering over his fierce-set gold eyes. “I smell her on you. She’s not here, so where is she?!”
The man who called himself Beryl folded his hands together, exuding calm. “Give me what I’m owed and we’ll talk.”
The faoladh reared his head back and laughed. “Nice try. We’re both here on authority from Lord Canaveris. Our presence here is legal. So, you’ve got two choices. You can freely surrender everything you know or my friend here will make it worth your while to behave.” As if on cue, a glint of steel emerged from Sigrid’s sheath, a beacon of pain, if one chose not to tread carefully. “Your call. Actually,” a preternatural glow shined in his predatory eyes, “there’s a third option. Always a third option.”
The merchant’s eyes grew wide at the litany of threats thrown at his feet. Hadwin’s menacing look cracked open as it spread into a wicked grin. “Lovely doing business with you, Beryl. I’ll be sure to get Lord Canaveris to compensate you for your losses. See ya later!”
If Sigrid acted confused about the convoluted staredown and clipped non-exchange between Hadwin and his newest quarry, the faoladh was quick to fill her in on what happened once they left the man’s establishment. “All I did was intimidate him. I wasn’t gonna do anything to him. I was bluffing, but it worked! His fears gave away the rest. Like Bron’s location. So let’s go!”
Around the corner and down the next avenue, they arrived at a house of similar stature and size to many in this area of the D’Marian settlement, a neighborhood that serviced regular citizens, not nobility, or even many magic-users of which Stella D’Mare boasted a sizeable population. The houses were all similar in make, mass-produced but each one unique by some subtle hint; a particular color of door, or roof, or a garden out front. The house they came across, however, clashed with the homogenous landscape, an all wood cabin made of rotting planks, its roof thatched and out of place—as if some enterprising gentleman squatted in an empty lot and built some slapdash hovel on his own accord, defying the general look of the planned community but at the same time, adding some missing flavor and panache. After all, they weren’t living in Stella D’Mare, and this home was obviously inspired by the Galeynian countryside.
“Oh yeah, I know this guy,” he said to Sigrid as they approached his front door. “Bit of an eccentric. He’s D’Marian, though. Very anti-establishment, as you can tell by his charming residency. I don’t think he’ll take well to us if we lead with, ‘Lord Canaveris sent us,’ but you’re here, so it can’t be helped. Well,” he gestured the blonde warrior ahead, “after you. I’ll try and keep my hands in my pockets this time. Just don’t knock too hard or you might end up pushing the whole house down. Think I’ll hide out of sight for this one. Better off if he doesn’t know I’m here at first. I fucked him over in the past. Badly. So be careful! This one’s no fucking trifle.”
Ducking around the side of the house, he vanished from view the moment Sigrid knocked on the door. At first, there was no response until a few moments later, a disgruntled, “Go away!” came from inside. When the blonde warrior refused to comply and attempted to state her case, an angry stomping drew near and wrenched the door open.
The first thing to notice about the imposing man standing at the doorway was his obvious noble bearing: tall-statured and well-toned, yet sporting elegant shoulders and a chiseled bone structure on his tanned features. The second thing to notice: pointed ears poking out from under his blond hair. “You are trespassing,” the middle-aged Rigas man said, his blue eyes flashing. “Sigrid Sorenson. I do not have who you are searching for. Go elsewhere or I will be forced to defend my home.” With one hand, the man generated a saber made entirely from searing yellow light, a familiar technique that one other Rigas regularly utilized, someone who once shared the road to Galeyn alongside the Dawn Warrior. “You lay a hand on me and this settlement will know you acted in aggression towards a D’Marian. They won’t care if it was in self-defense. Better to leave now, unless you want your Canaveris benefactors to lose face. Attacking a Rigas is all but declaring civil war, but I can attack you, consequence-free! So I say,” he leveled the saber, pointing it towards her chest, “leave my property.”
“Who let you out of your fucking cage?!” The Rigas man slowed the advance of his menacing saber and looked over his shoulder to see Hadwin Kavanagh inside his home, gritting his teeth under the weight of an unconscious Bronwyn draped across his shoulders. “Guess your madness wore off, hm? Would you like another dose, Cyprian?”
The man’s eyes grew dark. “The demon! How did you—“
Another weapon appeared in the dark cabin, a white-blue scintillating sword that caused the stubborn shadows to retreat and ignite into the corner. “I showed him where you were keeping her,” the sword-bearer said, pointing her weapon at him. “You won’t use her as a pawn for your revolution or for your revenge.”
The man jolted back, exclaiming in surprise. “T-Tivia! You…why would you help him?! After what he did to your mother? To me?!”
“Sorry,” she cupped a free hand to her ear. “I can’t hear you. I’m deaf.” Her one eye honed in on Sigrid. “Take the wolves and go—now. I’ll talk to my father,” the permanent grimace etched into the ruined half of her face spread into the unblemished half, completing the symmetry. “And ‘reason’ with him.”
On his instantaneous return to the Night Garden whence he came, Alster, who was fresh out of recovery, caught himself against a tree before he lost his balance, his equilibrium somewhat compromised from using large reserves of disorienting magic. Elespeth and Nia, who had been helped to the ground to rest her leg, watched on with concern. He held out one hand in a bid to allay their worries as he slowly righted himself and released hold of the tree trunk, his temporary crutch.
“No, I’m fine,” he asserted, sliding over to rest one hand between Elespeth’s shoulders for an excuse to be in her proximity. “But if it makes you feel better, I’ll hold on to you,” he kissed her cheek and smiled. “Good news; Hadwin is not vaporized. He made it to the D’Marian settlement in one piece. I hope they’ll be able to find Bronwyn, though.” His smile faded. “Maybe I should have stayed a little while longer, but…I’ll trust that the situation is well in hand. Nia,” he turned to the previously distraught woman and lowered into a crouch before her, “I know I’ve been gone only a minute, but how are you doing? Oh!” He exclaimed, suddenly remembering something. “I was just talking to Elespeth earlier about her favorite animal. Do you have one, too? A favorite color, at that? I’m taking requests so I can practice my illusion and light magic for Galeyn’s festivities and it’ll be good to have a pre-established set of creatures to draw from. I suppose I’m taking on the role as a clown,” he made a face, “which should insult any mage who finds such frivolities a waste of their talents and a blow to their dignity, but,” he looked over where the Galeynian guard once stood, internalizing his earlier reaction; the fear in his eyes when regarding him, like he was the second coming of Locque, “I think I’d prefer for people to see a gentler side of me, the side that’s been a long time dormant and which people might have forgotten. That…I have forgotten. So, before I have a look at your leg, Nia, will you indulge me?”
Lowering into a cross-legged position, he raised one hand, letting loose a cavalcade of etherea butterflies, each sparkling like constellations. They each converged into one concentrated spot in the air and exploded, immediately reforming into a long-tailed bird of paradise, its elegant wings skimming the ground. “I’m not great at this type of magic,” Alster admitted, wrinkling his nose. “There are better candidates for the job. I know that Tivia would be well-suited for this role, if only she…” he trailed off, raising his gaze to the cloudless sky. If only she would show herself again, he thought, wistfully. She’s here; she helped me escape my forceful transition into an unseen god. She saved me. Does she realize how much she’s missed?
“So,” Alster’s smile returned as he flicked his hand, dispelling the low-soaring bird into stardust, “any requests? Nothing too complicated, mind. You may be spoiled by now, Nia, so I will disclose to you that I am not an artist. I’ve a good grasp of visualization and manifestation, and rendering scenes straight from my memory, but it’s not the same as creating something entirely new from one’s imagination. It’s laughable that people believe I’m able to defeat Ari in a float-building contest.”
Although it had already been established that the bridge between Nia and Elespeth was well on its way to being rebuilt, being left alone with someone who, moments ago, the Master Alchemist hadn’t exactly been on good terms with was its very own shade of awkward. But while she’d much have preferred the uplifting company of Hadwin, or the soothing presence of Alster, she had to admit that despite their bad blood, Nia did prefer the ex-Atvanian’s company to that of the guard who had previously accompanied her to the Night Garden. She had to give credit where it was due: Elespeth had come forward and extended an offer of peace, and her subsequent actions reflected as much.
“Here--that looks painful to stand on for too long.” The former knight offered Nia a hand to help her to the ground. “Alster’s a man of his word, and he won’t be long, but there’s no need for you to be on your feet while we wait.”
Since Nia couldn’t really argue the point, she accepted Elespeth’s help, and gingerly lowered herself onto the grassy soil of the Night Garden. The twinges in her calf muscle didn’t disappear entirely, but they abated to a good degree as soon as she took her weight off of her injured leg. “May I ask--what prompted this? Your decision to treat me like I’m not a lowly earthworm, deserving to be trampled. Not complaining, here; I could use all the friends I can get! But I’m curious.”
“Well… a lot has happened since our paths crossed. Not just between you and me, but me and others. I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on it, and myself, and if I am really, truly being honest, my animosity towards others is often the fault of my own flawed thinking.” Elespeth was all but squirming in her boots. This clearly wasn’t a topic she was comfortable broaching with someone toward whom she had once displayed so much volatile animosity, not with her confession to Alster and her self-awareness of her own judgmental attitude still fresh in her mind… but if anyone deserved to hear it, then it was Nia. “I disliked you because, despite our similarities, I somehow perceived your circumstances as panning out far more favourably than my own. Whether or not that actually is the case is up for debate, but regardless, you didn’t deserve the attitude I projected onto you. That’s entirely on me, and I have to take responsibility for it. All of this is just to say… I’m trying to be better, Nia. Not just to you, but everyone. I’m holding myself accountable against the standards of my own righteousness. I hope that doesn’t make my apology to you seem insincere…”
Nia couldn’t help but laugh--not cheerful, but surprised, and it took Elespeth completely off guard. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, considering this was not at all how she’d hoped this exchange would manifest. “Ah… did I say something amusing?”
“No--no, sorry. My turn to apologize. I just… wow. That’s deep. But, no less legit. Don’t worry, Elespeth, your apology isn’t lost on me. I appreciate and accept it.” The Master Alchemist leaned her head against a tree and briefly shut her eyes. If only it were safe to sleep… She never thought she would find herself missing those days after working a big job that she would crash for a good twenty-four hours into dreamless sleep, either before or following an intense food binge to compensate for all of the fasting she’d done for the job. Now, the thought of drifting into slumber terrified her, desperate as she was for a good rest. “Everyone’s constantly improving themselves, aren’t they? There wouldn’t be much point to life if you weren’t even halfway through your lifespan and had already achieved perfection, huh?” Nia’s lips curled into a grin. “I’ll tell you straight, Elespeth Rigas: you’ve got issues. But so does your husband. So does Hadwin. So do I--oh, gods, do I ever. We’ve all got ‘em. It’s how we manage them that counts, and I commend you on making headway. You’ve got my support!”
By the time she managed to pry open her heavy eyelids, Nia saw that the two of them had been rejoined by Alster, who leaned heavily against the same tree that served as her support, spent from whatever energy it had taken to transport himself and Hadwin all the way to the D’Marian village, and then get himself back again. It couldn’t have been easy. “Sheesh, Al. All that when portal mirrors exist. Or--do they, here? To be honest, I’ve never seen them outside of Ilandria, and everyone who crafted them was pretty hush-hush about their method.”
“Portal mirrors?” Elespeth scrunched up her face in confusion. “I can’t say I’ve ever seen something with such a name in Atvany, either. What are they?”
“Exactly what the name suggests. See, you’ve got two mirrors--one in location A, and one in location B. You travel between A and B through these mirrors. Just like a portal.” Nia tried to mime the process with her hands, before realizing it was kind of ridiculous, and let them drop. “But they’re not an easy process. It takes a mage and a Master Alchemist to work collaboratively on them, and above all that, they’re usually pretty restrictive as to who is able to use them. Convenient nonetheless, if you’re lucky enough to have one and you’re able to use it… but I’m rambling now, aren’t I? Favourite animal and colour... Hm.”
Nia pensively chewed the inside of her cheek as she contemplated Alster’s question. “I’m not sure I have a favourite animal. I’m pretty partial to fireflies, but I was lucky enough to get a glimpse of those a few nights ago with Ari. Though when I was a kid, whenever I had the chance, I’d feed breadcrumbs to the little birds around our home… so how about a swallow? You choose the colour; surprise me!”
Alster might not have been a self-proclaimed or practiced artist like Ari, but the Master Alchemist was rather awestruck at the detail in the small bird made of nothing but light that he manifested. She could almost make out the fibres of its feathers, as it flew, higher and higher, and eventually disappeared into nothingness. That deserved applause; she put her hands together for the Rigas mage’s magic trick. “Remarkable! If I’m being honest, Al, then I’d say between you and Isidor and me and Ari, I’d say the odds of any of us emerging victorious in a challenge to design the most appealing float are pretty even. That is, if you can get Isidor on your side; don’t underestimate the combined skill sets of mages and Master Alchemists. I look forward to seeing what you come up with!”
Deciding it was time to climb to her feet, Nia leaned heavily on the tree trunk for support, but ultimately had to take Elespeth’s proffered hand to stand on her own two feet again without putting too much pressure on her injured leg. “Why don’t we walk you back to your room. Alster can take a look at your leg, like he promised.” The former night suggested, noting just how off-balance the Master Alchemist was when she stood. There was no ignoring the red rims of Nia’s eyes, underscored with dark half-moons. She looked similar to Elespeth, herself, when she’d been recovering from the terrible side-effects of the stimulant she’d taken. Perhaps it was recognition of that very pain that warmed the ex-Atvanian toward compassion for the woman she’d once irrationally disliked.
“Well, I did what I came here to do in the first place, so I suppose it would be best to just mosey on back to the palace before I become known for taking advantage of these little outings.” Nia smiled, but it was significantly dulled from the fatigue in her eyes and muscles. “Hope you guys don’t mind going real slow, though… I’m not as quick on my feet as I once was. Not lately--but maybe that’ll change after you work your magic, Al.”
Without knowing what they might find, Sigrid followed Hadwin’s lead as she helped him slowly up the hilly street of the D’Marian village. It would have taken all day to blindly knock on any door she came across, and if Bronwyn was for some reason in danger, then they really had no time to waste. The first house, as it turned out, was something of a bust--but not before Hadwin broke the rules just to be sure. “You’re not--Hadwin.” The former Dawn warrior hissed. “Are you really breaking into this home?!”
It didn’t matter: it was done, and he was convinced the Bronwyn wasn’t there. “We can’t just break into every home that won’t answer the door, you know.” She commented after the fact, but she was sure the faoladh wasn’t listening, because he did it again just moments later. Still no lead, until they reached a third house, and were greeted by a merchant dressed in silk who seemed none too happy to look upon either of them. “Sir… please excuse us interrupting your morning.” Sigrid had no choice but to play it polite and proper. Not only did repairing her reputation among D’Marians depend on it, but if this man did happen to know something about Bronwyn’s whereabouts, then they weren’t going to find out what they needed to know by taking an aggressive stance. “We’re looking for my friend--the faoladh woman, Bronwyn. We haven’t seen her since last night, and she was not with us this morning… Would you happen to have any idea where she might be?”
She was naive enough to have believed this man, Beryl, if he had outright said he knew nothing of Bronwyn’s whereabouts. But as soon as Hadwin confirmed that he’d picked up on his sister’s scent, and the merchant did not deny it, the pacifistic warrior began to realize that “please” and “thank you” wasn’t going to work with this man. He wanted to play games? Well, he’d certainly met with the wrong opponents. Realizing she had taken her blade with her for a reason, Sigrid rather casually put her hand on the hilt, just enough to lift it and bear a few inches of polished steel. Otherwise, she said nothing, made no threats, and waited to see the results.
Beryl didn’t say a word, but appeared understandably terrified by all of the threats that suddenly faced him, to the point where Sigrid was sure he was going to crack like a rotten egg… But it never got to that. Somehow, Hadwin got what he wanted, and before she knew it, he was heading away from the merchant’s house, leaving Beryl slackjawed in his own doorway. “What… what just happened?” Then it hit her: the fears. Hadwin scared the shit out of Beryl, and the man began to fear what would happen to him if he didn’t tell them everything he knew about Bronwyn. At that point, neither of them had to ask, because his guilt would be as clear as his fears to the faoladh. It was…
“...genius. I’ll give it to you this time, Hadwin, I couldn’t have succeeded in my own non-violent approach the way you just did. Ari was right to call for you.” A hint of a smile tugged at her lips, and she placed a friendly had on his shoulder. It was probably the most amicable exchange they’d had in… well, a long time. “Now let’s go get your sister to safety.”
When they came upon the house in question--one that was much more ramshackle compared to its neighbours--Sigrid listened intently to what Hadwin had to say about the occupant of this particular abode. To say it sounded like a challenge was very much an understatement. “Wait… so, what the hell am I supposed to say to this guy if he probably won’t be willing to help us?”
If there were any more tips he could possibly give her, Hadwin wasn’t about to stick around to see if any of his advice actually worked, and ducked around the side of the house while Sigrid knocked on the door. As she expected, the man was not all too happy that she was there, nor was he at all willing to help. “Sir. I mean no disrespect… but we have reason to believe you might know something about the disappearance of a friend of mine.”
At last, he got tired of her obstinacy, and he opened the door, presenting her with a bold-faced lie. Hadwin wouldn’t have brought her here if he wasn’t certain that this man’s home was in fact the whereabouts of his sister. “Look, I did not come here to threaten you, nor did I come here to face your threats. But I’ll be frank: I know that you are lying to me. And I am sure you don’t want the Canaverises to come and search your home, so it is in your best interests to cooperate…” Her words trailed off when Cyprian Rigas pointed a saber crafted of nothing but etherea at her chest. “Lord Canaveris knows why I am here. It may not be in my best interests to attack you, but neither is it in your best interests to attack me. Don’t think there will not be consequences. I know that Bronwyn is here, and I will not be leaving without her. Please…” She placed her hand on the hilt of her blade, in the event that she would have to attempt to disarm this man without harming him--a feat that might not end up being all too successful, either way. “What does lying benefit you? Hand the faoladh woman over, and I’ll be gone, no questions asked.”
Fortunately, luck would have it that they never came to blows. Not before Hadwin emerged, with a worryingly unconscious Bronwyn draped across his shoulders, and… “...Tivia Rigas.” Sigrid breathed her name. She’d have recognized the woman who had traveled with her from Braightdath, anywhere. But… she had been missing for quite some time. What had changed? Where had she been? How had she gotten here, and for how long? These were all questions to which many people wanted answers, but now was not the time. “Tivia… thank you.” The blonde warrior stepped forward to relieve Hadwin of his burden, and took Bronwyn into her arms. How much had she drunk that she was not yet awake? Or had Cyprian drugged her? “When you are through speaking with this wretched man… I hope you will come back to us. Where you have been, or what you have been doing is no business of mine, but a lot of people care for and miss you. Some were struck down just trying to find you, it seems… Know that you have a home and friends, here. Much more dignified and reasonable than your father, at that.”
There was no time waste after she had said her peace, leaving the Star Seer with the awestruck (and rather terrified) Cyprian Rigas as the former Dawn Warrior and Hadwin departed, with Bronwyn safely in their company. She adjusted Brownyn’s position and hoisted her over her shoulder so that she could lend an arm to Hadwin, who wasn’t in very good shape to be walking on his own, even downhill. “Remember when I said I’d be stuck with two faoladhs unable to carry their own weight?” She joked, but it was no joke to the exhausted Hadwin, who already had beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “We’re going to Canaveris villa. Stay there and rest until you are able to return to the central kingdom.”
It took longer than either of them would have preferred, but eventually, they made it back to the villa by noontime, at which point everyone attending became aware that Sigrid and Hadwin had found Ari’s lost guest, and the man himself made a brief appearance to thank them. “I think she’s already; just taken to too much alcohol.” Sigrid explained at Ari’s look of concern regarding Bronwyn’s unconscious form. “I’ll return her to her chamber with ample water at her bedside. I imagine she’ll wake up to a nasty hangover, so anything else you might be able to provide would be greatly appreciated. And, Lord Canaveris…” Her brow furrowed and she lowered her voice, not wanting to draw too much attention to what she had to say. “We found unconscious in the home of Cyprian Rigas. I’m not sure why he had her there, but it certainly was for no good reason. I just thought that you should know.”
Concluding her debriefing with the Canaveris lord, Sigrid, accompanied by Hadwin, reached Brownyn’s chambers and promptly settled the unconscious faoladh woman upon her bed, which hadn’t been slept in the night before. “Someone should stay with you--but you aren’t in good shape, and need rest. My room is just next door.” She nodded in the general direction. “Go get some rest… on the condition you don’t do anything weird on my bed. I have to sleep there later, thanks.”
Alster shared in his wife’s half-surprised, half-intrigued reaction. “Portal mirrors. I know of their existence—which is why I found it possible to replicate their abilities using my magic—but I’ve never come across one, myself, or been acquainted with anyone privy to the technology. Doubtless, it’d be easier to use these mirrors than, say, having to keep bouncing back and forth through the etherrealms. Do you have any insights as to how they’re made? If all it takes to create a set is the joint efforts of a Master Alchemist and a mage…then that’s half the formula, right there.” The more he entertained the possibilities, the more his enthusiasm escalated. His shoulders twitched, brimming with half-contained wonder. “I mean, imagine the convenience! I’ve always told Elespeth how much I’d love to expand my abilities to transfer large groups instantaneously over long distances. Maybe my dream is not so far-fetched—but I’m getting ahead of myself. What do you mean about their restrictive nature? I’m sure, between you, me, and Isidor, we perhaps can minimize these restrictions and make this method of travel accessible to more people. It’s definitely a project to revisit…at some point,” he concluded, his smile apologetic. “Well, you’ve gone and gotten me rambling, too!”
In a bid to refocus, he closed his eyes and imagined the shape of a swallow’s split tail, its flight patterns as it dashed across the sky, and its coloration combination of iridescent blue wings, red throat, and white belly. Alster stood by the fact that he was no artist, but he did possess an eidetic memory, which made projecting the image from his mind to reality an easier feat. When he opened his eyes, his fingers spun the bird into its ephemeral form. Released from his hand, the weightless creation, partially translucent in the sunlight, flew a few whorling revolutions around Nia, like a kite fed a string. Alster then directed it towards the sun, where it disappeared, leaving no trace of its departure but for a small, jeweled feather. It floated lazily to the ground, like a boat tossed by gentle waves, and crumbled into multitudinous flecks of glitter.
“Well…thank you,” Alster hunched his shoulders at the applause, a little sheepish. For such a formidable mage, he still sometimes shrank, humbled by glowing compliments and outspoken praise. “It was nothing, really. I’d stand a much better chance if I could recruit Isidor. To be honest…I didn’t even consider bothering him about creating a float. It’s something so nonessential, and I’m sure he has better things to do.” The uplift in his lips and general bearing disappeared, just like the bird he sent heavenward. It was obvious to the two women present how much the subject of potentially falling out with Isidor bothered him. “We haven’t really spoken in a while and I haven’t followed up with him, lately. I should, but…I know I come across as an annoyance to him and,” he folded and unfolded the metal digits of his prosthesis, the prosthesis Isidor repurposed and streamlined to perfection and which he was still in awe of, “I’ve been giving him his space.”
He didn’t linger on the subject for long, however, before climbing to his feet and helping Nia into a good balancing position between him and Elespeth. Securing her by the arms, they took a long and leisurely walk back to the palace, a slow and steady plod that lasted almost an hour. By the time they reached her chambers, the lunch bell had come and gone, but the attendants in charge of Nia saw fit to leave her a meal, a plate of grilled vegetables and bread that had long grown cold—and would probably end up uneaten.
On fully entering the Master Alchemist’s room, the guard stationed at her door cautioned that only one visitor was allowed inside at once—to which Alster overrode the order, albeit temporarily, by insisting they needed both himself and Elespeth to deliver their charge safely to her bed.
“We’re going to need to talk to Haraldur—and Lilica, at that—about easing your restrictions a bit,” he told Nia as they rested her upright against her pillows. “I don’t see how you can provide a lick of help if you’re so heavily monitored like this. Elespeth,” he called over to his wife, “since it looks like you won’t be able to stay here long, perhaps you could make a case for Nia to Haraldur? I daresay he’s more willing to listen to you. He and I have famously butted heads on various issues in the past. Try to convince him to extend guardianship privileges to me, you, and Ari. If needed, he can assign a Forbanne guard to oversee, as well.” Lowering his voice so the man at the door wouldn’t hear, he added, “I think a Forbanne guard is preferable to a Galeynian guard, all things considered.”
When Elespeth departed, Alster pulled up a chair and perched it on the side of Nia’s best closest to her affected leg. “Now—would you allow me a look at your leg? I can’t guarantee it won’t sting a little, but it won’t last long at all.” He smiled a cheeky smile. “Better it’s me than Elias. He doesn’t care about patient comfort…though I heard he’s been getting a tad more conscientious, lately. No doubt it’s Daphni’s influence.”
Hadwin didn’t need a personalized invitation to head out the door and was already halfway there when Sigrid burst inside to relieve him of Bronwyn’s dead weight. During this hurried exchange, Tivia kept her bewildered father at bay, slicing at the air with her weapon to herd him into a tight corner, away from the front door. If she was made aware of Sigrid’s friendly plea, she paid no notice of it. Half-turned as she was, the one-eyed and mostly deaf star seer couldn’t clearly parse the words escaping anyone’s mouth, given the combative situation in which she found herself. Hadwin, understanding the urgency, pushed the blonde warrior through the threshold and into the street before her chattiness gave Cyprian the edge he needed to escape his daughter and chase after them. “Run,” he told her. “Don’t worry if I’m left in the dust. Just run!”
But Sigrid refused to leave him behind, eliciting a noisy groan of a sigh from Hadwin’s wheezing lips. “You noble types will be the death of me. Fine. I’ll just roll myself down the damn hill!” It was a joke, but it almost happened several times during their descent, when his undeveloped calf muscles lost their balance from the brusque pushing of gravity on his back and buckled, rappelling him forward. Muscle memory caught him before his head made contact with the ground, remembering the many instances of free running on every imaginable terrain, regardless of day, weather, or height. His athletic exploits of the recent past saved him from further incident, and the trio reached the Canaveris villa in decent timing, in spite of their unavoidable limitations. The moment they arrived at the front doors, Hadwin bowled over and clutched his stomach, his chest heaving at such a severe rate, it looked ready to burst out of his ribcage. Fortunately, attendants responded to the emergency and let them inside, leading them to the adjacent parlor to sit and regain their breath.
Ari, scarcely finished with one of many of the day’s numerous meetings, entered the parlor shortly after noon, giving Hadwin ample time to recover his breath and senses. The attendants offered their two conscious guests plenty of food and drink to tide them over while they waited, an opportunity Hadwin would’ve capitalized on, asking for the strongest of liquors and the most decadent foods, but he could barely keep down the water they provided him, let alone anything worth the risk.
“Thank the stars you’ve managed to locate her,” Ari said as he stepped inside the parlor, glancing at the unconscious faoladh woman sprawled on the chaise sofa. “Poor thing. Indeed, she has consumed an unprecedented amount of alcohol. According to anonymous reports I received regarding last night’s events, Miss Kavanagh, in the company of another man, entered The Lone Mast, a different establishment in the dock ward. They engaged in plenty of merriment and mischief; dancing, singing, heckling other patrons…there happened to be an eating competition, which crowned her the victor,” he didn’t miss how Hadwin’s eyes lit up at the news of his sister cleaning plates of food faster than grown men—fishermen at that! “She caused quite the raucous, so I’ve heard. No one saw her lose consciousness, and no one saw her leave The Lone Mast, but considering she is here and seemingly unarmed, no thanks to your valiant efforts, you managed to discern her whereabouts, no problem!”
“Oh, to be a fly on the wall for Bron’s big drunken debut,” Hadwin shook his head and tsked. “We could’ve done this right if only she’d brought me along! Instead, she goes and gets abducted on her first night out. I’ve always joked that she has shit luck, but this just takes the cake!”
“Abducted?” Ari’s polished expression wore away, revealing lines of worry mixed with incredulity. “Here? In this village? I…” he began to sputter, disbelief narrowing into outrage, “who would dare?! Do they not realize the extent of their misconduct? This is entirely unacceptable! Who would do such a thing?”
A Rigas, apparently.
“Cyprian Rigas,” Ari repeated after Sigrid, only slightly less bemused than before. “I do not understand. In cooperation with popular Rigas demand, we collectively decided to pardon him of his crimes of an attempted coup and the attempted murder of Chara Rigas on the grounds of his deteriorating mental state. I was assured of his improved behavior, and even bore witness to it, myself. Delivering him a pardon was supposed to represent the first step towards repairing Rigas-Canaveris relations. To think, Cyprian Rigas was nursing a grudge so great, that he sacrificed his own freedom to enact some incomprehensible plan…he must be mad, still.”
“Yeah, that’s my bad.” Hadwin leaned back on his chair and rested his neck on the cool wood frame of the chair’s baseboard. “I’m responsible for his first stint of madness. As you know by now, I’m ace at making people snap. He wanted revenge so he stole away my sis when the opportunity presented itself. Of course, that’s not the whole of it.” Without revealing Tivia’s involvement, following in Sigrid’s decision to withhold that information out of respect for her anonymity, he paraphrased something the star seer had said to her father. “Knowing that Bron was under Canaveris protection, I suspect he was gonna use her as a rallying point to undermine your rule and garner Rigas and pro-Rigas support. He even had a few accomplices. Well, one, far as we’ve seen. Wouldn’t be surprised if there’s more lurking under the surface. Now with Locque gone, there’s no more buffer of truce between Rigas and Canaveris resentment. If you want my opinion, I don’t think this is gonna be an isolated incident.”
Ari pressed his lips together, forming a pale, aggravated, line. Other lines cracked on his stone features, forming crow’s feet around his eyes and carved accentuation marks in the hollows beneath, emphasizing his exhaustion and alarm and apprehension. “This is…this must be addressed above all else. Unfortunately, this means I will have to postpone all other projects, including Galeyn’s upcoming festivities. How can we think of celebrating amid so much growing resentment among my people?”
“Nah, I think you have it backwards.” Hadwin lifted his head from the back of the chair, redirecting his gaze from the ceiling to Ari. “A party is just what you need to disarm and prevent the spread of D’Marian resentment. If I were you, I wouldn’t postpone anything. I’d also let this whole Cyprian incident go hush-hush. Sweep it under the rug. The less of a stink you make about it, the better. That way, Rigases won’t get all bold and try the same kind of idea. ‘Sides, a party is the perfect distraction. The bigger, the better. Happy people don’t start fires. …Usually.”
“That may be,” Ari said, considering, “but if D’Marians as a whole refuse to exercise common decency, then a celebration might encourage their baser, more rebellious nature to come forward, creating situations ripe for anarchy and anti-Canaveris sentiments. It is important, above all, to exercise caution before crafting the perfect atmosphere for devious behavior to blossom. But,” he clamped on his tongue, interrupting the flow of air and with it, his focus on the topic, “forgive me. This matter should not be your concern. Please,” he swept a hand to the door, “take Miss Kavanagh to her room and rest. You, too, Mister Kavanagh. I will not have you return to central Galeyn in your present state.”
