[r.] I know you will follow me until kingdom come [18+]

“Ari, have you forgotten who you’re talking to?” The Ardane woman drawled teasingly, arching her back a little to permit her lover better access to her rounded backside. “Of course I don’t want to behave. What ever gave you the idea that I would be on my best behaviour, when this is the first time in so very long that I have the chance to be a little bit naughty?” While this was only their third time together, intertwined intimately as they already were, she was impressed at just how confident the Canaveris lord was becoming with his hands, and his overall comfort with being intimate. Just a few months ago, he had balked at the idea of touching her for the purpose of dancing, and after she had forgiven him for his role in her arrest, she wondered if that gap in their budding relationship had done any irrevocable damage to his newly positive perception of sexual exploits. Fortunately, that did not seem to be the case, and it was as if they had picked up right from where they had left off, that night in the grotto--her birthday.

Nia relished in their proximity, the firmness of his hands on her body, and was about to give way to her own desires when Ari’s response caught her off guard and gave her reason to pause: Do you wish to destroy it? My pride? Is that what you want? No--no, this wasn’t right. This shouldn’t be where his mind went after just a few frisky words. Although… It occurred to the Master Alchemist a little too late that this was probably all too familiar to him. Wasn't this the sort of stance that Chara Rigas would have taken during sexual escapades (if her intuition on the matter was accurate; Ari still hadn’t confided in her the details of his ill-fated relationship with the Rigas woman, and she didn’t want to pry)? Had Chara made Ari feel humiliated and emasculated for her own pleasure? It would certainly explain a lot: why he was so happy to let his sexual partner take charge, and why he was so apt to agree to whatever she wanted. To do whatever she wanted. And as much as Nia enjoyed getting a little frisky, dipping her toes into different roles of dominant and submissive, she didn’t want any of it if Ari felt as though he had no choice. What about what he wanted?

“What about what you want?” Nia parroted her own thoughts aloud, pulling away from their locked lips so that she could meet his smouldering dark eyes. There was so much she wanted to draw attention to: the fact that no matter the scenario, Ari had the need to give, give, give, but never to ask anything in return. But she wasn’t about to ruin the mood by deep-diving into all of the unhealthy affirmations in Ari’s mind that needed to be cleaned up. This could both be a learning opportunity, and be fun for the both of them. Again, she repeated, “What do you want? What do you want to do--and what do you want me to do? Tell me… what do you think about when I’m not around, that you haven’t told anyone? How do we play out in your mind? If you’re shy… I’ll go first.”

A sultry smirk played on her lips as the Ardane woman straddled Ari’s waist, teasing the both of them in tantalizing ways as sensitive parts touched. “I think about your hands--all the time. You’re good with them, Ari. Better than you probably think. Drives me crazy when they’re touching my skin, no matter where. I get a little hot and bothered when I think about those times you’ve touched me here…” Without even the ghost of any indication of shame, Nia slid her hands up her torso and cupped her own breasts, solely for Ari’s viewing pleasure. If for no other reason than to see the desire build in his eyes. “And sometimes I think about what they would feel like here…” She then slid one hand from her breasts down to her netherregions, toward a specifically sensitive spot that begged for attention. 

“But not just your hands. I think about your mouth, too. Your lips…” Removing her sole hand from her breast entirely, she traced Ari’s lips with the tip of her thumb. “Ari, for someone with little experience… you are an exquisite kisser. You’re a natural, and I can’t get enough of it. Your mouth sets me on fire, no matter where I feel it. Don’t feel as though you have to limit your range to my mouth and neck… if you don’t want to.” Taking one of his hands, she guided it below her navel as an indication, but stopped there, not forcing any further action. Because this wasn’t about her--at least, it wasn’t just about her.

“Aside from all that… we’ve been intimate in a variety of places. The settee in your parlor, the rock floor of the grotto--and now, soon, in the steaming waters of this bath. Maybe it’s boring of me, but I have to admit, my fantasy is to one day get together like this on an actual bed. In a real bedroom, where we can just bask in each other to the point of exhaustion… and fall asleep. Believe it or not, I’ve never had that before. But usually I’ve been the one to leave soon after… for my own safety. So…” Nia tilted her head playfully to the side. “Now you know. What I like, what goes through my dirty, filthy mind, what I dream about doing with you when I don’t see you. And believe me, I’ve had a lot of time to think lately… but that’s just me. No matter how much of a gentleman you are, Ari, you can’t tell me you haven’t toyed with different ideas and scenarios in your head when I’m not around. Know that I will be offended if you tell me you haven’t thought about me naked from time to time!”

Of course, she was joking (well… partially), and smiled her winning smile to put Ari at ease, knowing how much he took words to heart, sometimes too literally. “Here is what I want, Ari: I want you to tell me what you want. What would make this ideal for you, down here, just the two of us in this bath? Tell me what you like--I’m at your disposal. I owe you for saving my life, don’t I? If what you want is to dote on me, then I’ll accept that. But only if it is what you truly want. Not because it is the only way you know to proceed. So?” Leaning in such that her pert breasts pressed against his firm chest, the Master Alchemist kissed the corner of Ari’s mouth, and whisper, “What is it that you want? Tell me, and I will not say no. I’ll deny no requests or desires today. That is my promise to you.”

Sigrid should have known better than to think two of the most understanding people she knew--Alster and Bronwyn--would hold her guiltily accountable for something so benign. But the truth was, the blonde warrior’s sense of guilt had only intensified in the days that had passed since she’d awoken from her coma. No matter how many people reassured her that what she had done under Locque’s thrall was not her fault, or how often they tried to reassure her of such, she was still suffocating under the heaps of terrible incidents for which she was responsible, even if it was indirectly. The death of the D’Marian family bothered her the most, for obvious reasons, but on top of that, the others--soldiers, defenders--that she had cut down in Locque’s name, for her will, haunted her just as intensely. She had a lot to make up for, and the least she could do was start with a little bit of honesty. Especially when it came to being forthright with important information, delivered to the right people.

As reassuring as Alster’s words were, and as much as Bronwyn tried to convince her that she did not think badly of her for withholding the fact that Cyprian Rigas had drugged her and kept her hostage, the weight of those small things felt like she had committed nothing short of betrayal. “I will admit, I do not know Tivia as well as you do. My experience with her is limited to our trek from Braighdath to Galeyn.” Sigrid admitted, rubbing the back of her head. “She is a young woman with a… rather strong personality, I daresay, but not a dishonest one. Nor do I believe she would take action against those she cares for, or those who matter to her to any extent. Whatever happened to her, wherever she took her father, and whatever she has planned in terms of staying hidden or returning to her family and friends, I do not believe there is any nefarious intent behind it. Like you mentioned, it is possible she has taken her father and is laying low so as to prevent any further discord within this settlement and kingdom that could escalate to violence.” The former Dawn Warrior toyed with the tip of her braid, looking to and fro to ensure that no one was listening in on their conversation, having evidently forgotten that Alster had the foresight to magically shield their words from prying or curious ears. “If I do happen to see her again, Alster, then I will mention that you are yearning to speak with her--just for the sake of understanding where she is at. Though I have a feeling that Hadwin and I only found her because we were not only in the right place at the right time, but that she chose to reveal herself to us. Aside from her willingness--or lack thereof--to be seen, I suppose we can only trust that she is doing what she currently feels is best, and means no harm onto anyone.”

With nothing left to be said on the matter, as no one was able to divine Tivia’s next moves (if she even planned to make any, though it was more likely she’d choose to continue to remain unseen), the trio stepped out of the alleyway, and back into the humid daylight. At the mention of returning to the town square to resume decorating for the event that was now less than two weeks away, Sigrid couldn’t help but notice how Bronwyn paled a little at the suggestion. The woman, so unlike her brother, was one hell of a people-pleaser, and there was no hope of her saying ‘no’ should another child request to ride the friendly, russet-coloured wolf. “You should return to the Canaveris villa with Alster,” she suggested, gently nudging Bronwyn’s elbow. “I’d say you’ve more than paid your dues for today. You’ve filled your belly; now go back and take a cool bath to lower your temperature in this heat. You have more than earned it, if you ask me.”

“Alster, Sigrid! Bronwyn…” A familiar young voice averted the trio’s attention as a familiar young figure hurried toward them. It was Teselin, whom none of them had seen for quite some time, since Locque’s fall. In part, the young summoner had felt guilty for the part she’d played in resurrecting the darkness that had been lying dormant in Lilica, and Bronwyn and Sigrid were not the only recipients of public shame. There were a select few who sought to blame Teselin for their queen’s persistent illness, and the extended amount of time it took her to recover. By agreeing to help Queen Lilica, she had knowingly put her in danger, for no one--not even the dark mage, herself--had known just what would have resulted from trying to make herself a target of the Night Garden’s cleansing fire. For all anyone knew, it really had been luck that the only thing burned away had been her clothes, instead of being reduced to dust along with the sorceress. In fact, now was the first time she’d wandered out in public alone, in hopes that personal dissent had died down in favour of everyone growing more eager and excited for the celebration to take place in a couple of weeks. “Sorry… am I interrupting anything? I won’t keep you--I just wondered if any of you had seen Hadwin.”

Since Rowen’s death, the young summoner had felt the need to walk on eggshells around her favourite faoladh, knowing full well just what destroying his own sister--his blood sister--had done to him, regardless of how he tried to brush it off like he was well along with moving on from that event. Teselin knew he wasn’t; everyone who knew him knew he wasn’t, and since he’d been up and on his feet again these past days, she worried for him, and that he might be pushing himself beyond his limit. The Gardeners insisted he should still be resting; it was clear that he was well and done with that part of his recovery.

“Alster and I ran into him a few hours back… he headed east,” Sigrid offered, and scratched the side of her neck. “But that was a while ago, and gods know where he is now…” Of course, if anyone was to find Hadwin in a timely manner, it was Bronwyn, but the former Dawn Warrior was not about to offer the faoladh woman’s services when she was already so spent.

“That’s fine--I think I know him well enough to know where to start looking, in that case.” Teselin, who had clearly been running to and fro and whose skin glimmered with perspiration, hazarded a smile. “Thanks for the tip.”

The young summoner headed east, as per Sigrid’s indication, but alas, her knowledge of the D’Marian settlement was relatively limited considering how little she visited. Fortunately, it did not feel quite so awkward or uneasy to wander the D’Marian streets; these people weren’t quite as attached to Queen Lilica as the born and bred Galeynians, and seemed to regard her with at least a little less hostility. They were also well-acquainted with Hadwin, and after stopping in at a few pubs and restaurants only to find he had not been there that day, she managed to narrow the likelihood of his presence down to just a few more places. Ultimately--and unknowingly--her search led her to the very pub where Bronwyn had caused a ruckus the night before. 

Needless to say, it was a surprise to the patrons and the barkeep to see a young woman set food in the establishment. “Excuse me,” she approached the barkeep directly, hoping to make the inquiry short and sweet. “Are you familiar with Hadwin Kavanagh? Has he been by today?”

“Who doesn’t know about that bastard?” The barkeep snorted, as he ran a cloth along the dirty countertop. “Nah, haven’t seen him here, though his sister was quite a hoot and a holler just the other night. Must run in the blood!”

Curious as it was to hear that Bronwyn, of all people, had set foot in this grimy place, it didn’t help Teselin in her search. She sighed her defeat. “Right. Well, thanks anyway…”

“Hey--hey, where’s a lovely young lady like you going so fast?” One of the ‘unsavoury’ patrons sitting at the bar who was sitting within arm’s reach patted the stood next to him. “Sit! Lemme get you a drink, huh?”

“That’s… ah, that’s kind, but no thank you. I’ve got to find someone.”

“Hadwin? You really wanna waste your time on that piece of shit?” The older man roared a laugh and slammed his empty stein down on the table. “If he don’t wanna be found, he don’t wanna be found. Fuck ‘im, I say. Why not keep me company? Always hate to drink alone.”

“I said, no thank you. Good day.” Before Teselin could successfully depart, the man got a hold of the loose sleeve of her tunic, and she turned back, wide-eyed and appalled. What had yet to occur to the young summoner was how she had changed, since she’d first met Hadwin a couple of years back--physically, in particular. While she still sported baggy clothes for the most part, she was no longer a child, but a young adult with a body that was fast catching up. Hadwin might still have seen her as a waif-like little sister, and perhaps he always would, but that view wasn’t exactly shared by the rest of the world. Particularly not a view shared by untrustworthy men with a keen interest in young women. “Hey--let go! I’m not interested in whatever you have in mind. I’ve got a friend to find!”

“Like I said, he don’t wanna be found! Probably out fucking the first thing with legs and tits that’ll make eye contact with him. I ain’t like that. I can be a gentleman, y’know? So stick around.” Instead of letting go, his grip on her sleeve tightened. “I can show you that I’m far better company than that asshole.”

“What I want?” Ari smiled at the question, knowing exactly how to answer. Responding to sex talk presented its own kind of foreplay, and he anticipated the banter, thinking on a bouquet of responses, from bold and straightforward as a sunflower, to sweet as honeysuckle, elegant as jasmine, and as sensual and amorous as a rose. But he withheld his comments for now, allowing for Nia to set an example for their upcoming tête-a-tête by explaining her needs and wants. He listened intently, the hands that were looped about her waist stilling in their circulating motions as if also internalizing this information for future use.

“Ah, so you fancy my hands?” They twitched in unison, expressing their delight in the endorsement. Even his right hand, a little sluggish and lacking in mobility from its recent reverting from cracked, damaged stone to smooth, unmarred flesh, loosened from its stiffened position, encouraged by the words of its admirer and of the rejuvenating qualities of the steaming mineral water. It opened like a flower and traveled along the side of her torso in a fluttering, featherlight tickle, demonstrating control and dexterity befitting an artist’s tool, despite its current lack of range. The artist himself, however, was preoccupied with Nia’s display; the methodical cupping of her breasts, and her coquettish smile as she then snaked her hands down, down, into the well beneath the water, her well, and he was too helpless not to follow where they led. A startled breath pushed out of him like bellows when two fingers landed on his lips like the beat of butterfly wings, and though it was barely a graze, an effervescent sensation floated up to his head, sparkling like champagne bubbles and prompting him to disengage one hand to clutch at his temple.

“I say, Nia, at the rate we are going, I will surely swoon from the combined exposure to the heat, the indulgence of wine, and your sensuous company. But if you would like, we shall agree on crediting you alone for rendering me lighthearted and unconscious. Though—let us hope that does not happen until much later. So as not to kill the mood.” His fingers raked the water, and when they re-emerged, he carefully dribbled hot droplets over her collarbone, sending them rolling downhill to the peaks of her breasts. As instructed, he kissed her there and slowly wended downward, towards her navel, suctioning lightly at her skin as he made the gradual voyage to the south of her continent, to lands before visited by other enterprising travelers, true, but which rarely saw the same face twice.

“Fantasy noted and acknowledged.” He withdrew his kisses, but at a lip’s breadth, all but guaranteeing a return trip. “I suppose we had a rather unconventional start, for one usually becomes more adventurous with the venue the deeper the relationship develops. At least, that is what I have been led to understand. For next time, a bed shall be granted.”

When the conversation inevitably circled back to what he wanted, he was ready for his response. Perhaps it wouldn’t rank as equal to foreplay, no purrs or sultry tones or pleasing manipulations of the body buoying his answer, but the words alone, he hoped, would do the trick.

“Nia, I am a simple man. Underneath my jewels and finery, I require only simple needs and simple pleasures. Not that I equate you to simplicity,” he clarified in case she found affront in his inadvertent implication, “but you are so wonderfully uncomplicated, and refreshing, because you do not circumlocate or equivocate. You are a compass pointing North. I do not feel lost at sea when I have your directional guidance, and for that, there is nothing I want more than you. Whether in the throes of passion, or standing with me on our parade float, or viewing the fireflies in the eventide, it matters not. I am content just to be with you. The details are not important. Let me please you how you like. Let me satisfy you. Let me attempt to grant you a well-deserved climax.” His mouth ventured further south, to the well now bobbing out of the water like an island on the sea. “That is what I want. In my carnal dreams of you—and yes, you are in a state of undress,” he teased out a smile, “I see you in a dance of ecstasy—and it is I who put you there. I shall endeavor to replicate this fantasy. Help me…to help you.” Placing a kiss on her island, he brought one hand forward and walked it delicately around her rim, edging it closer to the caldera at the island’s center, preparing to plunge into its molten core and feel its pleasant burn. He had some level of confidence in this task. After all…he had done it for Chara several times over, and she wouldn’t release him until he did it correctly.

His water-slick fingers slid through, curving upward. And he painted her insides. 

In exchange for gaining a free trip to the palace via Alster’s novel transport system, Hadwin gave the Rigas caster the rundown on all that transpired within the last day or two—everything except for the reemergence of Tivia Rigas. He would have happily blabbed about seeing her, especially to someone like Alster, who would have appreciated word of his cousin’s whereabouts, and likely relayed that information to the moony-eyed shut-in who couldn’t move on from her freak disappearance, but Tivia herself had silenced him. Not by force, no, but through her own method of persuasion. “Say nothing or regret it, mongrel,” she had hissed into his ear, on catching him behind Cyprian Rigas’s home, scoping out the best way to break in through the window while Sigrid provided a diversion from the front. Then, she brought a finger to her lips, signaling quiet, as she revealed a hidden door in the wall, recovering an unconscious Bronwyn and directing him to take her and follow. That alone bought Hadwin’s silence, and he, in conjunction with Sigrid, who received no such warnings, decided to remain mum on the matter, giving no indication of encountering the elusive star-seer to neither Ari nor Alster.

Aside from his secrecy, though, Hadwin wasn’t shy about detailing Bronwyn’s reputation operation now that he’d been found out, and spoke at length about Cyprian’s return, including any speculation about what he had been planning. Thankful for the information, Alster was about to abide the faoladh’s request and send him through the etherrealms to the palace, when Ari’s manservant appeared, his always gruff expression seemingly a testament to his golem nature, given how it made him look jagged and stony all the damn time.

“Ah, Laz!” Hadwin smiled cheekily at the man, who would for sure be a shoo-in for a Forbanne soldier in terms of size and intimidation. “You looking for me, mate? What can I do for you?” It turned out, Laz did want him for something. Rather, Ari did. “Ah, that right? Need my nose?” He flicked the side of it, for good measure. “Yeah, I’ll do some digging and try to look for my favorite Rigas madman, ‘cept I will warn you; I’ve been all over the settlement this morning and last night. I even swung near his neighborhood, and let me say; there ain’t a trace of his scent anywhere, even when I smelled him aplenty just a day ago.” He turned to Alster, cocking his head curiously. “Think it’s some kind of magical tampering type shit?”

The Rigas caster frowned. “I don’t know, but it’s worth my investigation as well as yours. Does that mean you’ve changed your mind about returning to the palace?”

Hadwin blew out a sigh, but then shrugged noncommittally. “Eh, why not? But if anyone asks where I am, just say I’m not at the settlement. I’ll stay far out of Bron’s smell range to sell the illusion or whatever. But be sure to check on me later, y’hear?” He winked at Alster. “I still intend on catching a ride with you to the palace before I keel the fuck over. Don’t wanna worry Tes and Briery, after all.”

Though he presented as unbothered and capable of the demands of operating on his feet despite his self-acknowledged weaknesses, upon turning the corner and vanishing out of sight, Hadwin dropped his performance. Trading his swagger for a slump, he leaned on the walls of the buildings he passed, dragging one shoulder against each new facade as he trudged through the streets and directed his patrol to a downhill route to minimize the heaviness of his rapid, uncontained breaths. Whenever a passerby spotted him on the road, he would rise to his full height and present his confident, peak-health front, but fortunately, he didn’t need to put on his act too often. With the townspeople in festive spirits, the majority of folks were gathered at the town square, weaving garlands and wreaths, decorating, and making merry, so he didn’t need to worry about cultivating his outward appearance too much. It wouldn’t do him any good to present as weak in front of his enemies, but at the same time, his borrowed energy levels were crumbling, and he’d run full out of candy root, which was what compelled him to want to return to the Night Garden as soon as possible (that, and escaping Bronwyn’s eye so she wouldn’t balk at all the meddling done on her behalf). But now that he was on a mission, it wouldn’t hurt to stick around a little longer and run a trial by fire by testing his physical limitations. Where else would he drum up the motivation to exercise, if he puttered around in the Night Garden and focused on recovery instead? His method was far more interesting. It was faster. If successful, it presented more rewards. And, most important, it satisfied his impulsive urges, the very same that banned him from keeping idle for more than ten minutes at a time. You’ve been sitting and farting for long enough, it snapped at him. So go. Fucking go! And don’t even think about shambling around like some sick patient, cuz you ain’t one anymore!

To individuals possessed of a strong sense of responsibility, they would consider this sleepless run around the city completely reckless. But to Hadwin, it didn’t even crack into his top ten, or hell, his top one hundred worst ideas, and he needed to scratch the itch somehow, so he considered his D’Marian excursion a damn necessity. And so, with his nose to the air, he took turns gasping for breath and sniffing in his search for the likely absent Cyprian Rigas.

His fruitless search dumped him on the boardwalk parallel to the infamous dock ward, his most common lakeside haunt and the one where Bronwyn caused quite the stir (and a name for herself!) the night before. By then, he’d been wandering the settlement for hours in the unforgiving sunlight, his legs about to collapse from the constant uphill and downhill with little to no breaks—and he’d finished up all his water, to boot! Just as he was contemplating paying a visit to The Black Cove for a pick-me-up and a meal, heedless of whoever wanted his head inside, another scent carried on the breeze and entered his nostrils, and it was a scent too unmistakable to ignore. The sharp smell of ozone, its electrically-charged tingle so pronounced, it tickled his nose like little, harmless pops of static. Teselin was in town and…why in all hell was she hanging around this place?

“I swear, if it’s because you’re looking for me,” he grumbled under his breath and headed towards The Black Cove on leaden feet, her trail leading straight to the oaken door.

Upon entering, he’d stumbled into one hell of a scene.

If he were a wolf, his ears would prick at the spitting sound of his name uttered by the fucking camel of a man stinking up the seat next to Teselin, his oversized, bulbous nose contributing to the panoply of sinusy snivels punctuating his every other word. But what pissed him off, what really sent him over the edge, was the man’s cloven hoof of a hand bearing down on Teselin’s arm, ignoring her pleas to let go.

The taste of Isidor’s serum, astringent and at once almond-sweet, filled his mouth, and with it, a strength long tapped out returned, flaring to life by pure adrenaline and climbing rage.  

“Guess what, fuckwad? You found me!” He growled at the aggressor, rerouting his attention from Teselin. “And since you’re so keen on it, I’ll fuck you, here and now! I’m not limited to just tits, you know. I’ll bite your dick right off!”

Before anyone thought to stop him, Hadwin charged forward on nonexistent energy and laid a punch to the camel’s face, a blow so powerful, it dented his bulbous nose until it resembled a bowl, and sent him flying into an unoccupied table in the corner. But the damage wasn’t one-sided. When he retreated his left fist, it came away red and inflamed, three knuckles broken.

“Anyone else?!” He challenged the room, an occupancy of about four patrons plus the barkeep, fire dancing in his yellow eyes. When silence pervaded, he released an indignant snort. “Good.” He flipped a coin to the barkeep before he could sputter his protests. “For the damages or some shit. And a doctor.” Turning to Teselin, he grabbed her hand with his uninjured one. “Come on. We’re going.”

Together, they made a hasty retreat from the seedy tavern, with Hadwin not giving the satisfaction of looking over his shoulder at the speechless patrons and likely unconscious camel sprawled out on the cracked table. Only when they were outside and a fair distance away from the site of the incident did his body, depleted of any ounce of reserve juices after pulling his stunt, collapsed on the boardwalk, his legs finally giving up the fight.

“I’m ok,” he managed sluggishly, his arms trembling too profoundly to push him up from the ground where he fell, especially when his broken-knuckled hand remained broken, refusing to self-heal. “Shit place to rest,” he barked out a feeble laugh as he twisted his head to take in Teselin’s feet, too feeble to lift it any higher. “I sure as hell am the king of god-awful timing.” Though he wore his habitual grin, as always, his eyes pinched, and his ensuing laughter sounded more desperate, more…hysterical. “Dammit.” His expression soured, recognizing the futility of holding a smile. “Why’d you come here, Tes? I’m fine. I’m fucking fine!” It was more of a sigh than a shout. “Nothing I haven’t dealt with! But you,” he sucked in a pained, involuntary breath, his head spinning from the lack of consistent air, which he squandered by prattling on, “you can’t…walk into a place like that and ask about me. Not only do I have…have enemies here,” he wheezed, struggling to fill his lungs with enough air to continue speaking, “but you…that’s gonna happen to you, and it won’t be the last time some creep gets handsy, and…”

Running out of the strength to carry on a conversation, or do much of anything else, he dropped his head on the boardwalk’s wood planks, concentrating on regulating his breaths before hyperventilation set in. Senses failing, Hadwin’s eyelids flickered, battling to stay open and aware because dammit, he was done with being frail! He was going to choke it down, and overcome it, rise to his feet and push on like he always did! Defeat wasn’t in his lexicon; even at his weakest, he would go down swinging!

But he’d only managed to loll his head over to another set of feet in the distance. No, not one set; several. The footsteps pattered closer and, despite the mud in his ears, he could detect voices of hostility. They were coming for him. Seizing their opportunity to take down an old adversary who was, at last, too powerless to fight back, the blackguards from the dock ward emerged from the shadows to swoop in on him like vultures on a dying deer, brandishing fists, and daggers, and gouts of magical flame. 

He, the predator, had finally become their prey.

With the very last of his strength, he crawled in front of Teselin, shielding her with his body. He’d be damned if she activated her destructive magic and killed for his worthless ass again! “Run.” Despite the whisper, his warning was urgent. “Run!”

Nothing was ever so straightforward with Ari, and Nia should frankly have known better than to expect a direct answer from the Canaveris lord when she asked him about his wants and desires. It was never just a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’, or an ‘I’d like to try this’ or ‘I’ve thought about this other thing’: even when he did have an answer, it was embellished like his art and his exquisite abode, his clothes… like everything else about him. Ari not only formed stone and clay, charcoal and paint into art, but he made art of his very own damn words!  Oftentimes, the real meaning of what he intended to evoke were buried somewhere in the phonemes and syllables, and sometimes the words hid his intent altogether. It could be that he was telling the truth, and simply didn’t have enough experience to know what he liked, or what he desired to try; or, perhaps, like his ill-fated tryst with Chara Rigas, he just wasn’t ready to talk about it. Considering how far they’d come in their relationship, everything they had endured, and all of the avenues they’d already explored, the Master Alchemist couldn’t help but find it a little bit frustrating that he still struggled to be completely open with her. But that was a fact she would have to learn to take in stride, and to navigate around. For now, she’d have to be content with whatever answer he offered, and work her way around it to the best of her ability.

“I’m flattered, Ari; I’m sure that’s what every girl wants to hear. That their divine presence is enough, no strings attached.” The Ardane woman smirked, and couldn’t help but let out a sigh as he acknowledged one of her own desires and trailed kisses down her body. Might have even shuddered a little. “And I believe you--but, don’t you realize you can have more than just my company? I’m an experienced lover. Whatever you think you might fancy, chances are I can do it, and make you love it.” 

Uncomplicated? Was he really talking about her, the same woman before him in a state of complete undress? She wondered if he really knew her at all, or if he somehow projected onto her some vision of what he merely believed her to be. There was really nothing uncomplicated about Nia Ardane, all things considered, but… if he believed as much, and perhaps saw her in a way in which she was incapable of fully understanding, herself, who was she to argue? “Well of course you can be with me, as much as you want. In whatever manner you want--that’s what I’m trying to say, Ari. You can have me, and you can have more. In fact, I want to do more for you…” 

However, she had invited the Canaveris lord to share his honest thoughts, and it simply turned out that those thoughts just didn’t happen to be about him or what he wanted to feel. Well, not all about him, in a manner of speaking, at least. Her cheeks glowed a deeper pink at the steam from the bath, coupled with Ari’s expression of his dreams and fantasies. She was at the center of them, but not in the way that she had intended. It never occurred to her that he would take heed of whether or not she ever reached climax during their adventurous, sexual escapades, simply because it was never a goal she contemplated, herself. Nia couldn’t even so much consider it a fantasy, because she had written off the possibility many years ago of ever experiencing that peak that every other sexual couple sought after. No sense in chasing a fleeting dream; and in any case, it was the intimacy of sex and the time spent with her lover that mattered most. Not reaching some mythical pinnacle that would only lead to frustration, when she missed out, again and again. But somehow, Ari had read into that as a challenge, one that had become a desire, and now focused on it as an accomplishment that he personally desired to reach. Not just for her--but for him. To accomplish what no one else had ever been able to accomplish, in all of Nia’s years of multiple lovers. Perhaps, then, there was a selfish streak fueling his motivation that she had overlooked, interpreting each and every gesture onto him as giving, giving, and giving. No, he sought to get something out of this, as well--and who was she to begrudge him his efforts? Her only concern was the utter disappointment that would ultimately snuff out his ambition when it became all too clear that 

“Not to put a damper on your dreams and desires, Ari, but I think you’re dreaming a little big,” she teased, trying her best to be honest about probable outcomes without completely trampling on his motivations and desires. “I told you before, didn’t I? First time I ever got intimate with a person… you know the story. But the thing is, I think it kinda broke a little part of me. So don’t be disappointed in yourself when it becomes obvious what you seek might be a little… impossible. Don’t take it hard on yourself. It’s not you or anything you did or didn’t do, it’s…”

But Ari could not be dissuaded, no matter how she tried to explain--at least, he couldn’t be dissuaded today. And his lips and hands were already driving her crazy… even before his eager fingers found their target inside of her.

Nia gasped so audibly it startled even herself. This wasn’t the first time a sexual partner thought they might find an advantage with their fingers, but those men, all of them either virgins or wildly inexperienced, had failed miserably. Of course, she couldn’t pin failure on their inexperience alone, but neither did she think someone else’s more skilled hand would rouse an entirely different feeling in her. In fact, it was almost as if Ari knew what he was doing, knew what to look for, to feel for, to elicit such a response. Could it be that his relationship with Chara, however toxic it had been, had taught him a thing or two?

And it wasn’t just one gasp he elicited, but several, one after the other as his dexterous ministrations triggered what she could only describe as an electric impulse with every deliberate stroke. Certainly, she had felt pleasure during sex and foreplay before--but never like this. “Ari…” She breathed his name on a shuddering breath, and placed one hand on his shoulder in an attempt to keep herself steady through the urge to squirm. He didn’t relent, though, only further egged on by the visceral reactions of her body that Nia could scarcely control. Her breathing and heart rate completely escaped her, wracked by these new sensations she’d never experienced before. The pressure was building, and building, and while Nia realized she was helpless and vulnerable in this position, there was no danger with Ari. Here, alone with him, it was safe to be vulnerable, and it was perhaps the first time she’d ever felt at ease in such a position. For once, she was not in charge of someone else’s pleasure, but happened to be on the receiving end… and it was as thrilling as it was terrifying.

She’d never thought that’s all it would take--a little letting go, letting someone else take charge and focus on her, as opposed to her guiding the inexperience towards pure pleasure--to unlock this secret she’d never tapped into before. Of course, there was one, small part of her that still fretted losing this carefully cultivated control. The last time she had put herself in someone else’s hands, handed herself over to them completely… it had nearly ended her. And for that, the panic was always there, just lurking in the back of her mind and ready to pounce. A part of her feared that it would rear its head and put an end to this blissful, intimate moment, shattering the fantastical dreamscape in which she found herself… but that never came to pass. Finally,when enough electricity built between her legs from Ari’s careful magic with his fingers, Nia Ardane, with her back arched and her lips parted to release something between a gasp and a moan, finally fell over the hill that she had been climbing with Ari’s help. Her kegel muscles contracted around the Canaveris lord’s fingers as she slowly came back down to earth, slightly hunched forward, catching herself on Ari’s shoulders. 

The Master Alchemist took a half a moment to collect herself, panting yet feeling strangely energized in the aftermath. All this time, she’d thought it was impossible; and all this time, apparently, all it had taken was the right person (who had a slight clue as to what he was doing). She wasn’t broken at all. At least, not anymore.

But this was far from over. No sooner did the sultry brunette regain composure that she hauled Ari upright, such that he sat with half of his torso out of the water, and straddled his waist again. “One day… I’m going to make you tell me what you like. How you want me on your body.” She purred in his ear, her lips brushing the lobe. “But for now, you’ll just have to trust me to take good care of you.”

Capturing his lips in a hungry kiss, Nia carefully maneuvered herself onto his fully erect and excited manhood, and began to move.

What would have happened had Hadwin not intervened in that moment… Teselin couldn’t say. On one hand, the young summoner was gentle and relatively non-confrontational, even when the situation begged that she stand up for herself. Could she possibly have talked her way out of this man leaving her alone? Or would she have had to resort to something more drastic? Something that would not only put this drunkard in his place, but could possibly level the entire pub… if not the entire settlement. It was all in or all out, for Teselin; unfortunately, she had no in-between.

But as thrilled as she was to see Hadwin, having been searching for him for the better part of the day, he was in no condition to be making big talk when he was sluggish on his feet and couldn’t possibly fight… At least, that was what Teselin had thought, until he dealt a blow to the man harassing her that couldn’t possibly have been a result of his natural strength. Teselin didn’t care to look too hard, but that man’s face was very much done in, his nose well beyond broken. “H-Hadwin…” The young summoner stood, wide-eyed and stunned, such that she didn’t move until he grabbed her arm and hauled her out this door. This is my fault…

“Hadwin, how did you… What you did to that man, just now… How could you possibly…” She didn’t have time to finish before Hadwin collapsed on the boardwalk, only narrowly missing his face for Teselin grabbing his arm in time. “No--you’re not okay. You’re not okay, and you should still be at the palace, resting! I had a feeling you were pushing yourself too hard, so I went looking for you. And I have no idea how you did what you did, just now, and... your hand.” Teselin grimaced at the sight of broken, bloodied muscle. Any other time, she’d have been able to witness them begin to mend all on their own, by now, yet not today. Didn’t faoladh possess uncanny healing abilities? She’d seen broken bones fall back into place on Hadwin more times than she could count. “...something is wrong, Hadwin.” She insisted, and knelt next to the fallen man. “I’m sorry--I know I never should have wandered into that place. This is all my fault. But we have to get you…”

She trailed off, noting the change in his expression, and her own face paled. They suddenly found themselves sitting ducks to a handful of men bearing weapons who clearly meant harm. And Hadwin was helpless but to let them have whatever petty revenge they sought! “No! I’m not leaving you behind--come on, stand up!” The desperate young woman tugged at his arm, a futile effort to haul him to his feet. “I’m not leaving you, Hadwin! Do you hear? And I’ll do… I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you!” Because this is my fault; this all happened because of me. And anything that ensues is a result… I’m just going to have to bear that burden.

Fortunately, that dismal possibility turned out not to be the case. A shadow from behind them blocked the light of the sun, and Teselin looked up to find Sigrid and Alster standing next to them. The tall blonde warrior had a hand on the hilt of her sword, but had not yet drawn it. However, the look in her eye suggested she would have no qualms against wielding it against these aggressors. “Gentlemen. There is an injured man and a young girl before you; there is no glory in kicking a foe when they are down. Whatever qualms you have with this man, you will have to save it for another time.” When the aggressors did not budge, Sigrid stepped forward, and pulled out her sword just enough for the afternoon light to glint off of the steel. “I said… another time.”

Looking between the tall, menacing blonde, and the slightly smaller, yet also equally menacing blonde--both who claimed to be pacifists, but had reputations that suggested otherwise. For a moment, it looked as though they were willing to take their chances, but some of the smarter ones turned away and declared none of these people were worth their time. Sure enough, the followers followed suit, and left Hadwin and Teselin alone.

With the imminent danger out of the way, Sigrid turned her attention to the two kneeling on the ground, dropping her sword into its hilt. “What in all hell happened, here? Hadwin, are you bleeding?”

“It’s my fault.” Teselin’s small voice replied. Tears had begun to well in her eyes. “I went looking for Hadwin… and ended up in the wrong place. Someone harassed me, but Hadwin stood up to them, for my sake…”

“Really? You’re getting into fights when you could scarcely walk up a hill the other day?” The former Dawn warrior shook her head and knelt next to the broken man, slinging his good arm around her shoulders and hauling him to his feet. “Alster, do you think Lord Canaveris would be willing to lend a room in his villa temporarily, considering how Hadwin played an integral part in the most recent crisis? He needs a healer; and rest.”

“He needs my brother.” Teselin added, pressing her miniscule form to Hadiwn’s free side to help keep him upright. “What he did back there, at that tavern… look at his hand. Hadwin could never naturally deliver a blow that would land him with a broken hand. I’m not convinced the serum that Isidor gave him when he went to catch Rowen has fully made its way out of his system. Alster…” She turned her dark, soulful eyes to the Rigas mage. “Would you see if Isidor will come? He… listens to you more than me. He’s more willing to agree if you ask. See if you can get him to come and take a look at Hadwin; I don’t know that he’s strong enough for you to transport with your magic.”

“I’ll get him somewhere safe.” Sigrid promised Alster. “We’ll be at the Canaveris villa; I highly doubt they would turn away someone in need.”

Inebriated though he was, the steam of the bath contributing more to his intoxication than the intoxicating substance itself, Ari was still able to catch the twitch of her confused, furrowed eyebrow, upon his treatise to her ‘uncomplicated’ nature.

“I sense you do not believe me,” he chuckled. “Again, uncomplicated does not mean simplistic, or without layers. It means that you lack nuance—and I define that as a positive!” he hurried, in the event she found his analysis offensive. “You do not lead one astray with your words. What you say is what you intend, and I for one find that refreshing when I so often must navigate a world where people too commonly skirt around the subject and give subtle winks that I’m supposed to translate, to the best of my ability, and hope I have not egregiously misinterpreted the message.” What he didn’t seem to acknowledge, perhaps from a deficit of self-reflection, was that the people he described as circuitous and ambiguous in speech also described himself. For, to be so bold as to state what he wanted, above the needs and desires of others, was outright disrespectful, a breach of etiquette, and a loss of face. But he wasn’t in polite company. Should it matter, then, what he chose to dispense to the woman he loved, regardless of how it might compromise the very careful persona he molded out of stone and clay, and painted to a shining veneer?