Having dismissed himself from their company, Ari promptly sent out Lazarus to help the trio transfer Bronwyn to her room. With the unconscious woman safely in his beefy arms, Sigrid provided an arm for the hobbling Hadwin to lean against, much though he’d rather walk on his own merits, without help. After the faoladh woman was situated upon her bed, Hadwin, on obtaining Sigrid’s permission to use her chambers next door for resting, shrugged, making no attempt to head in that direction. “Nah, I’m good.” He pulled out his rope of candy root and ripped off another large chunk. “Just need a pick-me-up and I’m set. In fact, I’m gonna tour around this villa; maybe take a walk around town.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets and turned to the door. “You’ve got a good handle here, and I’m sure Bron would rather wake up to your face than my frightening mug, ten times out of ten. Speaking of, she should be shaking off her fugue pretty soon.” He wrinkled his nose, drawing attention to it. “Someone’s drugged her, smells like. It’s some real potent stuff. Seeping through her pores and everything; it’s lingering on her fingernails. I can’t imagine her state when she comes to, but I’ve got no doubt in my mind you’ll be just the company she needs. Well,” he waddled out the door, but in exaggerating his movements, disguised it as a confident swagger, “pleasure doing business with you, Siggy. Don’t be a stranger, yeah?” And before he disappeared down the hallway, he raised one hand out of his pocket and delivered her a middle-fingered salute over his forehead.
Just as Hadwin predicted, Bronwyn opened her eyes nearly an hour after his departure, a low hiss emitting from her throat when the blaring light seared into the tiny slit between her eyelids, prompting her to squeeze them shut and roll over onto her pillow.
She wasn’t completely unaware of her surroundings. Her nose caught a familiar scent. Equipped with the pillow over her face, she twisted towards the lone figure in the room, her voice hoarse and gravelly when she openly inquired, “Sigrid? Is that you?”
At the blonde warrior’s confirmation of identity, Bronwyn tentatively sat up on the bed, flinching all the while as the pain in her temple pricked and stabbed and pounded like little hammers chipping away at her skull. “What the hell did I do last night?” She curled her lips over her teeth, sucking in the pain as she adjusted slightly on the bed. “I can’t…I can’t remember anything. Only that I left here and went to that pub I saw on the docks. And that…I saw him there. The man from the crowd who called me a whore. I saw him and he tried to preposition me and my vision went red and I…I went after that little fucker,” she spat, “and…there was blood. A lot of blood…Oh gods.” She buried her head in the pillow, hiding from Sigrid any expression of horror or shock. “I didn’t…did I…is he alright? Will this ruin…did I completely destroy my chances of redeeming myself here? If someone is….because of me…I didn’t mean for things to go so far! I just wanted a little liberation. To allow myself to be the ‘wolf bitch,’ but,” she lowered the pillow to her lap, eyes still squeezed tight, “I’m…I’m so sorry, Sigrid. We’re here, together. If I screwed things over for you my association…I’ll leave. Go elsewhere. Maybe even leave Galeyn for good. Track down clan Kavanagh, my father, and beg him to let me return. Truly…” she hugged the pillow, “that would be for the best. Hells…I shouldn’t even be her—“
But she couldn’t finish her emphatic sentiment before the upset generated a wave of nausea, lightening her head, clamming up her hands and shallowing up her breath. “Chamberpot,” she managed, between heaves. “Is there…”
Fortunately, Sigrid was prepared, presenting her with the empty receptacle just as Bronwyn spilled the contents of her stomach into the chamberpot. Considering the exorbitant amount of food and drink she consumed, there was much, much more to come.
“Huh--so I guess it’s true. Portal mirrors must be exclusive to Ilandria.” Nia mused, as Alster and Elespeth helped her first to her feet, and then slowly but surely out of the Night Garden. Every step was like carrying around a leaden deadweight, as her calf had already well seized up on her way to the Night Garden. Typically, given a little while with no weight on it, the tension would dissipate and the muscle spasms would ease up for a bit, but the short amount of time she’d spent on the ground while waiting for Alster to return hadn’t been nearly enough of the rest she needed. “To be honest, I’ve never tampered in making one myself because I’ve never teamed up with a mage. I wish I could tell you I had the method of crafting them somewhere in my head, but other than a few plausible theories, I’ve got nothing concrete. Hey, maybe if I ever have it in me to return to Ilandria, I’ll give the old childhood home a look-over to see if there’s anything left behind that might be of any use. If I do find something, you’ll be the first to know! Although I’d have a hard time believing Isidor isn’t already acquainted with portal mirrors and their making. You should really pick his brain about it! If anyone is capable of crafting them, then it would surely be the pair of you.”
However, Nia was fairly out of the loop in terms of where Alster and Isidor’s friendship existed, and what influenced it. While she’d been aware the two of them were on good terms--or at least, had been--it hadn’t occurred to her that recently, such might not be the case. Her brow creased in concern. “What do you mean you haven’t spoken? I thought the two of you were really tight! Two peas in a pod or what have you. You’ve got to collaborate with him; the celebration’s only a few weeks away!” She studied Alster’s face, unsure as to whether or not he was serious about going about crafting a float all on his own. “A parade float’s a big job. Even Ari, capable as he is, couldn’t do it alone in this timeframe. At least, I don’t think he could--but don’t tell him I said that. Anyway, I disagree with your excuse, it’s not nonessential. Galeyn needs this right now. Come on--what’s going on between you two?”
“Respectfully, Nia, if Alster wanted to talk about Isidor right now… don’t you think he’d be a little bit more open?” Elespeth couldn’t help but ask, careful not to burn the new bridge of friendship she’d only recently built with Nia, but also recognizing how sensitive her husband was with regard to his friendship with Isidor. It was obvious Nia only wanted to help, but she wasn’t certain that Alster was quite in the right place to be pushed.
Her comment seemed to trigger self-awareness in the Master Alchemist, as she appeared to back off shortly after. “Well, whatever you choose to do to help bring these celebrations to life, Al, I know you’ll do a great job. Not a more capable celestial caster around, if you ask me! Even your little party trick creating light creatures is sure to blow a few minds.”
The conversation veered to more trivial matters on the long, slow walk back, and the more they walked, the less Nia spoke--which in and of itself was an indication of the Master Alchemist’s growing discomfort, the more time she spent on her feet. By the time they reached her room inside the palace, she was basically reduced to one foot, and leaning heavily on Alster and Elespeth for support. She almost wanted to cry when at first, the guard denied both Alster and Elespeth entry, stating that she was allowed only one visitor at a time. She was fortunate and grateful for Alster’s superb skills in diplomacy when he convinced the sentry that it was necessary to let the both of them in, since it was obvious Nia was hardly able to stand on her own.
“I’ll go to Haraldur before speaking to Lilica. He’s technically in charge of you, Nia, and I don’t want him to feel as though I’d undermined him by going to Lilica first.” Elespeth assured both the Master Alchemist and Alster, after helping Nia to her bed. “He’s a reasonable man; I’m sure he will see no issue with permitting you more rights. Especially since you’ve been so cooperative.”
“You’re a doll, El. I appreciate it!” Nia called after the former Atvanian as she left the room and closed the door behind her, but not before a long sigh of relief as soon as she was able to take the weight off of her leg. The muscle had long since cramped to the point that every time she’d applied pressure, it felt as though it was tearing. “Really. I appreciate that you guys are stepping up for me--I mean… I guess you’ve been advocating for me all along. I was just in too dark a place to see or appreciate it.” Truth be told, not all of that darkness had entirely lifted--and she was beginning to wonder if it ever would. “I don’t know how to convince Galeyn that I’m not trying to run away anymore--not like I can with this leg, anyway. I want to help; why wouldn’t I? This is Ari’s home, too, and I’d do anything for him. I need to stick around to rid him of his curse--provided you’re still willing to help, of course? And Isidor. Hope he hasn’t changed his mind, because tracking down another Master Alchemist would be tricky…”
It occurred to Nia suddenly that she was rambling, and that she was rambling because she was stalling. Alster sat patiently to the side of her bed, waiting to take a look at her leg. “Right. This leg. Uh… wanna give me a moment? The trousers are too stiff to roll up; they’re gonna have to go.” The Rigas mage of course had the decency to look away as she pushed the trousers down past her hips and discarded them at her feet. Fortunately, the tunic she wore was long enough to fall past her hips, like a short, boxy dress. “Elespeth’s not gonna be mad, is she? Feel free to reassure her no man is in danger of being alone with me, pants or no pants. I’m trying out this whole… commitment thing, I guess. And I’m not gonna go and break Ari’s heart.” Or get someone else incensed with me, she thought, remembering the fire in Tivia’s eyes when she had confronted her after her quick, barely one-night-stand with Isidor.
When Alster turned to face her again, Nia stretched her injured leg gingerly out in front of her. It had scarred badly from the sloppy knife wound, which had further aggravated the flesh with infection, leaving a thick, pink, jagged line across her calf. Despite that she had in fact lost muscle mass as a result of not moving for so long, the muscle had also gone hard to the touch. “Well, at least you're honest… not everything in life can be painless, huh? Not gonna lie, I much prefer your help to the grumpy Clematis healer. I think he and the Sybaian healer are kinda tired of me by now, anyway… so, do whatever you’ve gotta do. I’ll do my best not to be a total child and just grin and bear it.”
Inhaling slowly, Nia closed her eyes as Alser set his hands on her leg. It felt as though the muscle beneath her skin began to burn, but was tolerable--at least, for now. “...you wanna know something about Master Alchemists, Al? Let me tell you something.” As it turned out, rambling also served as an excellent distraction from pain. She was happy to ramble on if Alster was willing to act as a sounding board. “We’re all fucking socially inept. Not just Isidor--me too. Would you really peg someone who went from town to town, sleeping with virgins to feel in control as socially adept? We don’t always know what we want or what’s good for us. We…” She hissed and sucked in a breath. Now the burn was starting to hurt. “We’re not trained to be humans; we’re trained to be Master Alchemists. We’re fucked up from the beginning, and we don’t know how to make friends, let alone how to navigate relationships. What I’m trying to say…” Her hands curled around the quilt atop her bed as she struggled to focus on anything but the burn. “Isidor might want distance--or think he wants distance, but I doubt it’s the best thing for him right now. He’s been alone… was raised even more alone than me. His feelings are easily hurt, and he probably doesn’t understand half of them, but he still has them. And he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy that takes to people very easily. He refurbished that arm of yours, huh?” She nodded toward the steel appendage that was currently making her calf muscle feel as though it were on fire. “Doubt he’d do that for just anyone. Go and talk to him. Mention the stupid float, and if he isn’t interested… then talk about something that does interest him. Just talk. Just be there. He’s had his space… and what good has it really done him? He… ah! Stop--Alster, stop, it’s too much, it hurts too much…”
Nia had fought a good fight against her abysmal pain tolerance, but at last she broke and couldn’t handle it anymore. To her great relief, Alster removed his hand, and she let out a long sigh. “Sorry. I’m… sorry. I really thought I could handle it… just not all at once, apparently.” The muscle, although it no longer felt as though it was burning, was still rock hard, though she’d know how much of a difference Alster made when she put weight on it again. Unfortunately, it would take a few more attempts before she’d be well on her way to walking to and from the Night Garden without aid. “Thank you, though. For offering to help… without any judgment. I think I’m getting tired of judgmental people. On one hand, I guess I don’t have any reason to complain: this is as good as it gets for being a prisoner, yeah? But…”
There was so much she could have said, and wanted to say, but Alster had already expended a large degree of magical energy on transporting both himself and Hadwin through the fabric of reality, and now, in trying to heal her leg. He needed rest about as much as she did. “...could I ask one last favour, before you go? I’d be further in your debt if you could help me sleep, again.” Nia smoothed her tunic down her thighs, and very, very gingerly tucked her leg under her body. “I know it’s not a solution--believe me, I know, but it’s all I’ve got right now. The nightmares…” She trailed off, her red-rimmed eyes searching for understanding in Alster’s face. “I’m tired of being a prisoner, here. But, with my luck, when they finally choose to cut me off my leash… I’ll still be a prisoner of my own mind.”
There was no arguing that finding Bronwyn and bringing her to safety was paramount, and took priority over more trivial endeavours, but it struck Sigrid with concern when Ari proposed that plans to proceed with preparations for next week’s festivities be put on hold to deal with the rogue D’Marian who apparently had more agendas than she was aware of. Of course, Cyprian Rigas would eventually have to be dealt with… but was this really the right time, when for the first time in what must have seemed like forever--especially the Galeynians--people just wanted a reason to smile?
“I have to agree with Hadwin on this, Lord Canaveris. You’ve already promised your people a celebration. To turn around and postpone participation, and turn attention to a bitter Rigas who is hellbent on some sort of petty revenge… I am no diplomat, and not much of a leader, but that is not going to sit well with anyone. The Canaverisis and everyone who has pledged loyalty to you will be disappointed, the Rigases will be infuriated, and you’ll find yourself among people who are more divided than before.” When Lazarus stepped up to take the burden of the unconscious faoladh woman off of Sigrid’s hands (or rather, shoulder), she complied and gingerly passed Bronwyn into the large man’s arms. Hadwin’s sister didn’t so much as stir. “Lord Canaveris… I hope you will find the means to perish the thought of not celebration. I am not well-acquainted with Cyprian Rigas, but… I saw the man’s home. He might be able to string a coherent sentence together, but madness has not left him. To be very honest, he did not strike me as much of a threat at all--and I know a threat when I see one. But, whatever you decide…” She offered a shallow bow. “Know that I am still at your disposal, and I am ready and willing to help in any way that I can.”
When they returned to Bronwyn’s chambers with the blessed help of Lazarus, it didn’t exactly take Sigrid by surprise when Hadwin refused her offer to rest in her room. When had the fear-seeing faoladh ever fancied sleep, healthy or otherwise? He was always out and about, looking for the next best distraction, whether or not it was good for him. “You sure it’s a good idea to go exploring all on your own with potential Rigas hostility lurking in the shadows? You said it yourself, you don’t exactly have a whole lot of adoring fans, here. Or in all of Galeyn, I suppose.” It hadn’t occurred to her that Hadwin might actually be affected by others’ perceptions of him until he had mentioned as much on their trek to find Bronwyn, and for the first time in a while, Sigrid felt… well, bad for him. Whatever his methods, however reckless they were, more and more it appeared as though he was only trying to do good. Perhaps he had been, all along, and she just hadn’t seen it.
“You know… if you want to wait a little longer for your sister to wake up, she and I could accompany you. Just to be safe. I recall I had once agreed to keep you safe.” She knew he would refuse, though, and couldn’t help but chuckle at the return gift he flashed in his wake in the form of a middle finger. “Touche,” she murmured and shook her head. It wasn’t long after Hadwin left, in any case, that Bronwyn finally began to stir.
“Bronwyn! Yes, yes, it’s me. Easy does it…” The former Dawn Warrior returned to the faoladh woman’s side to help her sit up. Bronwyn looked a wreck, with dark circles around her golden eyes, pale skin, and pale lips, all which made more sense when Hadwin confirmed that she had, in fact, been drugged. “What happened doesn’t matter. No one died--and whatever punches you threw, no doubt the recipient deserved it. All that matters is you’re safe, now. We can smooth over the wrinkles--”
Sigrid recognized the urgent look of someone about to be violently sick immediately, and cut off her sentence just in time to push the chamber pot in front of the faoladh woman as she emptied the contents of her stomach in violent heaves. She had the foresight to pull her hair away from her face and keep one hand on her shoulder so she didn’t fall over. Well… it certainly seemed as though Bronwyn had won an eating contest, for the amount of time she spent hunched over, vomiting until there was nothing left. When at last she seemed finished, sweating from the exertion, the blonde warrior helped her sit upright and offered her a cloth from a wash basin to cool her face. “Bronwyn, yesterday, you were provoked, when all you wanted was to help. Even if you overreacted a little… you’re not the villain, here. You were…” She trailed off, hesitating as her blue eyes searched Bronwyn’s pale face. Would it benefit her to know she had been kidnapped, possibly used as a pawn in a Rigas’s revenge scheme? No. Not right now… she can find out later. “You were angry. So you punched some asshole, ate a lot of food, and got more than a little drunk. You know what happened when I was angry? I left--and I got roped into being a witch’s puppet for a period of time that I will never get back. A witch who made me kill innocent people. However terrible you think your actions were, Bronwyn, known that so many have done so much worse. And--well, now the D’Marians know you aren’t to be trifled with. Who knows: you might even have gained some respect. But let it be known, I… hope you don’t choose to leave. Don’t let it slip, but while I’m doing better on the adapting front, I think I am only brave because you are here. And because of that, I don’t have to go through this alone.”
The corner of her mouth curled into a grin as she reached across the exhausted, heavily hungover woman and poured her a tin of fresh water. “Drink this, slowly. I’ve heard tell of the Canaverises having stones that draw toxins out of the body; sounds like an excellent supplement to get you through this hangover.”
Glad for Elespeth’s intervention, Alster continued to stay tight-lipped about his and Isidor’s stagnating relationship. As of late, he failed to be forthright with others about his feelings, something he hoped would change that morning after confronting the uncorrupted remains of Locque’s spirit in his dreams. In a way, he had elected for a bit of transparency, having broached the subject of their questionable status unprompted, but when pushed for more details, he didn’t want to share them. To share them would admit he’d said horrible things while Isidor was tending to his dead brother’s body, asking innocent questions to help make sense of what had transpired. And what did Alster do? He trampled on those questions by producing biting responses, unrelenting in his comparisons as he weighed the similarities between the two siblings.
But that wasn’t all Alster had done wrong. He would also have to admit that his abundant worries over Isidor’s publicized scandal drove him to use unstable magic in an attempt to reach Tivia, thereby missing the most fundamental points of friendship: respecting boundaries, and treating said friend not as a broken spoke needing to be fixed, but as a person who was, by virtue of existing, allowed to be broken. For some time, since he returned from the etherrealms, his fractured soul reconstituted, Alster struggled to command his emotions and his empathy, resulting in his social faux pas and consistent inability to connect with people, contrary to before. On the surface level, he did a fine job faking his concern, knowing deep down inside, he would be concerned over such and such a matter, but he lacked the vibrational resonance to care aside from the chemical response it elicited, by virtue of his energy-sensitive magic. It made sense, then, why he fell so off the mark regarding Isidor. And why he continued struggling to salvage their friendship. Today was the first day in months where he felt closer to his normal, untroubled self, true, but feeling differed from doing, and he had yet to do anything about addressing the reclusive Master Alchemist on their lack of contact, and what it meant for future, amicable interactions.
On the slow trek to Nia’s chambers, the lull in conversation naturally brought him to lingering on his old friend at length, his thoughts so dense and numerous, he hardly noticed when they arrived at Nia’s door. Shaking himself back to reality, Alster took charge, succeeding in getting the guard to yield long enough to settle their injured charge on the bed, and sending a willing Elespeth to negotiate lifting some of the Ardane woman’s restrictions with Haraldur.
Alone together in her room, Alster respectfully turned away as Nia shimmied off her trousers for easy exposure to the affected area on her calf. “You’re fine, Nia. I’ve been in more ‘compromising’ situations than this one.” He rubbed one finger under his chin, amused by a memory. “In fact, I once informed Elespeth that I penetrated another woman’s uterus, which sounds quite scandalous out of context, but I only meant that I ‘entered’ it via my magic, for healing purposes. She didn’t take too kindly to my explanation at first, but she quickly admitted that she had absolutely no reason to feel betrayed. And she’s right. People joke about it…but I am as monogamous as they come.” He experienced the truth of that firsthand, through Hadwin’s special, intimate brand of meddling. Even when the faoladh suctioned him into a tizzy from under a table, Alster’s thoughts before climaxing contained nothing but Elespeth. And that’s how he knew, for certain. It will only ever be you, El. “So rest assured, Nia,” he smiled, calm and confident. “I’m in no danger at all, and Elespeth is well aware of my commitment.”
Once it was safe to look, Alster scooted closer to the bed, applying just the slightest of pressures against the hard pack of scar tissue mounded over Nia’s calf. Making certain to use the cool steel of his right hand to offset the string of its burn, which he could detect through the temperature-sensitive tips of his artificial fingers, he measured the size of the scar from end to end, carefully watching Nia’s reactions as he tested for tenderness. Unfortunately, she devolved into ranting as a coping strategy, creating difficulty in not only his facial reading, but in his attempts to explain to her what he planned on doing next. Based on her ceaseless, uninterruptible monologue, she was using chatter as a shield to protect her from the pain of the procedure, seemingly uninterested in learning the details of how he intended to proceed, as long as he dealt with things as quickly as possible. Placing the flat on his palm atop her injury, he emitted a low wave of chthonic energy for the purpose of siphoning the toxins and dead clusters of nerves that affected the area’s ability to heal. Little by little, he pulled free the loose knots with one hand and stimulated the region with tiny bolts of electricity with the other, his brow hardened in concentration until…
Stop! Gasping in surprise, Alster retreated his hands as though he received Nia’s burn on contact, which wasn’t too far from the truth. In working under close quarters with a patient brimming with pain, sometimes their firing synapses would penetrate his well-enforced shielding spells, if the pain and fear happened to be too immense in scope for him to deflect in full. In that, he shared a little bit of the pain, as experienced by them. “Are you alright?” He asked the obviously uncomfortable Master Alchemist, sending a soothing aura over the scar, its sensation similar to placing ice on a wound. “That’s fine,” he said, his voice pleasant as he lowered his hands, dispersing his healing aura. “There’s nothing wrong with doing this little by little, in sessions. It looks like you’re having a hint of an easier time applying pressure on the leg,” he said, noting how its positioning and angle in relation to the ground appeared shades more stable, as evidenced by the fewer quakes and trembles radiating throughout the leg. “I’ll return tomorrow, and we’ll make steady progress. I might even be able to take on some of your pain, if it’s helpful to you. I’m plenty used to pain by now. It’s nothing to brag about, of course,” he hurried, reflexively rubbing the area between flesh and steel, where he sometimes still experienced isolated instances of sharp, stinging inflammation. “I was the idiot who happily allowed people to melt and graft a steel arm onto my skin. I’m grateful to Isidor for minimizing that pain exponentially. Without him, I was expecting to carry this with me for the rest of my life. Which does bring me to what you said, concerning Master Alchemists.”
He stood from his chair, a slow and gradual transition, to prevent the rush of lightheadedness from swimming around in his head. “Mages, especially mages from prestigious families—we’re not much better off. Those of us who are ‘fortunate enough to be born with a fair amount of magical inheritance are raised not as human, but as tools. As a faultless concept, sculpted in perfection. Present as anything less, and we are failures, a waste of potential and a waste of breath.” He brought a hand to his chest. “By your vein, would you peg someone like me—who has an unshakeable martyr complex and who welcomes suffering so that others may not suffer—as socially adept? Overall,” he pursed his lips into a grim smile, “none of us are fine. I suppose that’s why people like us should stick together, in the end. I extend my assessment, as well, to Aristide Canaveris. Don’t tell him I said this,” he lowered his voice, as if the Canaveris lord was listening in on them by means of the remaining pebble golems yet to be swept up and discarded, “but he’s also a victim of his prestige. Moreso than me. Whereas I escaped the brunt of those impossible expectations heaped onto me, he never did. In many ways, he chooses to be perfect. A flawless diamond, incapable of cracks. As he is…he’s a little like Isidor. His reasons and methods may differ, but he distances himself from others, frequently hiding under a mask of unruffled gentility. He may not even realize he’s doing it, and wonders why he can’t connect with others beyond the superficial level.”
He tilted his head, appraising the woman before him. “You’re good for him, Nia. He needs someone genuine in his life. Someone who can help bring his authentic self forward, if he so chooses to display it without all the polish and fanfare. You already seem to have his heart,” he nodded at the jade-leaf charm dangling from its gold chain. “I don’t think he’s the person to give it out so freely, not after what happened,” he hesitated, remiss to speak ill of his cousin, even when he had yet to reconcile her and Ari’s secret and tumultuous history. “With Chara. And…I can’t imagine his curse makes it easy for him to express himself without suffering some form of backlash. But now I’m ranting. Excuse me.” Lifting the chair he borrowed from the table in the corner, he returned it to its rightful place and turned back to face Nia.
“I’ll see about paying a visit to Isidor. I’ll have to, anyway, to discuss plans for lifting Ari’s curse. In any case, you’re not wrong. Constant isolation can’t be good for him, and…I want him to know that there are people he can still go to for help. People who care. However much I may come off as annoying to him.” Approaching Nia’s bed, he gently laid a hand on her shoulder and guided her to the pillow. “Now…I’ll do what you’ve asked of me, but again, I preface this with a warning; we can’t make this a habit. Utilizing this magic too often can have long-term consequences if used in constant succession. So please be aware. We’ll have to discuss alternative options. Healthier coping strategies and other explorative methods of healing. But this can wait, for now. Get comfortable.” As Nia kicked off her boots and burrowed under the sheets, Alster summoned a diaphanous gout of gauzy black chthonic magic. “Let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll put you under until the following morning.”
Once given permission to begin, Alster released the gauzy, filmy plume from his hand, whereupon it enveloped Nia’s form, drinking away her consciousness like sweet nectar from a flower. Sated, the darkness retreated, leaving its source of fuel and energy collapsed into a dreamless stasis for the remainder of the day.
Tired though he was, the day had barely begun, and Alster refused to rest just yet. Not until he spoke to Isidor…before he lost his nerve. Immediately after exiting Nia’s chambers, the Rigas mage headed directly to Isidor’s residence, assuming the reclusive man would be inside and awake, as per usual. It took a few loud knocks to alert his attention, but eventually, the latch clicked and the door swung open, revealing a similarly bleary-eyed and sleepless figure. What was it about Master Alchemists that made them so sleep-averse?
“Isidor.” Alster’s feet shuffled close, suddenly nervous. “How…how have you been?” An idiotic question, but it was the convention, an easy script to follow when words failed, or when one needed to fill in the time to compile the correct combinations of words and sentiments. “I…I’m not sure if you know, but Galeyn is planning a huge celebration in two weeks, to be delegated between the kingdom and the D’Marian settlement, and I’ve been put in charge of creating a float for a parade Lord Canaveris plans on arranging. It’s going to be a creative and technical centerpiece, something that requires both ingenuity and engineering to pull off properly, and…I was wondering, if you weren’t otherwise busy with more essential tasks, if you would like to contribute to the project. With me. If not, that’s fine,” he blurted, loudly, as though to block his shameful words. “But I thought I’d ask. I’ll be competing against Lord Canaveris and his team, and he’ll likely be enlisting Nia’s aid, so I understand if it may be too awkward for you to join. Either way, I…” he generated a small, uncertain smile, “may I come in? It’s been too long, and…I want to see what you’ve been working on, lately. That is…if you’d like to share.”
The amount of waste that flumed from Bronwyn’s mouth was enough to seize her heart on the spot, for how much it contracted each time she released wave upon ceaseless wave of the bothersome refuse. So prevalent the amount, she worried it would overflow from the chamberpot and ooze out in disgusting rivulets, staining Aristide’s fine sheets and rugs—and then she’d be indebted to everyone tenfold for being such a burden and a mess. Already, she cast silent apologies towards Sigrid for the thankless task of holding back her unbound tangle of frizzed and unkempt hair for the duration of her neverending deed. Really—when would it stop?!
At least, the excess spewing subsided to a trickle, to dry heaves, and then to nothing. Shivering from the exertion, she shakily accepted Sigrid’s damp cloth, positioning it over her perspiring brow, and then over her mouth to wipe away the lingering residue. She didn’t remove the fabric, preferring to shield Sigrid from her terrible, sour, bile-thick breath. “T-thank you,” she sputtered, holding the proffered water tin in her free hand with eyes she trusted to perch open halfway under the raging light. Frowning at the water, she delayed drinking it, worried about upchucking anything she consumed, however small or innocuous. “That was…that had to be unpleasant for you. I’m sorry, Sigrid. To you, to Lord Canaveris…to everyone affected by my shameful antics. I’ll have to make another public apology. Will they even accept it? Especially if…” her terrifying realization returned, “we can’t know if that man is truly dead or alive. Do you know for sure? Can Lord Canaveris find out for me? I…I don’t think I did, but I was so angry, and…maybe we Kavanaghs all possess a violent streak. Did you know,” she gurgled out a pathetic laugh, “I used to beat up my brother? At first, I didn’t like doing it. He was so helpless, and never fought back! But eventually…I sought him out more and more, and once he began defending himself, and throwing his own punches, it felt…good. Last night, I had the same feeling. This feeling of…control. I told myself, ‘I don’t want to stop!’ So I kept going, and going, until he couldn’t move, and still, I kept at it. Several people had to pull me off his crumpled body and forcibly evict me, that’s how unhinged I’d become.” Not finding the stomach to drink anything, she set aside the cup of water and stared at her lap.
“Even if I didn’t kill him, Sigrid, he might have sustained serious damage. Yet, here I am, talking about how much fun I had, beating someone to an inch of their life. If this doesn’t change your perceptions of me, a person who, free of anyone’s hypnotizing influences, save for a little bit of booze, completely lost herself and enjoyed it, then…I don’t know. I’d say that maybe you’ve also been afflicted with my annoying ability to see the good in people. Or that you’re touched in the head. Did you also spend the night drinking?”
No longer feeling the urge of a repeat performance, she fell back on her pillows, propping her head towards the ceiling. “It hurts too much to check if you’re being truthful, Sigrid. I couldn’t possibly be making you feel better, or braver. For now, I’ll stay, because I made a promise to you and have nowhere else to go, but afterwards…” she drew her fevered eyes to a slow close, “I really should go looking for my clan. For my father. It will interest them to know that my brother is alive, and…someone needs to inform them of, well, of my sister,” she swallowed a lump, unsure if it was vomit, or stress-related.
“If it’s not too much trouble…I’d like some of those toxin-absorbing stones,” she said, hurriedly changing the subject. “I owe everyone too much, and don’t think I deserve to waste any other precious Canaveris resources when I’ve made such a mess of things for them, but if it will aid in my swift recovery, then I can be useful sooner…and try to fix some of the damage I caused. Ask them what I can do to help. And…” her dark amber eyes fluttered open, searching Sigrid’s eyes sorrowfully, “what can I do for you, since you seem to think my presence here is so vital? How…can I make it up to you?”
Leave it to Alster to be so damn understanding when a grown-ass adult like Nia couldn’t handle a little pain to ultimately feel better in the long run, because after all of the trouble she’d caused, he really had every right to tell her to suck it up if she wanted his help at all. The Master Alchemist’s ridiculously poor pain tolerance brought her a good deal of embarrassment, and she really couldn’t help but wonder if it did hurt as much as her brain and body registered, or if she was truly being the petty thing that she was. Truth be told, she’d wanted him to stop almost as soon as it had begun, but if she ever wanted to make use of that leg again, and wander the Night Garden with Ari in search of fireflies, completely unhindered, she couldn’t hobble around like an invalid forever. The Rigas caster was right: far better to ask him for help than the Clematis healer, who wouldn’t care a lick for her discomfort, so long as he was doing his job.
“I’m sorry, Alster. I swear I’m not trying to be petty…” She heaved a sigh of frustration, though when he pointed out the position of her leg, twisted in such a way that she certainly wouldn’t have been able to achieve before given the stiffness and pain. “But, hey… a little progress is still progress, yeah? You sure you… wouldn’t mind, doing this just a little bit at a time? You’ve already got a lot on your plate, and I don’t wanna completely lay claim to your valuable time. Elespeth and I have a budding friendship to nurture, and something tells me she wouldn’t appreciate another woman laying claim to your time, even if she’s not the jealous type--and between you and me,” she smiled weakly, “I’m not convinced she’s not. I’ve seen her love for you, Al, and it’s fierce. You two are lucky to have found love like that.”
But, her leg aside, the other elephant in the room concerned her damaging sleeping habits (or lack thereof), as Alster made mention that she could not rely on his chthonic magic indefinitely, for a myriad of reasons. Of course, he was right, and the thought of being completely dependent on another person just to be able to rest was frankly rather frightening. But for now… it was the only thing that would help her function. “I thinkI know what you mean… about Ari. Even now, after all this time and what we’ve been through and what we’ve done for each other, it’s like…” She paused and spoke quietly, as if harbouring the same concerns for any lingering pebble golems that might be picking up their conversation and relaying it to Ari. “It’s like, I’ve gotten to know Lord Aristide Canaveris very, very well. I know the leader of the D’Marians. But aside from a few brief moments of vulnerability that he couldn't hide from me because… well,” she raised her hands to emphasize her unintentionally invasive nature, “I don’t feel like I’ve gotten to know Ari. Maybe it’s my fault, though. I can’t blame him for not wanting to open up to Locque’s henchman… but I’ll work on that. I’ll find a way to really get to know him--though I have a feeling that won’t be possible until I’m no longer a prisoner. Leave Ari to me, and I’ll leave Is to you. Go see him, Al: I’m just as fucked up as Is might be, albeit in different ways, but the difference is, I have Ari. And without you, Is has…” No one was the word that was left unsaid. The woman he had loved was gone, and his best friend, estranged. Who did he have, if he wouldn’t even keep the company of his own sister?
“Without Is helping you out… I’ll be honest, hon, making that parade float will be no competition for me and Ari.” She smirked good naturedly at the Rigas Caster with a knowing look in her eyes. “You might be powerful, but a mage and Master Alchemist are unstoppable. And I’ll definitely have met my match with Is. If for no other reason… see if you can convince him by offering the chance for me to wallow in defeat.”
But the float, the parade, the celebration were all tomorrow problems. Nia was exhausted; she could hardly think straight, and she needed all the rest she could get if Alster was offering to help her. This time around, she wasn’t in a state of panic, and it wasn’t so frightening. All she felt was relief when she closed her eyes, and the world around her went black--along with her mind, quite mercifully.
Sleep deprivation to such an extent might have been relatively new to Nia, who had always made up for lost sleep by peacefully dozing days away in the aftermath, but to Isidor, it had simply become a way of life--at least, ever since he had left the peace and safety of his tower in Nairit, and Hadwin had awoken ghosts of his past that continually kept him up at night. Now, the two Master Alchemists had even more in comment, except that it was perplexingly the Night Garden responsible for Nia’s current sominal affliction.
Even their coping strategies were relatively similar, to an extent. Nia’s distractions entailed keeping herself busy, finding whatever tasks she was allowed to perform, and talking off the ear of whomever was willing to listen. Likewise, the only remaining Kristeva brother kept himself occupied with a variety of different tasks, but of late, few required his assistance. Lord Canaveris and his earth mages and masons largely had the task of rebuilding the broken kingdom well underway, and with Vitali gone… what use was he to poor Briery Frealy, who had been so looking forward to bringing back the wrongfully exterminated Cwenha? Ever since he had returned to his room, to find that ethereal, delicate projection of a sparkling lily on his desk, whatever ambition Isidor had toward his own, personal alchemical endeavours had dissipated, because he now remembered why he had been keeping himself busy. To distract from what he had lost: the potential for a normal, socially adept future, with a young woman who had made him feel things he had never felt before.
He wasn’t the only one to have lost someone dear to them, and in his case, it was less a tragedy and more so just a reflection of consequences for overstepping boundaries in his relationship that he hadn’t realized were there. Sigrid Sorenson mourned the loss of Naimah, but the Kariji woman’s death had not been her fault. But Tivia--she was not dead. He knew, deep down, and that effervescent lily upon his desk late one evening confirmed his suspicions. Not dead, but she was no less gone, and… and it was his fault. Because in a fit of pain and outrage and deep-seated self-loathing, he had taken Nia to bed, because… why? He had known Tivia would find out… and part of him wanted to, however immature that was. He had wanted her to feel what he had felt, seeing her cling to a new man. Well, she’d felt it, and understandably, had removed herself. For how long, though? Forever? If so… what had that lily meant?
An abrupt series of knocks on his door startled Isidor out of the stupor he’d sunk into at some point while sitting at his desk, crafting paper lilies. This had become habitual for him, of late: whatever it took to put his mind on pause, so that he did not begin to drift off and see Zenech’s dead face, or Arisza’s pain in his dreams, and it was something that brought him shame. While the rest of this kingdom was working around the clock to try and function as a society again, he was… giving up. Wasting the day away, throwing out hours upon hours that he would never get bank, just trying not to think…
While the aggrieved Master Alchemist had had the know-how and common sense to present himself well during Anetania Ardane’s trial, and when addressing Aristide Canaveris when he had assigned Nia to work alongside the earth mage, it was entirely all for show (and a show he had put on quite well, if he did say so himself.) But to peer into the reality of Isidor Kristeva, his sleepless eyes, his long, unbrushed and unbound hair that reached just past his shoulders, the rumpled white tunic and dusty trousers that he had sported for at least three days, and the complete disarray of his chambers told an entirely different story. One of a man who had regressed to his old ways, was struggling more and more to function within typical society, and didn’t see a point in trying to live, otherwise.
He didn’t have time to hide it by the time he answered the knocks, only to find Alster Rigas on the other side of the door. “Alster. Is there… has something happened?” There was no hiding the disheveled appearance of his room behind his rail-thin body, and he didn’t even have an answer for the Rigas mage when he’d asked him what he’d been working on. Behind his feet, scattered across the floor, his bed, and his desk, looked to be well over a hundred paper lilies. “I… it helps me clear my mind. I could make those things in my sleep; I don’t have to think.” As if that was an excuse for what very clearly looked like he was trying to cope with his own demons--many with which Alster was already familiar.
“I, ah, I’ve heard tell of these festivities, but admittedly, I don’t know much about them either way. A parade float, you say? And how much time are you being given? That seems like quite a lofty endeavour, when it comes to design, materials…” Of course, wasn’t this why Alster was asking for help? That was too much to ask of any individual person, especially someone who had already been pushed to his limits, and barely had a chance to catch his breath before more responsibilities were placed upon his shoulders.
But what did he say? Did he admit that he hadn’t been working on anything substantial at all, these days? “I’m sure you heard, there were some… difficulties with the observatory tower, not long ago. It put both Aristide and Nia at risk, and rumours are floating that it was due to intentional sabotage as an attack on Nia. The earth mages seem to have it under control, but I was working on a means to remotely check the premises for safety every day before work begins, in case the event repeats itself.” Hesitant to let Alster into the absolute chaos that was his room, he reached across his desk and held up a contraption that looked something like a scale, with two ball bearings on either end of a silver stick, one crafted of silver and the other of gold. “It can be used to read and record the magical energy of a room at any point in time. I’m working on having it read the magical and alchemical energies of the observatory: every morning when it is brought insight, if it appears off balance, then it will mean that the room has been tampered with since all of the workers left the day before…”
But the contraption was far from complete: in fact, as of now, it was nothing but precious and semi-precious metals. He’d put out feelers to Lord Canaveris and the earth mages if this is something that would help but, but for some reason or another, hadn’t received an answer. As such, it remained an unfinished project that he had barely been picking away at, in the event that Aristide would accept his help again. He knew he wouldn’t; the man had not given off friendly vibes. If anything, this had been a waste of time and resources, all in an attempt to take his mind off of… everything. Tivia. Arisza. Vitali. Cwenha, who it would seem, would have a brand new body with no way for her soul to inhabit it… “...I have to admit, working on a float seems like a much more ambitious and interesting endeavour, although I am not very creative, Alster.” The Master Alchemist toyed with the stem of his spectacles. He wasn’t sure if he was finding it harder to see of late because his eyes had deteriorated, or it was all due to lack of sleep. “But if you need help… well, I’m not sure Lord Canaveris cares too much for my help, anyway.” He shrugged and put the balancing contraption aside, pushing several paper lilies off his desk in the process. Did he really want to put time and effort into a parade float, of all things? ...not particularly. But, at least it was a distraction that served a purpose. “What was it you had in mind?”
True to her word, as soon as Elespeth left Nia in Alster’s care, she immediately sought out Haraldur at the Sorde residence. The sound of a baby crying penetrated the heavy wooden doors when she arrived, and it gave her pause to consider if he really should be bothered right now, but on the other hand… if he or Vega needed or wanted some help with the twins, then it might give him more incentive to agree to go a little easy on everyone’s least-favourite Master Alchemist.
It was Vega who answered the door, hauling an overtired Kynnet in her arms who looked like he was fighting sleep tooth and nail--and his mother was not far behind him.
“Elespeth.” Vega’s sigh was heavy and disappointed. “I thought you were Haraldur… he’s supposed to be back soon. I assume he’s held up again. The timing never works out.”
“I was actually just looking for him… Vega, may I come in? You look like you could use some help.” The ex-Atvanian was glad she’d come, after all; even if her reason for a visit had changed.
The Skyknight didn’t deny her entry, and Elespeth quietly closed the door behind her as Vega tried in vain to get her son to settle. “He’s been fed, bathed, changed… he’s just stubborn. Stubborn like his father--and sister.”
“And stubborn like you?” Elespeth quirked a half smile and held her arms out in offering. Mind if I try?”
Vega snorted, but did not deny the offer, and gently passed the fussy baby into Elespeth’s arms. “It’s easier to blame it on my husband’s obstinacy when he’s not here. I thought dismissing the nursemaid would be fine. Being a fulltime mother surely couldn’t be as difficult as military duties… ha!” The Eyraillian princess ran a hand through her mess of copper hair that hadn’t been brushed yet today. “They’re little miracles, the both of them. I have to remind myself of that every day, or I fear I’d start to feel very differently.”
“As someone who is not a mother, I’d say your feelings are normal and valid, considering you’re caring for two young children on your own… Vega, why don’t you get some rest? I’m capable of tending to babies. And I was hoping to speak with your husband when he returns.”
“I… I couldn’t ask you to do that. I--”
“You’re not asking, I’m offering. Go!” Elespeth gestured with her hand toward Vega’s bedchambers. “Go take a nap and wake up to be the loving and capable mother I know you are. I’ve got no other obligations right now.”
Murmuring a quiet thank you, Vega put forth no more protests, and humbly made her way to bed to catch up on some desperately lacking sleep. As luck would have it, young Kynnet did settle in Elespeth’s arms after a little bit of cooing and pacing across the room; in moments, he was asleep, and the former knight gingerly made to put him down in his bassinet in the nursery… only to disturb his twin sister, who had just woken up and had about all the patience of her exhausted mother.
“Oh no--don’t you go waking your brother or mama. Hush with you.” She scooped the fussy girl into her arms and hastily retreated from the nursery so as not to wake Kynnet, then repeated the process of walking, bouncing, and cooing at the little girl who didn’t really know what she wanted, but seemed to like the sound of her own crying.
Her fussing didn’t cease until the door opened, and in stepped a familiar face to the baby girl. Haraldur shut the door behind him and made to discard his armor, but paused in confusion when he took note of Elespeth with his daughter in her arms. “Haraldur! I came here looking for you, but… your wife desperately needed a break. So… here I am. Here we are.” She indicated Klara with a half smile, who was already reaching for her father with one grabby hand. “Hey, now, give Papa a moment to take his boots off. He’s not going anywhere. How are you, Haraldur? You look… well, about as well to do as your wife. Have a seat.”
She gestured to a settee, and only when the tall Forbanne commander took his weight off his legs did she hand him his daughter, who clung to his tunic and quieted almost immediately. “Apparently Vega’s finding full-time motherhood harder than she’d bargained for… especially alone. Let me guess: she’s too proud to seek the services of the nursemaid any longer?” Elespeth wasn’t convinced the children had inherited their father’s stubbornness; Vega was just as guilty. “When was the last time the both of you have had a chance to bask in having your little family, Haraldur? Locque is gone, now; the carnage has cleared up. Everyone’s talking about a celebration in a couple of weeks… but you’re still working as though the world will fall apart if you let your guard down. You need--forgive my boldness, but Haraldur, it is time you took a break. Listen…”
Elespeth took a seat beside her longtime friend and tucked one of Klara’s bright-copper curls behind her ear. “I promised to come and talk to you about Nia Ardane, and lessening her restrictions. I know--she’s still an annoyance to me, to, but I’m trying to put my judgmental nature aside and see her like the human being she is. But above that, she hasn’t been much use to anyone on the short leash she’s been given. She wants to be productive, but circumstances haven’t been conducive to her productivity. In short--I realize that Lilica charged you with responsibility over Ardane’s sentence, but Alster was hoping you might be convinced to transfer some of the responsibility to us, and to Aristide Canaveris. She’s not a flight risk anymore; not when the man she loves is here, and she’s not really recovering under these current conditions. But, moreover… you already have far too much on your plate to be worrying about someone who isn’t much your concern. So: give some of that responsibility to us, will you? Give that time to us, so that you can instead give your time to people who matter more to you.”
She nodded to the now content baby who was preoccupied with putting the collar of Haraldur’s tunic in her mouth. It was too adorable for her not to smile. “You know, I couldn’t see it when she was born, but she’s looking a lot like her father--which is precisely what every daughter doesn’t want to hear.” Elespeth chuckled and shrugged. “But she’s got your eyes. And while she might have her mother’s attention all day long, it isn’t always her mother that she wants. Haraldur… let me talk to Lilica. Delegate responsibility of Nia Ardane to Alster and Aristide, and--hell, give some of your other responsibilities to me. I’ve led soldiers before, I am in better shape than I’ve been in well over a year, and… you deserve to take a moment to watch your children grow. To be here for their milestones. For when they take their first steps toward you. Or, if for no other reason, to get some adequate sleep between you and Vega so that you can be cognizant and conscious enough to enjoy your family. Take some time away--bring the twins to the kingdom wide celebration in a few weeks. Just be… a family. What do you say?” She flashed a shy smile and cocked her head to the side. “Will you consider it?”
Despite his concern for Isidor’s disheveled appearance and similarly disheveled living space, Alster refused to react openly, afraid of further alienating the man before their conversation could even begin. Instead, he smiled cordially, undaunted, unbothered, and unaffected as he stepped inside, taking a nonjudgmental sweep of the place. He’d been to Isidor’s tower, after all. The reclusive Master Alchemist simply defaulted to this state when left to his own devices. “Hm,” he lifted a paper lily from the ground nearest the door, twirling the stem around in his fingers. “You can make these in your sleep, you say? Enough, maybe, to fill a float? Ah, forgive me,” he leaned over and placed the lily on the second tier of a nearby bookshelf, beside another white-petaled companion resting there. “You haven’t even agreed yet and I’m already enlisting your valuable services. I’m sure you have something far more demanding occupying your time.”
That was when Isidor showed him his newest contraption. Resembling a scale, the device, as explained by its creator, was able to read imbalances in alchemical and magical energy in any one area. “That is…that is pretty ingenious, Isidor,” he exclaimed, bending at the waist to admire it from afar, respecting his boundaries not to step beyond the foyer of the other man’s dedicated workspace. “But it doesn’t look quite finished. Have you shared with the earth mages your work? I’m sure Lady Canaveris would love to see what you’re in the process of making. She’s oft expressed, vocally, her desire to speak with you, and I believe she’s now currently head of construction in place of her son, who’s currently focusing his efforts on celebratory arrangements in the D’Marian village. I think you should present this to her.” He walked a wide perimeter around the contraption, still following along the invisible boundaries Isidor set between them. “It’s just a hunch on my part, but I believe she’ll have nothing to say but kind things, considering how you’re part of the team that is going to lift her son’s curse. Lord Canaveris might not particularly take to you, but the mother is a different entity from the son, and she’s who you want to win over, at any rate.”
On agreeing to lend his aid, despite his lack of creativity, Alster broke into an appreciative smile. “Oh thank the stars; I didn’t want to do this alone. I’m with you, Isidor. I’m not a very creative person. I translate images from one medium to another, but I do not interpret. That is the job of an artist, and seeing as I’m competing against an artist and another Master Alchemist, I need all the help that I can get. So thank you.” He dipped his head in appreciation. “I didn’t have any ideas to start, but the paper lilies gave me something. What if we construct a float entirely out of flowers? It would be a nice nod to the Night Garden and Stella D’Mare, as the city is sometimes called the Garden City. We can create, let’s say, something capable of movement—an animal of some sort, for example, and together we can make moving parts for it, in a mix of engineering and magic. Sort of like how my arm operates.” He lifted his prosthesis in the low-burning lantern light, its steel parts glinting as though alive on their own. “My magic moves this limb, but metallurgy and alchemy keep the design sleek and functional. This serves as the perfect cross-disciplinary example. If calculated correctly, we can replicate something of its like but on a much larger scale, using cheaper and very light materials as the base. There are other aesthetic elements I can add closer to its completion, such as etherea lights or other illusionary effects to further bring it to ‘life’ …without scaring anyone, of course.” His shoulders slumped as his humming breath of inspiration expired, leaving his lungs in one long plume. He couldn’t forget the scarring effect his Serpent summoning had on the D’Marians, and on the kingdom at large. “Well, whatever we create…maybe it shouldn’t be a beast. Definitely not serpentine in any form. It’ll be in bad taste. But here I’ve been ranting about my ambitious ideas when I haven’t even prefaced my visit with something even more important.”
He lifted his gaze, finding Isidor’s tired, bespectacled eyes in the dusty, dim lighting. “I wanted to…apologize to you, Isidor. I know I already have, at length, to the point where my words have probably lost all meaning, but…I know I haven’t been a great person to have around, lately. I was so swept up in my plans for Locque’s destruction and it didn’t leave me space for much else, though I tried to act normal and be there for everyone. But…I’m sure I failed spectacularly.” He flattened himself against the wall beside the door, still respecting Isidor’s space not to wander past the threshold and into the room proper. With his hands clasped behind his back, he looked small, even smaller than his diminutive height and build. “I thought that I should also let you know…that I called for Tivia some time ago.” He carefully checked Isidor’s expression to see if he should continue. “And I made some progress slicing through the thicket of the universe’s protective shroud that drapes around her. I don’t know if she ever received my message, but she did come for me. In the etherrealms. When I was closing the rift Locque created, I ended up in a dark, abyssal place with no chance of escape, and…she saved me from making an irreversible decision.” He glanced sidelong at one of the lilies sitting on the bookshelf. Weren’t they her favorite flower? He vaguely recalled her saying so, once. “I don’t know where she is now, but I know she has to be near. That she’s alive, and she seems to be doing well. Maybe one day…she’ll show herself to us and confirm my beliefs. That is my genuine hope.”
While Haraldur had planned to avail himself of his full-time commander’s duties prior to Locque’s defeat, picking up the pieces of a broken kingdom in the aftermath required him to set aside those plans until a later date. Between delegating his soldiers to the hardest-hit areas for aid, unburdening the borders of their well-manned stations and lifting travel restrictions, contributing his fledgling skills to the Night Garden in the absence of the three Gardeners, Breane included, who lost their lives, and overseeing Nia’s incarceration, he hardly had the energy to be a father to his children, though he was determined to carve out the time for them, come hell or high water. On most nights, he was lucky to sleep four uninterrupted hours, if the twins allowed it, leaving him, again, needing to rely on a stimulant, but not that stimulant, to keep him going. Thanks to his developing connections to the Night Garden, he had a better understanding of what to use on himself that wouldn’t result in detrimental side-effects or put him out of commission for days. Even so, Haraldur held together by threads for the most part, reaching the threshold of his limits every day and oftentimes, beyond the limit.
Fortunately, today was less demanding of his time, allowing him several golden hours to spend with his family. Summoning his reserves of strength for the undertaking, as the Sorde environment was plain chaotic at its best, Haraldur stepped through the door, hardly noticing Elespeth until she greeted him.
“Elespeth!” He remarked, halting mid-step in surprise. “I thought you were Vega at first. That would have been awkward; I usually kiss her hello.” A ghost of a smile hung on his haggard features, but it was a smile that came easy in the presence of his children. Or one, anyhow. Kynnet stayed asleep in his bassinet, but Klara vocalized her demands straightaway, gurgling for her father to come and rescue her from the other lady. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he said to his daughter, shedding his plates of leather armor with the automatic, half-conscious speed of a soldier who had done so thousands of times before.
“Thank you for relieving my wife,” he said, scooping up the impatient child in his arms the moment he took a seat on the settee across from Elespeth. The wood frame creaked a little, protesting the hard thump of his half-collapse of a sit-down. “I keep having this argument with her; she’s allowed to let the nursemaid assist. There’s a reason the saying, ‘It takes a village,’ exists. It isn’t possible for two tired parents to do it all. Oh, do we ever try, but she’s not going to combust if she decides to let someone else watch them once in a while. I’m picking up the slack as much as I can,” he said defensively, as though detecting something in Elespeth’s speech that accused him of neglecting his role as a father. “I’m doing it all, but I see the disappointment in Vega’s face that says I could be doing more, but I can’t. There’s only one of me, and one of her, and…I know what I’m doing right now isn’t sustainable, but it’s not going to be like this forever; it’s not.” His voice mounted, almost pleading with Elespeth for understanding when she already seemed to understand. “I’m not a bad father. I love my children, but there are also things I need to do. If I could have more time…”
Which was exactly what Elespeth began to propose. In a roundabout sense. He snorted at mention of ‘Nia.’ Of course this was what it was all about! Locque’s lackey that everyone seemed to favor for some reason.
“You want her so badly, you can have her,” he said, a grumpy dismissal more than a discussion. “Just as long as you get permission from Lilica about it. I’d argue that placing responsibility in the hands of the people who openly advocated in her defense won’t sit well with the Galeynians who want someone more impartial to watch over Nia Ardane, but,” he shrugged, “that’s Lilica’s call in the end. You want me to stand down? I will. Not because I agree, but because frankly, you’re right; she’s not my concern. The Ardane woman can do what she likes as long as she’s useful and managed. Throw a few guards in there to give off the illusion of ‘imprisonment’ and that’s good enough for me. So—done. As for your other proposal,” he frowned, though it didn’t last with Klara crawling all over him, temporarily breaking him out of his severe expression to adjust the curious baby and prop her on his shoulder. “You’ve never led Forbanne soldiers before. Forbanne soldiers who haven’t forgotten what happened on the road to Braighdath. They might not follow you, Elespeth. They’ll follow Vega to an extent, because she’s my wife with a commander background and they respect her, but,” he hesitated. They don’t respect you, was what went unsaid, but he didn’t care to spell it out or elaborate when the subject was still a sore point for both parties to broach. “I have deputy commanders among the ranks of the Forbanne who I’ve been training to take on some responsibilities in my absence, especially since I’ve been spending more and more time trying to figure out this whole…Gardener thing.” As timing would have it, young Klara gurgled out a laugh, as if finding her father’s newest calling quite hilarious. “If you want to put yourself out there and help, far be it for me to deny you, because I’ll gladly take as many volunteers as I can get, but please be aware…you’ll be under their command; not the other way around. I’ll put you under consideration for a consulting position…if,” he pointed one conditional finger toward the ceiling, “you can convince Vega to rehire the nanny. She desperately needs a break. Unless you want to lend your services. I seem to recall how excited you were at first to spend time with the twins. I won’t say no if you jump at the opportunity.”
Some of the tension in his brow loosened altogether when Klara, tactile in her explorations, stuck the edge of his collar onto her mouth and sucked on it like her mother’s teat, content to be in her father’s protective embrace. Despite his exhaustion, he smiled and kissed her head of coppery locks. “I don’t think people are going to notice anything else but her fiery hair and fiery temper. You know, if what they say about redheads is accurate. But come on, it’s not a bad thing to look like me,” he said, but mostly to the little tyke in his arms. “Your mother thinks I’m cute.”
“Anyway, thank you, Elespeth,” he added, almost ashamed to tag it on as an afterthought. “I’ve been nothing but cranky, lately, and I might have taken it out on you a bit, so you’ll have to forgive this surly old man. But you’re right. I do want to spend more time with my family. I’ve already felt like I missed so much.” He extended one finger to Klara, which she grabbed gleefully and placed into her mouth. In that brief, tender moment, a realization struck him, and he was ready to kick himself for not coming upon it sooner. “I think it’s time to take them to the Night Garden. Vega and I, as a family. It’s safe now, and…I can do my duty to them and to the Sentinel Tree, at the same time. I don’t think these tasks were meant to be separate. Maybe that’s why I’ve been having such a hard time of it.” He stared at the window, at the verdant brush framing the edges of glass, his gaze longing, as though hearing it call his name. Their names. “The opportunity exists for both.”
The following morning, shortly after Nia awoke from her death-like sleep, a knock sounded on her door. It was more a courtesy knock than an invitation to enter, and after about a minute, Haraldur walked inside, relieved, at least, to see the Master Alchemist not in a state of undress, as he initially feared. “Good news,” he said, feeling it too awkward to begin with small talk when she was essentially his captive. “I’ve spoken with Queen Lilica and she’s agreed to allow Alster, Elespeth, and Lord Canaveris to claim custody over you in my place. She’s also agreed to relax your guard. However, one must still accompany you in public spaces and during the evenings when you retire. They will answer to Alster, Elespeth, and Lord Canaveris, so they won’t argue their authority. Also,” he nodded to Nia’s dresser, “pack your things. You’re wanted at the D’Marian village, as per Lord Canaveris’s request.”
He was about to turn around and leave right there and then, but paused in the threshold. “I’ve…heard you have trouble sleeping,” he spun around, his eyes trained on the wall and not on Nia. The last time he showed the woman grace, it backfired in his face. Like Elespeth, he, too, was sometimes guilty of passing harsh judgements on others without entirely understanding, or refusing to understand, their point of view. If he was to be a Gardener, perhaps he could start by extending a tiny amount of kindness to Galeyn’s most infamous prisoner. Maybe then, he’d begin to see why others thought her appealing enough to save. “I’m…training as a Gardener, and I found something that works for me. My days are long and it takes me quite a while to wind down and sleep, so I use this herb and it knocks me out in moments.” He removed a small, nondescript pouch from his pocket and placed it on her bedside table. “Eat three leaves ten minutes before you sleep. They’re not supposed to cause any vivid dreams. Not that I know of; but it could be I just haven’t been remembering them. Well,” he stiffly made an about-face and made for the door, “you have an hour to prepare. Alster will accompany you on the carriage ride to the village.”
“You want me to craft enough paper lilies for a parade float? While I’ll admit the idea sounds unique, Alster, I am not so sure that even that will compete with whatever an artist like Aristide Canaveris can devise.” Isidor offered a half-smile, and held the awkward piece of unfinished equipment in his hands that he probably shouldn’t have bothered sowing Alster in the first place. It was obvious that the contraption was unfinished: the frame was there, but as it currently stood, it was far from functional. “And, you are correct: it isn’t finished. I suppose I sort of began to lose my motivation when I realized that Lord Canaveris probably couldn’t care less for my assistance in any capacity…”
When Alster mentioned the lord’s mother, Nadira Canaveris, Isidor raised his eyebrows in confusion. “She has wished to… speak with me? But why ever so? This is the first I am hearing of it, and if I am being honest, that a Canaveris wants to speak with me sounds less appealing than one not taking interest in me.” He had glimpsed at the Canaveris matriarch in passing on a few occasions, but Isidor had never prompted conversation. “It also didn’t come to my attention that Aristide was no longer heading the repairs and renovations of the observatory, but… well, what can I expect when I spend most of my time in this room?” He chuckled a self-deprecating chuckle. It didn’t feel particularly good. “Well, when I finish it, I may present the contraption to her anyway, just to give it a chance at not being a complete waste of time and materials. I suppose that does remain to be seen, but… I digress. You really think we can beat Lord Canaveris with a float made of flowers, do you? I’d love to see a design of what you have in mind. Why don’t we start there and figure out what’s actually feasible. After all, if we want it to endure, these lilies cannot remain as paper.” He picked one up from off of his desk and ran the flimsy material between his fingers. “Of course, changing that won’t be a problem. You’ve really given us a challenge, Alster. May the stakes be favourable if we win, and merciful if we lose.”
Isidor’s brow creased in concern when Alster’s tone changed from hopeful to apologetic in a heartbeat. Except there was no need, because, if the Master Alchemist recalled, hadn’t he already apologized once? “Alster, like I said before, it isn’t… necessary to apologize. If you are referring to what you said to me on the day after my brother was discovered dead… nothing you said was wrong. It was all accurate. I just wasn’t in the right place to accept it. Or… or, to do anything about it.” And the truth was, he still wasn’t. Isidor knew his faults, his flaws, his vices, and he had for a long time. But what hadn’t changed over the years was his weak will in making a difference to change them. It was easier to hide from the world and himself than face the mirror, most days. It was because of that realization, and not what Alster had said to him to begin with, that had turned him away from the Rigas mage, along with everyone else.
Before the Master Alchemist could proceed into further ramblings to negate Alster’s apology, the topic of conversation shifted again, to something he very much hadn’t been anticipating. So taken off guard, he unintentionally dropped the paper lily he’d been holding. “Tivia? You mean she… She is alive? She’s well? When did you contact her? How did you know she reached out? Is she--I’m sorry. You don’t have all of those answers, do you? It’s just…” Isidor dropped his forehead into his hand. “Ever since she vanished, and I failed to find her, I’ve been trying to put her out of my mind. I thought that is what she might have wanted, but…” Tivia… alive. And near. But what did that mean? Would she come back to the, or had she found contentment in the shadows?
“Alster… thank you. For reaching out to her, and for telling me. I don’t know that I’ll ever see her again, or that she cares to ever see me, again but if she’s alright, then that is all that really matters.” He hazarded a weak smile and adjusted his spectacles. “Maybe I can sleep a little easier, knowing this.” Doubtful… but it was no less a possibility, and seemed to assuage just a little but of Alster’s palpable concern for him.