Thankfully, talk of Nia’s doubts of ever reaching climax directed his thoughts outward once more, and he latched onto her challenge, dark eyes glimmering under the glowing green and purple stalactites from up above. “Allow me the chance to prove myself,” he whispered, as his fingers crawled under her hood and stroked the lone apple in the center of her grove, playfully rocking it back and forth on its branch—while Nia, unraveling, began to lose herself. Burying his satisfied, boyish grin and electing for more decorum as he faced his unexpected win, he emitted a stately smile. Barely contained, it leaked out beams of joy and excitement, as well as the top row of his smiling teeth, so rare a display for the dignified Canaveris lord.

At the height of her pleasure and ensuing crash, he steadied her against his shoulder, guiding her the rest of the way to a satisfying finale. Once she seemed finished, he released his fingers and pressed an affectionate kiss upon her forehead.

“Did you like it?” Though trying not to sound overeager, like a pup fetching a ball for its master, he feared he might have failed in that endeavor. He cleared his throat. “What I mean to say is…did you find your experience sufficiently adequate? If so, I will gladly do this for you upon request. Every day, if it pleases you. Multiple times a day, even.” He transferred his kiss from her forehead to the lips, tracing her Cupid’s bow with his own. “You are not as broken as you believe, Nia. Let me mend you, little by little. Whatever you need, I shall provide. Again…your happiness is more than enough for me. Nothing else matters, for you will find me no more content than I am in this moment.”

But she wasn’t done with them. Not yet. Climbing onto his manhood, she took him inside of herself, connecting their two complementary pieces together. Anticipating what came next, he cupped her waist in his graceful hands and replicated the steady oscillations of her hips, the buoyant bouncing as they rode upon the water, kicking up spray as they engaged in their deed. To keep from losing his purchase on the slippery tiered bottom of the pool, he removed his hands from her waist and anchored himself against the edge, which granted him the leverage to answer her measured ministrations with a well-timed thrust or two. But ultimately, as was often the case, Ari’s over-excitement, coupled with his intoxicated mind, took precedence over his determination to contribute to the dance, and he floundered less than a minute after they began. As his face froze in a slack-jawed rictus of release, his muscles tensed and stiffened, and a terrified portion of him worried he had turned into stone. But on investigating the affected regions with the help of his hands, no such thing had occurred. Thus relaxing, he leaned into Nia, grunting out his shuddering breaths, purging out the remnants of his ecstatic peak as the rest of him fell and fell into his lover’s welcome embrace. “Nia,” he breathed, feeling too lightheaded to move out of her supportive arms, “my apologies for…going before you. Again.” A bronze flush suddenly spread across his cheeks like a rogue rash, but whether it was due to shame or to overheating, he couldn’t rightly say. However as his breathing had become labored and shallow, his eyes, blurry and unfocused, he knew well the symptoms he was experiencing. “Would you accompany me outside the bath? I am beginning to learn why alcohol, heat, and strenuous physical activity do not mix.”

No sooner had they emerged from the bath and reclined upon the cool stone ground, blissfully aligned close together, than Ari, gradually recovering from his near-fainting spell, gave a reflexive twitch as thoughts and words not of his own making formulated inside his head. Pausing, he listened to the psychically transmitted message sent by his trusted manservant, who was currently overseeing decoration activities in the town square. Loath to depart from his position of ideal comfort, his skin all a tingle, complements of the trifold avenues of pleasure he sought that afternoon, Ari lifted his head and sighed his disappointment. “Lazarus has just informed me that he is bringing an unconscious and injured Hadwin Kavanagh to the villa, with Lord Rigas, Miss Sorenson, and Miss Kristeva in tow. Apparently, he requires the aid of a Master Alchemist; however, it is Master Kristeva they are aiming to acquire. Short-lived though our escapades were, I am happy we were able to carve out the time for each other. Nonetheless,” he tilted his head at Nia, “will you consider lending some aid to your fallen friend? Perhaps you can do better for him than Master Kristeva,” he said, biting down his frown of distaste. 

Call him cautious, but Alster wasn’t content to let Teselin explore the seediest sections of the D’Marian settlement without setting aside a few precautionary measures in case of catastrophe. Knowing Hadwin’s penchant for danger, and Teselin’s susceptibility towards creating danger, the two of them combined and at their worst unleashed untold cataclysms upon the world. While it was true they encouraged stability and harmony with each other the majority of the time, each thriving in the other’s support, volatility ran in their blood, and if the conditions hit just right, the blood churned, and sang, creating the perfect storm. Unfortunately, Hadwin was Teselin’s catalyst, and vice versa, meaning if one fell into a spot of trouble, the aforementioned spot would broaden into an ink spill…spanning the length and width of an entire country. …Like Galeyn. 

“Could you stick around a little longer? I need you for a task.” He asked of Sigrid, after they successfully convinced Bronwyn to return to the Canaveris villa for a mid-afternoon rest. Initially resistant to the idea, wanting to join Teselin’s search party in case her brother ‘Fucked up again,’ the elderly faoladh relented, but only to a halfway point. ‘I don’t need a break,’ she protested at them. ‘But I’ll dip out long enough to satisfy the two of you. I’m coming back!’ she’d declared fiercely, as if they wouldn’t believe in her commitment to be useful. She stomped off in the direction of Ari’s villa, her thunderous egress a mask to hide her worry, which wasn’t unfounded. The last time Teselin looked for the fear-mongering wolf, an entire city was engulfed by the sea. It was only natural for Bronwyn to express concern for her brother—but it was also why Alster wanted her gone. In case the situation turned awry, she, at least, would be safe. …Safer.

Enlisting Sigrid’s help, Alster expertly snaked around the streets of the settlement he designed, heading east, as they had instructed the young summoner to go. So as not to draw attention to themselves as they very obviously snooped around in pursuit of their quarry, Alster threw a shroud of invisibility on himself and his companion, disappearing from the public’s collective gaze.

Following Teselin’s residual energy was easy, like following squid ink in still water. Understanding Hadwin’s habitual haunts was even easier, knowing his reputation for malignant mischief. But the former two tracking methods paled in comparison to the sudden widespread chill in the air that plummeted the summer temperature several degrees in moments, a spike that usually preceded a storm. Or in this case, a summoner in distress. Gesturing to Sigrid, he picked up his pace and headed for the source of the chill, a small vortex forming around the lake district, indistinguishable from the naked eye but for the feeling of goose flesh it pimpled upon one’s skin.

They had arrived at the nick of time. On arriving at the scene, they noticed a group of ten aggressors, attired with weapons and magic, converging on Hadwin, who was consigned to all fours, muscles seizing and twitching from the monumental strain of remaining even partially upright in his weakened state. Despite his ragged appearance, he bared his teeth like a wolf, facing the riffraff and trying his damnedest to position his body in a protective shield over Teselin, who, in her refusal to stay put, was assuming an offensive stance, prompting the water nearest the shore to splash against the planks of the boardwalk and form a raging froth, as if gone rabid. Removing the shroud that concealed them, Alster and Sigrid insinuated themselves between the small mob and their targets before the worst could occur. As the disquieting blonde warrior flashed her sword and lobbed forward a casual threat, Alster raised a hand flashing the blade’s equal, which glinted just as menacingly, and twisted it in the air. Immediately, the fires resting on the palms of the two magic users in the group sputtered out and died, stirring immediate unease within the mob. “I recommend that you cease all activity at once. I may not be D’Marian leader anymore, but that doesn’t mean I lack the authority to arrest you for behavior unbecoming of a D’Marian citizen.” He straightened his shoulders and fixed his expression into lethal calm, emulating every bit the chilling persona of Serpent Bane. You’ll do best to heed the words of my associate. Now go.”

Galled into submission, the violent mob lost their confrontational edge and scattered to the streets whence they came, realizing the fruitfulness of attempting to best the once-wielder of Gaolithe and a Rigas with the power to summon interdimensional beasts at will.

“You’ve busted a few knuckles,” Alster crouched beside the fallen faoladh, gingerly raising his injured hand by the wrist while Sigrid and Teselin supported him on either side. “And you’re absolutely spent. You lack the energy to self-regenerate.” He looked from the barely conscious faoladh to the summoner, glad for the return to normalcy in the weather. The temperature climbed to its original summer high, and the lake water ceased its tempestuous churning. “How did this happen?” At Teselin’s brief account of events followed by her suspicions about remnants of the serum stubbornly lingering about his system, Alster nodded, corroborating on her report. “That does seem to be the case, Teselin. My understanding of alchemy is rudimentary at best, but from what I gather, an augmentation serum, especially one to such significant effect, does not titrate in quite the same way as, say, Mollengardian stimulant, which, while a powerful herb in its own right, flushes out of the body in its entirety, given about two weeks’ time. Compare that to an alchemical serum, which, isn’t as water-soluble because it contains elements that have been so wildly altered from their original base components that they don’t exist naturally in this world. A body cannot break down such materials as easily if it doesn’t even know where to begin categorizing the foreign substance. Is it a plant? A liquid? Does it come from an animal? I suppose that’s why Hadwin has been instructed to ingest trace amounts of the serum over the last week or two; to familiarize him with the substance, to immunize him from its side effects, and to better help him reach homeostasis.”

“But,” he gingerly released Hadwin’s hand and stood when they hauled him to his feet, “something’s gone awry. It could be that his faoladh body processes chemicals differently, or that his liberal consumption of, well, everything, is also playing its part. There’s so much we don’t know about shapeshifter biology, I’m afraid. I’ve already failed him so much,” he lowered his eyes to his clasped, mismatched hands. “First with the case of his rogue Fearsight and now, this. …I’ll do what I can for him, Teselin. Get him to the Canaveris villa,” he gestured to the large estate nestled into the crook of a hill, looming over their heads. “Ari will most definitely not turn Hadwin away when he owes the faoladh manifold for his services to him. I believe he was even granted lodgings last night, but he disappeared into the town and never returned to claim them. I digress, though.” He retreated a few overlarge steps, granting himself some space for his spell to open the air and shortcut through the etherrealms to the palace. “I’ll meet you at the villa, with Isidor in my company. In the meantime, you can ask Nia to have a look at him. She’s currently on the premises. I’ll be sure to heal his hand upon my return, as well.” The bloody, knuckle-busted hand in question dangled, as did the rest of Hadwin’s unresponsive limbs. Consigned to a position half-draped over Sigrid’s shoulders, arms thrown around her neck, the faoladh resembled a scarecrow stuffed full of hay rather than a man, what with how his flailing legs failed to support the slightest bearing of weight, buckling under the tiniest indication of pressure. They were as good as dummy limbs, ripe for birds to pick and pluck at, than actual functioning appendages. As for Hadwin himself…

He was awake. Blinking. Breathing. But his eyes had grown dangerously heavy and it didn’t appear he would stay conscious for long…nor did it seem like he retained a modicum of awareness for his company, or their discussions revolving around him. Whatever juice remained, he’d spent it all on his final stand against the mob. “It doesn’t look like he’s going to stay awake for much longer. If you need help carrying—“

Fortunately, his inquiry was answered by a hulking form that emerged from…the wall? The ground? It was difficult to gauge. One moment, it was just the four of them and the next, Lazarus materialized as the fifth member, unfurling his bulky arms from over his chest. “Allow me,” he told them, scooping the faoladh out of Sigrid and Teselin’s holding and hauling him over his back with all the ease of a sack of feathers. “Follow me.”

As the warrior and the summoner fell in step behind the golem, Alster parted the air and walked through the void, emerging on the other side in the hallway outside Isidor’s chambers. Were he so bold, he could have popped straight inside of the reclusive Master Alchemist’s rooms, but he respected the man’s privacy, and the sanctity of closed doors.

“Isidor,” he rapped on the door’s oak finish. “It’s Alster. I’m in need of your help.”

Not long after his request, the latch clicked and the door swung open, revealing his friend. Well, partially revealing his friend. He made out his ghostly pale face and hands. The rest of him was steeped in shadow.

“We have a small situation in the D’Marian settlement that would benefit from your assistance,” Alster explained as he entered, closing the door shut behind them. “Hadwin defended Teselin against a man who was harassing her at a pub, and…it activated the serum you had given him. He performed impressive feats of strength that busted open his knuckles. I shudder to see the condition of the other man, but,” he shook his head, sticking to the story, “the faoladh experienced a crash immediately afterward. He scarcely has the energy to move, and his body won’t heal. Teselin is distraught. Would you,” he breathed, knowing his additional request would be about appealing to Isidor as having his teeth pulled, “would you come with me to the Canaveris villa? Hadwin doesn’t have the strength to return to the palace in his condition. If we go through the etherrealms, we’ll be there in moments, and I’ll deliver you back to your rooms by the same method. No traveling necessary. I’ll give you some time to prepare your things, but,” he bowed his head, supplicating, “I do hope you’ll agree. Rest assured, I doubt Ari will give you grief for helping an injured man on his premises.”

For all he painted himself relatively inexperienced (and that wasn’t exactly an untruth considering he hadn’t gone all the way with anyone until Nia had walked into his life), Ari had to give himself a little more credit in the realm of all things intimate. Especially when he had succeeded in bringing out a first-time reaction in a woman who had had more sexual partners in her life than she could reasonably count or remember. All this time, she’d thought she was little more than used and damaged goods… when it had simply been a matter of finding the right person. Not only that, but also a matter of fully opening herself to that person, and trusting him enough that letting her guard down enough to experience pleasure like she had never allowed herself to do before had in fact been a piece of the key to realizing that, perhaps, she really wasn’t as damage beyond repair as past experience had led her to believe. Perhaps it was just a matter of everything falling into place--the right person, the right time, the right circumstances. And in that moment, she could understand why people chased this desire so fervently. If it left them feeling half as good as she did, coming down from a cloud of utter bliss… Hells, no wonder Hadwin made sex a common passtime for his enjoyment!

Coming down from the high, Nia sagged against the Canaveris lord’s body, drawing breaths in a deep, staggering pattern. Her heart still raced from the unexpected climb up that mountain of bliss, and the fall that had soon followed. “Ari, you just… you just brought me to a place I didn’t think I could ever reach,” the Master Alchemist panted, and her answer was in the dreamy, satisfied smile on her face. “Are you really asking me if it was adequate? Give yourself a little more credit. You deserve it. But… be careful what you offer.” She purred in his ear. “Because I might just take you up on it. But not before I show you a good time, as well.”

Nia had been intimate enough with Ari to know that it didn’t take much (or long) to take the exalted earth mage over the edge. Part of it probably amounted to years of self-denial, for fear that it would incite a flare-up of stone somewhere on his body, along with the after-effects of a particularly destructive relationship with a certain Rigas woman he continued to suffer to this day. It was possible that foreplay needn’t even be involved to successfully get him off and careening into a sea of bliss, although she preferred to incorporate a little friskiness prior to intercourse, regardless, if for no other reason than to set the mood. Not long after she began rocking her hips, straddling his lap as she was, the Canaveris lord found himself plummeting from the heights of his own pleasure, and down into her safe, waiting arms. “Don’t apologize. If we’re being technical, here… then technically, I was ahead of you.” In fact, she was still feeling the aftermath of that blissful release in her muscles; it only seemed fair to return the favour. “But let’s get you out of the water before you faint. I’d rather that saving your life be a one-off incident in our relationship, if we can help it.”

As the less compromised of the two of them, Nia climbed out of the steaming bath first, before taking Ari by the arms and helping him recline beside her. The cool, smooth stone was a blissful contrast to her otherwise flushed, feverish skin. She could have lay there with Ari for hours, basking in the privacy and warmth of this delightful secret belowground, but as it would turn out, current events had other plans for them. “Huh… so you really can communicate with your big man-servant telepathically? Pretty impressive, but, not gonna lie… kind of annoying, given the timing.” She couldn’t help but wonder if Lazarus took a certain delight in interrupting their moment of intimacy. Regardless, the situation was one that required Ari’s attention, and the Canaveris lord would never shirk his responsibilities for pleasure… unfortunately. “Leave it to Hadwin to ruin everyone’s day with his shenanigans. Well… I suppose it can’t be helped.”

With a heavy and defeated sight, the Ardane woman sat upright, and pulled her discarded trousers back over her hips, followed by her tunic. The hem was still soaked from partially submerging herself in the warm bath before completely undressing, but if Hadwin was hurt and needed help, it would be careless to waste time donning a new outfit. “Let’s go and see what can be done about it, although I imagine they’re seeking Isidor for a reason. Word has it he provided the wolf with an enhancement serum to give him the ability to bring Rowen down in his weakened state. Reversing or tampering with another Master Alchemist’s work is difficult, if not kind of impossible without knowing exactly what went into it or how the serum was crafted… I’ll see what I can do, but like it or not, we might still need the tall, reclusive hermit, afterall. Something about him bother you?” She didn’t miss the point of disdain in Ari’s voice when he brought up Isidor’s name and tilted her head curiously. What was it about a man who hardly showed himself or interacted with people that would ruffle Aris’ feathers?

Oh… well, there was that one time she’d pressured her way into Isidor’s bed…

“I’ve gotta be real, Ari--Isidor is a better Master Alchemist than me. Half of my training in the end was self-taught; filling in the blanks after I fled my home and had no one to teach me anymore. I daresay I took the easy route, and took my damn time. Isidor is the real thing. I wouldn’t even think of attempting to lift your curse without his help. He may be socially inept, but he’s not an enemy. I dealt with my trauma by sleeping my way around; he just deals with his… differently. Try to cut him a little bit of a break, huh?” When Ari was clothed, she took him by the arm, partially because she wanted the proximity, but also because she knew it would be a long trek back up the staircases with her injured leg. “Believe me--he is no real threat to you. Not in any capacity.”

It took them a little longer to ascend than it had to descend the staircases and make their way to the main floor, owing to the blissful lethargy resulting from their quick tryst, and Nia’s lack of agility in her leg.The warmth of the bath had been soothing relief in the interim, but as soon as she began to move again, that burning throb in her calf returned. Truthfully, she didn’t mind dragging her feet a bit as it prolonged her private time with Ari, anyway, before facing harsh reality aboveground once again.

They were met by Lazarus at the top of the stairs. Of course he’d be waiting there; his ability to know where Ari was at all times was uncanny. “Hey, big guy! Seems there’s a situation that needs to be dealt with. Care to lead the way? I might be able to help out while Isidor’s on his way--if he can be convinced to even leave his room.”

Lazarus led them to the bedroom where Sigrid was currently staying, and sure enough, Hadwin lay unconscious on the bed, with Teselin, Sigrid, and Bronwyn watching over him with faces creased with concern. In all the commotion, it seemed, Bronwyn had caught wind of the situation in the room next to her own, and ultimately there was no hiding Hadwin’s condition from her. “Wow… what did he do this time?” Nia whistled as she and Ari entered the room and made their way over to the bed for a closer look. “He wasn’t in great condition, last we spoke, but he didn’t seem like he was about to keel over…”

“Leave it to Hadwin to stir up trouble. I think he purposely seeks it out.” The former Dawn warrior commented. Her blue-eyes trailed toward the Canaveris lord and the Master Alchemist, and her brow furrowed in confusion. “Your hair is soaking wet.”