“Forgive my overstepping, Haradlur, but neither one of us is going to be able to convince Vega Sorde of all people to admit she’s overwhelmed enough to rehire your nursemaid.” Elespeth mentioned gently with a hint of a smile. It was rather endearing, how the couple would rag on one another for their obstinacy without acknowledging their own stubborn streak. Klara and Kynnet had parents who would be forces to be reckoned with as they grew up. “But I’m not saying you’ve been a bad father; quite the opposite, it’s clear to anyone in this kingdom what you would sacrifice for your children and your family. It’s simply like you said… it is impossible for the two of you to do it all, with added responsibility of everything else you’ve got going on. Commanding your troops is a full time job; at the same time, so is being a father. You’re trying so hard to do both, and it’s going to be the death of you. Which is why I’m proposing you hand off less pressing tasks to others who might be equally capable. Nia Ardane is not going to give anyone trouble; she’s being a model prisoner so that she can play out her sentence until the kingdom of Galeyn is satisfied. She doesn’t want to cause any trouble because she knows it’s only going to be more trouble for her, and on top of that, Alster, Aristide and I all have her trust. I’ve come to learn that she is someone staunchly dedicated to trust and won’t betray it because she’s already felt betrayed too many times, herself. Haraldur,” the former knight leaned forward and rested a hand on his arm. “You don’t need that responsibility. Your skills are far better used elsewhere. And your time… well, more of your time is better spent here.” She nodded to the little girl who cuddled contentedly against his shoulder.
If Elespeth had known it would be this easy to convince Haraldur to delegate responsibility of Nia Ardane to other people, then she might not have mentally prepared to such an extent. Surely she’d thought it would take more convincing for Haraldur to hand over Galeyn’s most infamous prisoner to a new, ‘friendly’ set of hands… But not, evidently, when he was already very much done with being the Master Alchemist’s caretaker. “Perfect! We won’t let you down, Haraldur; and of course we’ll talk to Lilica first. I’m not going to undermine the authority of the Queen of Galeyn. I realize that the kingdom might not take well to more perceived lenience being heaped on her, but…” She leaned her elbows on her knees and clasped her hands in front of her. “With the announcement of upcoming festivities, I don’t really have the impression that Galeyn is paying much attention to her anymore. At least, not so close. Alster mentioned that perhaps having Forbanne guards as opposed to Galeynian guards to keep an eye on her and keep up the look of ‘imprisonment’ might be preferable… Your men don’t quite have the same bias as the Galeynian soldiers. I don’t think it’s helped that Lilica’s guards haven’t cared much for their prisoner’s well-being…” And even if Haraldur didn’t, either, she knew the Forbanne would obey his orders if he specifically asked to keep an eye on how Nia was faring.
But mention of the Forbanne led Haraldur to another point: and that was the unlikelihood of any of his soldiers following Elespeth, regardless of what orders he gave them. After all, Elespeth Rigas was still the woman who had stolen a vast amount of Mollengardian stimulant and then run off with it, causing an unnecessary headache and worry for both Haraldur and his troops, as well as Alster. She didn’t blame them; how anyone had respect for her in the aftermath of all the trouble she’d caused was still a wonder to her. Just the thought of the trouble she’d made brought colour to her cheeks, and she couldn’t maintain eye-contact with Haraldur. What had he been thinking? “No, you’re right. They won’t follow me, and it doesn’t make sense for me to try and earn their respect in the aftermath, because that will only mean more work for you, and the whole point of my offer is to try and take some weight off of your shoulders. Forget I said anything about it.” She couldn’t be of help to his soldiers, and there was no way on this plain that she would ever be able to convince Vega that it had been a bad idea to relieve their nursemaid of her duties. The very thought of approaching the hot-headed and stubborn princess about the way she chose to parent was nothing short of a nightmare that the former knight did not want to have, but…
“...like I said, I won’t be convincing Vega to hire back her help, because she won’t ask for help. But, I have noticed that if familiar help makes itself available… she doesn’t seem as likely to turn it down. So if it helps the both of you--then let me step in for a little bit every day and help with the twins. Or with whatever else I can do so that the two of you can spend more time with the twins. If you still want volunteers working under the Forbanne, then feel free to sign me up for that, too.” Elespeth straightened her posture and smiled at the baby on his shoulder, who had grown so comfy with his collar in her mouth that she was, in fact, beginning to fall asleep. “I won’t lie, I was sent here to advocate for Nia Ardane, but you’re my friend. And it’s high time I really started acting like one again. So consider me at your disposal.”
She would have clapped him on the shoulder, but the now sleeping baby nestled against his neck was enough of a deterrent. Rare was a moment of peace with two teething twins, and at least one with all of the stubbornness of her mother and father combined. Instead, she stood slowly and quietly, and lowered her voice.
“Your wife is catching up on sleep, as is your son--and now your daughter, by the looks of it. Why don’t you go join them?” She smiled, and before letting herself out, she added, “the Sorde residence is somehow far more peaceful with the father around.”
Through some miracle, all four members of the little family managed to find some semblance of sleep for a while that day, before it was Vega’s turn to take off to tackle other duties. The Sorde couple did not have a chance to talk about what Haraldur had discussed with Vega until the next day over breakfast, when the two finally found the time and space to talk. “Wait; I’m not sure I understand correctly.” The Eyraillian princess put down the piece of bread she’d been chewing on without much of an appetite, while with her other arm her daughter partook in her own nourishment, nursing hungrily. The way the twins were growing, so were their voracious infant appetites, and Vega was becoming more and more tempted to try to wean them onto soft foods, much as they were currently resisting. “So you’re no longer in charge of Nia Ardane. You’re passing that responsibility on to Alster, Elespeth, and Aristide Canaveris… and Elespeth is now going to come by daily to--what? Help with the twins? Haraldur, do you actually feel that I am performing so damn poorly as a mother that I can’t meet the requirements of our children without help?”
Just as the exhausted Forbanne Commander had mistook Elespeth’s appraisal as an attack on his fatherhood, so, too, did Vega misconstrue this new development as an attest to her failure as a mother. Her brow furrowed in distaste and, sensing her mother’s displeasure, little Klara seemed to lose interest in nursing and began to fuss. With Kynnet being a model child and rolling around happily in the bassinet nearby, Haraldur’s arms were free to take the fussy little girl, who always seemed calmer around her father. Perhaps she was too much like her mother that their personalities clashed at times. “I’m doing fine. We are doing fine, aren’t we? When did you decide to take issue with what we have?” Vega adjusted the front of her dress for decency and picked up the mug of tea in front of her. She’d been too busy tending to her children to drink it while it was hot, and by now, it was lukewarm. Somehow, that in and of itself was enough to change her tone. “...it’s hard. I know it is--I knew it would be. I didn’t realize that these difficulties would have such an impact on us. All of us…” The tea was a lost cause. She put it down and dropped her hands into her lap as Haraldur ventured to explain what he’d meant to articulate before Vega’s temper had interrupted him. “I’m sorry, Haraldur. You’ve been wanting to pursue training as a Gardener for some time, now, and we… haven’t had much of a chance to sit and be a family. I think that would be the perfect solution to so many of our problems. Once I manage to wean these little devils, they would easily have all of the support they need with you and the Gardeners in the Night Garden. Perhaps giving them a taste for some Night Garden foods will convince them to grow out of milk.”
Considering how Klara seemed to have a preferred parent most of the time, it would be the perfect fit for her to spend time with Haraldur in the Night Garden. Kynnet, by his perceived nature, was calm regardless of which parent he happened to be with, but no doubt the Night Garden’s soothing energies would benefit both children. “Alright; it’s a good idea. I shouldn’t have been so quick to shut you down… I’m sorry. Lack of sleep makes me unreasonable.”
Standing from the table, she made her way around to plant a kiss on her husband’s cheek and ruffle her daughter’s copper curls. “If this will earn us all more time together, so that we can parent together instead of doing these ridiculous shifts, then you have my full support. Elespeth is welcome to lend a hand. I keep thinking it will get easier as these two get older, but…” She crossed the room to pick up a suddenly needy Kynnet, who began to fuss from inattention. “That’s clearly the naivete of a first-time parent of twins. We’re both still learning… that won’t stop anytime soon. But… Haraldur?” Holding Kynnet to her shoulder, she took strides toward her husband and fussy daughter. “For what it is worth… you’re a wonderful father. I know it hasn’t been easy, but you’re doing a great job.”
Nia awoke much later the next morning--almost exactly twenty-four hours since Alster had put her out with his chthonic magic. She hadn’t dreamed; she hadn’t so much as stirred. Her neck was stiff and her back hurt from lying stationary for so long, but through the fog of just regaining consciousness, she felt… better. All that desperate hopelessness that had broken her down in the Night Garden just yesterday was gone, and she truly felt like she could take on the day, whatever was required of her. Funny enough, no sooner did motivation hit her that a knock sounded at her door, and in came Haraldur Sorde, looking… very oddly pleasant.
“Wow. That… is good news.” Had Elespeth really come through for her so quickly? This sudden outpouring of support left a warm feeling in the Master Alchemist’s otherwise empty stomach. “Not gonna lie, the Galeynian guards don’t make the best company. Your Forbanne soldiers are a little better, but only because they’re at least silently judgmental. But this… is really a welcome change. Kinda hard to be a model prisoner and do everything that everyone is asking of me if I’m too restrained to move, you know?”
Pushing back the covers, Nia threw her legs over the side of the bed and gingerly put weight on her bad leg. It still hurt, and cramped a little, but to a slightly lesser degree than before since Alster’s intervention. As she crossed the room to gather what meager belongings she had to her name (a hairbrush, a few ill-fitting clothing items, the ribbon Sylvie had given her for her birthday, and of course, the drawing she had requested from Ari), she paused as Haraldur mentioned he’d heard tell of her inability to sleep, and offered a solution. The Ardane woman slowly turned, and her eyes followed the innocent pouch that he placed at her bedside table. “...it isn’t that I have trouble getting to sleep. I’m so tired all the time, I could sleep at the drop of a hat. But I’m too afraid to sleep. Unfortunately, it’s all thanks to the Night Garden that I find myself in this predicament. The consequence of using a remedy crafted by a Gardener who is no longer alive to oversee what’s actually happening and fix it when things get rough…” Her eyes trailed from the pouch, and back to Haraldur’s face before he could take his leave. “How long am I permitted in the D’Marian settlement? Of course, I’m more than happy to give your solution a try, but I’d need someone to wake me up if I start to have a Nightmare. Someone, I should add, who’s… a friend. Not a guard. The last thing I need is to wake up from terrifying visions to a guard…”
Sweeping her belongings into a satchel, she hoisted it over her shoulder and grabbed the trousers she had discarded the day before. “I don’t need an answer right away; but let me know if it’s at all feasible. But in any case...tell Al I’ll be ready in an hour, no problem!”
Alster’s smile turned a little sheepish. “Here I go again, conceiving of ideas too big to realistically implement. Would you tell me if my vision is too improbable? I’m an idealist; I am not too proud to admit I don’t always follow the tents of what is practical. To hear that you’re on board with this potential disaster, though, does give me the confidence to believe we may stand a chance against Ari and Nia’s team.” Asking for a blank notebook and a writing implement, Alster used the opportunity to slide-step further into Isidor’s workspace, removing himself from the dusty corner near the bookshelf. Balancing the proffered notebook in one arm, he opened the first page and scritched out a few rough sketches with the charcoal provided. After regaining fine motor function in his prosthetic hand, all thanks to Isidor’s meticulous tinkering, he was able to return to using his dominant hand for precision work, though his efforts still resulted in somewhat shaky, clunky penmanship and drawing ability.
“Whatever creature, central theme, or diorama we devise, the base should be filled with flowers of various coloration,” he said, his wild, upward strokes indicating stalks and plant stems. “We can either use real flowers, a close facsimile, or both. In transfiguring paper into a sturdier, more durable material, can you also transfigure the flowers to appear more lifelike? Better not to waste hundreds upon hundreds of flowers in the process of building this float. And,” he drew a big question mark at the top of the page, “we also need that moving component to make this showpiece come together as something worthwhile. I wonder if we can create an automaton. Of limited mobility, of course, but one programmed to do a basic, repetitive command, like the wave of an arm or the wagging of a tail. Or…” he tapped the base of the charcoal against his chin, deep in thought, “…how about we create a ship? Stella D’Mare misses the sea, and Galeyn is landlocked. It would be a treat of a spectacle for both communities to watch a vessel bobbing up and down on a floral sea filled with cornflowers, morning glories, hydrangeas, bluebells and hyacinths…what do you think?”
He turned around his elementary drawing, a simplistic image of a boat, one overlarge topmast inflated to full by an invisible wind as it braved a wave of scribbly circles meant to represent flowers. “Not my best work,” he scratched the side of his head, “but hopefully it’s coherent enough to follow. Here.” Handing his plans to Isidor, who looked over and reviewed them, his mind wandered back to the topic of Tivia. Warmed to see how her well-being seemed to uplift his spirit, Alster was loath to let that buoyant feeling pass for his friend, who deserved nothing but to absorb a little good news, for once.
“I contacted Tivia a few weeks ago, but it was impossible to know if she’d ever received my message. However, she was there, her spirit, in the etherrealms on the day of Locque’s assault, shining a light for me so I could find my way out of the darkness. She’s the reason I’m here at all,” he disclosed, clasping one arm with the steel digits of his prosthesis to still its nervous sway. “I haven’t even told Elespeth what almost became of me out there. It’s a little confounding to explain, admittedly, but the fact remains that Tivia saved me, again. Wherever she is, I’m confident she is doing fine, because she’s capable, more capable than either you or I realize. And I have faith she’ll reappear, one day. Because,” a confident smile crinkled his eyes, “she cares about the people who live here.”
Touched by Vega’s words of affirmation, Haraldur carried them with him all morning, a precious memento akin to his wedding band strung on a chain around his neck (the same chain he had to hide around Klara, who had taken to yanking it in an impressive attempt to garrote her father). Such was his improved mood, not even the likes of Nia could dampen his stride, should she prove difficult in accepting her new arrangements. Fortunately, she had no gripes to share and responded, as Elespeth had reported, as the picture of a model prisoner, albeit a chatty one. But even if the Ardane woman chose to be disagreeable, she was getting what she wanted out of the deal; more freedoms among a much-preferred lot of friendly, understanding people. Of course she wouldn’t give him any attitude about the decision when it benefited her the most.
“For now, you’re permitted two weeks, thereabouts. The precise length is determined by Lord Canaveris’s assignment,” Haraldur said, half-turning in the doorway. “However long it takes to build a float, he says. Since he’ll be the one in charge, it’s up to him where he wants to assign the guard, and you. I’m sure he’ll be amenable to your request and accommodate whatever you need.” His shoulders, usually stiff and stolid, loosened and sagged at even the barest reference of young, decreased Breane. “The Night Garden isn’t to blame,” he said, in a tone not intended to incite argument but to state a fact. “If you make the Night Garden your problem, then it can’t be your solution. That concoction showed you something…but it wouldn’t show you something you weren’t ready to see. Trust in yourself a little. And in the remedy. It’s doing what’s necessary.” He cocked his head in Nia’s direction. “The herb I gave you, its primary function is to help you sleep, so to my understanding, it should also soothe nightmares as a side effect. But it’s only a bandage, and it won’t negate or eliminate the effects of that concoction. Only you can do that.”
Placing a hand over the latch, he proceeded to close the door behind him, but not without dispensing a few final words. “Breane’s last patient feared and distrusted the process. I wouldn’t want to see her remaining patient go the same way.”
Sure enough, an hour after Haraldur’s departure, Alster made his prompt arrival, a firm but polite knock on the door that he waited for Nia to answer. “Good morning, Nia,” he greeted, his smile warm and pleased. “You look well-rested. How do you feel?” At Nia’s affirmative assessment, the Rigas mage looked visibly relieved. “I don’t know if you heard the news, but starting today, you are under my, Elespeth’s, and Ari’s care. And starting today, you’ll be helping Ari with festival preparations at the D’Marian village. I have to head over there today anyway, to discuss some arrangements with Ari, so I figured I’d accompany you. I should probably also see how Bronwyn, Sigrid, and Hadwin are doing, too. Anyway,” he approached her bed, “before we leave, now is a perfect opportunity to have another look at your leg. I assume you’re going to be on your feet a lot these coming days, so let’s see how far we’re able to get today, shall we?”
Similar to yesterday, the procedure was similar. Once Nia shimmied down her trousers and exposed the problem leg, Alster set out to stimulate the growth of new tissue and clear away the old, deadened, and calcified, but for one major difference. Without informing Nia of his intentions, he also willingly absorbed some of her pain, taking the sharpest gasps and aches into his own body as he worked, without showing the slightest indication of outward discomfort. Not wanting to concern his patient, who might not respond well to his over-the-top interference, he clamped down on the urge to flinch or suck in his breath by instead concentrating on the task and nothing else, operating diligently until Nia vocalized her limitations by telling him to stop. Obediently, he dispelled his magic, save for the pain he siphoned, which he let slowly fade on its own within his own body.
“Well,” he slapped his hands on his lap and stood, “this second go-around wasn’t as bad, was it? At this rate, your leg should be well on its way to a lovely recovery after about three more sessions. Anyway,” he poured Nia some water from the tableside decanter and handed her the cup, “I’ll give you about ten minutes to recuperate, and then we’ll take our leave for the D’Marian settlement. Does that sound fair?”
Before the lunch bell chimed, Alster and Nia, accompanied by a Forbanne guard, were well on their way to the D’Marian village via carriage, an hour-long leisurely and rhythmically bouncy canter through the Galeynian countryside. When the carriage rolled to a stop, signifying the end to their short journey, they climbed outside and received immediate greetings from the master of the Canaveris villa.
“Many felicitations on this wonderful afternoon.” Ari, resplendent in a blue-silk coat, bowed to welcome his guests. “Please, come inside and I will fix everyone a drink. What would you like?”
“The two of you can go on ahead without me for now,” Alster said, abstaining. “I’ll meet up with you a little later. I want to check first on Bronwyn and Sigrid. Hadwin, too. How are they all faring?”
“Oh. I have them stationed in the town square today. They are helping to weave and hang laurels and wreaths on doors and across roofs. They are not there unaccompanied, if you worry for their safety. Lazarus is with them.”
“Great. I’ll see if they need some assistance and then I’ll circle back here later, before I leave.” Alster stepped back, eyeing the two of them with a slight mischievous glint in his eyes: “I’m sure you and Nia have much to discuss, regarding the float you’re so confident will defeat mine and Isidor’s infallible creation.”
“Impossible, Rigas,” Ari raised his chin, almost haughtily. “This year will herald the first, of many to come, crushing and embarrassing defeat by the capable and indefatigable hands of the Canaveris elite. Verily, you stand no chance.”
“Well,” Alster clicked his tongue, unswayed and unmoved by his rival’s bravado, “I’ll give you a much-needed headstart, then.” With a conspiratorial wink to Nia, he turned around and disappeared down the road that emptied into the town square.
“Lord Rigas admittedly raises a good point,” Ari sidled next to Nia, extending his arm for her to take. “We have much to discuss. If you would allow a slight detour before drinks and refreshments, I would like to show you something.”
With the Forbanne guard in close, but silent and unassuming pursuit, Ari and Nia entered through the elegant oaken doors of the villa and into the courtyard. En route, he glanced over at her, remarking in slight surprise at the necklace she sported around her neck.
“You are wearing it.” His mouth pulled into a charmed smile. “Forgive my incredulity. I did not think my humble pendant would suffice as a suitable replacement for the heft of jewelry you are accustomed to donning.” Those words were the closest he dared approach to calling her sister’s pendant ‘unsightly.’ “Needless to say, I am overjoyed to see it make a home upon your neck. Do you find it to your liking? Any requests or moderations?” When she made an offhand mention that the jade-leaf carving glowed whenever she felt distressed, Ari visibly blanched. “Goodness; it is not supposed to do such a thing! Only when you place your thumbprint along the bowled indentation will the glow activate, given the specified conditions I programmed are met. Ah; how embarrassing,” he ran a gloved hand through his loose, raven locks, chuckling away his discomfort, hiding the fact that he carved her the leaf while half-asleep. “Here, I have presented you with a defective product. If you hand it over to me tonight, I will be certain to fix this glaring oversight. And while I am at it,” he tilted his head to one side, his teardrop-shaped turquoise earrings fluttering from the motion, “would it be presumptuous of me to ask if you still possess that tiny rose quartz cherry blossom? It is an effortless addition, and a handsome one at that, to graft that flower to your charm, if you are interested in having both aspects represented and on display. I daresay it would complement the jade rather nicely.”
Ari ceased his footfalls, an unspoken invitation for Nia to do the same. They were standing in the middle of the courtyard’s stone menagerie, a widespread display of exotic animals: tigers frozen in mid-prowl, peacocks with their wings half-spread and tail-feathers in full fan, bears basking lazily in the sun, and rabbits chasing each other around a bush. All bore one defining trait in common; they were all lovingly rendered in veined marble flecked with mica, glistening like petrified starlight. Forgoing an introduction or a preamble, Ari thrust one hand into the air, aimed his attention at the tiger, inhaled a deep, meditative breath, and released it in a long, billowing stream. As if borrowing the breath of inspiration from its master, the tiger, like waking from a dream, shook its mane and resumed its slow, measured prowl across the sculpture garden, its movements fluid and graceful, betraying the stiff and unwieldy nature of its composition.
“This ability is fairly uncommon, even among Canaveris earth mages,” Ari explained, directing the tiger towards Nia, where it sat and bowed its elegant, striped head to her, as if demanding a pet. “But the creation of golems comes so easily to me, it is almost effortless. I often wonder if it is due to my chimerical composition that makes me able to communicate with and bridge together the disparate worlds of stone and flesh, organic and inorganic, to create life, or some simulacrum of one, where none exist. They will never possess intelligence; they answer only to the will and limitation of their master. Puppets, fulfilling simple and basic functions, like, say, ambling down a parade route?” The stone tiger curled its tail and stretched its feline body, reacting to its master’s proud self-assurance. “What is your opinion, Nia? If I were to awaken every statue in this garden, assign them each a role, and have them behave and perform appropriately on an equally impressive display platform, the float proper, do you believe such a spectacle would stand to impress a crowd?” Would it impress you?
Not waiting for a response, Ari waved his hand a few more times, took in a few more bellows-quality breaths, and the entirety of the stone menagerie erupted to life. Peacocks rattled their tails and dipped their elegant necks, bears rolled over and lumbered to their feet, the sprightly rabbits hopped and sprinted in spirited circles, and the tiger loped around the courtyard, surveying its territory like the king of its domain. “This, and whatever additional artistry I and my team can create, will serve as my contribution. Whatever you provide, Nia,” he smiled, his dark eyes bright in fondness for her, “will for certain lead us into a most assured victory.”
Despite his unruffled display of machismo in front of Ari, Alster, once alone and at the mercy of D’Marian villagers, began to lose a little of his tenacity the farther he wandered into their territory. While better tolerated after his most recent and multiple feats of heroism, least among them, saving Ari’s life, D’Marians were always quick to keep tabs on every wrongdoing he’d ever inflicted on them, and resummoning the Serpent was, no matter the intent behind the deed, a mite difficult to recover from. At the very least, no one shot him dirty looks. Rather, when they noticed him, they bowed their heads, muttered their hesitant respect, and retreated before they were forced into conversation out of obligation. Alster’s discomfiture didn’t last long, however, when a brusque slap on his shoulder nearly sent him sky-high.
Alster whirled to face his obvious culprit. “H-Hadwin!” he sputtered, still scared out of his wits.
“Couldn’t resist.” Hadwin rocked on his heels, aiming a toothy grin at his unfortunate victim. “Won’t make it a habit, Al. ‘Specially when I’ve come asking for favors. That portal ride you gave me, is that a one-way kind of deal?”
Alster gave the troublemaking faoladh a suspicious once-over. “What did you do?”
“Would you believe me if I said ‘nothing?’” When he received no response, Hadwin sighed, conceding. “Ok, so I did something, but nothing you’d consider bad. Doesn’t matter though, cuz I overstayed my welcome. No one’s out to get me…more than usual,” he muttered, amending, “but I did what I came here to do and that’s that, so I’m ready to get back to the palace. So—help me out, yeah?”
But whatever Alster was about to say in response faltered when the faoladh was approached by a boy, small in stature but bold enough to charge into the vicinity of two polarizing figures without batting an eye. “Sir, throw in a penny more and I’ll tell everyone she saved me from drowning, if that’ll please you.”
Hadwin snorted, and tossed a full silver into the boy’s open hand, the generous payment an ‘extra incentive’ to get the job done. “I like your style, kid, but keep it a little more down to earth, for now.” Nodding eagerly, the beaming boy saluted with the brim of his hat and shuffled off, ready to make himself useful. When Alster shot him a very suspicious look, Hadwin shrugged helplessly.
“So I’m trying to bolster my sister’s horrific reputation. Am I paying kids to sing her praises and tug on older folks’ heartstrings in a bid to sway their opinion in her favor? Sure thing. That a crime now?”
“…In a manner of speaking,” Alster, baffled, managed in response, but the upward lilt on the final syllable seemed to indicate he wasn’t sure of its potential crime grade, himself. “Ok, so…let’s get you out of here. Like you wanted. And then you’re going to tell me what’s going on.”
"Two weeks? Of a break from these four walls? Sounds like a vacation to me!" Nia beamed so brightly at the news the Forbanne commander had come to deliver that for a moment, she almost looked like her old self again: upbeat, blindingly optimistic, and talkative to a fault. Paired with the refreshed look on her face all thanks to Alster's infallible sleep aid, it was frankly the best the captive Master Alchemist had looked in a very long time. She even felt impelled to reach behind her head and began to weave half her hair into a braid, which she would set into the shape of a rose. She felt good; why not look the part, too? "Whatever Ari wants of me, consider me at his service. Working on a float sounds a hell of a lot more fun than restoring the observatory, especially when I never know one day to the next if another wall is going to mysteriously collapse on me."
A change of scenery among friendlier people with a far longer leash opened up a lot of possibilities for Nia, all of them particularly positive, but perhaps more than anything else was the possibility that she was finally going to recover. Physically, as Alster chipped away at healing her leg, little by little, emotionally, as she gradually rebuilt what she had with Ari, and mentally, if being surrounded by friendlier faces and having a support system she could readily turn to would make a difference in the chaos that was thrashing in her head whenever she fell asleep. That is… if she could find the courage to work through her demons instead of avoiding them. Though as Haraldur seemed to be implying, she was standing in her own way.
As a reflex, Nia wanted to get defensive. What did Haraldur know about what she suffered? What could he possibly understand about the dreams and nightmares that plagued her and left her raw and vulnerable and impossibly alone? Sure, he might have been Gardener material, through whatever bizarre psychic link he had to the unique flora that offered him an understanding that no one else could grasp without being chosen by the Night Garden itself, but he didn't know and didn't care to know the details of her pain. That said… he still wasn't entirely wrong. "Nah, I'm sure the Night Garden doesn't intend to be anyone's problem. People make it their problem if they don't like what it shows them. I guess I'm no different." Successfully securing her rose braid at the back of her head, while leaving the lower layer of her hair down, the Ardane alchemist dropped her arms and sat, rubbing her injured leg as a twinge of pain aggravated the muscle. "But whether or not it thinks I'm ready to see what it shows me… I don't know how to deal with it. I'm not equipped to deal with it, either because I'm just too damn weak-willed, or because everything else I've got going has been too damn overwhelming. Don't get me wrong, I think if your favourite little Gardener were still around to help me make sense of what's going on… maybe it would be different." But everyone knew that Breane was a sore spot for Haraldur, Nia included, so she didn't elaborate or dwell too long on the topic.Yet, the tonic that had incited these nightmares had been Breane's, and no one was qualified to see her properly through this treatment in the young Gardener's stead.
"Maybe you're right, though. Could be I don't believe in myself enough to get through it--who knows?" She shrugged and reached across the bed to grab the pouch of herbs the Forbanne commander had brought her. "I'll give your remedy a try, big guy. Give me a few more nights of solid sleep and we'll see how much better prepared I am to deal with mental pain. Problem is, I don't do well with pain in general… doesn't seem to matter what type it is, exactly."
Haraldur's final words, an allusion to Rowen and how she had not seen Breane's treatment through to the end, sat and resonated with Nia on the man's departure. Rowen hadn't had the strength of heart to continue; it had ended poorly for her, but additionally, the young faoladh had been a psychotic murderess, a factor that decidedly did not apply to Nia. But that didn't mean that she could live a happy and fulfilling life ignoring the shadows in her peripheral vision. Something had been started, however much it had been neither Nia's intent nor her will; but only she could finish it.
The Master Alchemist spent the remainder of time in her room in pensive silence until Alster happened to pay her a visit sometime later. Nia pasted a smile back on her face, not wanting him to think she was falling back into a pit of despair from which he’d feel obligated to pull her out. "Alster! I heard the news. I've gotta give you guys credit, you and your wife really came through for me. Dunno what I did to deserve that kindness… but I won't blow it. Thank you for getting me out of here." Tucking Haraldur's remedy into her satchel, she nodded at the Rigas Mage's suggestion that he take another look at her leg while he had the opportunity to see if they couldn't make a little more headway on its long road to healing. "Apologies again in advance that I can't guarantee I'll get too far before I've gotta call it quits… no fault of yours, of course! Adequate pain tolerance just isn't one of my many shining talents." Tugging down her trousers like she'd done the other day to expose the expanse of her scarred, injured leg, she held in a flinch when Alster laid gentle hands on it and sucked in a breath. "Okay… okay. Ready when you are."
A familiar warmth emanated from Alster's hands, followed by tiny, sharp twinges that felt akin to hundreds of little needles being plunged deep into her petrified muscle. Admittedly, it didn't hurt quite as much as it had the first time… perhaps as an attest to what had already healed. But that didn't mean she was any less inclined to talk herself out of thinking about the pain. "So Ari's wanting some help with his contribution to the parade, huh? I knew it was only a matter of time before he'd reach out. What about… what about you, Al? Did you talk to Isidor? 'Cause if Ari and I are gonna be a team, we're gonna need some good competition!" Her hands fisted the quilts atop her bed as she struggled to tolerate the hot, sharp sensations in her leg--even if that pain had diminished considerably. "Give us a challenge worth competing for! Because don't think we're gonna hold back, so you'd better bring your absolute best ingenuity and…" She sucked in a breath, knuckles white as she gripped the quilt, and in a smaller voice, Nia finally pleaded, "Alster… can we… I think I’ve had enough--please..."
Alster eased off and released her leg, much to her relief, and passed her a cup of water which she accepted with trembling hands. "Three more goes at it, huh? That's three more than I'd prefer… but I can't hobble around forever. Despite what my reaction might suggest, it wasn't as bad this time."
Giving herself a moment to recuperate, she and Alster departed just in time to catch the carriage sent for them, and they were well on their way to the D'Marian settlement. Quite some time later, it came to a halt, and the two were greeted by none other than Lord Canaveris himself when they stepped out, and her heart flooded with warmth. "Ari! Word has it you're planning quite the spectacle of a parade float and require a hand." Nia winked, then gestured to Alster. "Let's hope we've got what it takes, huh? Because Alster here is reportedly pairing up with Isidor, and I've got a feeling whatever they come up with will be something to see. Gotta bring our best to this competition."