“Congratulations, Sigrid!” Nia clapped her hands together. “Your eyes are working.”

“Were you just… swimming? Or something?”

“Hey, I’m here in the settlement to work on a top-secret float with Ari. Sorry, but I can’t spill any details when we’re competing against Al and Isidor with their own float! Now, mind if I take a look?” Suavely redirecting the topic back to Hadwin, Nia reached the bed and laid a hand on Hadwin’s forehead. After a few moments of silent contemplation, her mouth curled into a frown. “Yeah, he’s down and out. Incredibly weak. It almost feels like his body is fighting off an infection really inefficiently. Might also explain why he’s not healing up the way he should.” He noted his busted knuckles, which had been hastily bandaged while Alster was off fetching Isidor. Shaking her head, she took a step back. 

“I shouldn’t interfere. Sure, I’ve concocted my own enhancement serums, but I dunno how Isidor crafts his. If I try to make and administer something now, even with the most educated guess work from what I can interpret… not only might it not work, but it could make things worse. Not to mention, faoladh biology is totally lost on me…” The Master Alchemist blew an errant strand of hair from her eyes and shook her head. “Let’s wait for Isidor. This is his handiwork; if it can be fixed, only he can do it.”

Since agreeing to build a float with Alster, Isidor had, in fact, been anticipating that the Rigas mage might call on him sooner than later to discuss plans. In preparation for that, he had been drawing up sketches and jotting ideas that he wished to run by his friend before setting in to craft anything. Truth be told… he was glad he’d agreed to work with Alster. It was a temporary distraction from letting his mind wander, and now, crafting those paper lilies actually made sense instead of resulting as senseless waste. So when there was a knock on his door that day, he didn’t hesitate to open it, knowing full well who it would be.

“Alster.” Isidor adjusted his spectacles and flashed the ghost of a smile. But the Rigas mage’s face was grave, and the Master Alchemist was quick to pick up on the fact that Alster was not here to discuss plans for their float. “What’s wrong?”

Hadwin. Of course it was his little sister’s favourite person, always finding trouble instead of staying well out of it. And given that he was the one who had crafted that hasty serum that Hadwin had pressured him into making… there really was no one else who could handle the problem. Not even Nia, and if she was responsible at all, she wouldn’t make an attempt to try and reverse what his serum did to Hadwin’s body. She had no way of knowing what had gone into that unique serum. “...I warned him this would happen. I didn’t want to do it, not for a moment. Enhancement serums are often not worth the misery that usually ensues.” Isidor huffed a frustrated breath and puckered his lips. “I never should have listened to him… but, that is neither here nor there. I don’t have any choice but to go with you. Lest I be blamed for that reckless man’s downfall.” Raking a hand through his hair, he looked down at his rather rumpled appearance of a loose white tunic, tucked into black trousers. The outfit was full of wrinkles, but he did not have time to don something more suitable for the vain Canaveris lord’s not-so-humble abode. Aristide would just have to deal with his unpreparedness.

“I need to gather some supplies… give me just a few moments.” He said to Alster, before he turned and rifled through the mess that was his chambers. Disorganized as it was, he had a good idea as to the whereabouts of his supplies and belongings, and it wasn’t long before he put together a massive leather bag full of everything he might need for the time being. “Teselin would never forgive me if I didn’t at least try to help her favourite person.” Isidor sighed, hefting the heavy bag over his shoulder. “Alright--I’m ready when you are.”

Well, he’d thought he was ready. As it turned out, Isidor was very much not equipped for Alster’s preferred method of travel, and when he disappeared, only to reappear seconds later within the Canaveris villa, the Kristeva alchemist sagged against the wall and squeezed his eyes shut. “I… need… a moment…” He groaned, clutching his stomach as he fought off a wave of vertigo that threatened to upset the contents of his gut. Traveling through the etherrealms was not his preferred method of transportation; he knew as much now. “I think… I’ll take a carriage when I leave, if it’s all the same to you…”

Isidor hardly had time to regain his composure before he and Alster were approached by an alarmingly tall, broad man. Fortunately, Alster seemed familiar with this person, and all the better, because the Master Alchemist was stunned and tongue-tied, until it became clear the man had simply come to lead them to Hadwin. Releasing air from his lungs in a rush, he clutched his bag of supplies and made his way own the corridor, where he followed Alster and the tall man into a chamber. Considering it was already crowded with far too many people, Hadwin being one of them, Isidor decided it was officially his least favourite place to be… But, the sooner he dealt with the faoladh, the sooner he’d be gone.

“Ah! Perfect. The man for the job.” Nia piped up, meeting Isidor’s frown with a bright smile. “Hadwins’ really gone and fucked himself up this time. Don’t worry, I haven’t done anything; didn’t want to interfere with your work. But that serum you gave him? It’s far from working its way out of his system. It’s like his body can’t decide if it’s helping him or if it’s something it needs to fight off. I think its composition might have changed once it was in his bloodstream and it just isn’t behaving the way that it should. I wonder if it would be safe to neutralize it--”

“Are you quite finished?” Isidor asked, deadpan, before making his way over to Hadwin. He refrained from making eye contact with Aristide, simply because he didn’t have it in him to put up with the awkwardness. His plan was set in stone: just do the job, and get out of there. Placing a bare hand against Hadwin’s clammy skin, he tried to get a read on the situation… which, was exactly as Nia had stated. Pressing his lips into a firm line, he removed his hand and then his glasses, to polish the lenses on his sleeve. “...I am not above admitting my own error. Hadwin had me create that serum in a rush, without any grace period for testing and refining. On top of that, I will fully admit I am unfamiliar with faoladh biology and how it reacts differently from that of humans. I gave full disclosure that while that serum might be useful in the short term, I could not guarantee any unintended side-effects…”

“So… what is it you’re trying to say?” Teselin, still very much on edge, asked with a pitch in her voice. “Isidor, no one blames you for what happened, but is he going to be alright…?”

“This is a case that simply warrants further investigation. All I’m trying to say is… this will not be dealt with in a single day.” The disappointment in his voice suggested this was the last thing he personally desired, and far from the ideal scenario. “I need to understand more about faoladh physiology before I can safely treat him. If I work through the nights… maybe I can have a solution in a few days. I’m going to need some of his blood.” Setting his heavy bag on the floor, Isidor reached in to find a syringe attached to an empty vial, but as soon as it was in his hands, he hesitated. Blood… did he have the stomach to draw Hadwin’s blood, when he was still reeling from traversing the etherrealms?

“Need some help?” Nia offered and held her hand out for the syringe, understanding the Kristeva alchemist’s aversion to blood and gore. “Days just isn’t gonna cut it if you’ve also gotta spend time working on your float with Alster. Let me help where I can; promise I won’t get in the way.”

Isidor relented and handed her the syringe to draw up some of Hadwin’s blood, in no position to argue. It was only then that he noticed her hair and damp clothes, and his confusion and curiosity spiked. “Did you…” His eyes flitted to Ari, whose hair also hung in damp locks, and then back to Nia, “just… emerge from the lake?”

“Focus, Isidor! Here.” With the vial filled with Hadwin’s blood, Nia carefully tucked it back into the bag so that the tall, pale Master Alchemist wouldn’t have to look at it. “Want me to run a comparison on this? Pit it against human biology and whatnot. It’ll save you some time--and you won’t have to look at the blood.”

Much though he didn’t want to accept help from the single most annoying person in the room, she had a point--and it would lighten the workload, and come to a conclusion far more quickly than if he were to work alone. “...alright. I’ll agree to that. I need to spend some time with this sorry excuse for a person to get to the bottom of what systems the serum is interfering with first, anyway.”

“Perfect! Ari,” Nia turned back to the Canaveris lord and placed her hand on his arm. “Do you happen to have an unused study with a lot of desk space? We’re gonna need a clean, quiet space to work--preferably uninterrupted.”

“If not Laz, then surely someone else would have come searching for me,” Ari clarified, sitting up from the ground to unbind his hair and disentangle some of the snags and tangles with his fingers in a rushed attempt to groom sans the use of a brush. “Honestly…it was irresponsible of me to partake in a bath midday. People will surely talk should they see us, together, improperly soaked. There is naught I can do about the state of our hair, but I will outfit you a replacement tunic,” he nodded at the garment in her hands, sodden even after a good wringing, and offensive to his fashion senses when donned on her person. He wrinkled his nose, less than enthusiastic about her drowning victim look, but it horrified him to tell her outright. Nonetheless, he wasn’t going to let the matter of her dress go unaddressed, and shuffled to his feet to remedy her situation—not before collecting his neatly-folded outfit from far off the edge of the pool, a little damp from the pool’s hot vapors penetrating the cloth, but not to a noticeable degree, considering the fabric he wore was silk, which tended to repel water. While not yet steady on his feet, Ari could expertly navigate around a compromised limb or two, let alone a hot spring-induced headache made more unbalanced by the alcohol he’d imbibed, and within moments, the Canaveris lord had reacquired the varied finery on his person, gloves, flared longcoat, and all. Disappearing for a few moments into the next room, an antechamber beneath a sweeping archway, he returned with a small bundle and handed it to Nia.

“I cannot vouch for its size; it may end up bunching a little near the sleeves, but it is dry, pressed, and clean.” In a flourish befitting his gentlemanly nature, he helped Nia out of her wet, rumpled tunic, unfolded her replacement, wound it around her naked shoulders and buttoned it up to the collar. As predicted, it sagged a little near the arms and hung well past her hips, but with some finagling—pinning up the sleeves, and cinching her waist snug with a silken belt—she presented as reasonably passable. “Better,” he clucked his tongue, signaling his approval with a kiss on the hand he held. “You must forgive my proprietariness. I understand we are meeting with those who likely care little about our appearance, but it does fall on my hospitality to see that you are well attired. If only I kept a collection of hats down here,” he rested a finger upon his kiss-swollen lips, frowning at the missed opportunity to open a second wardrobe location in the undercity for just an occasion. “Alas, our sopping heads shall be subject to open scrutiny. Luckily, I am entertaining no other guests in my villa today—barring any other surprise visits.”

With Isidor Kristeva’s name rebroached, Ari’s frown deepened to almost cavern levels. “I do not like how he treats you,” he said at last, his tone as dark as that self-same cavern. “Yes, I realize that the majority of Galeyn do not withhold their disdain for you, but his reasons differ from their own, and I find his reasons to be weak, meanspirited, and terribly spiteful. I may owe him a debt of cooperation for swaying the crowd at your hearing, but I do not abide by his horrid speech, nor do I appreciate his unseemly remarks regarding my personal life. On a final note, he must be the gloomiest man I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting. It looks as though he has never held a positive thought in all his life! Does absolutely nothing spark a light of pleasure or happiness in him? It is of no matter, though,” he swatted a reassuring yet dismissive hand, as if he were shooing a bothersome fly. Though he wanted to continue, he cut his tirade short, realizing he was quite enjoying painting his less-than-flattering portrait of Isidor Kristeva to his trusted party. “However absurdly miserable this man—it is a wonder he has acquired a friendship at all, but I suppose Lord Rigas can befriend slime on the cave wall—Master Kristeva will have my begrudging obeisance. I am not so petty as to ban his presence for the crime of offending my eyes, or for overstepping his bounds with me, when he is a vital component to eventually listing my curse. As well, his immense skill does not go unrecognized. But be that as it may, I simply do not fancy the man,” he concluded, with a rather uncharacteristic and bullish snort of disdain.

Within fifteen minutes after receiving the message from Lazarus, the duo had exited the peaceful, secluded comfort of the bathhouse, their tagalong Forbanne guard in tow, and proceeded to ascend the stone stairs that circled back to the villa proper. Offering his arm, Ari linked Nia in place by the elbow, electing for a slower pace to account for her injured leg. After another fifteen minutes of gradual foot travel elapsed, they arrived at Lazarus’s designated area, Sigrid’s chambers, whereupon they spotted an unconscious Hadwin, who lay flopped on the former Dawn Warrior’s bed, his form so limp, so unresponsive, he appeared, for all intents and purposes, rather dead. Perhaps it had more to do with contrast than perception. Compared to the normally lively faoladh, any status marked by a deficit of flopping about and cackling registered as not alive. Even in slumber, Ari had the suspicion that Hadwin lacked the innate ability to keep still, which was why it unnerved him all the more to see him so inactive.

“I fear I am partially responsible for Mister Kavanagh’s condition,” Ari confessed, lowering his head into a contrite bow. “Were it not for the errand I requested of him via Lazarus, perhaps he would not have overtaxed himself, so. I failed to notice how poorly a state he was in, to start.”

“No, it’s exactly as Sigrid says. Hadwin purposely finds trouble. He’s got a nose for it. It’s no one’s fault but his own,” Bronwyn stated, but not without giving Teselin a pointed look. It was obvious the young summoner blamed herself for the events leading up to his eventual collapse, and was taking it all to heart. “He was already pushing himself too hard. This was bound to happen.” Although she uttered these statements with confidence, the twist in her brow, coupled with the wringing of her hands, suggested feelings of guilt. She was not among the party who uncovered him at the dock ward, spared a beating by the fortunate intervention of Sigrid and Alster. Were she with them, it was undeniable they would have found him much sooner, preferably before he stepped in to wallop a man’s face and rearrange it into a bowl.

“At any rate, I am aghast at the ongoing behavior of my citizens,” Ari politely disengaged from Nia, curling his fingers around his palm to demonstrate his outrage. “This deviance has gone unchecked for far too long.”

“To be fair…Hadwin does bring it upon himself. I’m sure those men had good reason to want to jump him. Not to say I’m personally not satisfied to hear about the creep he silenced with a fist,” Bronwyn’s mouth twitched into a grim smile of admittance, “and maybe he didn’t mean to hit him so hard, but I don’t know how Isidor’s serum actually works, or what it did to contribute to my brother’s fall. Dammit if this bastard is going to make me worry all over again,” she fisted a hand through her disheveled curls, her jaw tightening to the point where it ached.

Whether said in an attempt at levity, or because she was genuinely curious, Sigrid’s offhanded comment about Nia’s drenched head of hair gave Ari pause. While he prevented the majority of his raven locks from touching the water, the ends still skimmed along the surface, thus incriminating him, if one looked hard enough to note how they clumped together and hung over his shoulders like wet curtains. Though approving of how Nia chose to handle the comment, albeit with a little less sass, Ari opened his mouth to allay Sigrid’s suspicions…but Bronwyn beat him to it, and spoke first.

“I get it. Because it’s a float, it’s best to see if it will ah, ‘float’ in the water? That’s why they call it a float, right?” A flush developed on her cheeks at the utterance of her attempted joke. “I’m so sorry. That was terrible.” It just occurred to Ari that as a wolf, Bronwyn could smell the sweat, exertion, and…assorted fluids on them, and yet, it seemed she was trying to disarm the room with an innocent joke.

“Yes, Miss Bronwyn. You are exactly right,” Ari delivered her an appreciative smile. “Floats behave best when they are light and buoyant. But that is the extent of our secret we dare share. We shall reveal nothing else about our most ingenious and winning design.” Placing one finger over his lips, he made the shushing gesture, and Bronwyn, nodding in kind, drew a cross-shape over her chest, completing their pact of secrecy.

“…I’m sorry, Isidor; I didn’t think the journey would cause such a bad reaction. But I understand how it can be disorienting…” They heard two familiar voices outside the door, followed by a click. Lazarus’s huge frame filled in the doorway as, behind him, Alster and Isidor filtered inside, one expressing his greetings, while the other remained silent and gloomy, as always.

“Ah! Lord Rigas. Master Kristeva,” Ari bowed at the waist, radiating politesse. “We have been expecting you. Please,” he swept out an arm and stepped aside for Isidor to pass, trying not to show any affront when the reclusive Master Alchemist ignored him. The man lacks adequate social skills, he reminded himself. I shall conduct myself as the perfect, genteel host, despite this. However, his affront flared upon seeing how blatantly and rudely he dismissed Nia—and he glared at Isidor’s back, unable to accept his crudeness, social ineptitude be damned. 

“Master Kristeva, please carry yourself with a modicum of grace and decorum,” he scolded lightly and evenly, still keeping his manners about him. “You are a guest in my home, and we are in polite company, besides. There is no need for indecorous remarks.”

“Lord Canaveris, we mean no disrespect,” Alster sidled between Ari and Nia, encouraging Isidor forward, towards Hadwin’s bed, before he could focus too much on the slight hostility aimed in his direction. Glancing at the couple, if Alster noticed their wet hair, he didn’t remark on it, preferring not to ask any questions. “He’s plenty nervous as it is,” he whispered, particularly into Ari’s ear. “Please give him a few allowances. He is here on my behalf. Take your qualms up with me.”

The Canaveris lord crossed his arms, but said nothing.

It didn’t take long for Isidor to examine the unconscious faoladh’s body before he drew back and presented his analysis—which wasn’t all too conclusive.

“Hadwin knew the risks. Teselin is right. No one blames you,” Alster said, gently approaching his friend’s side. “There simply wasn’t any time for an unrushed product.”

“If you need help understanding faoladh physiology,” Bronwyn placed an eager hand over her chest, “let me volunteer as your test subject. I wasn’t of much use last time. I hope that I can be of some assistance this time.”

“I’m sure Isidor and Nia will be appreciative of any assistance you can provide, but please don’t go the way of your brother, either, and chew away all your energy on his account.” Alster sat on the opulent bed, carefully lifting Hadwin’s bandaged hand and examining the injury. “I think he’ll box your ears to learn if you’ve compromised yourself in any form.”

“That’s something he’s going to have to deal with, then,” Bronwyn grumbled, rearing back to land a light punch on Hadwin’s limp shoulder. “He can’t go out and compromise himself and expect others not to do the same to get his ass out of thick water.”

“I don’t think he’s trying to give people a hard time on purpose,” Alster said, mindful not to reveal too much of the rambunctious faoladh’s motivations, however little it mattered to keep his secret from Bronwyn when the likelihood of her learning via her Sight was high. “Not when it comes to his health. In fact, he’s actively trying to do the opposite, but it doesn’t look to be going well for him. What he needs is help…but he’ll reject it at every turn. Unless,” he glanced at Bronwyn and Teselin, “he can be reminded of his loyalty to the people he cares about. But it might not be so easy for him to do when he so frequently finds himself in a position of ‘not doing,’ so to speak.”

Before he went about healing Hadwin’s busted knuckles, he waited first for Nia to inject the syringe into his arm and collect a sample of his blood. While she was applying a bandage around the pinprick area where the needle slid, Alster was unraveling the bandages on the unconscious faoladh’s hand and preparing his magic to stitch together the torn flesh and bone. On the other end of the room stood Ari, quietly overseeing the proceedings as any concerned host would, but if he currently shared a trait with the hermetical Master Alchemist he disliked, it was the disappointment washing over his features, upon learning that Hadwin’s care would span several days. Several days, with Isidor in his home, and…

And, apparently, with Nia working in close proximity to him.

In that instant, he saw his and Nia’s precious, quality time defenestrating itself and crashing, like weak pottery, onto the cobbles--shattering. He scarcely heard Isidor’s comment on their damp hair, or any other conversation ensuing, until Nia touched his arm, eliciting his attention.

“Pardon? An unused study, you say? Nothing unused, no, but you are free to use mine. It offers plenty of quietude. No one dares disturb me when the door is in the closed position. You will find that it is well-lit, and also immaculately maintained. …Pray you keep it that way,” he said, not looking at Nia when he added his cool and chilly aside, but rather at her unfortunate associate. Having heard about Isidor’s tendency towards keeping a chaotic and dusty workspace full of disarray, he wasn’t too keen on allowing him to borrow his private study. If not for Nia, and for his strict adherence to the rules of hospitality, as well as his respect for Bronwyn Kavanagh and the debts he owed her brother, he would have been tempted to refuse the Kristeva alchemist on principle. “Come with me and I shall show you where it is.” 

Beckoning to the two Master Alchemists, Ari led them out the door and down the expansive villa corridor, passing the requisite paintings and sculptures on display en route to his study. A room nestled in its own quiet hallway towards the rear of the villa, it was indeed a lightly trafficked area. Removing a key from his coat pocket, Ari unlocked the door and ushered them into a chamber much like the others in terms of opulence, save for several significant differences. While plenty of art festooned the walls, and the aforementioned desk, a beautiful piece of carpentry made from a rich, dark rosewood, dominated the room, in one corner displayed a shelf reserved entirely of curiosities. No statuettes peppered this shelf, or nothing purely decorative. Instead, rows upon rows of raw, unrefined mineral specimens lined all three tiers, ranging from moss-green lumps of tektites, their glass-like sheen formed by the impact of meteorites, to pure-black geodes where within, galaxies of stars glittered inside their grotto in miniature, to a rare platinum alloy shaped into a diamond, and a fossil of geometrically-perfect spiral shell imprinted impeccably on an iridescent, opalized surface. These were but a few of the stand-out specimens one could detect, but many more littered the shelves, just waiting to be noticed by an interested eye.

“Is this a satisfactory workspace for your needs?” Ari tilted his head, addressing mostly Nia. Isidor was an afterthought of his attention. “I figure it is most suitable to be in a room that offers the best proximity to your patient. Otherwise, I would have suggested several underground venues, but if we factor in your leg, it is not a particularly wise idea.” Ari turned his dark, uninterested eyes to Isidor. Though his expression was unreadable, his tone was imperious. “I’ve no more guest suites available aboveground, Master Kristeva, but should you require rest, there are plenty of vacancies in the undercity downstairs. I assume this will not be a problem for you? You seem well-suited for the sensibilities of a cave-dwelling existence.” His eyes lingered on the man’s ghostly pallor. “Allow me to provide you such a safe haven. As an earth mage, I myself am partial to the subterra.”

“Ari, if it isn’t already pretty abundantly clear… Isidor doesn’t treat me any differently than the majority of Galeyn. Let’s be honest.” Nia couldn’t help but chuckle at her own unfortunate circumstances. Hell, if she didn’t laugh, she’d end up crying! “You can’t hate him on those grounds alone, or else you’re priming yourself to hate the majority of this kingdom. Anyway, I don’t blame him; his reasons for despising me aren’t so unfounded. I’ve got rare skills that I earned at the expense and lives of other people… and I chose to use those skills to help a power-hungry witch obtain what her wants and desires. Like the rest of this kingdom, he’s got every right to judge me for that. I’m just gonna have to win him over honestly like the rest of Galeyn.” She didn’t bother to mention that that ‘special resentment’ he seemed to hold for her might have something to do with their one night together, where she had somewhat pressured him into ill-fated intimacy… But that was kind of a given. “And, hey, I’m not saying you have to like him. Truth be told, I don’t think he cares either way who likes or dislikes him. But I know he hasn’t had it easy, because I didn’t have it easy, either. So he can throw as many stones as he wants, but I’m gonna employ the same tactic with him that I do with everyone: just keep smiling until he realizes he’s only wasting his time despising me!”

Funny, how of all the times and for all the reasons Ari suddenly decided to be open and honest about his feelings and opinions, it was over the matter of disdain. Nia honestly couldn’t have pictured the Canaveris lord despising anyone, until he’d gone on and on about his incompatibility with Isidor Kristeva. She wasn’t sure whether to be impressed… or maybe a little worried.

The Ardane alchemist didn’t think much more of it until they had reached the top of the stairs, with Isidor and Alster joining them in Sigrid’s crowded chambers, and her yammering mouth earned her a quick, snide remark from Isidor. Truthfully, she thought nothing of it, and wasn’t even mildly offended; she did have the tendency to ramble, and more people really should remind her not to dominate a conversation in such a way! But Ari, it seemed, did not take too kindly for the perceived affront, and it rather took her by surprise when he called Isidor out on what he felt was blatant rudeness. Ever the mediator, Alster stepped in on Isidor’s behalf, but really, none of the back and forth was at all necessary. She had thicker skin than they thought; there was no need for anyone to jump to defend her. “Hey, take it easy, guys. Here I am, rambling, and Isidor’s got important work to do to help a sick friend. No harm done.” She placed a gentle hand on Ari’s arm, and said softly, “It’s fine--really. Don’t take it to heart. I sure don’t.”

As Isidor examined the unconscious faoladh, seeming as though he hadn’t heard Ari’s chastising (or chose to ignore it very well), he looked up with an air of alarm when Bronwyn offered herself as a means of furthering the testing that would be required to return Hadwin’s body to homeostasis. “No! I mean… no, that won’t be necessary. So long as we have access to your brother, and his blood, that should suffice for a solution to be found. Although, if I have questions pertaining to your unique traits as a faoladh, I will be sure to ask.” While it might have come across as strange that the Master Alchemist was so triggered by what could only be interpreted as a helpful request, he didn’t feel like explaining that he already felt like enough people had suffered in the name of Master Alchemy for him to be comfortable using another living person as a ‘test subject’. He was through with causing pain, inadvertently or otherwise.

Stepping away from Hadwin to allow Alster the space to heal the man’s busted knuckles, Hadwin gathered his large, rather cumbersome bag and nodded to the rest of the room. “I’ll keep you all apprised of the situation; I only ask that you all have patience. A rushed product was what put Hadwin in this place to begin with. If I’m going to help him… then I’m going to take my time and do it right.”

While reluctant to leave the reassuring company of Alster, Isidor huffed a small sigh and followed Nia and Ari toward the study where he would be spending the majority of his time during the next few days. To say that he seemed uncomfortable was an understatement; whatever disarray his chambers were in back at the palace, it was nonetheless a safe haven for the reclusive Master Alchemist. He owned that mess, and could find order within the chaos without any difficulty whatsoever. He could feel his heart rate drop when he was alone in his room, with nothing but his studies and supplies. It was his space, his rules, and there were no expectations to be met aside from his own. Moreover, he didn’t have to worry about any social faux-pas, or whatever anyone thought of him, positively or otherwise.

But here, in the Canaveris villa--arguably one of the last places in which he wished to find himself--Isidor was well out of his element. He did not resonate with the pompous decor of the corridors, the impeccably dressed denizens (even servants!) who passed by, giving him disconcerting looks, and finally, the grand study that in no way reflected the state he was used to working in. This place was pristine, and looked less of a safe haven to conduct work, and more like the rest of Aristide’s home: a place to admire his artwork and frivolous earthly luxuries. In all honesty, he would have been happier in some underground ‘cave’, where there was no light (or fewer people) to interfere with the alchemical process, but Lord Canaveris did bring up a good point. Nia still nursed an injury that limited her mobility, and as much as he didn’t like the woman, Isidor did not wish to put her through unnecessary pain. Not to mention, much though he hated to admit it, her help and cooperation would speed up the process, and get him out of there faster, and back to working happily on the parade float. None of this was ideal; but it was what it was.

“I make no promises that I cannot be sure I am able to keep,” he remarked off-handedly, in response to Ari’s comment about keeping the room in pristine condition. “Alchemy of any brand is not a clean process, Lord Canaveris. Much like your art, I’d assume. Often the path toward a pristine project requires a messy undertaking. However, given that I have but a mere fraction of my belongings and supplies, I don’t imagine you will find this room entirely ransacked.” His eyes were not on the Canaveris lord as he spoke, though. Rather, he gazed at the geodes adorning the shelves, with no other purpose than to be observed and marveled at. Back at his tower, to which part of him still longed to return, he’d had his own collection of rocks and ores, but natural as well as alchemically tampered with. Through his own, independent studies, he had even managed to craft stone harder and more durable than diamond. It all made him rather nostalgic for the security of that place he once called home… but there was no time to bask in the desire to return to the safe forests of Nairit.

“Don’t worry, Ari; whatever ends up out of place, you have my word that when we’re through, everything will be back exactly as it was before.” Nia piped up in an attempt to dispel the tension in the room. She placed one hand on Ari’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. The tension in his muscles just being around Isidor was palpable; he really did not like the man. “You know,” she lowered her voice to speak only to Ari, and her lips curled into a grin, “you could just give him my room. Explain to the Forbanne guard it’s out of necessity, so Is doesn’t have to run up several flights of stairs in case of an emergency. And that way… we won’t have to communicate via resonance stone in the middle of the night.”

Isidor, who hadn’t appeared to have been listening as he began to deposit the contents of his massive bag on the desk, added as an afterthought to Ari’s comment (and if he had picked up on the thinly-veiled venom, he didn’t let on), “Whatever you see fit. I don’t imagine I’ll be spending much time asleep; I’d rather get to the bottom of what’s happening to the faoladh sooner than later.” And get out of here as quickly as possible, he wanted to add, but that was a given--and perhaps one of the only things that he and the Canaveris lord could agree on. As he set up vials and contraptions to hold them, he cast a single glance over his shoulder at the Ardane woman. “I assume you know how to use all of this? And whose human blood are you going to run the faoladh’s against to process a comparison? It can’t be your own; you’re a Master Alchemist, and too much has already changed about your physiology that you’re little more human than Kavanagh. And it can’t be his.” He gestured vaguely to Ari. “For all we know, his curse has rendered him more similar to stone than human.”

“Oh, it has not. Be nice!” Nia pouted this time and placed her hands on her hips. “And have a little faith in me! I know what I’m doing. Sigrid Sorenson is human enough, and she’s got a mesomorph body type like Hadwin, so there’ll already be some similarities in physiology and biology. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind giving up a few vials. I’ll go talk to her right now.” She didn’t so much ask Ari to follow, but rather tugged on his arm to urge him along as she left the study. He seemed reluctant, as if nervous to give up his pristine space to someone who might well ransack it, but after a moment, he yielded.

She waited until they’d turned a corner to let out a sigh. “Okay--I’ll admit, he’s a little difficult to deal with, let alone work with. You can’t really expect much else from a guy who’s spent the majority of his life locked away in a tower, without limited interaction. But… it’s just a few days. And his skills are really valuable, Ari. Not to mention, I’ll be working directly with him again when we lift your curse. Might as well get a feel for it sooner than later.” When they reached Sigrid’s room again, none of the previous parties had cleared out, still watching over the unconscious faoladh with concern. On the bright side, Alster appeared to have healed his busted knuckles; a small victory. “Hey--tall and blonde.” She pointed directly at Sigrid and beckoned her forward. “If you don’t mind, we’re gonna need a little of your blood to run some comparisons. And you…” She scoured the room, looking between Teselin, Alster, and Bronwyn, then shook her head. “You are the only one here who is as close to the average human that we’re going to get. Okay with you?”

While Sigrid did still hold similar disdain for the Ardane woman as did Isidor, it was for different reasons… and she knew better than to put her down in front of the head of the D’Marian settlement. Not when she was already here to pledge her services to him to make up for the affront on the peaceful settlement that she was partially responsible for. And, even if it hadn’t been Nia specifically asking, if she was able to be of help to Hadwin--hell, maybe he’d owe her. She could use that leverage in the future. “Of course. I’m happy to be of help however I can.”

“Excellent! I won’t take up much of your time.” Turning back to Ari, Nia offered a soft, apologetic smile. It hadn’t been her wish to take away from their time together… but this was an emergency. And Hadwin was a friend. “Why don’t you draft up a sketch of our float, if you have time. We can look it over at dinner tonight together.” She boldly reached forward to tuck one of his damp, obsidian locks behind his ear. Their relationship was no secret to anyone in that room, anyway. “So I’ll see you tonight.”

The rest of the day unfolded tediously with task after task, running chemicals and compounds against human blood and faoladh blood to witness how they interacted differently and similarly. Predominantly, Nia was kept busy with the tasks that Isidor gave her, and she happily carried them out, feeling for the first time in a long time like she was actually being put to use to her fullest potential. Hells, maybe when word got out that she’d helped restore Hadwin to peak health, those who didn’t despise him might speak out in her favour. It could be a huge step in serving out her sentence and earning her freedom within Galeyn and the D’Marian settlement. She met with Ari at suppertime and went over some rudimentary sketches as ideas for their float; their conversation lasted even longer than usual because, despite that Isidor had been invited to dine with them out of Ari’s obligation as host, his seat remained empty, and his plate untouched. Nia surmised that he was probably too engrossed in his work to have remembered, which wasn’t far from the truth.

The same went for the next morning, when Nia was summoned to break her fast with Ari at the dining table. Isidor’s seat remained empty; she thought up other possible excuses. “Master Alchemists do better work when we fast--truth be told, as delicious as this looks, I think I might have to pass on anything to eat until dinner.” She sighed, gazing longingly at the heap of fruit, bread, and cheese on her plate. Though to her credit, she had eaten about half of her meal at dinner the night before, much to Ari’s relief. “Honestly, Ari, don’t take it personally. I know it can get to you when you always put out the effort to be a good host, but this is way less about you, and way more about Isidor’s habits and lifestyle.” She knew the Canaveris lord would take offense to this utter breach in guest etiquette, although to be fair, Ari had never formally ‘invited’ Isidor into his home, nor had Isidor ever truly wanted to be there to begin with. “In fact, I’m willing to bet money that he didn’t even sleep. Something I can empathize with.” She, too, had spent the night finding excuses to stay awake, with the help of some of Hadwin’s candyroot, but she did not divulge as much to Ari, in case he fretted for her well-being. “Just… pretend like he isn’t even here. He probably won’t need me often today, now that he’s got the information he needs to work on his own. We can get some headway on that float. I want to get to work on the fireflies soon. Look at it this way.” She leaned across the table to take his hands in her own. “We’re getting a headstart on this competition. If Isidor is busy with other things and unable to work with Alster… then our victory is already in the bag!”

Nia wasn’t wrong on any account. Yes, Isidor had worked through suppertime and the evening, and yes, he hadn’t slept, nor thought of food even once since arriving. Thanks to Nia’s help, he did have a better grasp on faoladh biology and how it differed from that of a human’s--information that would have been far more valuable before he had crafted that enhancement serum, to prevent it from going wrong. But there was no changing what was, and at least he had an idea as to how to move forward and restore Hadwin to the way he had been before; fit and athletic, but not impossibly strong.

During the time that Nia and Ari were finishing up at breakfast, the only surviving Kristeva brother made his way to Sigrid’s chambers. It was as if no one had left: she and Bronwyn were there, along with Teselin, and only Alster was absent from the crowd. Aside from that, the key difference was that Hadwin appeared to be awake.

“Did… any of you sleep last night?” He couldn’t help but ask, carefully stepping over the threshold of the doorframe, as if afraid to disturb the dynamic of the room.

“We all did. Teselin remained here; she didn’t want to leave Hadwin.” Sigrid motioned to the tired-looking young summoner. “I spent the night in an armchair in Bronwyn’s room. Couldn’t well take my bed back from someone in need.”

“Well, if you don’t mind descending several flights of stairs, you’re free to have the room Lord Canaveris assigned to me in his underground cavern. I doubt I’ll be using it.” Isidor offered, though the flat tone of his voice could not be mistaken for anything but resentment. Turning to Hadwin, he made his way over to the faoladh’s bedside. “So trouble found you again, and once more, you end up bedridden. Didn’t I tell you that serum was too risky?” He huffed a frustrated sigh and adjusted his spectacles on the bridge of his nose. “Well, now that you’re conscious, mind telling me how you’re feeling? What’s working and what feels off? I’m only barely becoming familiar with faoladh physiology. By the time we’re done restoring your health, I’m willing to bet the Ardane woman and I will be the only Master Alchemists in existence to have such deep insight into the way your body works.”

Aristide Canaveris was a man who prided himself on hospitality. To be hospitable, one had to possess a certain love or tolerance of people, a skill that came naturally to the gregarious and socially competent lord. Exhausting though his professional duties, he never quite tired of the front-facing aspect of his lofty position; namely, entertaining guests, navigating the complex hierarchy of the gentry, and enjoying the company of his countrymen, be they farmer, merchant, artisan, noble, accomplished mage, royalty…or Master Alchemist. On the surface, Isidor Kristeva checked all the boxes required to endear himself to Ari. Granted, Ari’s list was a short and superficial one, and the title of ‘Master Alchemist’ alone usually earned his unerring respect, but Isidor managed to wheedle his beetle-like way into irksome territory, by several means.

One; his personal bearing was atrocious. With nary a ‘Hello,’ a nod of acknowledgment, an attempt at eye contact or at recognizing his host’s existence at any juncture, gave Ari pause to wonder if he indeed had grown up feral. When he did decide to speak, he acted the part of a petulant child, throwing tantrums at the world for daring to tread in front of his path and, heavens forbid, breathe air in his vicinity. 

Second; his gloominess was so prevalent, it would surely create a midday eclipse should he deign to step outside in the sun—if he didn’t catch fire, first. On principle, Ari tended to avoid people whose cesspits of despair sucked the color out of anything good and positive that entered their orbit, for it was they who created their own abject unhappiness. 

And third, and perhaps most petty a reason; he and Nia were intimate, once. Their provisional coupling wasn’t even the worst part, in his opinion. It was in how Isidor had discarded her like some common whore after he finished, and later, afforded every opportunity to direct his deep-seated self-loathing at her, as though she were responsible for his ongoing misery.

Admitting to anyone that he, the likeable and affable D’Marian leader, harbored disdain for another based on paltry, unsubstantial nitpicks—trifles, really—didn’t sit well on his conscience, and it later shamed him to recollect on his contemptuous confession. Not so much because of his opinion, but because he shared his opinion, and exposed to Nia the ugly smudge carried on his otherwise pristine person. For certain, she would think less of him. Unfortunately, she knew the truth, and there was nothing to be done to withdraw her memory of his uncouth tirade. Short of befriending the wretched man, the best method of saving face was to present as the perfect host, however difficult the feat, considering Isidor’s absolute disregard for common decency. Even the crass and often crude Hadwin Kavanagh had better class when it came to the most fundamental rules of guest etiquette—RSVPing for a meal, for instance!

“There is no need for you to drum up excuses regarding Master Kristeva’s profound lack of delicacy,” Ari told Nia during breakfast the following morning, where their hapless guest had, yet again, failed to make an appearance, or even to inform them of his regretful decision to decline his invitation to dine. “I tire of everyone clambering to his defense.” He moodily stabbed his fork into the poached egg on his plate, watching the runny yolk ooze into a shallow yellow puddle. “I am no fool, Nia. I am well-aware of his…idiosyncrasies,” he said generously, though tempted to use far more incendiary wording. “Nor am I a stranger to forgetting to eat or note the time of day in the midst of an artistic breakthrough. When the well of inspiration flows, one cannot wait for the ink to dry, if my meaning is clear. Yet,” he wiped the yolk off his fork with a napkin and set it aside, “I cannot help but observe how often he is given leave to perpetuate his boorish behavior. He has resided in Galeyn for how long, now? Nearly a year? And he has failed to familiarize himself with his host country’s customs? It is as though he flat-out refuses to improve his position despite the constancy of his high-status surroundings. Lucky for him he finds himself in lenient company; lords and ladies of other lands would be far less forgiving of his unwitting yet damaging breaches of respect and protocol. Yes, yes,” he wafted one hand in the air, conceding with Nia on one point, at least, “he is not being deliberately wilful, but ignorance is often a deadlier bane to human progress than maliciousness and malice.”

Remiss to fixate on an undesirable topic for which he reserved plenty of cattiness to wax on at length, Ari welcomed the opportunity to speak on more productive and creative matters. “I’ve nearly completed my design for the float; I shall deliver you the parchment tonight and we’ll review it together, depending on your availability. I’ve a suggestion to use mica for our fireflies, as it is a naturally lightweight mineral and easy to shave off in sheets as thin as the membrane of an insect’s wings. But seeing as the material is notoriously delicate and flakey, liable to break apart, and not equipped for carving by itself, it will require your alchemical tampering to make more durable and flexible.” His enthusiasm restored, Ari lifted his fork and scooped a piece of egg-soaked bread into his mouth, delicately chewing and swallowing in full before continuing. “I daresay we shall make the most of our competitive headstart, yet! And as for your request to offer Master Kristeva your chambers in exchange for sharing one united space together,” his mouth broke into a sly smile, “that can certainly be arranged.”

Following breakfast, Ari hesitatingly released Nia to attend Isidor in his faoladh-related tasks and proceeded to tackle a few duties of his own, including holding several meetings to discuss crime management, overseeing some of the last-minute additions of the reconstructed ballroom—the only section of the villa that sustained the most structural damage during Locque’s beast-summoning tirade—adding the finishing touches to his and Nia’s float design, arranging festival plans with various D’Marian committees and, last, contacting his mother to inquire about her progress on the observatory tower. By the time he reached her via resonance stone, Ari was worn, having accomplished an impressive amount in a short span, but he masked the exhaustive notes that clung to his weary voice. If Nadira caught the slightest snag suggesting a less than optimal performance rate on his end, she would drop everything and travel to the villa posthaste. Considering the thick, hissing gristle of the resonance stone, a sound like meat cooking on the fire, it would be a performative feat—and a miracle— not to alarm her. To combat this, Ari allowed her to do most of the talking. Unfortunately, she already sensed something off about her son.

“The tower itself is approximately sixty percent completed,” Nadira reported, hastening her speech so she could discuss what truly interested her. “Pending no other hiccups or infighting between the D’Marian and Galeynian workers, we should be expected to complete the base of the tower, sans roof, in time for the festival. If we hurry, perhaps we can pull long evenings to complete the roof if the queen desires an unveiling ceremony, but we cannot technically introduce it as a completed observatory until we’ve mounted the telescopes, and we are waiting on the astronomers for the necessary pieces. Rest assured, we shall have something to flaunt in time for the festival. Now,” she continued, changing the subject in a breath so quick, it allowed no space for Ari to interject, “I have it on good authority that Master Kristeva is tending to an emergency and requires use of our facilities for several days. Is this true?”

Ari groaned inwardly. “Yes. Hadwin Kavanagh fell ill and Master Kristeva had arrived to provide his unfailing assistance.” Tempted to place stress on the word ‘unfailing,’ and slather it with plenty of derision, he thought better of it and evened out his words, to no avail; Nadira detected his resentment. 

“And are you providing him with exemplary hospitality?” She said, a hint of accusation in her question.

Ari’s temper flared. “Am I one to ever renege on my duties as a host? I have always been conscientious, careful, and considerate of my guests, heedless of upbringing or rank. Are you suggesting I do not take my commitments seriously?” 

“Ari,” she began evenly, but command and authority rumbled its after-echo such that he felt its vibrations rattle the tiles behest his feet, “if you do not treat that man with the utmost respect he deserves, I will not hesitate to return on the first carriage to the settlement and make certain you do your part correctly, respectfully, and without fuss, whether you approve of my intervention or not. Is this clear?”

“In heaven's name, mama, why?!” he snapped, no longer caring about yelling into the resonance stone and likely irritating Nadira’s pressed ear. “Why is it so important that I grant him beyond perfect service when I am doing my level best to provide that ungracious louse with the limits of my solicitude? It matters not to him; he is too damn oblivious to notice any good turns people do in his stead, and if you expect me to bend any further backwards to his unappreciative will, surely my spine will sunder from all the unnecessary strain that he is too disinterested to register, let alone comprehend.”

“Ari!” Nadira’s appalled admonition carried shock, above all, and disappointment, worst of all. Shamefaced, the Canaveris wandered across the room to calm his riled-up—and dangerously flare-up prone—senses with a pouring of wine into a goblet.

“That was…pointlessly cruel,” he confessed to his mother after taking a few swigs of the heady beverage. “…Forgive me. I forget myself.”

It had grown so quiet that Ari half-wondered if Nadira severed their connection to the resonance stone, until he heard her, soft, sympathetic, and almost…tearful, so unfamiliar a timbre to his ears, he about blamed it on the pop and crackle of the oft unreliable sound quality of the communication stone. “Master Kristeva’s mentor…was little more than a brutal, inhuman man. One can interpret their relationship as master to slave. I have even heard-tell that he bought young Isidor from his mother, and he treated the boy as such, as his property, but by the time I learned of Master Zenech’s inhumane and abusive treatments, decades had elapsed, and I was none the wiser, despite…” she paused, hesitating, “despite my inadvertent support.”

“Inadvertent support?” Ari reacted a little too viscerally at the words ‘slave,’ and ‘abusive,’ eliciting something sickening in him, something that pricked across the surface of his skin and stiffened…petrified.

“Yes,” Nadira’s regretful tone continued. “For years, I bankrolled Master Zenech’s research, his most ardent, influential, and wealthiest supporter by leaps and bounds. I lavished him with the rare and valuable riches only an earth mage can provide—ores, metals, and minerals essential to his craft. Eventually, I withdrew my patronage for reasons unrelated to his protege. Zenech was a penny-pincher and cared not about exchanging my resources for his services. Confident I would never locate his whereabouts, he disappeared himself, his protege, and his tower into the Nairit forests deep, ill-gotten goods in tow. He did more than disrespect our deal, and so…” Nadira fell silent, but the implications rested firmly on Ari’s shoulders. His mother approached Zenech with the far-flung hope that he would lift her son’s debilitating curse, but instead, she accidentally enabled the harsh and unforgiving practices of a monster…for him. It was all for him. No wonder why Nadira held herself partially responsible for Isidor Kristeva. By extension, Ari was held even more responsible. Because it was his curse. His fault for imposing it on himself as a young and foolish, naive child. It had a rippling effect of consequences for all parties involved…Isidor included. 

“And so,” Ari finished Nadira’s words, as well as the rest of his wine, “it falls to us to mitigate our part, our role in all this by extending our support wherever possible…in hopes of paying our debts, and our minor crimes against humanity.”

Even amid the throes of unshakeable, insurmountable weariness, Hadwin was physically incapable of remaining asleep for longer than a day. Sure enough, the very next day he popped up from his bed, ready to go. Perhaps ‘ready’ was a gross understatement, as was the word, ‘popped.’ Rather, he slithered upright, cursing under his breath as Teselin and Bronwyn helped him to rest his shoulders against the pillows. “Ah—same shit, different day, am I right?” He dispensed a weak laugh, but the slight display of joviality jostled against his sore muscles, his sore everything, spiking the air from his lungs and stopping him before he emitted much more than a throaty half-gargle.

“Sure, if that helps you justify your out-of-control recklessness. You had a lot of people worried, you know,” Bronwyn harrumphed, gingerly releasing her guiding hand from Hadwin’s arm, once he was stable. To that, the second-born Kavanagh rolled his eyes.

“Of course I know, Bron.”

“So if you know, you won’t do it again, right?” She planted her hands on her hips, her glare stern, and cutting. In lieu of answering, he greeted Teselin with a smile and an affectionate chirp before his eyes darted to the imposing blonde woman in the corner. “Well hey there, Siggy. Fancy seeing you at my bedside. Must’ve made a damn good impression back there if you’re sticking around my sick room instead of trying to do some amends farming out in the streets.”

Bronwyn thrust a tin of water at her brother’s mouth, prompting him to take a few swallows, which also forced him into temporary silence. “She and Alster chased away those thugs who wanted to beat you senseless, or worse. She also donated some blood to help out your sorry ass, and you’re in her bed. You’ve also got Isidor and Nia working after hours to figure out how to put you back to rights.”

“Huh. That so?” He gently swatted Bronwyn's water-holding hand away from his face, content in knowing he had enough motor functions to raise and manipulate his arms—to an extent.

Speak of the devil…the notorious shut-in, in the flesh, shuffled through the doorway to stand near Hadwin’s bedside. “Well ain’t this a real treat. Always a pleasure, Dorio,” he grinned, but it was a grin with sharp, painful edges. “Trouble’s the word, always. But nah,” he traded his grin for something more contemplative as he looked out the window, through the half-drawn velvet curtains. “I knew the risks. Was prepared to live with ‘em for the rest of my days. See this as your exit pass, Isidor. You came through for me with that serum. I’ll bear the rest. Let it be said that I own my terrible fucking decisions. But,” he cocked one curious ear in the Master Alchemist’s direction, “I can’t begrudge you for wanting to expand your ever-growing repertoire, though between Bronwyn and me, knowing your way around faoladh biology is one hell of a niche skill. A wasteful one, too, but I guess everyone’s on board with this, so whatever,” he gave a noncommittal shrug. Everyone in the room could tell there was something terribly off about the faoladh when he didn’t jump on the chance to quip on Isidor’s suggestive comment about learning his way around his body.

“Honestly…I’ve felt like shit for a long time. Months, even, so it’s damn near impossible to tell you how I’m feeling. Everything pales in comparison to the kill-headache, so all this,” he gestured to himself, “is a walk in the park by contrast. I’m just weak. Really weak, and it’s not for a lack of trying to return to tip-top shape. Every day I’m on the run, on the go. The whole lot of you can attest to that,” he made an amused harrumph. “But it all amounts to nothing. Resting aplenty doesn’t do shit, moving about doesn’t do shit, either, but I prefer it to the former, and that serum’s still in me cuz I get the aftertaste that sticks to my tongue like almond toffee.” He closed his eyes, reminiscing on the sensation. “When I tasted it the other day, I felt like I could take on the whole fucking world. But it was a pittance of a surge and then it was gone, and it wiped me clean out. I was down and…shit,” sliding his eyes open, he ground down on his jaw and curled his fingers into a feeble fist in an attempt to fend off something he’d rather not feel. Self-loathing. “It could’ve all gone to hell because of me, yeah? Again? Kiddo…well, I shouldn’t be calling you that anymore ” he turned his golden eyes to the maturing summoner, two very uncharacteristic pools of…sadness, “I don’t think I’m ever gonna stop fucking up, so here’s your chance to turn away now. Not that you will,” he smiled wanly, “but I thought I’d put it on the table as an option.”

This curious, far more open and transparent side of Ari was one with which Nia was only beginning to become acquainted. The Canaveris lord was often apt to paint the world he observed in vibrant and appealing colours, waxing poetic on the most mundane, or even the most pessimistically viewed matters or people, to the point where it was often a matter of wondering if the world around him, according to Ari, was even remotely accurate to what met the eye. But that rose-tinted view certainly did not pertain to Isidor Kristeva; if anything, the view was completely reversed, to the point where it almost seemed as though the earth mage struggled to identify any virtues in the reclusive Master Alchemist. Somehow, the reclusive and socially-terrified eldest Kristeva managed to get to the very core of Ari’s nerves, and nothing that she said contrary to Ari’s opinions on the man would suffice to change his mind.

“I’m not trying to make excuses; I’m just… well, I suppose I’m painting Isidor in the most honest light that I can.” Nia moved the food around on her plate with her fork. It looked delicious, as did all meals in the Canaveris villa, but even while her appetite was slowly returning to her, bit by bit, so too did she understand the necessity of abstaining from food for the sake of performing to the very best standards of her alchemical abilities. “There’s nothing to defend when he blatantly offends you--as I’m sure he’s offended a lot of people. I just don’t want you to take it too personally, as I know you are wont to do. I guarantee he isn’t trying to offend you, or anyone, for that matter. Hells, I imagine offending people is absolutely the last intention on his mind! And it’s true, he’s had some difficulties fitting into… well, into society, any society, beyond his tower. But I think he is also painfully aware of that--which is why you’ll sooner see him hide away than mingle. It’s easier to take yourself out of the equation that is mingling with other people than to risk garnering an unfavourable opinion by being unfamiliar with social protocol. But then, that also causes him to lose out when his lack of presence is the offense, yeah? When you think about it…” She gingerly set her fork down, staring pensively at the food on her plate. “The guy really can’t win, can he? Damned if he does, and damned if he doesn’t. What would you do when no choice is the right choice?”

Realizing a little too late that she was overthinking Isidor’s habits and disposition just a little too much, the Ardane alchemist looked up and smiled apologetically in Ari’s direction. “Okay… so maybe I’m defending him a little. But I kinda have to, Ari. I may not know much about Is or the fine details of his life, but can’t deny the level of understanding I do have. Master Alchemists are so few and far-between, we kinda have to look out for one another--whether he realizes that or not. He’s sorta like the brother I never had. Well, I did have a brother, but he’s dead and he was a far greater asshole than Isidor.” She twisted her mouth into a grimace. Daryan Ardane wasn’t someone she spoke of all too frequently; she’d been rather young when her older brother had died, succumbing to training he just couldn’t survive, and the few memories she did have of his smug face were not pleasant. Perhaps, subconsciously, she was adopting Isidor to fill that void left so long ago… whether he liked it or not. “But believe me, he doesn’t want to be here causing you inconvenience any more than you want to be inconvenienced by him. Just try to keep that in mind. Remember, we need him if we want to lift your curse. So let’s save any bridge-burning until at least after the fact, yeah?”

Afraid that her sympathizing with Isidor Kristeva would come across as completely condoning his rudeness, and thusly rub Ari the wrong way, Nia was relieved when the Canaveris lord latched onto the change in subject that was their parade float, and the preparations they were making before setting off to craft the pieces. “Of course you’ve almost completed it--I’d never have thought anything less from you!” She clapped her hands together excitedly, her smile tugging at each corner of her mouth. “And mica sounds perfect. Leave it to me, I’ll make it both sturdy and flexible. Able to be shaped and tampered with without crumbling to dust. I might even be able to make it change colours intermittently--wouldn’t that be a sight? We’ve got this competition, Ari. Victory is gonna be ours, you have my word!”

In a bold move, regardless of the presence of her eternally-observant Forbanne guard, Nia did more than take Ari’s hands when she leaned across the table, and in fact planted a kiss on his cheek. “Let me know about swapping out bedrooms; the one you’ve assigned me is far too big, I’m afraid. I think I might need some company.” She winked slyly, before reluctantly pulling away. “I’ll see you later. Looking forward to it already.”

Nia took her leave quickly, before Ari could comment that she obviously hadn’t eaten enough, and made her way to the study where she expected to find Isidor. Well, the Kristeva alchemist appeared to be absent, but by the looks of the papers strewn about tables, chairs, and floors, contraptions and instruments set up on any available surface, and a large blanket strewn across the window to block out the light, it was obvious that Isidor had been spending a good deal of time in there since she’d last seen him the night before. “Hey, Is?” In the event that he had somehow become part of the background, or was dozing off to the side, Nia stepped inside. No response; no Isidor. If he wasn’t here to give her instructions… then there was only one more place she was likely to find him.

Apparently, everyone had the same idea to crowd into Sigrid’s room to see how Hadwin was faring, with Isidor among them. The Ardane woman slid in during one of the faoladh’s self-deprecating jokes that drew frowns on the faces of his sister, Sigrid, and especially Teselin. No one even noticed her presence right away.

“You’re wrong, Hadwin. None of what happened the other day was your fault.” The young summoner argued passionately. Her voice sounded as though it was tinted with anger, though whether it was directed toward herself or Hadwin was unclear. “This time, it was all me. I found danger, and I got myself into it alone. Had you not interfered… don’t you know what I can do? Haven’t you seen it, time and again? You might have broken a man’s face, but I can’t even begin to guess the sort of chaos that would have ensued if I had managed to lose my temper. That man is still alive, and the tavern is still standing. Could you really say the same for me if I had chosen to fight? You prevented the situation from escalating--and then Sigrid and Alster kept it that way. So if there is reason to turn away from you, then where the hell does that leave me?” Her voice softened and her shoulders relaxed, giving her a deflated look. “We’re in this together… you promised me.”

“Hey--you’re up and awake! Well that sure as hell is an improvement from yesterday.” Nia took a chance and decided to break up the gloomy atmosphere with her smile and a voice that refused not to be heard. “Now tell me you’re not lying around feeling all nihilistic when you’ve got a whole bunch of people willing to help your sorry ass, Hadwin. Hells, you’ve got two--two!--Master Alchemists on the job to set your body right again. Now’s not the time to give up, my friend.”

“I’m going to have to agree with Nia, here. As much as I would rather not waste another moment on you, Kavanagh, I am the only person who can help you because it was my serum that did this to you.” Isidor piped up, his gloomy face looking particularly annoyed at Hadwin’s dismissal of his services. “And if I chose not to help you, I’d have a lot of people to answer for--my sister among them. So, like it or not, we are going to get to the bottom of this, and restore you to the miserable yet functional form you carried before… well, all of this.” He made a wide, vague gesture around the room. “And the sooner I solve this problem, the sooner I can get the hell out of this villa and back to my privacy at the palace. That said, I expect you to cooperate fully and unconditionally with Nia and myself… No, not only that, but with everyone who has lifted a finger on your behalf. Is that clear?”

Nia raised her eyebrows. For a moment, it was almost as though Isidor Kristeva were referring to her as an equal--or, at least, a lesser colleague that he at least recognized. It was a good feeling; and she knew better than to point it out. “In any case, you’re a fun project, Hads. Now I get to understand how faoladh biology works! Definitely useful in my repertoire if ever I find myself needing to deal with faoladh sometime in the future.” Turning to Is, she flashed an eager smile. “Speaking of fun projects--what’ll you have me do today, boss?”