The Master Alchemist stood back to watch the friendly banter between the two mages, noting that while fierce competition was there, animosity had no place in it. Ari and Alster had come far in the past year with leaving tensions behind them, and if everyone could maintain a mature attitude and not pull anything too petty, perhaps they could continue to make progress. "See you later, Al," she waved as he finally took his leave to check in on Sigrid and Bronwyn. "And thanks again for everything!" Finally alone with Ari (save for the silent Forbanne guard who trailed them like a giant shadow), Nia followed Ari toward the courtyard, only pausing at the look of surprise on his face when he spotted the intricate piece of jewelry around her neck.
"Of course I'm wearing it--what, did you really expect me to look at a gift, shrug, and put it aside?” Ari might have been the type to shower with gifts, regardless of the occasion, but at night, particularly at times when she was feeling alone, there was little she could turn to for comfort aside from the resonance stone in her pocket, and that tiny bejeweled cherry blossom that Ari had given her what felt like so long ago. Any gift with love behind it was of value. “I missed having something around my neck, and it’s definitely a step up aesthetics-wise from what I was wearing before. Kinda a cute touch you gave it, making it glow and all, although…” She smiled meekly, lowering her voice just a little in hopes to not sound too upset. “Is it possible you could tone down the glowing a tad whenever I’m stressed? It’s kind of a dead giveaway when I’m out of sorts…”
Poor Ari appeared visibly distraught at what must have been a small malfunction on his part, so Nia placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It’s not ‘defective’: I love it, Ari! Everything’s got its imperfections, right? But if it’s really gonna keep you up at night… here.” Reaching around her neck, she unclasped the chain and pooled it along with the pendant into Ari’s hand. “And in fact, I do have that little flower. I’ve been careful not to lose it; it’s pretty meaningful to me. If you put it on this pendant… then I’d be sure never to lose it.” From her satchel, she withdrew the tiny, perfectly intact pink flower. “There’s no rush: work on it whenever you get a chance. I’m here for two weeks, right? We’ve got plenty of time.”
When they came to a halt in the courtyard, Nia laid eyes upon some familiar and charming animal statues that she’d marveled over a few times before without really getting the chance to see them. It didn’t help that those times she’d spent in his courtyard had primarily been at night. “Well, this does look different during the day, gotta say,” she mentioned, wondering as to Ari’s intent for bringing her here--that is, until the tiger statue moved, and began to prowl toward her. The Master Alchemist gasped and jumped, grabbing Ari’s arm, but felt quite ridiculous when the animated statue bowed before her, looking far from an animal that meant to actually attack. “You… that’s incredible, Ari! I had no idea you could do that.” Nia breathed, brown eyes wide with wonder as her lover suddenly brought the entire courtyard to life. She couldn’t help but kneel as the rabbits began to hop toward her, knowing that they wouldn’t be soft, but feeling impelled to reach out and touch them anyway.
“If this is your idea for the parade… then, hell, you’ve already got a winner. But what’s the theme? Forest? Animals? Narrow it down a bit, plan a nice, attractive backdrop for them to tie it all together, and I think this will turn a few heads--provided, of course, that it’s not too taxing on you to animate all of these animals. Looks like it could be kind of exhausting, but… well, I’m not a mage, so what do I know, hm?” Astounded as she was by the sight of it all, the Master Alchemist’s smile faltered when she stood and looked up. “Though, I’m ashamed to say… I dunno what I could possibly do to make it better, Ari, or add anything that you can’t already do. I can’t sculpt and I’m no artist; I can’t breathe life into inanimate objects. Although…” Something glimmered in her eye, a sparkle that Ari would have recognized from the night she saw the fireflies. “Now, I know that Alster Rigas can craft anything out of light--I’ve seen it, myself. But what if we were to create something more interactive with this float? Keep the animals to their platforms as they prowl, but why don’t we introduce our very own breed of firefly. Something tiny and glowing with wings, until it lands on someone, or something, and then… it becomes something else.” Kneeling, she picked up a fallen blossom from a nearby bush and twirled it between her fingers. “Fireflies that turn into flowers, on contact with flesh… I think I could do that. I could tamper with materials to incite them to transform their shape, their colour… anything, when they’re touched. I mean, I think your animals are gonna steal the show, and it’ll be up to you to get them airborne, but I think it’d be a surefire way to completely win over the hearts of the audience. What do you think?”
Nia took Ari’s bejeweled hands in her own, the rough, cool feeling of his rings firm against her fingers. “Be honest with me, I’ve never participated in a parade before, and I’m not the performative sort. If it’s a shitty idea, I won’t be offended. I’ve just… gotta find a way to be useful to you somehow,” she leaned in, bringing her mouth close to his ear so that the Forbanne guard would not catch wind of her words, “in case my ‘escort’ decides I’m not really doing my job here, and reports that back to Commander Sorde. I don’t wanna fuck up whatever chance I can get to spend time with you…”
Isidor thought and thought about Alster’s suggestion from the other night. Throughout his sleepless hours, he stared at the half-finished contraption for Lord Canaveris and his dedicated workers that he’d all but given up on, his mind teeter-tottering on whether he should waste any more time on it, or dive right into working collaboratively with Alster on their float. Ultimately, the latter could only be done in tandem with the Rigas mage working alongside him, and sitting alone in his room late at night, he really had nothing better to do… So, by the very next morning, the Master Alchemist finally sat with a finished product that the crew working on the observatory may or may not find useful. Alster had mentioned that Lady Canaveris, who had now taken over for her son, might appreciate the tool, especially if it prevented any further attempts on Nia Ardane’s life (and, considering that Nadira Canaveris had stood with Ari advocating for Nia’s freedom, it was no secret that she favoured the woman who loved her son).
After cleaning himself up, brushing his hair into a low ponytail behind his shoulders, and donning some new, clean clothes, Isidor set off to the observatory early the next morning, just as the mages and the masons were arriving to continue with repairs. One of them recognized him and offered a friendly waved. “Good morning, Master Kristeva! What brings you here today?”
“Good morning--I apologize for my unsolicited arrival. I have something you might find useful considering the… mishap that occurred to one of the walls just the other week.” Isidor held up the contraption for the man to see for himself. “This measures magical and alchemical interference day in and day out: in particular, considering there was some concern with Nia Ardane’s safety, in particular, I thought this might solve the problem of knowing whether or not she’s walking into a dangerous situation.”
Oh--well that does sound useful! But, Master Kristeva, have you not heard? Nia Ardane has been reassigned to work in the D’Marian Settlement for the time being. We aren’t sure if or when she will be returning to work on the observatory.”
“I… have not heard, no.” Entirely his own fault, he knew; not all news could penetrate the heavy wooden door of his chambers. “Ah… well, I suppose that makes this decidedly less useful for you. My apologies.” He bowed his head with an embarrassed smile. “It is my responsibility to keep up with the recent changes occurring throughout the palace. Forgive me for wasting your time.”
As he turned to leave, it seemed that embarrassment wasn’t enough, for he’d caught the eye of none other than Lady Canaveris herself as she arrived that morning. There was no getting past her without saying something. “Ah… Lady Canaveris, I presume? Please excuse my intrusion. I was under the impression that Nia Ardane was still assigned to these renovations, and after hearing about the mishap with the wall, I thought I might try to ensure this location was a little safer for everyone, but, um,” he lowered the contraption in his hand and tucked it behind his back. “It appears I am late to the news of her reassignment, and you all seem to be doing quite well here without my interference. Please excuse my intrusion and assumptions; I’ll do better to pay closer attention to what is happening around this palace.”
As an artist, Ari understood that imperfections were commonplace, and bound to happen. Every so often, the imperfection brought a little charm to the piece, or improved upon it in some small but significant way. If not, then at the very least, it served as a hands-on teacher, pointing out what not to do for next time. However, when learning of the pendant’s defect, the pendant he specifically designed to provide comfort and solace for the person in need, it visibly shook him to hear how the jade leaf’s poorly-timed glow contributed to the very opposite, and likely upset Nia even further. For someone like Ari, who prided himself not only in pleasing others but in providing stellar craftsmanship, his little oversight galled and embarrassed him, to the extent where little blooms of shame heated his warm-toned cheeks.
“…Of course,” he shakily agreed with Nia’s comment about flawed objects. “I cannot argue with the truth. Nonetheless, please allow me to offer my sincerest apologies if my well-meaning gift inadvertently caused you a decrease in well-being. I should know better than to make such an amateur mistake, and to, by association, create for you this pocket of distress, however incidental, in your already overladen heart. I will rectify this minor injustice straightaway. Give me this evening to modify your necklace and you will receive none better, come morning. It is the least I can do for your troubles…which I have agitated, I’m sure.”
He might have been overreacting, he realized, but given the number of Nia’s stresses he was largely responsible for multiplying not so long ago, it pained him to be, in any shape, the crux for her continued stresses. Though she claimed not to be bothered by his artistic misstep, and likely was humoring him in complying with his request, he instantly felt better the moment the chain, pendant, and small, petrified flower pooled into his open palm. “Thank you, Nia. You shall have these two trinkets married together as one. As well, the pendant will glow appropriately, I promise you.”
Carefully pocketing Nia’s precious items, Ari turned to his stone menagerie and breathed life into them from afar, an easy feat when each creature bore the scribble of his signature somewhere on their marble bodies; under a paw, for instance, or behind the ear. The signature acted as a physical marker, claiming them as Ari’s creation to a passive viewer, but even without the inimitable proof, the hours spent imbuing his life energy into the stone, smoothing down the rough edges to reveal and release the finished form once trapped inside, his connection to the wandering beasts was unmistakable. With the exception of the pebble golems, Ari never sculpted a piece with the intention to use it as a golem; rather, all his sculptures began as art, foremost. It so happened that they, each of them, shared the trait of golem functionality, a quirky byproduct of being shaped by Ari’s hands. Knowing how it felt to be stone, the artist could make reworked rock sing and breathe as though it possessed the pliability of flesh and the hue of blood, and he unintentionally coaxed out that potential in every crystalline structure carved to resemble something humanoid, or animal. No doubt, Ari possessed a long-coveted and notoriously difficult to learn school of magic; creating life, albeit artificial, illusory life, where none before existed. Frustratingly, those who wanted to hone such a rare talent would find that the Canaveris lord carried this innate ability all along, without requiring long years of study and application. If those tired and burnt-out scholars were to discover how Ari developed his golem whispering magic, perhaps they would change their tune, knowing the hefty price he paid for his intimate understanding of inorganic matter.
“You had no idea?” Ari’s eyebrows shot upward, in slight amusement. “My pebble golems, the very same which once roamed about the palace, operated under the same principle, except at a much smaller and easier-to-manage scale. Though, I will give you that controlling significantly larger constructs is levels more impressive, at a glance. But to answer your question; no. Animating multiple statues to life is not an inexhaustible endeavor. Having them each perform different actions and activities simultaneously, however, is a tad trickier.” He flicked his wrist to the tiger, who had stopped moving the moment its master’s concentration stopped sending it telepathic signals to survey and prowl the courtyard garden. Similarly, the other animals had followed suit, slowing to sluggish, sleepy twitches. “Not difficult, per se, but concentration intensive. I cannot be occupied by other matters while I am commanding my menagerie—and the unlikelihood of going unbothered for the duration of a parade is quite slim for me, as you may have gathered. I daresay I will require a secret compartment in the base of the float where I can hide from the public view and direct my marble creatures uninterrupted.”
He listened carefully to Nia’s suggestion to convert stone fireflies into flowers upon contact with skin, and he tilted his head at the idea, intrigued. “I must say, that is rather a fascinating suggestion, and one I am not opposed to in the least. Only,” he frowned ever-so-slightly, and looked to his stone menagerie. He hadn’t yet reverted the creatures to their original state; nonetheless, they appeared frozen as they awaited further instructions from their master. “With the exception of the peafowl, who are consigned to the ground, I have no airborne or flying creatures in my garden. It is no issue to create these fireflies, animate them, and add them to this woodland scene, but…I have never been successful in achieving flight capabilities, by nature of the material I work with. Stone is versatile, but it is not flexible, or lightweight. I am certain you can tamper with its composition, but once stone ceases behaving like stone, and becomes something else chemically, I might no longer be able to animate it. Keep in mind, I can only animate crystalline structures; not wood, for example, which is significantly lighter and can become airborne if thinned to a paper-like material. If you wish to achieve this aesthetic, and I would fain love to push my limitations, as a Master Alchemist well-versed in the craft, would you help me conceive of a lightweight stone that can bend? With it, I will make fireflies, let them fly…and let them glow.” He leaned close to Nia and smiled conspiratorially, dropping his stately voice into a stately whisper. Lowering his head to reach her ear, his silky hair brushed forward, tickling the side of her face. “This should keep you busy enough to satisfy our intrepid guard—and would guarantee our time together is well-spent. And lengthy.”
While her son was busy making festival arrangements and dealing with attempted insurrection by a rogue, mad Rigas, Nadira was hard at work overseeing construction on the observatory tower. Given its barely salvageable condition from the onset, earth mages, masons, engineers, and artisans had to practically rebuild the tower from the ground up, an enormous undertaking for any skilled laborers to manage, let alone an adept group of mages specializing in the field. Taking into account the Galeynian style of architecture, progress was steady and meticulous. Working in conjunction with local experts, the two factions, D’Marians and Galeynians both, were required to collaborate on the project, and any clash of differing, barely-acquainted personalities yielded mixed results. Despite the fact that Nia no longer comprised their team, infighting was common among the workers, petty jibes flung at a D’Marian mage or a Galeynian mason. This disharmony prevented the team from reaching their projected stages of completion, and Nadira worried sabotage would still occur between groups. Small, petty matters—hiding tools or tampering with the materials, running spiderweb cracks into the bricks, or overwatering the mortar mixture, to name a few potential mishaps. To Nadira’s knowledge, none of these events had occurred, and she was quick to dispel disputes, when available, and boost team morale, when needed. Even so, she waited with bated breath for the day when the gulf between Galeynians and D’Marians widened to a ravine so large, it cracked their half-built tower in two, and crumbled it anew.
That morning, as she entered the completed base of the tower via the hallway connecting it to the rest of the palace, she was surprised to see Isidor Kristeva roaming the premises, looking, for all intents and purposes, very lost. According to Ari, Master Zenech’s pupil had volunteered his services to aid in the tower’s construction, and on occasion would make an appearance, but since she had taken over the observatory project in her son’s place, she had seen neither hide nor hair of the elusive Master Alchemist. It pleased her, then, to finally have the chance to initiate conversation with the man who would eventually join Nia Ardane and Alster Rigas in lifting Ari’s bothersome curse, indefinitely.
“Master Kristeva,” she called the man over, almost daring him to flee from her unerring gaze. Fortunately, he did no such thing, likely realizing the futility of escape, and cautiously approached her as if she were an incendiary device about to explode. Lifting her head, she gave him a casual glance, noting his lanky, too-thin body, the translucency of his too-white skin exposing his too-prominent veins, and the dark circles under his too-tired eyes. Without truly knowing this man beyond his reputation and his association as Master Zenech’s protege, a miserly and bitter old man she had funded for years, heedless of the abuses he heaped on his only pupil, Nadira felt bad for this poor, young Master Alchemist, causing her to soften her hawkish expression and her tone, which she changed from one of authority to one of amicability.
“Lady Canaveris, yes, but you may call me Nadira if it pleases you,” she said, a close-mouthed smile emerging from her ruby-painted lips. “I heard-tell of your contributions to this humble construction project. Every hand of expertise is welcome, I assure you. May I see what you have brought here today?” She extended her hand, a curious combination of well-manicured from the back, to rough-hewn on the palms and the tips of her callused fingers. Bereft of a choice that wouldn’t come off as rude, Isidor handed over the scale for the Canaveris matron’s purview, the balls of silver and gold emitting their complementary shines and appearing quite handsome in the morning glow. “This is rather well-made, if I do say so myself. If you have created this contraption with the purpose of monitoring conditions in the workplace, then let me be the one to inform you; it may still have a purpose. Do keep this disclosure private; it is for your ears only, but,” she beckoned the shy Master Alchemist close and whispered into his ear, “there have been some cooperation issues, as of late, regarding the earth mages and Galeynians. I fear the inevitability of magic-related sabotage in the future. Please explain to me the details behind your ingenious device. How does it function, for instance? Where is the best location for its placement? Also, if you have the time,” her brown eyes crinkled with warmth, “would you indulge an old woman’s curiosities, and regale me with talk of your current projects? Or, if you’ve any other suggestions in mind for optimizing construction efforts here, please, do not hesitate to offer your opinions.”
“Oh, and by the way,” she transferred the scale into her other hand, freeing the other for a handshake, “it is wonderful to make your acquaintance, Master Isidor Kristeva. I have wanted to meet you for quite some time. Years, I daresay. Imagine my luck upon arriving in Galeyn and learning that you are currently residing here. Tell me,” she dropped her hand of greeting, positioning it over the scale that she held like a precious thing to be admired, “how are you finding your newest accommodations? A little bare in resources, compared to your tower in Nairit? Do let me know if you require anything, Master Kristeva. Earth mages are adept at mining for ores and jewels. We can outfit you properly.”
So convinced she had crossed into irredeemable territory, Bronwyn didn’t notice right away that the D’Marians in her vicinity were not treating her with hostility but rather, curiosity and appraisal. Electing to ignore her surroundings in favor of dedicating herself to the work, the faoladh, in accompaniment with Sigrid, woke early the following morning to volunteer in decorating the town square, keeping her head down as best as she could. In her efforts to remain unassuming and obedient, she complied with every task asked of her, wordless and uncomplaining. Among her tasks, she climbed ladders to hang decorative vines and draping moss from rooftop to rooftop, wove rushes into the shape of stars, and dethorned the stems of roses to prepare for their arrangement in floral bouquets and wreaths. The labor was mindless enough, occupying her attention to such a pinpoint tunnel vision, that she scarcely noticed when Sigrid showed up, alongside Alster Rigas.
“I heard the two of you have been working hard all morning, without rest,” the Rigas mage said, offering Bronwyn a waterskin to cool down in the baking, near-summer heat. “I asked Sigrid here where I can find you, in case you and she need a little break. I’m able to relieve you of your duties temporarily, so please don’t worry about taking some time to relax. If any D’Marians have a problem with it, they’ll answer to me—and to him, I’m sure,” he gestured to Lazarus, who, on orders from Ari, lingered between Sigrid and Bronwyn, arms crossed and expression frozen in an intimidating sneer. “So how about it? I think a short reprieve is in order.”
Bronwyn, descending the ladder upon which she occupied the second rung, turned to her concerned party of two, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand but otherwise not accepting Alster’s offer of water, or of a break. “There’s still much for me to do. I can’t possibly stop now. Not for a minute.”
Figuring the first tactic would end in failure, Alster elected for a different strategy. “They’re talking about you, Bronwyn—and not all of it is bad. In fact, I’ve heard some pleasant things.”
En route to grabbing another pile of ivy to hang, Bronwyn opened her mouth and scoffed. “Somehow, I find that hard to believe.” Quickly changing the subject, she said, “But what I do believe is that you’ve been hanging around my brother. I smell him on you. He’s been here, but I haven’t seen him once. It’s like he’s hiding from me or something.”
“Don’t say a peep,” Hadwin had growled in warning, prior to their instantaneous journey through the etherrealms. “I didn’t do a thing, you hear?”
“Do you think you can avoid her forever?” Alster had given the trouble-prone—and currently, troubled—faoladh an incredulous look. “One day, you’ll cross paths and she’ll see the good deed you did for her, here. So…why, Hadwin? Why are you trying…to disappear?”
In response, Hadwin had smiled, a wispy, fragile little thing so far removed from his loud and brash persona, it was jarring. “Psh, Al. Such dramatics. I’m not going anywhere. Let’s just say I’m taking it easy, yeah?”
“I did run into him; you’re right,” Alster confirmed Bronwyn’s suspicions, but chose not to comment on the fact that Hadwin was indeed hiding from her. “He wanted to return to the palace, so I took him back through my portal magic. But,” he tried again to reshift the subject Bronwyn had diverted, “I think you should come with me. Both of you,” he nodded at Sigrid. “Just a quick walkabout around the vicinity. Keep your ears open and you’ll hear what people are saying. It’s important to engage these friendlier and more open-minded D’Marians. I can introduce you to some of them. Contrary to popular belief, I am not a universally hated figure in Stella D’Mare,” he stated with mock pride, as if his abysmal reputation didn’t bother him in the slightest. It forever would, but he didn’t mind making light of his problems to help put others at ease. “And if I’m not, despite everything I did, then the two of you are far from hopeless, that much I can promise.”
“Oh, c’mon, Ari. I’m not that fragile. Yeah, things have definitely been… better, but I’m not gonna completely break apart just because your necklace happens to glow when I’m a little upset.” Nia scoffed at the Canaveris mage’s scandalized face over something so infinitely trivial. Well… she’d been more than a little upset, of late, but it was not at all related to anything Ari had or hadn’t done. The pendant might have amplified her distress with its magical glow, but it was far from the cause of it. “If it upsets you that much, then feel free to tamper with it a bit more, but I don’t need it as early as tomorrow. Don’t pretend like you haven’t been overworked, yourself; I don’t want to hear that you were up all night addressing such a trivial matter. Got it?”
The truth was, Nia was to blame for his current hypervigilance in tip-toeing around her like the slightest earthly vibration that deviated from what was normal would cause her to crumble. He felt guilty for so much that had happened to her, whether or not it had been beyond his control, because she had made him feel guilty. At first, when she was still shrouded in her own darkness and wondering what was the point of living a life of running and pain, she had wanted him to feel guilty for not letting her run away while she’d still had the chance. Only when she had hit rock bottom and gained the clarity required to understand that everything he’d done, he’d done only out of love, had she realized she’d been so wrong in freezing him out and treating him the way she had. Certainly, she still carried the vestiges of scars from that perceived betrayal, and the overwhelming sense of dread and defeat she’d felt throughout her trial, but so did Ari. And part of her feared that he might never take risks with her again, or dare to act or say anything that might even remotely upset her. That wasn’t the sort of life she wanted to live with the man she loved; so she’d have to break him of the habit, ideally sooner than later.
When the topic of conversation shifted to the collaborative effort of their parade float, however, she noted the glimmer of zeal in his eyes at the prospect of this competition. Leave it to Ari, wanting to push the limits of his artistic and magical prowess--and that was fine! Provided, however, that it didn’t leave him completely spent. “I guess I never thought of your pebble golems in such a way; well, to be honest, I haven’t thought about them much in general.” At least, not since they had begun to mend the bridge between them, and she’d stopped feeling so betrayed at their presence in the palace. “So, about how long would you say you can animate an entire fleet of animals? An hour? Or would that be pushing it? It would be a shame for you to hide away under the float without seeing the rest of the parade.” Her lips tilted downward in a frown. “You’re not gonna have me watch it all alone, are you? At least see if you can find a vantage point from somewhere up high and unseen, where you won’t be bothered. Besides… you’re gonna wanna see what we’re up against when Alster and Isidor’s float rolls on by, huh?” As for Ari’s question at the feasibility of making stone ‘fly’, however, Nia already had an answer.
“Lucky for you--for us, I guess--that making stone as light as paper is completely within my capabilities.” Nia rolled up her sleeves and clapped her hands together for emphasis. In addition to being assigned to friendlier faces and given far more freedoms than before, Lilica had agreed to have the Master Alchemist’s shackles permanently removed, considering how much she was expected to work and with how useless she would be without the use of her alchemical abilities. In any case, such a precaution was redundant while she was escorted by a Forbanne soldier, who was magically resistant by nature and therefore not quite as susceptible to alchemical tampering as a Galeynian soldier or one of the Dawn Guard might be. “Making metal lighter than air? It’s--well, okay, I wouldn’t say it’s a ‘piece of cake’. And it’d be pretty transient, I think. Not sure how well or how long the structure would hold together after it takes off, lands, then transforms, but it would be fun for a quick moment before it all turns to dust. That is, given the time constraint of less than two weeks and all. If I had more time, I might be able to make it sturdier, but--ugh, sorry, I’m rambling, aren’t I? You just wanted a simple answer to your question.”
Dropping her arms to her sides, feeling bright-eyed, refreshed, and inspired, Nia turned on her heel to face the Canaveris lord, and smiled a very familiar grin. “I can come through for you--so let’s get planning. There’s no time to waste if Alster and Isidor are officially competing against us.” Although it was far from her idea and she really had no reason or right to take the lead, the Master Alchemist was ecstatic at the notion of being kept busy with something interesting and ultimately rewarding. She promptly grabbed one of Ari’s hands and pulled him along through the courtyard. “Better put your artistic skills up to the task as well. Animals and fireflies won’t cut it, and if you’ve got anything on Alster and Isidor, it’s that you're an artist, and they aren’t. So let’s get to planning the backdrop for this little stone jungle! But… let’s not rush anything. Gotta take our time.” She peered over her shoulder and winked. “After all is said and done, I’ll probably be sent back to the palace… and I’d rather like to enjoy my time, here.” With you, were the words left unspoken, but her warm brown eyes said it all.
While Isidor wasn’t privy to every bit of news that came through the palace, as a result of his hermitude and lack of desire to reach out, there were some names that managed to pass through the hard walls of his chambers, regardless of whether or not he had interacted with them. Nadira Canaveris happened to be one of these very names, and even in her worker’s attire (for silken gowns were nowhere near appropriate for the type of construction going on at the observatory), her appearance most certainly lived up to her name: tall, her face chiseled and angular, with sharp eyes and a look that could wither. She was every inch a matriarch of the Canaveris household… and no sooner did Isidor lay eyes on her that he decided he was afraid of her. Alster’s reassurances did little to help in the face of real, raw social anxiety, especially when he’d arrived early in hopes of not encountering a Canaveris.
Nadira’s presence left him tongue-tied and frazzled, at first, so much so that he couldn’t even find a way to deny her the ridiculous and useless contraption when she asked for it. How humiliating… was she humouring him, now? Surely she could not make use of such an instrument when its entire reason for existence was no longer partaking in reparations of the observatory, and thusly, was no longer in danger from sabotage. “Ah… well, if you still feel it would have its uses, then it was intended for this place, anyway. Otherwise, it will sit on a shelf and collect dust. Although I do hope relations between your people and the Galeynians can improve without the need of monitoring for sabotage…” Isidor clasped his hands behind his back to hide the fact he felt so damn determined to fidget. He was already exuding anxiety, though, and likely wasn’t fooling anyone, particularly not the sharp-eyed Nadira. “It needs only to register a baseline once by measuring magic signals and traces of alchemical tampering in the air. If you like, I can get started right now. Before everyone gets back to work would be an ideal time.”
He held his hand out for Nadira to pass him the curious instrument, which he set upon the floor. Kneeling next to it, he rolled up his sleeves and pressed the palms of his hands to either of the ball bearings. Closing his eyes, the faint, silvery runes on the Master Alchemist’s hands emitted a soft glow, and what looked to be an electrical current ran through the precious metals of the contraption. The weighted ball bearings then, upon removal of his hands, began to sway back and forth like a possessed see-saw, glittering with flecks of electricity for a few moments before they finally stilled to a halt. Satisfied with his work (and quietly relieved that it had not malfunctioned in front of Nadira Canaveris), Isidor picked it up and handed it back to her. “There; this is the baseline. Neither of the weights is heavier than the other. Simply set this aside for the working day, and then place it in the middle of the floor when the last worker leaves for the day.” He ventured to explain, and gestured to a spot on the floor that would be ideal at the end of the day. “If you return in the morning, and find that the weights have been set off balance, then it means the energy in the room is reading differently than it was when you left the night before--at which point, proceed with caution. Although, please be aware that it is not foolproof, and if anyone were to magically tamper with it beforehand, then it would become unreliable. For that reason, it would be best to keep this in your own hands and not inform anyone else about it.”
Isidor handed the contraption back to Nadira and respectfully bowed his head. “By all means, the work you are doing here is within the field of masons and earth mages--and I am neither of those things. That little contraption can do about as much as I can in person. Anyway, I am not sure your son appreciates Master Alchemists stepping on the toes of hard-working Canaverises: rest assured I know my place, Lady Canaveris, and I do not wish to be an annoyance or an inconvenience to anyone.” It wasn’t until all was said and done that he realized, staring at Nadira’s proffered hand, that they hadn’t had any introductions. He hadn’t even offered his name, although he couldn’t fault her for knowing who he was. Being the only other Master Alchemist in the kingdom, with particularly distinct features bearing resemblance to the late necromancer, it wasn’t hard to pick Isidor out in a crowd.
“I’m afraid that everything else I am currently working on is… rather confidential.” He said by way of answering her curiosity with regard to his current pursuits. “After all, I am not sure if you have heard tell, but I am to work on a parade float alongside Alster Rigas in direct competition with your son and Nia Ardane. You’ll have to forgive me that I won’t reveal our secrets to the opposing side.” He hazarded a smile in hopes it was enough to convince her he bore no ill-will toward Ari or the Canaverises in general, but wasn’t sure it worked. Though aside from the float, his only other endeavour--bringing Cwenha back from the dead--had been put on hold indefinitely, and there was no real indication as to whether or not it would ever resume, or if Cwenha’s lifeless homunculus would continue to sit and wait for a soul that would never fill it again. Of course, even if that weren’t the case, it wasn’t a project that he could breathe to anyone, given the highly controversial nature of it.
Considering how impromptu his interactions with Nadira Canaveris were, and how unprepared he’d been to speak with the Canaveris matriach, Isidor felt fairly proud of himself for not unraveling in a complete mess of incoherent ramblings. However, the atmosphere made it a little more difficult to breathe when it became so apparent that it was not just through word of mouth throughout the palace, or his agreement to be involved in curing her son of his curse that Nadira was acquainted with his existence. No, evidently, it went back further than that. All the way to Nairit, in fact… and possibly to Master Zenech. The wretched old Master Alchemist had made something of a name for himself in Nairit, but Isidor never had. His services had been lent to a sole few who knew of his existence and whereabouts, and he had always been careful to keep his privacy in tact, from cloaking the tower to only ever leaving it wearing a long, heavy cloak during those times when a jaunt outside was necessary.
“I… how do you know I’m from Nairit?” His words were slow and cautious, all sentiments that mirrored his dark eyes. Master Zenech had done business with a lot of people. During his time alive, there was never a day that passed that he wasn’t meeting with someone willing to fund his research and endeavours, or to bargain for his services. Had Nadira Canaveris been one of these people, long ago? One of the ones Zenech had met with while he had been young and afraid and locked away, suffering quietly with no one to hear or help him?
The Master Alchemist’s hand suddenly became clammy. His head started to feel faint, and he could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. Whatever social stamina he’d had upon greeting Nadira Canaveris, it was now depleted. “...please excuse me, Lady Canaveris. I’m getting started late on this float for the parade. Now that your workspace has a modicum more of guaranteed safety, I should get to work on a more time-sensitive matter.”
Before Nadira could protest, or ask him any further questions, the skittish Master Alchemist hurried out of the observatory with long strides, on long legs, and when he returned to his chamber, he did not leave for the remainder of the day.
Sigrid had heard that Alster was in the vicinity that morning, but before she had a chance to seek him out, he’d sought both her and Bronwyn with relative ease. There was no need to explain what they were up to, as Lord Canaveris must have filled him in, although when he asked Sigrid if she required some time to rest, she declined. However, she couldn’t say the same for Bronwyn, and suggested the two of them find the faoladh woman to relieve her of her tireless efforts. Ever since the scene she had caused, she was more determined than ever to atone and do a good job--so much so that she seemed completely oblivious to all of the rather ingratiating comments that were being thrown to and fro in her favour. The sudden uptick in public opinion baffled even Sigrid, but perhaps there was something to be said for Bronwyn’s unabashed display of boldness. Maybe she had earned the very respect that she yearned for.
“Alster is right, Bronwyn--well, on both counts. You need a dam break.” She arched an eyebrow and and pulled a handkerchief from a satchel attached to the belt around her waist, which she offered to the faoladh woman to mop her brow. “The sun is beating down and you don’t look like you’ve had a sip of water in hours. But aside from that--have you been listening, at all?” Likely not; if anything, Brownyn had been hiding, and cutting off any and all opportunities for communication with D’Marians out of her own embarrassment. “Come on, you’re not the only one working on decorating the town. We could all use a walk. And I want you to hear what I heard, just coming to find you moments ago.”
The former Dawn Warrior offered her hand to help Bronwyn off of the last couple of rungs of the ladder, and after a moment, the she-wolf agreed and complied. True enough, they did not have to wander far before Alster ran into a familiar face: a woman with a young boy, both of whom were helping to string tiny witchlights lights around some of the buildings of the settlement’s central village. Before Alster could open his mouth to say hello, the young boy’s eyes widened, and he pointed directly at Bronwyn. “That’s her, mama! That’s the wolf lady--she can turn into a wolf! ...can’t you?” Dropping the string of witchlights on the ground, he hurried over to the trio with his excited eyes. “Wolves are my favourite animal! I didn’t know people could be wolves, too! Can you teach me? Can I be a wolf?”
“Damien--you cannot rush into people’s faces like that!” The mother of the child put her hands on her hips and shook her head. “Miss Kavanagh? Please accept my apology on my son’s behalf. He’s been dying to meet you since I explained to him just what a faoladh is.” She smiled apologetically, before adding, “I’m afraid you may have become his unintentional hero. Not only can you turn into a wolf, but word has it, you’ll win any fight you’re challenged to. He says you’re very brave.”
“Hero? Wow, Bronwyn. You really are going up in public opinion.” Sigrid whistled, unsure as to how the faoladh woman could so quickly go from being criticised by the public to being seen as a brave force to be reckoned with. “Can’t say it’s doing much for my reputation around here, but who knows? Maybe you can help me through association alone.” She gently nudged Bronwyn in the side, and murmured, “Just take the compliment. A kid likes you; if you can win over the children, then it’s easier to win over the parents, I’ve heard.”
For all Nia claimed not to be feeling so fragile, Ari couldn’t also deny her requests when she stated them aloud. Whether she needed her request met was another story, but it would be difficult to abide her disappointment if he said ‘No.’ Controlling pebble golems from afar had been a simple task, in particular because of their energy-efficient size. So tiny and minuscule their forms, they scarcely impacted his magical output to the point where he’d often forgotten about their existence. They had since been cleaned out of the palace, but on occasion, he wondered if a rogue pebble had absconded into a crevice in the wall and was monitoring conditions, free of a master to whom to report its findings. Such was the effortlessness with which he operated the microscopic constructs. However, animating an entire menagerie, in addition to directing a swarm of fireflies, from a remote location, for any number of hours, whilst following the parade route to keep track of their very specific and involved movements was nothing short of draining—and impractical. It made more sense to station himself on the float to ensure everything ran smoothly and without incident. But if Nia didn’t want to be left alone…
“Ah, yes. You’re entirely correct, Nia.” His mouth quirked into a convincing smile. “Were I to sequester beneath the float, I would be unable to see the labors of my competition. Besides, it is far better to view a parade from the vantage point of the audience—and the thought of watching it with you is too attractive to ignore.” His hands slid up to her wrists, his thumb gently circling the area near her pulse. “I am confident in my ability to command my golems for two hours or more, depending on the length we decide for the parade route. Ideally, I would like to begin at the palace and end at the D’Marian settlement, but taking into account the sluggish pace of the procession, the projected time, according to my calculations, would factor in about three hours, perhaps longer.”
He hesitated to elucidate on the fact that, were he to link the route between the palace and the D’Marian settlement, logistically, it would prove a touch more complicated to spectate on something they inevitably needed to track and follow on foot, by horse, or by carriage, thereby requiring them to become active participants in the parade, whether they liked it or not. Unable to avoid the addendum to his parade plans, Ari added, almost shyly, “Should my initial arrangements meet approval by the Galeynian Queen, it might be a requirement to ride upon my float, and if so, I invite you to join me for the journey—should the prospect pique your interest. What’s more, towards the end of the route,” his initial reserved demeanor quickly turned sly as he brushed aside some stray hairs around Nia’s neck, “I don’t see why we could not escape through the undercarriage in time to watch the finale together. What say you? Does my new proposal entice you?”
Now that they had settled some of the details behind their float design, Ari placed an affectionate arm around the small of Nia’s back and gently urged her to the door leading inside the villa, slowing her eager pace without trying to dash her enthusiastic spirit, especially when it stirred his heartstrings to see her so full of boundless energy and optimism, a welcome rainfall after a too-long period of drought. It had been so long since she looked this happy, and he dearly wanted to preserve that happiness as long as possible. “Before we draft out the specifics for our float, I do think a celebratory drink is in order. Come with me to the parlor. As you have so eloquently put, it is best not to rush anything.”
As they drifted out of the vicinity of the stone menagerie, Ari swept his free hand and the aimless creatures reverted to their original forms, petrified and immortalized in the poses their master had decided for them to embody. Entering the villa proper, they wandered inside the parlor, alone, Ari having convinced the Forbanne guard to wait outside the door. Inside, the parlor appeared the same, but in lieu of a roaring hearth fire, open windows allowed for summer breezes to flutter the curtains and fill the room with fresh ventilation.
“May I interest you in something to drink?” Ari turned to the shelves of wines and liquors piled high on the back wall. “I’ve a few non-alcoholic libations available, as well. Ciders, tea, spring water…oh, speaking of spring water,” he paused in setting up two pewter goblets on the table and whirled to face Nia. “If you desire a bath tonight…I have never introduced you to the underground spring. We are in the midst of transforming it into a heated bathhouse, similar in scope to the original model from Stella D’Mare. Pending your interest,” his soil-dark eyes shifted, almost intensifying with desire, “I would love to take you there. Do let me know if you require a partner.”
After mixing up Nia’s desired beverage, Ari handed her a goblet and clinked against it with his own, wine-filled vessel. “I daresay a toast is in order. To our upcoming collaboration, an unmatched combination of talent and ingenuity.” Taking a liberal swig of the wine, his eyes focused on Nia’s lips, stained cordial-red from the drink she imbibed. “Nia, you have dribbled a little over your mouth. Here…allow me to—“ Not bothering to finish his thought, Ari gently cupped Nia’s chin, closed their distance, licked her lips, and pressed them to his. “There,” he whispered, pulling away at only a hair breadth’s distance. “All better. Well,” he released a low chuckle, “until you take your next sip, that is.”
“My son does not appreciate the work of Master Alchemists?” Nadira asked, incredulous, as she accepted from Isidor his sleek and useful invention. “This must be an oversight on his part, for you will find little else, aside from me, perhaps, who respects and defends the forbidden arts as fervently as he. Granted, I was a mite harsh on Miss Ardane from the onset, but my distaste had less to do with her legacy and more to do with her affiliations. Ah, but no need to worry, Master Kristeva; I will be certain to confront Lord Canaveris about his misstep when next we speak.”
Telling the skittish Master Alchemist not to worry was akin to telling water to cease being wet, she soon realized. The whole endeavor was a fruitless one, and in fact, she somehow accomplished the exact opposite goal she wanted to achieve. Instead of putting the nerve-wracked young man at ease, she had sent him ablaze with raging anxieties, unable to be quelled.
It only worsened when she casually revealed something that she shouldn’t have.
“Master Kristeva,” she said in a neutral tone, hoping that her impartiality would encourage him to stay put and hear her confession. “I was acquainted with your Master. Rather, I funded his research for about a decade. We never met in person. He spoke at length about his brilliant protege and discussed the bevy of opportunities available for the particular research I sought, should I continue to finance him. Alas, he never followed through with his promises, stopped replying to my letters...and I ceased funding him. I knew nothing about the conditions with which you endured as anything deviating from the de rigueur for Master Alchemy training. Had I known…”
It didn’t matter. Knowing wouldn’t have changed the outcome, because she wouldn’t have visited Nairit with the express purpose of plucking Isidor from his tower. Instead, she would have written off the entire endeavor as a waste, mourned the child who suffered needlessly for no reason, and moved on to focus on her children and the legacy she had entrusted to her eldest—whilst she continued ruling from the shadows. She simply couldn’t afford to pursue a cure for Ari as a full-time affair when her dabbling in such sordid associations might one day become public knowledge and bring the stellar reputation of their family into question. In hindsight, her worries seemed so petty. Ari had outed his curse to all of Galeyn and few had batted an eye. They accepted it, accepted him, and continued to support the Canaveris family in majority. Why, then, couldn’t she have traveled into Nairit, locate Master Zenech’s blasted tower, rescue the child, and crumble the entire stone artifice to the ground with one well-placed stomp of her foot? Given the old Master’s reputation as a shut-in, which he seemed to have gifted to his unwitting pupil, no one would have noticed his demise. …No one had noticed his demise.
Alas, the past was no longer relevant, and she accepted that nothing could be done out of wishing for a different outcome. And so, she accepted Isidor’s desire to flee. As he scampered off, desperate to be free of her, she didn’t give chase, or call him back, or try to reason her point of view beyond the facts she had already provided.
She just let the frightened boy run. But oh, how it ached.
Dreading to leave her quiet, safe corner, Bronwyn eventually relented to Sigrid and Alster’s twin requests, sighing as she leaped off the ladder, no help required, and landed on her feet almost feline-like in direct contrast to her canine heritage. Also to put her concerned companions at ease, she accepted Sigrid’s handkerchief and Alster’s waterskin, mopping the sweat off her brow and taking a few welcome swigs, juggling both tasks in near-simultaneous succession so as not to waste time. If Clan Kavanagh could praise Bronwyn for one thing (which they seldom did), she was an efficient worker, possessed of a very high stamina, tolerance for the elements, and quick recovery rate, as evidenced by the fact that she suffered few ill effects from her hedonistic night out. It also helped matters to have access to the Canaveris toxin-siphoning stones, which expedited the rate of her recuperation. By the following day, she was more than ready to make useful, as per her promise to Sigrid not to depart Galeyn until she fulfilled her end of the bargain.
“Alright,” Bronwyn conceded, brushing back some sweat-drenched ringlets that escaped from her messy bun. “I’ll go for a walk and open my ears, for a little while. I don’t know what you’ve heard, but it can’t be that good.”
She was wrong.
As they traversed the square, Alster taking the lead and Bronwyn trailing behind, the former waved over to a woman passing through the busy avenue, who was tugging along her small child by the hand. Between them, the mother and son duo carried little glass bulbs on a string, which a mage would later flicker to life with witchlights. “Lena! Good afternoon,” Alster greeted the young mother, beckoning the two in his company to follow. “How is your father faring? Is he well?”
“Oh—Alster!” Lena looked to the Rigas caster, smiling her best. “He’s doing much better, no thanks to you. On his feet and sprightly; he wouldn’t have it any other way. What brings—”
But their conversation was cut short when the excitable boy to her left started squirming in place as he pointed to Bronwyn and openly exclaimed his admiration for the wolf-woman, a statement that left the subject of his ode incredibly bewildered.
Sheesh, Hadwin, if this is your handiwork, I’ll give you that you work fast, Alster thought, shaking his head in wonder. “Is that right?” He lowered his head to catch the boy’s eye, but he only had eyes for Bronwyn, so he transferred his attention to the mother, who disclosed little Damien’s fascination with wolves in general, as well as her fighting strength and courage. “Well, it looks like you have an admirer, Bronwyn.”
But the wolf of the hour, taken aback by the news, remained baffled and unconvinced. “I’m not the only wolf around here. Are you sure you don’t have me confused for someone else? Someone far braver than me?”
“Sigrid’s right,” Alster sidled towards Bronwyn, lowering his voice into a whisper. “Take the compliment. Children like who they like. There’s no real rhyme or reason behind it. This boy decided to like you. Not your brother, but you. Are you going to let him down because you feel undeserving of his praise?”
Bronwyn bit her bottom lip, shamed by Alster’s words. “No,” she managed, almost inaudibly. Sucking in a replenishing breath, she shook out her hands, cracked her neck, and filled in her frame in an attempt to look the part of the boy’s idealized hero.
“Thank you. Damien, was it?” She lowered into a crouch beside the boy, balling her hand into a loose fist and extending it towards him. “Give it here.” The boy happily imitated the motion, curling his fingers in kind and bumping his tiny fist against hers. “I’ll tell you what. You’re human on the outside, but you have wolf spirit in you. I can smell it,” she flicked the side of her nose and smiled. “And we all know wolves have great noses for these things. From this day on, I name you an honorary wolf. And to celebrate…” she looked beyond her, at the empty alleyway ahead, deliberating her options, “will you wait for me one minute, Damien?” Passing Sigrid and Alster a knowing glance, Bronwyn climbed to her feet and, carrying the borrowed courage thrust upon her by a child she would not disappoint, she slipped into the alleyway. As promised, she returned in a timely manner, appearing from the mouth of the alley significantly changed. In lieu of two legs, she emerged on four, padding out of the shadows and into the sun-bathed square. Her ruddy fur shone like copper and bronze, her pointed nose glossy and her triangular ears up and alert. As her fluffy tail swished to and fro, her intelligent amber eyes sought out Damien and, once near, bent forward on two legs, directing the boy to slide onto her back.
“It’s alright,” Alster assured the young mother in the event of her uncertainty, considering a wild and dangerous animal was approaching her son. “Bronwyn is trustworthy, and she retains her mental faculties as a wolf. I can vouch for her just as much as I can vouch for Sigrid, here,” he gestured to the former Dawn Warrior, having not forgotten about his bid to clear her name. Fortunately, Lena, indebted to Alster and swayed by her son’s impassioned pleas to ride atop the wolf’s back, permitted Damien to mount the animal on the proviso that he did not kick poor Bronwyn’s haunches or yank at her fur in his overexcitement. After the boy agreed to these terms, he climbed on board, carefully securing his stubby arms around her neck, and the wolf proceeded in a gentle trot, parading her charge about the square. Unable to help himself, Damien thrust one arm into the air, whooping and hollering and drawing attention to the scene. People in the vicinity of this bizarre sight immediately stopped what they were doing to watch. Some gasped, their mouths agape. Others informed their neighbors and stared in awed silence. Several found the whole thing rather amusing and laughed in time with the jubilant boy.
But perhaps the most significant development of all was when a group of children, mystified by the image of a boy riding a wolf, disentangled themselves from their parents and stampeded over to their vicinity, creating a jabbering, half-feral mob of pushing and shoving.
“Ooh! Oh! Me next!”
“No, me! I was here first!”
“Well I saw it first!”
“No you didn’t!”
“Did too!”
“Oh please oh please look here, wolfie!”
“Here’s your chance,” Alster elbowed Sigrid playfully, speaking to be heard above the din of chattering voices. “I think Bronwyn needs someone to manage all her pint-sized fans before they smother her to death. It’s as you said. Maybe she’ll improve your reputation by association. If the children know you’re with her, they won’t think twice. Nor will the parents, hopefully.”
Truth be told, Nia had never attended or borne witness to parades of any sort. She knew of them and had a general understanding of what took place during such an event, but the length of time they tended to span had not occurred to her. At the back of her mind, she realized that it would certainly take longer than just a few minutes to present a variety of beautiful and unique floats to an entire kingdom, let alone a single settlement, yet when Ari mentioned that it would take hours (and understandably so), her concern shifted from being left alone to take in the spectacle all by herself to feeling deeply concerned for what such prolonged concentration would do to the Canaveris lord. “Three hours? You don’t think that’s reason for concern? Three hours is a long time to use magic, Ari.” The corners of her eyes crinkled with the worry that shone in her irises. “Even if you’re on the float, yourself, you don’t think… that exerting that much energy for a show will impact you negatively in any way?”
The unspoken question was clear: Are you sure overexertion won’t trigger you to turn to stone? She didn’t want to trample on his confidence or cause him to second guess his skills, but if Ari took up hiding beneath the float, or even from another vantage point, it could prove risky for him if she was not nearby to do damage control… Needless to say, when he offered the suggestion of the both of them taking up some spots on the float itself, it not only solved the problems of being close enough to magically manipulate the sculptures and giving them a view of the parade, but also put Nia’s mind at ease in case Ari did over-exert himself and required immediate attention. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Yes--that sounds perfect! You’ll get a good look at the parade and be close enough to control your animals and the fireflies. I’d love to be right there with you. But…” The Master Alchemist wrung her hands and twisted her lips to the side. “I’m… not so sure that Galeyn would find much merriment in seeing its most loathsome prisoner take part in something that is supposed to make them happy. Which is kinda counter-productive to the whole ‘let’s throw a kingdom-wide party to raise spirits and morale’ and such, yeah? But,” she stared thoughtfully at her boots before looking up with a grin, “who says I can’t go, incognito? It just so happens to be within my capabilities to change the colour of my eyes, hair, and skin to the same colours as your marble and stone. Hells, I could do the same for you, if you want. We could be part of the background--almost literally. How does that sound?”
As they discussed the specifics and compromises surrounding the float, Nia allowed Ari to guide her inside the Canaveris villa--a place she hadn’t seen in almost a month. The last time she’d laid eyes upon its hallowed exterior, the parlor had all but been in shambles after the invisible monster crashed through and literally almost frightened Ari to death. It had been unrecognizable from the beautiful room it had been before, but in the time that had passed, it appeared the earth mages, masons, and Canaverises had spared nothing in restoring the parlor to its previous splendor. Floors, walls, and windows had been mended or replaced, furniture had been repaired and reupholstered, and golden daylight streamed through the windows like a flood of gold. A familiar feeling came over the Ardane woman as soon as she set foot inside (surprisingly enough, without the accompaniment of the Forbanne guard; Ari really knew how to talk his way into getting what he wanted). It almost felt like… nostalgia, despite that she’d found happiness within these walls not too long ago at all. The fireplace, currently without a fire, looked exactly the same, and the settee where she and Ari had been intimate for the first time had survived the chaos of Locque’s invisible entities. She’d been too exhausted and delirious with fever to have taken note of the details when she’d last set foot in the parlor; her leg had been injured, and she’d been weak, exhausted, and dehydrated, not to mention very, very afraid. Finding herself in the Canaveris villa back then hadn’t put her mind at ease, not even in Ari’s soothing company. But now, standing in a familiar place with the one person she cared for so very deeply, and without being trailed by a guard… It really felt as though she were coming home.
“Oh--I’m fine, don’t worry about me.” The Master Alchemist hastily drew her lips back into a smile and dabbed at her eyes, which had begun to water. “Just adjusting to being inside. It’s one hell of a bright day out there; I guess I’m not used to being let out of my little prison back at the palace yet.” Not entirely a lie, even if she declined to address the nuances, but Ari didn’t pry. Instead, he immediately went to fetch some wine; a typical gesture for someone of his type, which she should have seen coming. But it wasn't the mention of wine that excited her. “Wait… underground spring? So you’ve discovered more gems than just the grotto, huh?”
Although unsure as to how wise it was to have a drink on a relatively empty stomach (she was still working on slowly increasing her food intake without feeling ill), Nia accepted the glass anyway, with the intention to at least sip it. “And heated, you say? I’ve sure as hell bathed in streams, but never underground, and certainly not heated. That sounds… absolutely divine. Heck of a lot better than the tub I’ve got back in my room. That said--if I don’t smell the ‘freshest’ right now, you’re gonna have to forgive me on that front.” Suddenly a little self-conscious, she turned her nose to her shoulder to ascertain her body odour wasn’t so offensive that a bath was one of the first things Ari suggested. “For a while my lovely captors were against leaving me alone for any amount of time, and for any reason; and just because I’m not all that shy doesn’t mean I enjoy unwanted company watching me bathe. Although…” Her eyelids dropped ever so slightly as she put the rim of her crystalline goblet to her lips and took a small sip. “I’m not opposed to welcome company. In any case, since you’re now responsible for me, I think it’s in the rules that you’re not supposed to leave me alone…”
With her free hand that wasn’t holding the glass, she glided her fingers to his shoulders and arm, and then murmured, soft and sultry, “You’re obligated to make sure I play nice, but I’ll warn you right now… I can’t always be trusted not to misbehave. Up to you if you wanna take that risk…”
Evidently, Ari was more than willing to risk Nia not being on her best behaviour, so much that it took her by surprise when first his tongue, and then his lips grazed her mouth. How bold he had become since they had first met! And to think, once upon a time, he’d been reluctant and positively scandalized to touch her while they’d danced. The Master Alchemist liked to think that she was the reason the Canaveris lord had begun to emerge from his shell, but she couldn’t discredit his own agency in how he had evolved over the course of just a few seasons. Somewhere along the way, he’d developed a confidence that he hadn’t had before; one that perhaps Nia Ardane hadn’t even noticed, for how his kiss suddenly left her breathless and with cheeks flushed almost to the colour of the wine.
“Talk about hot summer’s day, huh?” The woman laughed off her bashfulness, though the flush didn’t drain from her cheeks. Considering how just weeks ago, she’d been pale and sleepless and barely able to stand under her own weight, the colour was rather welcome. “Full disclosure, I haven’t had much to eat today, and since being imprisoned, I’ve probably become something of a lightweight. I can’t guarantee that if I finish this glass I won’t be buzzing a little… which is fine with me, if you’re willing to put up with that.” She winked conspiratorially and took another sip. How long had it been since the last time a little bit of wine made her feel like her head was made of cotton?
“But--tell me more about these underground springs.” She urged, with curiosity glimmering in her brown eyes. Whenever Ari had intended to introduce her to something new--a place or a spectacle--she knew it would be nothing short of positively breath-taking. “It’s amazing how you’re digging up beautiful secrets of this kingdom that even its original denizens didn't know about.”
Alster wasn’t one to lie or to stretch the truth; if he was confident enough that Bronwyn would hear words spoken in her favour, should she only listen, then Sigrid believed him. However, she never would have expected what (or who) they encountered not long into their venture down D’Marian streets. The woman (whose name appeared to be Lena) did not react with disgust or disdain toward any of the controversial figures. She hardly reacted upon speaking with Alster and did not question the company he kept; and the young boy, Damien, really looked as though he’d met his hero.
“Just because Hadwin takes more risks than you doesn’t make him braver than you,” Sigrid commentend quietly. “In fact, it just makes him more reckless than you. Probably a little stupider as well.” Her mouth curled into a half smile. “And in any case… this little boy isn’t interested in your brother. He’s interested in you--so take the compliment and run with you. See? You’ve left far better impressions on people than you might have thought. So go,” she gestured to Damien, “and indulge that little boy.”
To both her and Alster’s satisfaction, Bronwyn approached the child and spoke words that made his eyes light up. “I can be a wolf too? For real?” Perhaps it wasn’t clear that he understood the word ‘honourary’, but that didn’t seem to matter. After Bronwyn promised him a surprise and disappeared around the corner and into an alleyway, Damien ran back up to his mother, practically jumping up and down with excitement. “Mama, did you hear? Did you hear what the wolf woman said? I’m a wolf, too!”
“I certainly did.” Lena replied and patted her son’s head. “And that is wonderful. Are you going to grow fangs and fur, now? I fear you’ll be awfully hot during the summer!”
When Bronwyn returned, she was not the baffled and perplexed woman who almost hadn’t understood that necessity of taking a compliment from a child. In that woman’s place was a russet-coloured wolf with vibrant golden eyes, who meekly padded back toward the group and lowered her head, as if beckoning the child to go for a ride on her back. This surprised even Sigrid, considering how paranoid Rowen had been to ‘put herself out’ after the display she’d caused at the unsavoury tavern. All it took was a compliment and a little encouragement, and she was coming around quickly! Far more quickly than the former Dawn Warrior had upon awakening. For that, Sigrid had more respect for the faoladh woman than she could properly express.
“Oh, mama!” Damien practically jumped up and down with excitement, and turned to grasp his mother’s hands. “Can I ride on the wolf lady? Please, oh please say yes!”
“Well… I suppose there is no harm in a quick ride.” Convinced by Alster’s appraisal, Lena nodded and gestured to Brownyn. “But be careful, Damien! And please tread slowly, Miss Bronwyn--he can scarcely ride a horse, let alone a wolf!”
If Bronwyn hadn’t wanted to attract more attention or cause another scene, well… then unfortunately, she had something else coming for her. Damien was not the only child nearby, and with his hooting and hollering over the excitement for not just riding any wolf, but his favourite wolf, it caught the ear of other youngsters who looked on in awe to see someone riding what was supposed to be quite a vicious animal. Sigrid couldn’t help but bite her lower lip in concern and fold her arms across her chest. “I’m not sure this was what Bronwyn had in mind when it comes to ‘giving back to the community’ this afternoon…” She informed Alster, casting him a worried look. “Even if she could speak in a human tongue right now--she wouldn’t deny any of those children. Should I say something…?”
As a matter of fact, Alster specifically recommended that she step in to mediate and to be Bronwyn’s “voice” while the faoladh woman was unable to speak in her wolf form. Her lips curled in a soft smile. “It’s not Bronwyn’s responsibility to improve my reputation, if I’m being honest. That was more or less a joke. We face our own respective issues as far as our reputations go. I’m just happy she reached out as a friend and agreed to be here so I don’t have to weather all the same alone… I suppose I’ll see what I can do.”
It turned out that it wasn’t just a few children who decided they wanted to have a ride on the gentle copper-coloured wolf. As child after child, anywhere from about three to twelve years old, lined up for their turn, the line grew to the point where any denizen who happened to pass by with an interested tyke could not say ‘no’ to their eager offspring, considering how careful and considerate Bronwyn was being with her ‘passengers’. She spent well over an hour giving each child a turn around the block, and when the last child climbed off of her back, it finally signaled the end of the line. “Bronwyn--quick, go change back.” Sigrid had retrieved her clothes from the alleyway for safe keeping, and accompanied the tired wolf back to where she had undergone her transformation, placing those clothes carefully back on the ground. “Hurry before anyone else decides they want a ride!”
The copper wolf looked far from in the mood to argue. Disappearing into the alleyway, when she re-emerged, there was a sheen of perspiration covering her skin, and her curly hair was frizzy and array, looking very much like someone who had literally spent the afternoon ‘running around’. “Well? Have you changed your mind about the general public opinion?” The former Dawn warrior teased, and once again offered her handkerchief to Bronwyn (who desperately needed it to mop her brow), as well as her arm to give her someone to lean on, considering how exhausted her legs must have been. Turning to Alster, who had been kind enough to stick around and engage some of the parents while their children rode on Bronwyn’s back, she asked, “In terms of finding somewhere to eat where we won’t encounter any trouble… what would you suggest for a she-wolf and a disgraced Dawn Warrior? That is, if you are hungry.” She glanced at Bronwyn, offering a look of sympathy. “If you’d rather return to Lord Canaveris’s villa for a bath and a good rest, then that is completely understandable.”
However, if Bronwyn had anything in common with her infamous brother, it was her appetite; and after carting around what must have been more than twenty children over the past hour, she confessed that she was about ready to eat anything that anyone put in front of her. Before Alster could find a reply, a man who appeared to be in his 40s, accompanied by a ten-year-old girl--one of the children who had patiently awaited her turn to ride the bright, copper wolf--approached the trio with a disarming smile.
“Excuse me--I hope I am not interrupting too rudely. I simply wanted to come by and give my thanks to you, Miss Bronwyn.” He nodded respectfully to the faoladh woman. “The truth is, Augustine, here, has been too terrified to learn to ride horses, despite how much I’ve been encouraging her to try for years, now. But now, after what you did for her… she’s telling me she’s finally ready to try. That if she can ride a wolf, she can do anything. You were able to do in a matter of minutes what my wife and I have failed to do for several years.” He ruffled his daughter’s hair, as she positioned herself shyly behind his back. “My wife and I run a tavern not far from here, downhill a ways to the southernmost residential area of the settlement. If ever you are interested in paying us a visit, there will be a free meal and drink waiting for you. And your friends, of course.” He nodded to Sigrid and Alster.
“Hm. As a matter of fact…” The blonde warrior raised her eyebrows in question when she looked to Bronwyn. “What do you think? If you’re hungry, I think we’ve found our place.”
Ari also downplayed his relief when Nia agreed to his revised parade arrangements. Afraid to deny her what she wanted, he held out for her approval, and smiled to receive it. “Yes, that will do nicely, Nia. I rather like the idea of becoming the backdrop. Like hidden subjects in an art piece, we shall be as one with the installation we’ve created, but removed, in plain sight, from public scrutiny. My apologies in advance for the lackluster company you will likely be keeping, as it will require most of my undivided concentration to direct the golem creatures and the firefly swarms to follow my specific instruction. I hope that my presence alone may be enough for you, because interactions will become significantly one-sided.” He chose not to focus on the demanding task ahead of him, one never implemented on such a grandiose scale before. Nia’s concerns for his magical stamina were well-founded, but he shuttered away the practical implications of failure in light of reminding himself of the biggest failsafe in his arsenal. With Nia at his side, monitoring his condition for potential flareups, there was little he couldn’t accomplish, hence his inflated confidence. I will succeed in creating a spectacle for the ages because you are my guidepost and my guardian, defending me from harm, he thought fondly as he took Nia by the hand and led her inside, to the parlor. As long as you stay in my company, I will ensure that you want for nothing.
It didn’t even strike him as foolish to bring her inside this particular location until he looked askance at his esteemed guest and caught the glimmer of tears lodged in her eyes. The last time she was here…he almost kicked himself for his inconsiderateness! A month prior, she lay upon the settee across the room, the very same one where they had made love for the first time, but for this unjoyous occasion she had come to him injured, half-delirious, afraid, and yet…hopeful. Hopeful, because she trusted him, and trusted that he would protect her from the Galeynian authorities who sought to apprehend her for crimes committed by her associations with Locque. Instead, he had abetted in her arrest, never forgetting the profound look of betrayal written on her stricken features upon realizing the man she loved had meant to oppose her all along.