“Don’t… call me that.” Isidor pinched the bridge of his nose and adjusted his spectacles. When he spoke again, he addressed Hadwin. “Fortunately for you, I think I’ve come up with a formula to reverse the effects of the serum safely. I can’t speak for side effects because I’ve never administered this to a faoladh, but in humans, you’ll often find you feel opposite of how you felt with the augmentation serum: instead of strong and full of energy, you’ll feel weak and tired for a while, as if you’ve fallen ill. It’ll gradually dissipate as the doses decrease over the next week or so, and after treatment, you’ll return to feeling like yourself--your normal self. Without superhuman strength or speed. So, at most, anticipate a little over a week more of bedrest… and I do mean rest. Don’t get antsy and fuck it up.” The Kristeva alchemist folded his arms over his chest and nodded at Nia. “Since she’s going to be here anyway, I’ll have her check in on you frequently, as well as administer the dosages. So that, Nia, is what you will be doing for me when the serum is complete. In addition to that,”

Isidor paced the room a few steps, releasing his arms to clasp his hands behind his back. “Other than that, treat your body as if you are recovering from any other kind of aliment. Plenty of water and rest, and if possible, a high-protein diet to accommodate your needs as someone who is part wolf… which may be difficult in Galeyn, I realize, but even fish will suffice. No alcohol or herbs--not even from the Night Garden, as I cannot guarantee its remedies won’t have a negative effect on the efficacy of the serum. Nia, I’m glad you’re so interested, because once the serum is complete, and I leave this place, I’m putting it all into your hands… for better or worse.” Drawing one hand from behind his back, he ticked off tasks on his fingers. “You’ll be collecting and analyzing his blood twice a day, before and after administering the serum. Keep a close eye on his vitals no less than three times a day. Toward the end of the week, say on day five, accompany him outside for light exercise to see how he fares, and take notes on that as well. Relay it all to me via resonance stone when you have a chance. Otherwise, please do not contact me unless there is a dire emergency. Does that sound reasonable to you?”

“Absolutely. You can count on me.” Nia saluted the tall Kristeva man with a proud grin, before turning back to Hadwin and giving his shoulder a playful nudge. “Hope you’re not too sick of seeing me yet; we’ll be seeing a whole lot of each other for the next little while, hm? Hey--Is?” She turned her head just in time to see Isidor heading toward the door. Gone almost as fast as he had come. “Where are you going?”

“To get to work on the serum. I’ve said all that needs to be said, and I’d like to be out of here sooner than later. If you have any questions, you know where to find me.” That was the only explanation Isidor offered, before he slipped away in time to escape any further questions thrown his way.

When he escaped to the study, the Kristeva alchemist was mercifully only interrupted a couple of times that day by Nia, who, to her credit, did what she was told and didn’t put up a fuss, between retrieving more of Hadwin’s blood or ingredients for the serum. She was no longer needed by about midday, at which point he got to work on the serums; several vials’ worth, carefully labeled, and each with a weaker dosage to accommodate a more natural progression of recovery. It was tedious work, as customized serums often were, and it didn’t help that he hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. Nia noticed his fatigue; she’d offered to help out to speed up the process, but he couldn’t risk too much variation between the vials, so he politely declined. At the very least, this task kept him focused, and when he was focused, his mind did not wander to places he’d rather not inhabit.

With a blanket draped across the curtainless window, it was impossible to keep track of the passage of time. Not that time ever meant very much to him, anyway, in a world where he just got on, day to day, moment to moment with no end or goal in sight. After this serum was finished, he would return to the palace and work on the parade float. And once that was finished… then what? He could not revive the acrobat, Cwenha, without a necromancer. And without anyone or anything tying him to Galeyn… then it would be time to return to his tower. Maybe, over time, he would forget everything that plagued him all over again, and return to that state of blissful ignorance. No memories of Zenech, or Arisza… or Tivia. Memories would fade with time; maybe then he would find peace again, someday.

He didn’t know what time it was when there came a knock at his door. It could have been dinnertime--or the middle of the night. It was all the same to him. “Nia,” he sighed, and rubbed a hand down his face. “I told you if I needed anything else from you I’d send for…” But it was not Nia who set foot inside the study. On the contrary, it was her lover. The lord of this villa.

“...Lord Canaveris.” Isidor set down his instruments and books. Five vials of pale-blue liquid stood upright in wooden frames to maintain their stability; still two more to go. “If you are here about the state of this workroom… do recall that I was not able to promise keeping everything orderly while I work.” Immediately, the Master Alchemist straightened his body and adjusted his glasses, completely on the defensive: what other reason would Aristide Canaveris have to stop by, other than to chide him for making a mess of his gaudily-decorated study? “Do rest assured that I will tidy up and restore everything to the way it was prior to my departure. Which, you will be pleased to hear, is imminent. I’ve only a couple more vials of serum to craft for the faoladh as part of his recovery plan. Following that, I am leaving detailed instructions for Ardane and leaving it in her hands. There is no point having two people around for a job that requires one person--and she is already posted here for other reasons, anyway. You’ll sleep well tonight knowing I intend to be gone by morning.” If he didn’t lapse into exhausted slumber prior to finishing those vials, that is.  

Something happened to Hadwin directly following Rowen’s mess of a death. He would never discuss it out loud, not to Bronwyn and especially not to Teselin, but it rested on the very unsettling fact that he didn’t want to be alive anymore. This differed from his lifelong aspirations, where he chased death for the thrill of touching the precipice, and didn’t care whether he fell off the cliff, to his doom. To fear nothing, one couldn’t lean all their weight into self-preservation because they’d while their days tensing their shoulders, anticipating the end, and refuse to live as a result of stubborn inaction. The sorry sod might last a tad longer, true, but what for? To say they battled Death and won? Bullshit. They didn’t fend off a damn thing; they ran scared, darting behind bushes and hiding, like a deer from the hungry jowls of a wolf. But Hadwin was no piddling prey animal, and he wouldn’t act like one, either. So what if he lived a shorter life? As long as he seized every opportunity, played hard, loved even harder, and never hesitated, if his own folly waylaid him at the mouth of an alley and gutted him, then he would commend the game, and, letting his piece drop, lose gracefully, and fade into oblivion.

But that was then, when things were brighter. He had his health, his virility, his wheeling and dealing, consequence-free lifestyle, and the peace of mind associated with his little sister’s safety. Now, gone was his joie de vivre, his spirit of adventure and danger, his readiness for tomorrow keeping him up at night…his sister. While he chalked up this under-performance as a physical malfunction caused by the numerous stresses he inflicted upon his body, it was getting more and more difficult to see the horizon line when face-planted in the dirt. Not to say he didn’t appreciate folks lending him a hand, offering him a cloth to wipe the mud out of his eyes, but they shouldn’t have to dig him out of his mess! Let me fucking rot, he wanted to snap. You’re better for it. You’re all better for it!

What a reversal of priorities, he thought bleakly. First, he saw death as a challenge, a final, heart-pounding plunge into the ether to which seemed so alluring, but now, when he had so much to live for, to stay for, he refused to heed the ever-so-prominent call of the void, knowing what it would do to Teselin, to Briery, and to Bronwyn…but dammit if the fight to resist temptation wasn’t getting exhausting, and…

For the first time in decades of fighting, all he wanted was to rest. Indefinitely. But there was no rest for the wicked, and he’d have to muddle through, or die trying. Not that he could afford the latter option. Somehow, he unlocked for himself a conundrum of contradiction; longing for death while simultaneously dreading it. Fearing it. 

“No, you’re right; I made a promise and I intend to stick to it. I’m just giving you an escape clause in case you find yourself looking for a way out. Just a courtesy, really, cuz I knew you wouldn’t bite.” For Teselin, he stretched forward to rest a hand on her shoulder, ignoring the creaking of his rusty, weighted-down joints and the tugging, tender pain it induced—much to everyone’s chagrin. Did they really expect him to stay put?! “You know, I’d argue with you, saying something like, ‘Well, it’s on me for antagonizing half this town.’ You get what you pay for, and I cheated those men of their pay, so it’s no wonder I got a bum deal out of this.” He tried for an easy, flippant grin, but nothing came easy for him lately, and it punctured his lips like he’d gotten a split and holding them taut for any period of time would stretch open the wound. “But I’d be arguing with the wall, because you’d never believe I’m no good for you. There’s so much better for you out there. Have you convinced yourself that you’re so hopeless that you deserve nothing less than rabble like me for company? I wouldn’t take offense at all if you say ‘Yes,’ but I’d want to prove you wrong on one front; you’re chaos in a bundle, but you’ve got a good head on your shoulders, and it’s what’ll save you. Stick to your convictions; they’ll go a longer way than what my support could ever do. I mean; I couldn’t even do a lick for my own sis—“

He gargled away the final syllable with a dark, unhinged chuckle. He stuffed a fist into his mouth, sharpening his teeth against his recently healed knuckles. Fortunately, Nia insinuated herself into the conversation, encouraging Hadwin to jump on the opportunity for a diversionary change in the mood. Removing his fist, which spackled with bits of his blood, he threw on a manic grin and waggled his fingers at the Master Alchemist in an attempt to wave ‘Hello!”

“Psh; I’m the cheeriest nihilist you’ll ever meet. See?” He pointed to his too-toothy, too-clenched smile. “Look how happy I am to see you! And before I go around unwittingly insulting people with my well-meaning goodwill that of course is getting all twisted around because that’s what I fucking do,” he laughed away the dreary implications of his heavy words, painting wings on the iron bars in hopes of flight, “I’m not trying to poo-poo anyone’s services here; the shit is directed entirely at myself. So honestly, Isidor, take a seat and hear me as I ladle you with positive affirmations,” he looked the grumpy Master Alchemist in the eye, “I value you and I appreciate everything you do. And if it satisfies your pride and your guilt to fix me, then have at it. If it doesn’t and you’d rather stand back as I suffer my follies, then whatever; it is what it is.”

But Hadwin’s glib, careless tongue wasn’t long for this world when Isidor detailed exactly what he’d have to do for recovery. To him, it was all the same nonsense. Plenty of rest? Yeah, yeah. The same old side-effects? What else was new? No movements, no wandering off, no drinking…and no herbs. Normally, it wouldn’t be a problem for him to procure some from the Night Garden, given his proximity to the sanctuary, but he’d been uprooted from his former habitat…and he was all out of candy root, to boot.

“I feel sorry for you, Nia, thinking I’m a fun project, and watching over me will be a treat,” Hadwin said, to distract from the fact that his hand, deposited uselessly on the bed, had started to tremble. Resting was the absolute last thing that would guarantee his long-term wellness and survival. Without candy root, without a means of preventing sleep—dreamless sleep—he wasn’t sure he’d persist in keeping his promises to Teselin, if what awaited his subconscious mind was fit to kill him. Hadwin always dreamed nightmares, but these particular nightmares hobbled him, cut out his lungs, strung his entrails high on tree branches—all as reminders of his worst deed to date. Rowen had crafted a little hell for him, had cursed him to live in it and to die in it, and he hadn’t the strength of will to resist her any longer. If he slept…then surely he’d lose himself.

While Nia was most equipped to understand his current dysfunction, it didn’t matter if she assumed responsibility for his recovery, acting as his nurse over his equal. Unless…he exploited her vulnerabilities, her secrets, to get what he wanted.

“You’re gonna hate me at the end of this little venture…I promise you that.”

Aristide resolved to make amends immediately after finishing his conversation with Nadira, his natural drive to serve superseding his previous acrimony towards the uncharismatic twig of a Master Alchemist. Not that his hangups disappeared in a clap of thunder and a purifying cloud of rain, washing away all his firmly held beliefs about Isidor’s antisocial behavior, uncouth form, and perpetual disagreeableness, but now that Ari better understood the source behind his guest’s lifelong sourness, he was in a more superior position to seek—and want to seek—a harmonious reconciliation between the two.  After all, it was Ari who perpetuated a harsh and uninviting environment for a man who only desired the path of least resistance; a no-frills approach to his craft, where he needn’t have to focus on the delicate social dance often employed by the upper echelons of society. Why did it actually matter to Ari how Isidor behaved, when he gave plenty of concessions to other guests who frequented his home? He never expected people not familiar with D’Marian hospitality codes of conduct to act in accordance with the sometimes convoluted edicts of etiquette. In fact, he was oft extremely forgiving of one’s errors and missteps—as long as such missteps were in earnest, and not of malicious intent or as a deliberate means to foment disrespect. 

While Ari believed Isidor to cross that fine line between blatant ignorance and willful disrespect, it didn’t give him any right to volley back the same level of treatment like some child who slung cruel names at another child for bumping him on the shoulder by accident, completely blind to his surroundings. An inattentive child of that nature shouldn’t be punished, but rather, educated, taught how to raise his head to avoid colliding with the people on his path. And seeing as Ari shouldered a fair weight of responsibility for the questionable quality of Isidor’s early upbringing, it fell on him to rectify some of the damages incurred on this poor and pitiable man.

That evening, he paid the Master Alchemist from Nairit a visit. Assuming his location, he knocked softly on the door to his study-turned-temporary-laboratory, anticipating a wholly mess of papers, vials, and other miscellany strewn about the place in a disorder perfectly depicting the mind of the individual who wrought it to being—like an art project consisting of all paints with no canvas on which to paint. Might as well flick colors on the walls to see what blends worked best in complement. Or on the chairs. The floor. The desk. As Ari entered, his expectations weren’t led astray, as the state of the room was as he had predicted; like he had let the window open during a rather virulent summer storm.  

“Good evening, Master Kristeva.” Ari clasped his gloved hands together and bowed his head, a stiff and overly-formal maneuver reminiscent of a young lord who overcorrected his form to appear older and more sophisticated than his age suggested, but who ended up appearing more clumsy and clunky. “Yes, I do recall you saying this. I suppose you do better work in such conditions of disarray, and I must confess, sometimes, so do I.” He offered a simple, basic smile, stripped of its finery and ostentatiousness—the smile of a man unaccustomed to smiling without glamour, without the barest hint of performative pizazz. “One might even categorize an untidy space as a representation of creativity, as I doubtless keep my workshop in less than pristine appearances, on occasion. Paint drips and stone sheds, and nothing about the two inspires cleanliness, but I digress. I had hoped to speak with you about another matter entirely. One in which offers me a great deal of difficulty to convey aloud, if I am most frank.” Ari turned to his shelves of rock specimens, lifting a rare blue diamond from its high pedestal and staring at its flawed, uneven facets, comforted by the distracting shine.

“I have been…unfair to you, Master Kristeva. For that, I apologize. For a Lord such as myself who touts hospitality, I have been anything but, as well you know. Allow me to express my humility. As a token, please accept this,” he handed Isidor the raw, blue diamond. “Or, if this does not resonate with you, feel free to choose anything you would like upon this shelf. The majority of what you see are specimens we uncovered from our tunneling projects here in Galeyn.” He stepped back in an attempt not to crowd or overwhelm Isidor with his overlarge presence, however more subdued he had tried to make it. “We Canaverises seldom find ourselves in a scarcity of precious gems and valuable ores, so see this gift as but a small memento. A donation, if you will. I understand Master Alchemists must procure their resources from somewhere, and I have it on good authority that you specialize in ores and metals—if your redesign of Lord Rigas’s arm is any indication. I appreciate a little engineering now and again; truly, his prosthesis is without peer. Should my arm ever petrify and crumble, as macabre a thought it is to entertain, I know to whom I may turn for a commission!”

Although he made light of his curse, delivering jibes at his own expense, one glance at Isidor and he wished he hadn’t said anything at all. It wasn’t that the Master Alchemist directed a silencing glare at his babbling host; nothing that overt. But in looking at the man, actually looking at the quiet desperation swimming in his dark, weary eyes, was akin to staring at some pushed-aside memory long dismissed as not applicable to his current life. Something raw, that he’d rather not consider. Something that, like it or not, still affected him to this day.

“Ari, you must not wander from your bedchambers tonight.”

“But mama—“

“No buts!” Nadira hissed her notes of finality. “This ball will present too much excitement for you. Remember what happened at the last event?”

Ari looked down at his hands. No longer encased in stone, they wiggled and kicked in a show of nimble, nonresistant dexterity. “I will do better this time! You have taught me how to hide my condition. I shan’t embarrass you, mama. Please,” his youthful voice lumbered low in its entreaty. “The other children already give me a wide berth, afraid they will injure me. Everyone knows I am sickly; no one wants to come near. If I have a flare-up, they will simply see it as my poor constitution. Nothing else. Nothing revealing!” He stared out the narrow slats of the sealed curtains—instructed to always keep them closed, even for the sun—his expression longing. “If it is for a little while, it will be enough. I’ll ask for nothing more.”

Nadira’s brow eased, displaying her regret. “I am sorry, Ari, but tonight is too important to risk exposing our little secret. But,” she gave her son a bright, enticing smile, “I shall arrange a small and private family affair for you to enjoy. Together, we shall paint and carve and we’ll invite Laz and your brother to attend. Wouldn’t you like that better?”

Knowing he wouldn’t successfully convince his mother to relent, Ari sighed and nodded, resigned. “…Yes, mama.”

Days and weeks and years were spent staring out the tiny slit through his window, watching adults and children alike pass outside, ignorant of the child looking forlornly on. Memorizing their faces and bearing, he created their likenesses in stone and in clay, chiseling smiles upon their mouths, all smiles, as they were happy to meet him, happy to know him, and he spent long hours conversing with his stony friends at length, willing them to move and twitch and dance to life, for it was these friends he could touch and play with, without fear of discovery, or rebuke.

For decades, with the exception of his regular meetups involving a certain Rigas someone, Ari isolated in his chambers and workshop, whiling the time away on his artistic pursuits, formulating more friendships on marble and canvas than in reality. “How pathetic. I am your only friend of flesh and blood,” Chara would titter, whispering cruelly into his ear. “And if I leave, you will have no one but those soulless creations to comfort you. Can they even do this?” She walked the pads of her springy fingers up his arm, eliciting a desirous shiver in Ari. “Mmm. I thought not. You need me, Ari. I am all you have to connect you to pleasures of the flesh.” She nipped at his earlobe, tantalizing. “You are only human when you are with me.”

And then, Chara left. And then, Ari had no one. Until…until Casimiro found him, dusted him off, and put him to work. His tireless encouragements inspired Ari to throw himself into the public sphere, despite his mother’s spirited protests, and it was there, in the last handful of years, where he finally made a name for himself. Ari was established. Popular. Hospitable. Generous. Active in his community. An expert of artifice. A friend to all. 

At last!

And yet…

Something was missing. Something was always missing.

“You were not out of line, earlier. Not in full.” His breezy voice lost some of its featherweight, becoming grounded, laden, and heavy. “When you made mention of how I am more stone than human. …It is true. I am.” In one fluid motion, Ari yanked off the glove of his left hand and rolled up his sleeve, revealing his thumb and half his forearm encased in stone. “Every day, my body fights to revert to the inorganic, petrified place where I belong. It would not do such a thing if it recognized me more as human. As flesh. I am a statue masquerading as a man. That is a truth hard to acknowledge, but a truth nonetheless.” Tugging the glove back on his half-afflicted hand, he also tugged on a genteel smile, never forgetting his initial role as Lord of the villa, a host dedicated to ensuring the people under his care were comfortable and content. “I suppose this is not polite conversation to have,” he tacked on a laugh, for good measure. “While I am at your beck and call, Master Kristeva, do you need anything from me? A meal, perhaps, when you complete your task? Rest assured; I shall leave it at your door. Speaking of doors,” he gestured out to the hallway, “I have arranged to move your bedchambers to Nia’s old quarters. It would behoove you to rest well, in a soft bed, when your dealings with Mister Kavanagh have concluded.”