“Nia—we do not need to remain here, if you are otherwise uncomfortable with this space,” he began, frowning, but she waved off his concern and attributed her tears to the adjustment of her eyes to the light. “Ah, understandable,” he scrubbed off his frown, electing for his host’s best, pleasant-faced and supportive of his guest’s decision not to exit the parlor, and not to discuss whatever troubled her—much though he yearned to soothe her present ails. “The sun is quite harsh today. I find that even my eyes are having some difficulty accustoming themselves to the sudden change from outdoors to indoors.”
Anticipating her empty stomach, Ari fixed her with his lightest alcoholic option, a strawberry wine created from this season’s first batch, a refreshing option for the time of day, and the only bottle of its kind in existence. He popped the cork, filled the goblet of its sweet-smelling substance, and handed it expressly for Nia to enjoy—while he chose for himself a much darker shade, almost black on inspection, and reeking strongly of swill.
“Goodness, Nia, forgive me; that is not what I meant at all!” He balked when she referenced her hygiene’s questionable state, prompting him to reassure her of his intentions. “Please do not fret, so; I merely mentioned the bathhouse as it is our newest amenity and thought you would like it; not because I believe you are in dire need of a scrubbing. I pray you do not take offense. If I am at all honest, it is I who requires a thorough cleansing.” As he gestured to himself, however, nothing about him screamed ‘filthy;’ his silken coat was pressed and washed, and hung elegantly from his shoulders. In complement, his hair, prone to clumping in the summer heat and humidity, seemed impervious to the elements, looking as though rain and perspiration would slide from it like, an apt comparison, oil from a raven’s wing. A subtle perfume emanated from his person, emitting the scent of a crisp, floral blossom in peak bloom and further debunking his claim of having trudged around in dirt. To be fair, earth mages never truly stayed dirty, knowing little tricks of magic to slough off the dust and debris clinging to their clothes and skin. In that sense, Ari was clean, and the grand majority of people to encounter him wouldn’t argue any differently, but to the Canaveris Lord, he hadn’t stepped into a bath in several days and was, in his humble opinion, absolutely slatternly.
In part to remove Nia’s attention from his slight faux pas, and mainly because he felt like it, Ari moved to establish the contact he had been craving since the night they reaffirmed their relationship beneath the multicolored glow of hundreds of fireflies. The kiss lasted a few seconds, a sampling, really, but he didn’t want to push Nia into full-on engagement if she wasn’t yet ready for the return of their passionate throes.
As quickly as he had initiated it, Ari slowly pulled free, sharing in his partner’s bashfulness with a matching set of heated cheeks and a small, coy smile. “Ah, yes. I imagine the day will only climb to hotter climes. I for one look forward to the heat.” Touching her cheek, and the warmth that radiated beneath his fingers, he gave his partner a wink, feeling almost proud of the sudden upsurge in her temperature, like a fever he nudged to the surface. And in that moment, he couldn’t help it. Seeing Nia so endearingly flustered and overheated because of him stoked his confidence to new heights.
Alas, he couldn’t let it last. Remembering himself, he pulled away, save for a hand he wound around her waist for support purposes. “How ungentlemanly of me. Here I have saddled you with wine, invaded your space, and made you to stand on your weak leg for longer than is necessary. Please—have a seat.” Together, they headed for the settee, hunkering down on the inviting cushions. Swishing the dark wine in his goblet, he pressed the pewter rim to his lips and embarked on his first sip of the day. “Do note, Nia, that I am more than willing to ‘put up with’ whatever iteration of yourself that you choose to display. I am not picky. But since you have asked after this bathhouse,” he leaned against the backrest, one hand sliding over her lap, “while we were tunneling and expanding the underground city, we discovered a small pocket of groundwater and decided to designate the area as a bathhouse. Already, we have added the heating rocks to the bottom of the spring, carved out the perimeter to create the pools, diverted some of the water, and widened the cavern to make way for the various antechambers we’ve planned; namely, dressing rooms, a spa, and drying beds. Our goal is to replicate the design from its original in Stella D’Mare. It is still a fledgling project, among many we are concurrently handling, so I have no predicted date of completion to offer you. Nonetheless, complete or no,” a meaningful, and mischievous, glint flecked in his eyes like pieces of pyrite, “I have the final say on who may enter, and I say that Forbanne guards are disallowed at this time. In fact, the only two persons permitted inside the bathhouse are myself, and,” he gave Nia’s lap a tender squeeze, “and you. Under my supervision, of course—but,” he directed his lilting, breathy voice into her ear, “I hope that does not bode a problem for you.”
What started out at first as a kind gesture for a child ended up becoming something beyond the scope of Bronwyn’s initial and more modest intentions. Despite keeping to the edges of the avenue, walking parallel to the shadows cast by the nearby buildings and generally avoiding the heart of town square, there was nothing inconspicuous about a shouting boy riding astride a wolf, and soon, Bronwyn met with discovery. Unfortunately, this particular day attracted a gaggle of children to the square, presumably in attendance to decorate the village quarters alongside their parents, their “help” varying from actively stringing up the lights to cooling themselves off near the gurgling, three-tiered fountain and splashing water at each other for fun. Until, that is, their curious eyes caught sight of an entirely novel and superior version of fun, which they flooded toward in gradual waves—much to the canine Bronwyn’s dismay.
In no condition to voice her disagreement, for vocalizing discontent would translate as bared teeth and a growl, a decidedly unfriendly and self-destructive move on her part, she instead acted every bit a tame, whipped dog, glad, at least, for the absence of other wolves in the area. Her brother, included—who would have a field day splitting his sides in raucous laughter.
Thankfully, Sigrid stepped in to offer some direction, providing a buffer between herself and the unleashed mob of overexcited children. She, a welcoming shield, utilized her authority as a warrior, keeping order and controlling the prepubescent crowd to behave less like savages and more like civilized people, capable of forming queues and waiting their turn. Before making this decision, Sigrid had turned to Bronwyn, checking to confirm if ferrying around young ones on her back was really how she intended to spend her afternoon. No, not in the slightest. But Bronwyn had made her bed, and now it was time to lie in it. With a grunt of agreement, she informed the warrior to bring forward each new child as they arrived, after Damien had stepped down and returned to his mother. For every rider, she took one turn around the fountain, ending her route exactly where she had begun; in front of Sigrid, who innately knew when to help down their current client and when to introduce the next one from the line. It was a system that fast became efficient as the two parties passed nonverbal signals to each other, understanding the little nods, ear twitches, and head tilts that conveyed information about the kids. This one is too heavy; this one is trying to choke me. Or, this one is too rowdy. The twelve-year-olds were by far her least favorite to carry, not so much due to their disposition, but due to their size. As a relatively small wolf compared to ones in the wild, Bronwyn sagged under the weight, struggling to loop the singular trek around the fountain without collapsing from the strain and the heat.
Fortunately, the older child heralded the last and remaining one in the queue, and Bronwyn, on the same wavelength as Sigrid, scampered towards the alleyway before full-grown adults also decided to join in on trying to mount a wolf. In the privacy and shade of the alley, she transformed to her human skin and threw on her clothes, determined to shut down interest in her animal counterpart while no one else was sniffing around.
“Thank you.” Bronwyn practically hung on Sigrid’s supportive shoulder as she half-walked, half-shuffled out of the alley, her legs shaking and rattling like leaves in the wind. “I’ve never…done that before. Don’t think I’ll do it again.” She happily accepted Alster’s waterskin, which he had refilled whilst she kept busy giving children joy rides in the inexorable heat. Having no sense of propriety in her present condition, she guzzled half the waterskin’s contents and then dumped the rest over her head, not caring about drenching the front half of her clothes in the process. In fact, she was just about to go take a dunk in the fountain, or throw herself into the lake, but was stopped by a gentleman and his little girl, a shy thing that she remembered as one of her temporary charges. At first, she feared they’d ask her for an encore performance, to which she felt obligated to say ‘Yes,’ but to her unending relief, not only was that not the case, but the man was offering to show his appreciation with a free meal at his tavern. “That’s really nice of you. And I’m in no state to refuse your kind offer.” Smiling guiltily, she clutched her stomach to silence its rampant growls of distress. “I’m glad I could inspire your dear Augustine to ride a horse.. But here’s hoping I don’t inspire her to eat like one. Because that’s what I’ll be doing in your wonderful establishment; you’ll have to forgive me in advance.”
With Sigrid and Alster in accompaniment, they followed the tavern owner to his place, a short, downward hike to the residential area south and east of the dock ward. Bronwyn let out a sigh of relief not to be traveling in that direction, still nursing the embarrassment borne from her night of wanton drinking. But her relief wasn’t snuffed in its entirety, for when they entered the man’s tavern, a cozy, colorful building covered in flowers, she caught the eye of two men sitting at the bar, whose mouths erupted into huge grins.
“Look, Morris; it’s the wolf!” One man shoved the other’s shoulder.
“I’ve got eyes, Art; I can see her myself!” The older man waved at the perplexed woman who had inexplicably become the talk of the town in one short day. “Word on the street is, you can inhale an entire roast chicken, bones and all.”
“Word on the street is,” the man’s companion echoed, “you did Slimy Sal’s cabbage face in. The idiot’s had it coming for years. You did all of us a huge favor taking him out. Did him a favor, too! Rearranging his features like that must’ve been an improvement for him in the looks category!”
“Uh…yes,” Bronwyn said, hesitant to accept praise over something she still felt sore about inflicting, whether the man deserved it or not. “He’ll think twice next time before crossing me.” She blinked, not quite sure where the sudden confidence came from, but it seemed to elicit the mens’ approval. “But if you’ve come to watch me inhale a chicken, then I might disappoint you. Unlike whatever I did the other night, I’m not eating for sport, so it’s going to take me a little longer to swallow.” Though, she wasn’t sure the difference would be that substantial, and the information brought her a fair amount of self-consciousness. Feeling beholden to sit near the overly friendly men, Bronwyn took a seat at the table situated beside them at the bar, Alster and Sigrid taking her lead. After the tavern owner and his daughter disappeared into the back to prepare lunch specials for everyone, taking into account Bronwyn’s propensity for meat and Alster’s propensity for greens, the men, fairly sloshed by the sound of it, veered their attention to her two companions, as though only now taking notice of their existence.
“You keep interesting company, Wolf,” one of them, Morris, remarked, stroking his salt and pepper beard. It sounded accusatory at first, but he meant nothing malicious about it, judging by his curious glance. “So Lord Alster Rigas is gallivanting around these parts again, eh?” The person in question gave an uncertain smile, adopting Bronwyn’s earlier attitudes of self-conscious squirming. But his focus drifted as quickly as his statement of fact left his mouth, and immediately sharpened on the former Dawn Warrior. “But that company’s to be expected. That blonde one there got you out of a real pickle, eh?”
“A pickle?” Bronwyn frowned, creasing her brow.
“Yeah, a pickle!” The man named Art clarified helpfully. “Like, a jam. A real mess. A real spot of trouble.”
“No, I know what it means, but…what do you mean?” she directed the questioning glance at Sigrid.
“Oh ho ho! Bronwyn here went a little too hard on the sauce, eh? She doesn’t remember!” Art slapped the arm of his drinking buddy, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Allow me to fill you in, little lady! Beryl squeals like a pig. He said you got pulled outta a mad Rigas’s home, and it was your brother and this woman who did it!”
The details were hardly comprehensible to Bronwyn, if one could call the drunken man’s recollections detailed, or reliable, and it posed more questions than answers. What had happened that night, after she ceased remembering? Something about a mad Rigas? A man named Beryl? A rescue operation, helmed by Sigrid and Hadwin? And why hadn’t the blonde warrior breathed a word about it to her?! But instead of leading with a knee-jerk reaction, she reined in the urge to sputter and lose her nerve, as was her normal response to chaotic events beyond her comprehension to understand and contextualize. She made do with the information delivered to her, absorbing a little at a time to minimize the risk of a full-blown freak-out. Nodding along to this very bare-bones account of her ill-conceived, inebriated misadventure, she pressed on a smile, aiming it at Sigrid, before addressing the two men at the bar—as well as the tavern-owner, who re-emerged from the kitchens with drinks for the table. “It comes at no surprise that this woman should help me when I needed it most. What’s more confounding is that my brother assisted,” she wrinkled her nose good-naturedly. “Sigrid hardly knows me and yet, she stuck her neck out for me, is that right?” Again, she looked to the other woman for confirmation. “I think that’s deserving of something. Because it sounds to me like I owe her for more than just helping me out with the kids today. If you gentlemen are to be believed—and I believe you!—then she’s a hero, yeah? That’s something we should celebrate.” She accepted the beverage from the tavern owner’s proffered tray--plain water, upon request, nothing special, but she wielded it as though it were as socially binding as a tankard full of ale. “I will, anyway. And I’ll drink to that.” Tilting back her head, she took a long, refreshing swig.
Indeed, the Master Alchemist encountered mixed feelings when seeing the parlor again for the first time since her arrest. For one, it was a place that held so many dear memories; a place where she’d always felt welcome, even back when Nadira Canaveris had tried to make it very clear that she was not. But it was also a place that recounted pain and fear and heartache. The fear that she’d felt when she feared she hadn’t gotten to Ari in time to restore his heart to flesh and blood… and the heartache, when her fear of being arrested by Galeynian authorities appeared to hold merit: a nightmare come true. However, if the worse had already come to pass, and things were looking up while days were getting brighter… how would it serve her to dwell on past events that she could not change? For a while, she’d been convinced that she was wrong about Ari; but she didn’t believe that anymore, not when he put a drink in her hand and led her to the settee (upon which she’d sat naked, more often than clothed, in times passed).
“Don’t worry about the leg; it’s not as it used to be, really.” Nia stretched out her injured leg as she took a seat, as if to demonstrate the gradual improvement in her range of mobility. “Alster’s been helping to whittle away at whatever residual damage that injury and infection left me with. Probably could’ve had it all healed up faster, but… it fucking hurts, and I have no tolerance for pain. Feels like thousands of little needles on fire… though I have to say, I’ve had more luck with what he’s doing than any other remedies thrown at me.” Reaching down, she gingerly rubbed along the scar beneath her trousers. For better or worse, some of the feeling that she’d lost as a result of severed nerves from the injury was beginning to return with Alster’s help. “But, I’m gonna have to get used to standing for longer periods of time if we’re going to execute this parade float the way that we want to! And I’m glad you approve of becoming part of the background. Don’t worry--I won’t expect you to engage in full conversation if you need to concentrate. Silent or not… I’d rather spend it in your company than on my own, with big-bad out there.” She gestured to the door, where just outside the Forbanne soldier stood, and would continue to stand until otherwise specified.
Taking a sip of the refreshingly light wine, Nia’s mouth stretched into another grin at how her light-hearted comment seemed to send Ari backpedaling and fearing he’d said exactly the wrong thing. “Ari,” she slowly lowered her wine glass and shook her head. “It’s fine. You could tell me I smell like rotten fish and not only would I believe you, but I’d be hella inclined to do something about it for your convenience. I’ve spent weeks in a dungeon, and recently in a single room where I can’t even get privacy while I’m bathing--well, Alster and Elespeth said they’d see if that can be changed, but… admittedly, I’ve been neglecting hygiene more than I should be. So for that, I should apologize. Really--do you ever relax?” She tilted her head to the side and gave him a curious look. “Don’t you know me well enough that it takes a lot more than insinuating I stink to offend me? You really don’t have to tip-toe around me. In fact, I hope I can convince you of this…” The trouble was… she knew exactly why he was overcompensating to such a degree. Taking her to see fireflies, indulging her late-night contact through the resonance stone as she put off sleep, now giving her wine and promising her a hot bath--even for Ari, who was for all intents and purposes the king of hospitality, this was far over-reaching what was normal. And… she knew she was the cause.
“Ari...listen. Can I be candid for a second?” The Ardane woman twirled the stem of her wine glass in her hand, and watched the rose-coloured beverage slosh against the sides. “I know what you’re doing--and I know it’s my fault. You’ve tried to reach out to me in so many ways since I was arrested, but I wouldn’t hear any of it. You found my harp and returned it to me, your mother even came to reassure me of your intentions, and I just spat on all of it. I made you feel like absolute shit when you were already feeling bad… so please, please believe me when I say you don’t have to make it up to me. Just… just be you. I don’t need fancy wine and nice, hot baths to be won back over. You already have me, luxuries aside.”
That said, Nia certainly was not about to decline a nice glass of wine followed by relaxing hot waters if they were offered, and she leaned in curiously as Ari explained the layout of the bath house, what had already been completed, and what was still in the works. “You D’Marians really know how to live it up; I can’t recall anything of the like back in Ilandria. I mean, not that I had much of an opportunity to explore those parts if we had them, but something as exquisite as a bath house would probably be something you’d find among the monarchy alone. Nothing so open to the public. So--can I see it?” Draining what was left of her wine, her cheeks still flushed from the alcohol and Ari’s intimate proximity with his hand on her lap, she set the crystalline glass down and leaned forward, pressing her forehead to Ari’s. “That Forbanne guard’s not gonna play nice the entire time; he’s got orders to keep his eye on me, like it or not. And I’d rather take advantage of a situation where I am not being watched by captors.”
Of course, Ari obliged her (and she felt guilty for making the request, after so explicitly insisting that she didn’t need special treatment), and helped her up from her seat with an outstretched hand. She took that hand and didn’t let go. If he had offered to show her this new secret… she was loathe to refuse!
Regardless of all of the time she’d spent in the Canaveris villa, it had often been clandestine or at night (or unconscious and delirious), and she still couldn’t for the life of her navigate it without a little bit of help. There were so many hidden entrances to underground getaways and surprises that, even if she’d been sober, she wouldn’t have happened upon half of the things Ari showed her. A trip down a familiar set of stairs did hearken back to when the majority of furniture had been moved underground to keep safe from Locque and her invisible monsters, however, and she tried to purge the memory of being led up those stairs and then promptly arrested. Now was not the time for those memories, from past events that she would just rather forget. “You still need that buzz to relax?” Nia commented on the fact that Ari had refilled his own wine glass and took it with them as they descended to the underground of the Canaveris villa. It wasn’t a criticism so much as it was an observation… and considering they were still in the process of mending their bridge and rekindling that carefree love they’d experienced prior to her arrest, she couldn’t blame him for wanting to calm his nerves. Yet, still… “We need to work on that. Don’t get me wrong, Ari, you are a fun drunk… but wouldn’t you like to experience what it feels like to really be with someone with a clear head?” Her fingers gently grazed the inside of his wrist in emphasis. “You don’t have anything to fear. If something goes wrong… you know I’ll fix it in a heartbeat. I’ve gotta be good for something, y’know! What are you even gonna do with me when you’re rid of your curse for good?”
The Master Alchemist chuckled, but in all truth, it was a possibility that had crossed her mind more than once. That she might be rendered obsolete and useless to Ari and the Canaverises once he no longer had a reason to rely on her for help. It was ridiculous, of course; Ari wasn’t the type of person to use someone and throw them away on a whim, but at the back of her mind… that worry would be ever-present, until the day came that she, Alster, and Isidor purged his curse once and for all.
After descending a handful of small flights of stairs (and holding in every wince as the pressure on her injured leg grew more intolerable with each step), they came upon a room carved out with smooth walls that she didn’t recognize from her last descent belowground. The sound of water reached her ears before she saw several circular pools carved into the ground, above which witchlights glimmered in hues of green, blue, and purple, casting a prismatic rainbow onto the still surface of the water. Adjacent were the rooms that Ari had prefaced as being developed into changing rooms, drying tables, and other areas where people might receive relaxing surfaces, and it was certainly still a work in progress, only for the lack of ornate embellishments that were present throughout the rest of his home. She could feel the warmth coming off the water almost as soon as they stepped into the empty chamber, and the humidity opened her lungs.
“Can’t say I’ve ever set foot in a place like this before… and it’s not even finished.” Nia whistled and took in the little underground secret. “First the grotto, and now this… Ari, anywhere you wanna take me, you can sure as hell but I’ll say ‘yes’. I haven’t been disappointed yet!”
Carefully, the two took a seat on the side of one of the pools, at which point Nia removed her boots and dipped her bare feet in. “And this is all heated with rocks? I’ve gotta say, you earth mages are far more capable with earth matter than even Master Alchemists are. If I were to do the same thing, it’d either be temporary, transient, or would require more time and energy than it’s worth. And those lights? Couldn’t make them nearly this vibrant. Consider me won over.” With her lips curled into a smirk, Nia gently took the lapels of Ari’s silken coat to pull him forward into another kiss; but she didn’t stop there, and inched closer until both of their bodies met, front on front. “I told you… I couldn’t guarantee I’d behave.” She purred against his mouth, and finally leaned back to allow just a little space to breathe. “Whether you wanna admit it or not, I am downright filthy… and I want to try out this bath.”
Her trousers were the first to come off, leaving only her long tunic that hung to her knees as she carefully slid into the waist high water, careless of getting her clothes wet. Only when she was submerged up to her lower back did she pause, as if suddenly uncertain, and made a curious request. “I love the lights, but… are you able to turn them down? Or shut them off, somehow?” Ari responded by pointing out the obvious, that in doing so, they’d be in complete darkness, which could be dangerous around water if neither of them could see what they were doing. Nia stood silent in the wake of that response, staring down at her reflection in the water, until finally confessing. “My body’s been through a lot. It’s… changed. More scars, less shape. It’s been hard to eat and sleep. I don’t fit any of my old clothes, and I hardly recognize myself anymore, compared to how I used to look. I figure, if there isn’t anything to see… then you won’t feel so disappointed.”
While Sigrid had not been the one allowing young children on her back for the past hour, it didn’t take much for a woman of her height and stature to work up an appetite. So when Bronwyn very easily agreed to the free meal the D’Marian father offered on behalf of helping his daughter, she almost sighed in relief. It had been hours since breakfast, and if they were going to continue to be useful, they’d need more means of energy. “Sounds good to me. Alster, I hope you’ll join us.” The former Dawn Warrior said, and was relieved when he obliged. If anyone aside from Lord Canaveris knew how to navigate the people of the D’Marian settlement, it was certainly Lord Rigas, himself.
It was frankly too early in the day to be imbibing for most people, but not everyone followed the same routine. So when the small group caught the eye of two men, already well into their drinks, Sigrid almost immediately went on the defensive as they brought up Bronwyn’s name. She didn’t have her sword, out of respect for trying to look peaceful to the people of the settlement, but she wasn’t beyond causing a scene, herself, if it spared Bronwyn further humiliation and shame. “We don’t have to stay,” she whispered to the faoladh woman. “We can find somewhere else to eat.”
While Bronwyn was shocked, and appeared a little bit uneasy at the attention she was suddenly getting, all three of them were astounded to hear that these two men appeared in favour of her antics from the night before. Word really did get around the small settlement quickly… Sigrid began to relax. So the faoladh had admirers that she had yet to find out about, it seemed. What she failed to consider was just how much these two men knew, or how much they would divulge. Before Sigrid had a chance to interrupt them, or brush off her ‘heroics’ in her joint effort with Hadwin to rescue Bronwyn, the wolf woman was already asking for clarification. Details which, frankly, should have come from her and Hadwin. Not secondhand from two strangers in a tavern…
“I--really, I am not a hero, here,” Sigrid dipped her head humbly, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. It might have taken pressure off if Bronwyn had at least acted disappointed in her. “It was Hadwin who found Bronwyn, and asked all the questions we needed to find her. I was simply there to try and look menacing enough to make sure we got the answers we wanted.” Having suddenly lost her appetite, she closed her hand around her own glass of chilled water, without any intention of drinking it. What was supposed to be a laid back (and frankly, celebratory) meal had turned awkward very quickly, and while Bronwyn certainly hadn’t lost her appetite over it, guilt permitted Sigrid to only pick at her food, while trying to tune out the back and forth between the faoladh woman and her new admirers. It wasn’t until they stood to depart the tavern, after thanking the owner profusely for his generosity, that the former Dawn Warrior spoke up again.
“Bronwyn… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what happened sooner. Please believe me when I say that I meant to, but you were unwell and out of sorts and…. I suppose I was hoping for the right time, when there never really was a right time.” She struggled to look the faoladh woman in the eye as they walked, with Alster still in tow, quiet and nonjudgmental as he always was. “Cyprian Rigas was holding you captive. Hadwin believes you were also drugged so you wouldn’t be a problem. We don’t know what he wanted with you or why he did it, and I guess… the utter lack of answers is why I hesitated to say anything. I hope… you can forgive me.”
Something about hearing the woman he loved request that he relax impelled him to do the exact opposite. After all, how could one relax when it was so blisteringly apparent how unrelaxed he appeared to the people in his company? The fact that Nia pointed it out meant the ease through which she peeked behind his carefully curated mask. No doubt he had done a grievous wrong, committed some social faux pas or crossed a line, unintentionally broaching sensitive subject matter, and it had contributed to his overreaction, prompting Nia to openly state concern for him, the host, when the host never should worry his guests, regardless of their familiarity with each other.
Relax. For her to utter such a word, even in passing, and in a different context than how his mind decided to interpret it, acknowledged that he had wronged, slipped, misstepped…lost control in his own home. How else could he recover, then, except to fabricate a relaxed state, laugh it off and pretend all was well?
He took a calculated sip of his dark, strong wine and crossed his legs, one over the other, in a blatant casual gesture. These little nonverbal shortcuts deceived him into believing he had achieved that sought-after state of relaxation—and relaxation meant no risk of a flare-up.
“I have insinuated no such thing, Nia,” he said, emitting a disarming chuckle to disguise his unease. “What kind of host would I be if I implied my honored guests stink? Mark my words, I make no habit of slinging unwarranted insults to my invitees. Also, I am quite relaxed at present,” he swished the contents of his goblet for emphasis. “You are near, after all. In terms of relaxation, I am in no better hands than in yours. Truly, Nia,” he threaded his fingers through her hand, “you free me.” Ari, however, hadn’t been given the opportunity to delve far into poetic explorations of his romantic partner before she opted to focus on the reality of their relationship, rather than on the present moment, basking in one another’s company.
“It may appear otherwise, but I have done nothing out of the ordinary, Nia,” he said, his easy smile not quite fading, but wilting at the edges, at her implication that he was not being entirely genuine in his approach to their courting and subsequent recoupling. “This is who I am. I enjoy pampering and spoiling the people I cherish and adore. Please note I am not compromising myself by showering you with such gifts. On the contrary, to withdraw or minimize my efforts would, verily, disrupt this ritual of mine to which I have grown accustomed, and which reaps its own rewards. Simply, to see you happy and cared for brings me happiness and is not my attempt to ‘make it up to you.’ Also,” he rose from the settee, extending his hand for Nia to grasp for balance and support, “there is no reason to concern yourself over the recent past. You felt justifiably betrayed by me and my family. Whatever difficulties transpired between us, then, I hold no damages to my mental well-being against you. Again, I am merely happy that I can continue to serve you, best as I am able. Will you allow me the privilege?” Gladdened for the confirming and reaffirming grip of her gloved hand in his, Ari proceeded to lead her away from the parlor and into the underground city. While he couldn’t dismiss the Forbanne guard outright, he instructed the soldier to follow at a distance and wait for them outside every chamber they inhabited.
Careful not to reawaken Nia’s trauma, Ari made great pains to avoid treading familiar territory, opting for a roundabout route that bypassed the site of her recent arrest, which he assumed was as raw a memory for her as it was for him. Even now, he hadn’t returned there, to the steps leading to the ballroom, instead traveling outside the villa, to the pathway that opened into a cleft in the rock outcropping and descended into the same labyrinthine network of tunnels and caverns. As they traversed the rocky corridors, hand in hand, the walls lighting their path at Ari’s command, he almost faltered when he heard her utter that word again. That one operative word. Relax.
“The wine helps,” he said carefully, but chose not to delve too far into the psychology behind his occasional over-reliance on intoxicating substances. Truthfully, the stresses of the last several days, in particular the reemergence of an unhinged Rigas rival, had attracted him to temporarily increasing his alcohol intake; whatever would prevent him from losing his handle on the situation, as he was sorely tempted to cancel all celebration plans in favor of organizing a witch-hunt to track down the man, who had presumably gone into hiding. “In general,” he further clarified, imbibing on another, much longer sip. “Beyond its use in our dalliances together, I also partake in a marginal amount throughout the day. I suppose one can call this a minor occupational hazard. No need to fret about it, though. It is a common remedy of mine. Eventually,” he clicked his tongue, musing aloud, “I will not need to rely on this shortcut. When my curse is lifted, I imagine the wine will be among the first routine changes I implement. As for you,” he leaned over and brushed his lips against her forehead, his voice sultry and confident, “our story betwixt the sheets will have just begun. Look forward to my liberation, Nia. Surely, I am.”
Led by the sound of running water, Ari rounded a corner and passed through a curtained-off chamber with Nia in tow. Inside, high-ceilinged cathedral walls welcomed their approach, stalactites hanging up above like natural chandeliers. On the ground floor, they skirted around various pools en route to the main showpiece, a grand, rectangular man-made marvel of architecture, tiered into the ground on three-fold levels, offering multiple depths for resting and swimming. Trickling waterfalls and elegant, pillared archways framed the grandiose pool, which, in the glowstone lights overhead, glimmered an inviting milky blue. Steam danced across the water, forming ghostly pirouettes and come hither gestures, beckoning their guests to enter and to immerse themselves under the heated lapping wash of the bath.
“It is a work in progress,” Ari explained, as though embarrassed to reveal a half-finished product. “But I suppose you do not mind. Normally, I would recommend we head to the oiling room over there,” he pointed to the archway closest to them, where inside, one could detect another antechamber, strewn with chairs, and a carved shelf upon which a few small vats perched, “to scrub off the accumulated dirt and grime from the skin prior to entering the pool. But I see you are…already wading in the water, so…no worries.” The speed in which she disrobed the bottom half of her clothes and climbed inside the refreshing waters might have annoyed other Canaverises more attuned to the specific hygienic process of bathhouse etiquette, but Ari, who hadn’t explained the rules beforehand, took the disorder in stride, and even followed Nia’s model by swishing free the belt that cinched together his silken coat.
“Take as long as you would like here.” Setting his now empty goblet aside, he pulled off the first layer of his elaborate outfit, folding and setting it aside far from the pool’s splash zone, proceeding next with his vest, tunic, undershirt, boots, trousers, rings, and gloves. “These are mineral springs. The elements in the water, coupled with the heat, will provide restorative and healing properties for your leg, I daresay.”
Before he turned to face her, in all his naked glory, he frowned at her unorthodox request to kill all the ambient lighting and plunge them into darkness. “While I am intrigued by the idea, as deprivation of the senses makes for a rather thrilling experience, I am, unfortunately, still a novice in the art of coitus and require a fair amount of vision to see what I am doing, especially in my minor inebriated state. If you are worried for your appearance, allow me to bring your fears to rest.” Bereft of all finery, sans his dangling earrings, Ari approached the edge of the pool and lowered into a crouch, peering over at the veritable siren in the water. “Nothing about your ordeal has changed the fact that you are still you. You are Nia Ardane, the woman who has my heart. Matters of the flesh worry me not. It is but another costume. An artifice. Similar to how I dress myself and appear to others as a Lord. Not a man. Not an artist. Not a cursed being, trapped partially in stone. Now, I come before you, stripped and laid bare. Would you show me the same? If not,” he stepped into the water, one gradual, graceful motion at a time, “I will come to you.”