As much as Isidor did not rejoice spending time in the company of Nia Ardane, the Master Alchemist who had willingly chosen to be employed by a dangerous witch for the sole purpose of saving her own skin, spending time in the presence of the Canaveris lord was perhaps less desirable. It came down to the evil he knew versus the evil he didn’t know, and although neither Nia nor Aristide Canaveris was particularly ‘evil’, he couldn’t bring himself to view either of them in a particularly favourable light. Not Nia, because she showed so little remorse for the fact that her very profession stood atop the bodies of many who had been used as sacrifices in order for her to gain her status (and who he still believe to be indirectly responsible for the turmoil Galeyn had suffered), and not Aristide because… well, to be truthful, for his infatuation with the Ardane alchemist, on top of the fact that historically, he wasn’t known for treating Alster or the Rigases with particular kindness and decency. Above that, he had to admit that he really hadn’t anything firm to hold against the Canaveris lord, and his current hang-ups about the man weren’t even particularly warranted. Not when it appeared that Alster was making amends with this rival family, and had even asked the reclusive Master Alchemist to work among them as a favour to him. It didn’t escape his awareness that his attitude and feelings toward the man were, at best… petty.

Nonetheless, that didn’t inspire him to welcome Aristide’s company with a smile. Not when he, too, seemed to not have taken so kindly to Isidor, either. At the very least, they had an understanding through their thinly veiled animosity. That was what Isidor had understood, anyway, with his limited knowledge of social cues, but just now… perhaps he was wrong, but he couldn’t help but feel that the Canaveris lord’s demeanor toward him had changed. Isidor was willing to doubt himself in that assessment, until Aristide’s words confirmed that very suspicion. To say he was taken aback by the sudden shift in attitude was an understatement.

“You… did you come here to… apologize?” He had to ask the question aloud, for it sounded positively absurd on his tongue, as it did in his mind. “But… why? You’re going to have to forgive me. I didn’t anticipate… this. And I’m not sure I understand.” Not long ago, the Canaveris lord had only reluctantly offered use of his personal study for Isidor to conduct his business in crafting a solution to treat the miserable faoladh; and, if he recalled correctly, Ari had likely only agreed out of pressure to address the immediacy of this emergency, and because Nia had asked him ever so sweetly, and he would never deny the Ardane alchemist anything, if he could help it. So what had happened to incite this sudden change of heart? Had Nia said something to him? Asked him to play nice because she did not desire to bear witness to any quarreling or passive aggressiveness? Requesting civility was one thing, and he certainly wouldn’t have put it past Nia Ardane to request more tolerance of her lover for a reclusive man such as himself, but it was beyond that. Not only did the Canaveris lord apologize, but he was offering him a gift. As if what few words they had exchanged in the time he had been there had been such an inconvenience to him that a verbal apology simply wasn’t enough…

“You… you’re giving me a gift?” Ari handed the specimen over so fast that before he knew it, he was holding what was indubitably a pure, blue-hued diamond: quite a rare find, but what else could be expected of Galeyn, which was also the home of the rarest garden in all of existence? As all uncut gems were, at least in his eyes, the diamond was positively stunning, but not for its appearance alone. For their infinitely durable structure, diamonds were an excellent tool when it came to alchemy, and their properties were often woven into blades and other weapons for sharpness and durability, and armor for its resistance to damage. There was so much he could do with this small piece, experiment with, set his curiosities ablaze, but… “I… I can’t accept this.”

Feeling it would be too awkward to hand it back to Ari, the tall, pale Master Alchemist set the stone gingerly on one of the desks, atop some scrap papers with old notes that no longer held any value. “You owe me no apology. I came here upon someone else’s request--not yours. And I have fashioned a plan of action so that I need not remain and take up space in your home when Nia will be perfectly capable of taking it from here. I realize… I am difficult to work with. Even less easy to be around. It isn’t any fault of yours. And you’re wrong--I was entirely out of line for what I said earlier. I suppose chronic fatigue is bound to put anyone in a trying mood.” The corner of his mouth curled into a smile, but it didn’t last. Lately, he’d been too tired to maintain a smile. “But that isn’t an excuse, and… I realize now that my words were cruel and wholly unnecessary. Whatever constitutes your body, flesh or stone, you are still a man. Someone as worthy of respect as anyone. I’m sorry I haven’t had the grace to show as much.”

Mere talk of being weary was enough to encourage Isidor to take a seat at the desk and take the weight off of his feet. These days, sitting was as close to rest as he was reasonably able to achieve. “Lord Canaveris, if I may be candid a moment, I completely understand why you’ve harboured less than amicable thoughts about me. What occurred between me and the Ardane… between me and Nia was nothing short of a mistake, on both our parts. We did the wrong thing for all the wrong reasons. Somehow, her infallible optimism has led her to so easily forgive me, while I find myself having a hard time giving her the same courtesy. And, given your feelings for her, I can see that that hurts and angers you. Yet, I am well aware that all of the unpleasant sentiments I feel when I’m in her presence are not intended for her. Quite simply, she reminds me… of the worst of me. But…” Hunched over in his seat, the Master Alchemist clasped his hands together, unable to look the apologetic earth mage in the eye. Isidor opened his mouth, about to go on, when those avoidant eyes drifted to the collection of other rare and beautiful ores atop one of the higher shelves that he hadn’t had the need to ransack. He had seen a similar collection like that, somewhere before…

“You know… you’ve got an impressive collection of rare earth specimens, it seems. It reminds me of one I laid eyes upon many a time before, back in the tower in Nairit’s forest. It belonged to the master of the tower--the man I studied under. Or, if I am being very frank, the man who bought me, and went to any and all lengths to shape me into what he wanted me to be.” He unclasped his hands to run a finger over the blue diamond on the desk. Wouldn’t Zenech have loved such a rare specimen at his disposal… 

“Over the years, I had the ‘privilege’, I suppose, of watching that collection grow. I never asked him where they came from; it isn’t like he’d have given me an answer, anyway. But I remembered something just the other night. Something that my mind must have deemed either too insignificant or too damaging to bring to the forefront. I remembered that, just once, I bore witness to the source of his growing collection of precious and semi-precious gems. A woman came to pay a visit to the tower one summer. I remember this because we seldom to never had visitors; Zenech preferred to conduct business in person, away from his safe haven, so as to avoid persecution from those who opposed Master Alchemy. But this woman must have heard something on the inside, for she found the tower, and insisted she speak to its master. I heard her voice before I saw her; it was commanding and unyielding, enough that even Zenech could not deny her, and he let her in. I was performing my daily duties nearby while he spoke to her behind closed doors in his office. Voices were raised; she was unhappy. After all, it isn’t like Zenech would have done anything for anyone if it did not also benefit him. They did not speak for long, and when she stormed out of that room, I saw her face, and she saw mine. I didn’t see that face again until recently, in the observatory.” Now, he finally tore his gaze away from Ari’s collection, and found it in him to finally make the necessary eye-contact. “That woman… was your mother.”

He hadn’t intended for the uneasy silence that settled like a boulder blocking the path of escape, following his words. But, truth be told, he hadn’t intended for any part of this conversation to take place, yet… here they were. “I remember, she paused when she saw me, and I actually held my breath: because for some reason, I thought, just maybe, she would ask if I was alright. And I’d tell her the truth--that I wasn’t. That I needed out of that tower. In my mind, I pictured Zenech, enraged, but even a Master Alchemist is not necessarily any match for a magic user, which I believed her to be. Of course,” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug, and then let them fall, heavily. Like the weight of that diamond sitting next to him. “I’m sure it goes without saying, she didn’t speak to me. She paused, and then she was just… on her way. And later, I noticed a lovely new addition to Zenech’s collection of rare stones and ores. It left me feeling… hopeless. Hopeless, and enraged, because for the second time, the second visitor I saw in my time in that tower, could have helped me, and they didn’t. Just like my brother, they walked away, and I was no more than a passing thought. So I remembered, the other night, just why I felt so uncomfortable in your mother’s presence. It was because I was remembering… that she was just like Vitali. A missed opportunity for freedom that never came to pass.”

It was difficult to discern the tone of Isidor’s voice. In part, it swam with anger, but also equally with sadness and with deep-seated pain. As if to ground himself, he curled one hand around the jagged corner of the diamond. “So, when Alster asked me to come here, of all places, of course I was reluctant and angry--and I wanted nothing to do with you or the Canaverises. I felt like I owed you less than nothing when your mother might have had a chance to change my life for the better. Just to get me out of there… would it have been so hard? Just to escort me safely out the damn door. I could have run away all on my own from thereon out. Why, then, should I show you or any Canaveris decency when your family--like my own, I should add--let me down in the worst possible way?” The hand around the diamond squeezed hard, too hard, cutting the tender flesh of his palm, but then his hand loosened. His face relaxed. “That is how I feel. But while my understanding of emotions is underdeveloped, due to a life in a tall prison-turned-home, I do understand that those feelings are flawed. Like Nia, it is not you who I am angry with or disappointed in. It is… myself. I could have reached out and asked your mother to help me, to really put the words out there in case she had any doubt. But I was afraid, and if she had declined… Zenech would have found out. He might have killed me. Truly, I have nothing but my own cowardice to blame for not leaving that tower sooner. While Zenech was still alive, I had all of two real chances to escape… and I squandered both of those chances because I am a coward, then and now. I was afraid. It is no fault of your mothers that I remained that man’s possession and project for years afterward. And you… you most certainly do not deserve the brunt of my frustration years later. The truth is, to this day, I don’t know how to forgive myself, especially when I keep making mistakes, over and over again. And I don’t know how to deal with it. So, when I am not hiding away to ensure the world doesn’t see any of these emotions, I lash out or project. And for that… I, Isidor Kristeva, owe you an apology, Lord Canaveris. You and Nia both. I just haven’t quite found the words for them yet. And, when I happen to find myself in Nia’s company in particular… frustration so often takes over any sense of reason.”

Realizing too late that the corner of the blue diamond had cut into his hand, Isidor hastily withdrew it and tucked the injured palm into a pocket of his trousers. With his opposite hand, he casually withdrew a handkerchief to wipe the stone clean. “All that said… please do not feel that you must be at my beck and call. You are under no obligation to cater to me. Anyway, I’ve never been one for large, grand meals, and--haven’t you been courting a Master Alchemist for some time now? You should know we are prone to periods of neither eating nor sleeping.” This time, the smile that tugged shakily at his mouth was genuine. “And why would you deign to give Nia’s room to me? Where will she rest if… oh.” Of course, he realized the implications of Nia giving up her room a little too late, and a flush the colour of one of the rubies on Aristide’s fingers coloured his pale face. “Forget… that question, please. But, thank you. If I feel like giving over to sleep this evening, I’m happy to know I won’t have to navigate the expanse of your underground dwellings.”

Isidor was half-right. Historically, when Nia had the opportunity to get a good, long sleep in her busy schedule, she’d seize that opportunity above all else (well… perhaps with the exception of a good meal). It was only of late, since the night of her arrest, that sleep eluded her; and during her incarceration beyond the dungeons that she fought sleep altogether, afraid of what might find her in her dreams. Both times that Alster had used his chthonic magic to rob her of consciousness, it had been enough for her body to recharge a good deal, such that the first few nights following, it was not so difficult to elude sleep. But, in Ari’s grand chambers, with his vast bed and soft quilts, and that soothing sense of safety, her willpower was struggling to hold up. Of course, Ari insisted she rest, and she had yet to inform him of the very details as to why she so whole-heartedly refused, so as not to worry him. So that evening, she waited patiently for him to fall asleep, before very carefully removing herself from his bed and tip-toeing out the door, still clad only in the nightgown he’d provided for her. Outside, the Forbanne guard eyed her warily, to which she responded in a whisper: “I’m helping Is out with the whole Hadwin situation, remember? He had his first dose of the serum today. Someone’s gotta check up on him every few hours to make sure he’s not experiencing any adverse reactions.”

Since that explanation seemed reasonable enough, the Forbanne guard did not deny her, but he did follow her all the way to Sigrid’s room, where Hadwin should have been sleeping. It came as no surprise to her to find him sitting up and wide awake. “Huh. I guess Is’s idea of rest and your idea of ‘rest’ don’t exactly mesh?” The Ardane woman sidled up to Hadwin’s bedside and put out her hand. “Gonna need a little more of your blood; just to keep an eye on things. How are you feeling? Better, worse, the same?” With the aid of a witchlight torch she’d taken from one of the walls in the corridor, Nia opened one of the pouches Isidor had left behind to retrieve a clean syringe and vial to collect the same she needed. “Sorry to make you a pin-cushion. But, better that than dead or something. I think you’ll be sick of me before I’m sick of you.” Her lips curled into a grin, as she put the tip of the syringe away to be disposed of and melted down into something useful again, and closed the top of the vial of blood with a cork.

“So, tell me: what’s keeping you up at night? You already know about my insomnia. Tired of seeing my family die over and over again, with my mother blaming me for it. It’s too… real. I don’t know how to get past it, but if I know anything about the Night Garden, it’s that these nightmares won’t stop until I figure out how to stop them. Haraldur Sorde gave me this whole ‘believe in yourself’ pep talk and insisted I see the Night Garden treatment through. Not sure if he’s actually trying to help or if he just wants me to suffer.” Nia snorted and rolled her eyes. “Although… he did give me this. Says it should ward off dreams and nightmares. It’s also from the Night Garden, and no, I haven’t tried it yet. No idea if it works. But…” She placed the little pouch of herbs on the nightstand next to Hadwin. “If it does work, you need it more than me. You’re not gonna be on your feet again until you give your body a chance to heal, and it won’t heal if you can’t sleep… probably why my leg is still so fucked up.” She rubbed her injured leg, which, while moderately improved thanks to Alster’s help, stil caused her grief.

“Hey, how about this: no way in hell I’m sleeping tonight. So why don’t you take that Night Garden junk, and I’ll stick around to keep an eye on things? If it looks like you’re being tortured by nightmares or whatever’s eating you, I’ll wake you up--you’ve got my word. So,” she picked up the tiny pouch and held it out to him. “What do you say?”

“I daresay you have answered your own question, Master Kristeva.” Ari rested a hand upon the sealed curtains of his story. Out of force of habit, he pried them open a slit, allowing forth nothing but a sliver of darkness, considering the late hour. Not that he despised closed-in spaces or windowless rooms; to claim so as an earth mage whose expansive repertoire included tunneling underground, was sacrilege. Rather, of the rooms which presented windows, he preferred to have them parted, if but a crack, to view the world his condition had long denied him, consigning him, as it were, indoors and partially hidden. He found it bothersome that Isidor, a man relegated to a life of seclusion, refused to take advantage of his newfound freedoms, opting, instead, to cloister in place, effectively imprisoning himself wherever he lodged and thus, denying the opportunities afforded outside his dark, dusty tower. He might have left behind the physical manifestation of his gloomy home, but he wrapped it around himself like an impenetrable shroud, refusing everyone—save for a privileged few—entry, and took it with him wherever he tread. Although Ari understood the importance of the conceptual home, fostering within himself a deep, unshakeable homesickness for the shores of Stella D’Mare, he doubted Isidor’s feelings towards his tower extended that far. The reclusive Master Alchemist merely yearned for the familiar, and the Canaveris Lord supposed he could relate to that effect, even if he balked at the man’s ascetic, insular preferences.

“I have judged you harshly based on preconceived biases, which relate to your brief tryst with Nia, I regret to admit. However much she holds you in high regard in spite of such…complications of the flesh,” he offered generously, his cadence faltering, “I refused to share in her clemency. Naturally, she is free to take whomever she fancies to bed, given your coupling occurred prior to my decision to court her. On that front, I harbor no ill-will. It is in how you chose to regard her which fueled my initial objections. Further, I could not abide a man who presented as so gloomy and hateful of others, especially when objectionable behavior of that quality directly counteracts with the Canaveris creed. You see, we firmly believe in fruitfulness of the soul. One cannot sow seeds in a scorched and barren field.” He placed one hand solemnly over his chest. “One must cultivate the soil so the crop can germinate and sprout to its fullest potential. As we are stewards of the earth, it becomes our responsibility to lead our best lives by emulating the lessons our cherished lands have so taught us. By enriching ourselves, we doubly enrich the ground when we die, hence providing a bounteous harvest ripe for our descendants to enjoy and to tend. It is through this long-standing process of multi-generational cultivation in which we draw our power. Our magic. It can, therefore, prove difficult to empathize with outsiders who allow their souls to atrophy and rot, as we see it as an egregious offense to the life-bearing earth.”

“Do not misunderstand me. Everything has its season; people included. Winter descends on us all, and ritual death must cast its funeral shroud overhead. Sometimes it casts too far, too wide, and takes too much. In that case, nothing can be done. I speak not of the uncompromising grip of death, however, but of the gardener, to use a thematically appropriate analogy. We are gardeners of our souls. Proper care and feeding bring a seed to bud, to bloom, to thrive. Given the circumstances of our upbringing, sometimes, there are unavoidable complications. Forgive my indecorousness, for I have categorized your present circumstances as entirely ‘avoidable.’ Unfortunate, but avoidable. It is because of my callousness that I am obliged to offer you a gift. Therefore, I insist that you accept this diamond. I will take umbrage if you do not. If it better helps you to understand social nuance, interpret this exchange as a nobleman’s game. To reject the favor of said nobleman in his home is, in many circles, considered extremely offensive. Please humor me, Master Kristeva, by honoring me.” He swept into a bow befitting his lofty rank, which amounted to a curt bend at the waist and a brief touching of his chin to his chest. “Earth mages are unparalleled miners, adept at locating the most prized, most valuable treasures from the earth. In perspective, what I gift you is but a trifle. And should you abandon it upon your return to the palace, rest assured, for it will follow you home. My word is my troth.”

Ari was about to smile graciously at Isidor’s compliment regarding his shelves of rock specimens, until the conversation took a curious—and uncomfortable—turn. Unable to conceal his guilt, nor keen on masking it from the full purview of the wronged party, he listened intently to the Master Alchemist’s brief and heart-wrenching account involving his mother, a visit that must have dated well over a decade ago. “Therein lies my secondary reason for this apology. My mother confessed her wrongdoings to me earlier this evening. She was unaware of your Master’s wanton cruelty until recently. It cannot excuse your experiences under a heavy hand, I realize, but she deeply regrets her inaction and wishes to correct her misgivings by any means necessary. I, too, wish the same, for she pursued your Master’s assistance in my name, investigating an antidote to my curse. While these events happened without my knowledge, I am no less responsible for the distress I and my mother have caused you.” His dark eyes lowered from Isidor’s lost and broken expression, an almost demure, submissive attempt at an appeal, out of respect for his pain. “We have trampled upon your garden, disturbing the soil and ergo, complicating the growth of the soul you toil to cultivate. We contributed to those circumstances I so insensitively deemed as avoidable. Excuse my frankness, but I cannot join in your belief that I am without fault, however minor the fault you find. Allow me, then, to offer my formal apology. I, Aristide Canaveris, removed from title and position, do hereby extend my sincerest apologies to you, Master Isidor