Lowering until waist-deep, he waded over to her, pressed his lips on her neck, on the scar she thought so ugly, and directed his hands beneath her tunic, exploring her diminished form by touch. He roved over the ever-present but less prominent s-curves of her hip bones, traced the new scars pocked across her body, tickled his fingers up and down her thinning waist, and rested them over the mounds of her breasts—smaller, but no less tantalizing for him.
“You underestimate artists, Nia,” he released his lips and breathed hot breath into her ear. “Our aesthetic eye allows us to see beauty where others have abandoned it. You may have abandoned the thought of your beauty, but not I—because it was never lost. It has shifted, but it cannot die. You are, and always will be…stunning.”
If Bronwyn intended to respond to Sigrid’s flagrant dismissal of her noble efforts, she didn’t have the opportunity to address her doubts beyond what was acceptable in a public venue. Understanding her own hang-ups over undeserved praise, she assumed the same attitude plagued the blonde warrior and, much though she would have liked to pay it forward by assuring her of her kindness and bravery, like Bronwyn herself, would she believe the compliments? Or write them off as flattery, beautiful lies meant to appease, but not to state fact?
But whatever response she had brewing around in her head would have to wait because she was, shamefully, enamored of the food that landed on their table. The moment the aroma wafted into her nostrils, she had forgotten her foothold in the conversation, like a goldfish swimming around in circles, recalling nothing of its destination. With quick apologies to her tablemates, and even to the proprietor and the two day-drinking men who looked forward to watching the spectacle unfold, Bronwyn proceeded to devour the contents on her plate, a satisfying combination of spice-rubbed chicken legs and roast potatoes drizzled in oil and dressed in rosemary and thyme. The medley of flavors passed over her tongue, intense but as fleeting as a shooting star for how expediently she cleaned the dish of its food. Upon finishing, she ducked her head, embarrassed by the round of applause issuing from the drunken duo, and buried herself in her dining napkin to apprise herself of the lingering grease smeared across her mouth.
“Damn, she really can hork it down!” The man named Morris mused as he finished the last of his ale.
“That means the rumors aren’t all talk then, eh?” Art whistled his approval. “Guess we’ll have to owe the big lady an apology over there,” he gestured to Sigrid, who, half-attentive, likely wasn’t listening to the clucking banter amongst themselves. “She ain’t half bad if she’s facing against Rigases!” A hiss and a sharp jab in the ribs from his chum and a pointed look in Alster’s direction caused the man to pale and double back. “Ah, my bad!” He called out to the lone Rigas in the room, who raised an eyebrow at the two, his expression otherwise unreadable. “We didn’t mean you, Lord Rigas!”
“Yeah!” his companion sputtered, his overcompensatory tone adopting an ingratiating scrape. “Your lordship is perfectly fine!” A panicked lilt tagged at the end of his uttered phrase, painting his words with an unspoken undertone: Please don’t hurt us!
“Don’t worry about it,” Alster set aside his eating utensils and gave the two men a rueful smile. “I’m not in charge anymore, nor am I welcome within my own family, so say what you like about them. I take no offense to justifiable slights on one’s character. And for the record, I don’t condone the actions of one Cyprian Rigas. He’ll have his comeuppance, of that I can promise. But enough about him.” Rising from the table in conjunction with his friends, who had long since finished and were ready to go, Alster thanked the proprietor for hosting them and turned towards the exit, but not without adding, “I hope you understand that my presence here is strictly nonthreatening. In fact, I’m only in the village on an invite from Lord Canaveris, and my limited role extends to celebratory duties and nothing more. May this serve as some consolation to you. Have a good day, gentlemen. And yes,” he motioned to the two women, who were already halfway out the door, “please be kind to Miss Kavanagh and Miss Sorenson. I think we can all agree that these past few months have been difficult for everyone—on them in particular. Thank you for understanding. In the same vein, I’m sorry…for contributing to the difficulty. For doing what I did.” With a self-effacing bow, followed by a polite wave of farewell, Alster exited the tavern, meeting up with the waiting women outside.
Meanwhile, Bronwyn, who seemed to find her tongue again after recovering it from its post-food bliss, opened her mouth, but quickly closed it when Sigrid beat her to the punch, vocalizing an apology meant expressly for her. She frowned, wondering why the blonde warrior felt so impelled to deliver such profuse sorrys over something that couldn’t be helped, really.
“What are you talking about?” To help along Sigrid’s distress and guilt for not having told her about the details of her drunken night out sooner, Bronwyn offered a little simper of a smile. “There’s nothing to forgive; you did nothing wrong. I know you would have told me. I really can’t fault you for withholding when I’ve been such a wreck…and this news isn’t something you can drop lightly on a person. So please, don’t let these anxieties keep you from eating. If anything, I should be thanking you.” She walked in step with Sigrid, elbow-nudging her arm meaningfully. “Say what you will about Hadwin doing most of the heavy lifting, but he lives for the adrenaline rush. He would have freely lent a hand for anyone if it meant getting to throw himself into fire and show off. I’m grateful for his help, but it means a lot that you were there, too. It really shows your character that you would care to dig me out of a mess I created when others in a similar situation would look the other way, especially concerning people they hardly know. It sounds like you ran into some dangerous people and seriously could have been hurt. So for that, Sigrid,” she held back the other woman, temporarily pausing their steps, “thank you. I don’t know what else to say for sticking your neck out for me. I truly owe you so much. So if not telling me what happened to me outright is the worst of your offenses against me, I think you’re doing just fine. That said,” her smile faded, replaced with the expression she wanted to wield this whole time: perplexity bordering on horror, “what the hell happened? If I’m to understand this correctly…a Rigas man drugged and kidnapped me?! For no apparent reason?”
“Maybe I can shed some light on this.” Alster, who remained largely quiet as he followed in step behind the two women, gestured for them to enter a private alleyway with him, for clandestine discussions on a sensitive topic. As they ducked out of sight of the main roads, he cast a sound muffling spell around them, to deter eavesdroppers. “Cyprian Rigas once tried to overthrow Chara, the Rigas Head at the time, for the position, but he was met with failure—because of, well, your brother.” There was no tiptoeing around the fact that Hadwin had, indeed, played an enormous role in the downfall of Tivia’s problematic father. “I won’t get into the details of what he did, but Cyprian went mad as a result of Hadwin’s machinations, and I imagine when he saw you the other night, he brewed up some hackneyed, impromptu revenge scheme. According to your brother, he thinks Cyprian wanted twofold revenge; one, against him, and two, as leverage against the Canaveris family, the very family that stole power from the Rigases in the first place. As his hostage, he would have tried to bargain with Aristide, whose strong principles and binding hospitality policies would have disallowed harm to befall you, even if it compromised his position of power.” He chewed the inside of his cheek, hesitant to reveal more than necessary to a woman already sensitive to her shaky reputation among the D’Marians. “That was what Cyprian was banking on, but his execution was poor, and he failed.”
“O-oh.” Suddenly feeling unbalanced, Bronwyn leaned against the alley wall, trying to register the density of information dumped onto her overladen back, a sensation akin to carrying triplet twelve-year-olds for a ride around the fountain. None of the water imbibed or the food eaten seemed to combat the lightheadedness that pressed its buoyant pressure behind her eyes. “Should we…need to worry about him, this Cyprian Rigas? Or,” she spared a worrying glance for Sigrid, “was he, I don’t know, taken care of?”
“That’s the strange part,” Alster closed in on the two women, dropping to an airy whisper despite the shielding spell he cast to deaden their sound. By his precautions alone, what he was about to reveal was no doubt sensitive and confidential information, for their ears only. “No one can find him. He’s gone into hiding. Or he’s disappeared. Aside from his residence, there’s no trace of him elsewhere. Ari sent Hadwin to look for him, earlier, but the search yielded nothing. And as it stands now, I sense no magical trail in the air. No lingering energy signatures. It’s…it’s as if he’s ceased to exist.” Just like someone else I know, he thought, grimly.
Witnessing the vast, elaborate structure of man-made extravagance married to natural wonder that was the bathhouse, it did occur to Nia that Ari, however it always seemed like he was trying too hard, was innocently sincere in his gestures and intentions. All of his gifts to her aside, generosity was simply one of the defining traits of the Canaveris lord. Giving was his love language, to everyone, it seemed. Making others feel welcomed and happy and at home gave him a sense of validation, like he was playing his part right by filling in the gaps of other peoples’ needs--or, if there weren’t any gaps, by embellishing what they already had. He had been generous to Nia and to others long before she had come to know him well; so really, none of this doting, however unnecessary, was out of the norm for Aristide Canaveris. However, she couldn’t help but wonder… What was the mechanic that controlled these impulses to be a perfect host? What did he believe he would lose if, for once, he put himself first?
Nia didn’t want to accuse him of overcompensating, because she did not feel that that was the motivation behind Ari’s unfaltering devotion to hospitality. It was as much a reflex to him as blinking and breathing, but surely, something, at some point, must have encouraged him that the only way he would be successful was by giving and giving some more. And that he must keep up with the precedent he set, lest he rouse disappointment in others that he was no longer meeting his own standards. Was this a distinctly Canaveris trait? Or was this something that Ari had absorbed when he’d lost his brother, in addition to taking all of the responsibilities he was never supposed to have been burdened with?
If there was any real merit to her hunch, in that Ari was not as laid-back as he liked to make her think he was, then there was little wonder when he confided his more frequent partaking of alcoholic beverages more frequently than she was aware. Of course, that was by no means a fault (and certainly not grounds upon which she could judge anyone, when she herself drank rather liberally while in peak health), but between the constant urge to give little pieces of himself away for little more than to make others happy… what did Ari ever do for himself?
Unfortunately, as she was no less a prisoner among Galeynian’s, Nia was rather limited in what she could possibly do to encourage Ari to think a little more selfishly, for once. That would be a task that could only possibly yield successful results if those current limitations which faced her were finally lifted. For now, with what little freedom she had to work with, the only thing she could do in return for his unyielding kindness and devotion was validate his efforts to have everything laid out perfectly for her. It might have been unnecessary, but it wasn’t as though she didn’t appreciate it. And the last thing she wanted was for the Canaveris lord to feel that he was somehow failing her in some way for simply being the most genuine version of himself that he knew to portray.
“Ari, everything you show me you claim to be a ‘work in progress’, and your unfinished endeavour always happens to be above and beyond anything I’ve ever seen in completion.” Nia teased, electing to drop the subject of the Canaveris lord’s casual self-medicated drinking habits and inability to completely let his hair down, for fear of making him too self-conscious. This wasn’t the time or nitpicking when their time together was already so precious. She had less than two weeks with him before she would have to return to the palace, at which point the majority of correspondences between them would be through resonance stone. The Master Alchemist knew better than to ruin a good, precious thing. “Finished or not, this is exactly where I want to be right now. Far away from absolutely everyone else in this kingdom, somewhere they can’t find me… and with you. Preferably, naked.”
True enough, Nia didn’t know the first thing about bathhouse etiquette or the proper hygiene practices prior to submerging oneself into the hot, soothing waters, and was all too eager to surround herself with its relaxing waters to bother to question her haste. It never would have occurred to her just how quickly her eagerness to shed her clothes would change until she found herself waist-deep in the mineral bath, and became all too aware of the way her tunic clung to her diminished frame that, for the first time in as long as she could remember, she would feel… shy. And not only shy, but ashamed of the body that she had once taken so much pride in, scars in all. Those scars used to be badges that spoke to her unrivaled ability to survive. Now… now, they just made her feel weak. Her shrunken body made her feel like a failure. It all reminded her of her mistakes, permanently branded on her body, and she realized that if Ari were to see her now… she wouldn’t be the ‘piece of art’ like he had once viewed her. She had been flawed before, but now, it showed all over.
Ari’s reassuring words did reach the self-conscious woman to a certain extent, insofar as she trusted him not to say anything that was insincere; he might have had the tendency to embellish his words, but the Canaveris lord was not a liar. He said what he meant, but even so… it was not enough for Nia to take on his perspective. How could she possibly see an ounce of beauty left in her when she was fully responsible for the current condition of her ruined body? “Ari…” Nia began to murmur her uncertainty until she felt his lips on her neck. What if he found he didn’t like what he saw or felt? What if he recoiled because he found she wasn’t as soft and pliant as she used to be beneath his hands or on his body? But he didn’t recoil at the sharp feeling of her hipbones or ribs. He didn’t pull away or push her away, and his hands didn’t hesitate beneath the thin veil of her oversized tunic. And, gods… how she had missed his touch! Nia hadn’t realized just how much she’d missed it until his hands grazed the sensitive skin of her breasts, eliciting a sigh that exited her lungs as quickly as steam from the bath. Maybe… maybe, for a while, she could say ‘fuck it’ to insecurity and her current dislike of her physical body, and enjoy this sacred time between the two of them. There wouldn’t be too many other opportunities, until she was no longer Galeyn’s prisoner.
“You always know what to say…” The Master Alchemist breathed, and leaned into the warmth of Ari’s body. The steam from the bath made her hair cling to the back of her neck, but she couldn’t blame the feverish flush blooming over her skin. Ari wasn’t a liar: if he found her beautiful, regardless of the state of her body, then she had no other option but to feel beautiful. Because he was the only person whose opinion of her outward appearance really mattered.
With Ari’s help, Nia lifted the tunic up from her body and over her head, and discarded it over the edge of the bath on the dry ground. She didn’t fixate on her less than filled-out frame when at last she stood as bare and naked as the man in front of her, but neither did she hesitate to allow him a chance to really look before she pulled the Canaveris lord against her body and stole a long, hungry kiss from his mouth. “We could get in a lot of trouble if we’re found here, together,” she breathed in-between kisses, not sounding as though she cared in the slightest. “If people find out that this is how my punishment is panning out… Galeyn won’t be happy. I’m a prisoner. I’m not supposed to have nice things, not right now. But… I was fairly transparent, wasn’t I? I never promised to behave. In fact…” Her smouldering eyes sought Ari’s as her hands slid up his shoulders. “I seem to recall promising just the opposite.”
With a gentle push, she guided him to sit on one of the tiers layered at the side of the pool, such that they were both submerged up to their waists in water, but in no immediate danger of slipping or drowning in the throes of passion. Hands still settled on his shoulders, Nia settled herself lightly on his lap. “Here I thought you were supposed to be responsible for keeping me in line, Lord Canaveris,” she purred, unable to help herself but to tease him a little, just like her inner thigh teased and brushed against the hard organ between his legs that indicated his climbing arousal. “And here I am taking complete advantage of you, having you exactly where I want you.” Pressing her body firmly against his chest, she ran the tip of her tongue up the side of his neck, where she stopped just at his earlobe to whisper, “Are you really going to stand for that? A proud man like yourself?”
Well, Sigrid at the very least felt reassured that if Bronwyn were truly upset over the fact that she hadn’t explained the whole story as to what had happened to her and how she and Hadwin had found her, the faoladh woman probably wouldn’t have had the appetite to practically inhale chicken and potatoes the way she did. Or… perhaps her appetite was independent of her mental state, because it never ceased to amaze her just how much food she could put away, and how quickly! Part of the reason the blonde warrior only partially picked at her own food was because she was just as enraptured in how quickly Bronwyn was making the meat and vegetables on that plate disappear (and she knew it wasn’t simply to indulge these curious men and put on a spectacle). She herself had put away a fair bit of food in her own time, on long days spent training that left her feeling empty and desperate to fill her belly, and Bronwyn was a tall woman with a lean form, but even a Dawn Warrior couldn’t challenge the faoladh to an eating contest and emerge victorious. It left Sigrid feeling as impressed as it did curious.
But the looming topic of Cyprian Rigas, what he had done, lack of answers as to why he had done it, and where the hell the man had vanished to put a big enough damper on Sigrid’s appetite that at best, she’d moved the food around her plate to make it look like she’d put in more effort than she actually had. Fortunately enough, she was not the pinnacle of everyone’s interest at that tavern, and no one paid her still plenty-full plate any mind by the time she stood up. For all she was tall and relatively muscular compared to the average woman, the former Dawn warrior did have something of a talent for fading into the background when it was convenient (or necessary).
After finishing up, as they made their way from the tavern and Sigrid expressed her guilt in the form of apologies, she fully expected resentment from Bronwyn, or at the very least, a cold shoulder to indicate her displeasure. But it turned out that those were things she would be more apt to expect from Hadwin--not his sister. In fact, Bronwyn’s optimism and her heartfelt thank-you took her so completely off-guard that it left her speechless for a moment afterwards. “I… may not be a Dawn Warrior anymore, however much they keep asking me to come back to them, but I was raised on their moral fortitude. There is no possible way I could have stood by or ‘looked the other way’ knowing you could possibly be in danger. I’m not a Dawn Warrior… but I still carry a sword. And if I choose to carry a sword, or wield any weapon, then it is my responsibility to use it for what it is intended: to protect. Believe me,” she huffed a sigh and ran a hand through loose tresses of blonde hair that had escaped her braid, “I really did not want to fight Cyprian Rigas, but Hadwin wasn’t physically capable of doing it, and you were unconscious. I honestly don’t know what I would have done if his daughter hadn’t miraculously shown up to…”
When she suddenly realized both Bronwyn and Alster had stopped walking, it was then that it occurred to Sigrid that the secret she’d been determined to keep on behalf of Tivia Rigas had suddenly slipped out in her guilt-inspired yammering. Immediately, her cheeks went red and hot. There was no way to dig herself out of this hole than to explain that there was yet more information she had kept not only from Bronwyn, but from everyone--save for Hadwin, who had been there and knew what she knew.
It was around that point that Alster had pulled the two women aside to speak, clandestine, in an alleyway so as not to attract any attention… and it all made sense, then. The reasons for Cyprian’s ill-fated plan to kidnap and use Bronwyn as a hostage, and the reason he had disappeared. Alster seemed to have figured it all out except for that last part: what had happened to the man in question. No one had so much as seen him leave the settlement… and Sigrid had a feeling as to why.
“...I didn’t feel it was my place to say anything, about someone who still clearly wishes for their anonymity and privacy,” Sigrid began, her blue eyes once again trailing to the ground, laden with guilt. “For that, perhaps I must also apologize. It was irresponsible of me when apparently I hold a clear piece to the puzzle of this mystery, but… The reason Cyprian Rigas did not become violent with me or with Hadwin was because his daughter, Tivia, intervened. I don’t know how long she had been there, or why she was there at all. Cyprian seemed just as surprised to see her as we were, so I have my doubts that she has been living with him. But it strikes me as possible that she is the reason for the man’s disappearance. She wanted him out of trouble, but perhaps not so much that she wished a sentence on him. Gods know this kingdom has had enough with sentencing, lately… I guess I can’t blame her.” When she looked up again, she sought Alster’s curious eyes. “What… do you make of it, Alster? If I recall correctly, Tivia disappeared from Galeyn completely some months ago, before Locque revealed herself--at least, that is the hearsay. If she could vanish so seamlessly into the night, does it not make sense that perhaps she made her father vanish just as seamlessly?”
Even if that were the case, as to where the two of them had vanished to… well, that was still the missing piece of the puzzle that she wasn’t sure any of them had.
“Oh, I cannot take full credit for the half-completion of this bathhouse,” Ari confessed, his smile one of humble pride, a strange contradiction that he somehow wore as well as his sharply-tailored coats, their colors so bright, they would clash when donned by any other personage. “While I do dabble in stone masonry, I am best suited as a designer and an architect on projects such as these. Normally, I am called upon to add the finishing touches. The flourishes, if you will. If we are being honest, I conceived of the look, and expert tunnelers implemented my vision. I also must saddle you with another apology, as this bathhouse has a lifespan exceeding our acquaintanceship by a month or two, and I have waited only until now to inform you of its existence. But if it should please you to hear, no one but you has tested its waters for its intended use. So on that front, rejoice!” He swept a magnanimous hand over the lapping, heated waters, small ripples forming on the surface from the waterfall shooting out of the above rock face, its steady stream cast in an ethereal purple, thanks to the glowstones perched strategically overhead to hit the water just right. “You are, again, privy to these exclusive regions of my estate, months before their public unveiling. I suppose this will fast become a habit of mine, to introduce you to such venues beforehand. Forgive my overeagerness; it is in bad taste to make a habit of revealing incomplete products and works. Alas, you do not seem to mind in the slightest,” he said, referring to her floating form bobbing along the enriching, comforting waters, looking the picture of serenity and calm. “For that, I cannot entirely regret and bemoan my choices.”
As he climbed into the water to join his beloved female companion, he became conscious of his hair. Silken and well-kept on most days, in the steam of the bathhouse, it hung limp around his face like kelp washed ashore, giving him the appearance of some hapless merfolk, or, less flatteringly, a drowned cat. Sliding his fingers through the slippery strands, he pulled its bulk into a ponytail and slicked the remaining fringe from his forehead with a splash of water, freeing him of the burden. Ignoring the disastrous, knotted tangle he was likely to face afterward, he submerged his shoulders and half-swam to Nia’s location, a graceful, noiseless slide across the water. It was there when he rose to stand on the smoothly-carved underneath and introduce his hands to the bare skin concealed by her tunic, a decidedly bold maneuver that he was too buzzed with drink to second-guess as appropriate, considering her insecurities surrounding the appearance of her upper body. Apparently, he had used the correct combination of words, for she, with his help, removed that final piece separating her from a complete state of undress. Once they put her tunic aside on the pool’s edge, he was all but assaulted by her lips against his mouth, disrupting his appraisal of her beatitude (as well as any other odes he could improvise), but he wasn’t disheartened by this hasty turn in their foreplay as he not only accepted her kiss, but responded in an equal level of hunger and want. Not in a way that suggested his wanton passions were unchecked and unrestrained, mind; on the contrary, he focused foremost on his technique over losing control to his baser urges, mindful of disappointing his partner with his middling skills. While she claimed not to experience climax, he’d be damned if he didn’t contribute in some level to her arousal, even if it amounted to the direction of his tongue as it tickled her own, or the gentle suckling and nibbling of her bottom lip. After all, when it came to kissing, Ari was no novice. He had his fair share of make-out sessions…with Chara.
They were memories he was not apt to dwell on or discuss, but Chara Rigas, for lack of a better term, trained him on how to please her properly. After their ruinous ‘break up,’ Ari proceeded to bury all moments, both painful and joyful, associated with her, including what he’d learned under her exacting tutelage. Only recently had he’d begun unearthing those stray memories pertaining to their push and pull, ebb and flow, and he, in turn, dutifully responded to her instruction, relying on muscle memory to guide him through the process. Just as he was recalling the rhythm, the tempo, Nia pulled away, leaving him winded. Between forgetting to breathe and exerting a good deal more effort than from their previous forays, it would be a wonder for him to survive the act of coitus, itself!
“I think not,” he challenged her response, a glimmer of mischief in his soil-churned eyes. Recovering his breath, he resumed their exchange of kisses, lessened to a flurry from their previous deluge—a welcome interlude of recuperation before they resumed more labor-intensive endeavors. “Who is to say you are not helping me to clean the pool of its impurities with your alchemical prowess? Entering while clothed is simply not done in a bathing house modeled after those seen in Stella D’Mare. Therefore, you are merely doing the job assigned to you. For all intents and purposes, you are behaving, and I am, as the responsible party, perfectly unblemished. But if you would rather not behave…”
He allowed Nia to lead him to the tiered steps of the pool, sitting until his shoulders were again submerged. Owing to the temperature of the water, he found it difficult to distinguish between the warm sensation spreading around his manhood as a particularly irradiated pocket of heat trapped around his midsection, a flare-up in progress, or the natural response of his body—until he felt it harden, and lift. Having Nia so teasingly near to its needful throbbing, coupled with her cajoling comments, about destroyed the composure that the Canaveris Lord, even while intoxicated, maintained. Alas, he remembered himself—enough to take charge. With barely a warning, he took her buttocks in his hands and urged her atop his lap, their two organs pulled ever so tantalizingly closer.
“Go on ahead,” he nosed her ear as he, too, leaned in to whisper. “Take advantage of me, Nia. This vessel is yours to despoil, in whatever way you see fit. It is yours.” His hands rounded those buttocks, to pry and massage around her hips. That hungry mouth of his nibbled on her earlobe, a tiny taste to work the appetite. “Do you wish to destroy it? My pride? Is that what you want?” It is what I want. The voice of Chara, so refreshingly absent during their last several and blessed moments of intimacy, returned to share her opinion, somehow beating through the fog of his intoxication to preside in his head. But she did not run unopposed. Nia was there, too, and her opinion mattered. Her wants mattered. And if she did not desire to dominate him, then he would yield.
Oh really? Chara Rigas sneered. You were meant to be dominated. Hasn’t she been doing just that to you, these last few times? What is different about now? You are still granting her all of the power. As it should be.
“I remain your most humble and obedient servant,” he bowed his head reverently, as though paying his respects to a queen upon a pedestal he was too lowly in rank to reach. “So let me be the one to please you today, if it is feasible. Tell me what you want. Anything. And I shall do so, with relish.”
In all of two seconds, Alster’s posture went from relaxed and casual to frozen, with tension gathering around his shoulders. The suddenness of Sigrid’s unwitting news—that she had encountered Tivia in Cyprian’s residence—elicited a visceral reaction in him, not necessarily because it shocked him to his core, but because it happened unexpectedly, and yet, explained the mystery behind the wannabe insurgent’s untraceable disappearance. The circumstances following Cyprian’s vanishing embodied so much of Tivia’s modus operandi, that when Sigrid confirmed the star seer’s involvement, Alster could do nothing but stop and appreciate all the sense that it made, while simultaneously opening up a multitude of questions. How did Tivia develop this impressive ability so hastily? Could she manipulate the will of the universe such that it shielded her and any other passengers from mundane and magical detection? Or had she discovered within herself a latent but uncanny and more sophisticated version of Lysander’s concealment spells, helped along by her connection to the stars? Regardless of how she manipulated her celestial inheritance, what drove her to appear, intervene, and then promptly fade back into the shadows? Did she surrender her free will to become an arbiter of the universe, cursed to watch and spectate, and interfere only sporadically? If not, and she was allowed to act according to her values and whims, why was she so shy to return, in full, to society? At any rate, it added to her mythology, and further lent itself to the air of mystique that now followed in her wake. What’s more, if she truly wanted to be left alone to her own devices, he would respect her wish for relative anonymity, and not reveal her identity to the whole of the D’Marian settlement and Galeyn. Perhaps to Isidor, but not a soul more.
“Don’t fret, Sigrid.” Upon reaching the mouth of the narrow alleyway, and after erecting the parameters of his sound shielding spell, Alster presented the former Dawn Warrior with a reassuring smile. Between you and me, I would have—and have done—the same. To the point where I’m sometimes accused of keeping secrets from my wife,” he shrugged guiltily. “But I’m sure you understand; they’re not my secrets to tell. I don’t blame you at all for the initial disclosure, or for your accidental confession. Let me be the one to assure you that if this information is to leak into anyone’s ears, it’s best that they be mine. Though,” his brow wrinkled, “I find it odd that Hadwin said nothing about Tivia’s presence, when I asked him for a detailed account on your recovery, Bronwyn. That gossipy brother of yours loves to spill everything he knows and then some, but he was surprisingly close-mouthed about the affair.”
“I think he’s trying his hand at becoming a better person. Whatever that might entail,” Bronwyn rolled her eyes as she leaned one shoulder against the whitewashed wall comprising one side of the shallow alleyway. “I couldn’t tell you for certain what he’s up to, but my Sight’s noticed his growing attempts at basic decency. I guess he figured he'd ruined that family’s life enough.”
“Maybe that’s true,” Alster nodded, concurring with the faoladh woman’s assessment. “Considering how much Tivia can’t stand Hadwin, I wouldn’t be surprised to see her orchestrate events to give Cyprian the chance to exact revenge on him. But it looks like she’s wise enough to recognize the futility of an ongoing feud. And who knows what specific insights the stars might have revealed. Also,” he met Sigrid’s gaze, “I don’t think she holds anything against you. Or Bronwyn, for that matter. As for the question of Cyprian’s disappearance,” he tucked a thumb under his chin, considering, “I was thinking the same as you. It stands to reason that Tivia could transfer or expand her untraceable ability to include whoever she chooses. All the easier if that chosen individual bears a close relation. I don’t have a good grasp on the specifics of her magic or her capabilities, but if it’s anything like what I can do, then she learned how to travel through the etherrealms. Or a specific branch of it, anyway, that renders her effectively nonexistent, even to other travelers of the realms, such as myself. How she developed this ability in so short a period of time, without formal study or vast magical output, must be attributed to her connection to the stars. Like how my connection to the Serpent makes certain tasks easier to accomplish, so too must the same be the case for Tivia.”
“But just because I can reason the how behind her magic doesn’t get me any closer to reaching the why. Why did she remove her father from this place? Far as I’m aware, the two of them are estranged—but I do like your hypothesis, Sigrid,” he waved an agreeable hand in the air, its steel veneer catching stray beams of overhead sunlight. “Perhaps she wanted to prevent and mitigate any inter-D’Marian conflict before news of Cyprian’s antics became grossly public. At any rate, I hope her method is successful, and doesn’t incur the wrath of Rigas detractors, who might view Cyprian’s vanishing as a deliberate ploy from the Rigases to protect their revolutionary figurehead—which wouldn’t be far from the truth… in terms of Rigas interference, at least. If only Tivia would talk to me about this, then we’d know her intentions, and I could collaborate with her. Help her. But,” he heaved a weary sigh, scraping away the barnacles of frustration before they had a chance to suction and cling, “I suppose she’d rather do as she likes, for better or for worse. All suppositions aside,” he further brushed away the heaviness of their highly speculative topic with a cautious smile, “where are you headed next? Will you return to the town square for decoration duty? Or to the Canaveris villa? I’m headed there, myself, so if you’d like to accompany me, we’ll go together. Alternatively, I can also walk with you to the square if that’s your destination.”
“If I return…do you think there will be more children requesting I give them rides?” Bronwyn elected for a shudder, her overtaxed legs wobbling at the idea of an encore performance.
“Unfortunately…you may be dealing with the children wherever you end up going in this settlement, from here on out,” Alster offered in sympathy. “But on the bright side, I’d wager that your reputation is well on the upswing. Keep doing what you’re doing…and it’s sure to steadily improve. I’d wager the same for you, too, Sigrid,” he turned his blue eyes to the tall-statured woman, her shadow so large, it cast half of his diminutive figure into darkness. “If some D’Marians are still able to show me grace, and heavens know I’ve done far worse to them over the decades, then there’s hope for you. That much, I believe with confidence.”
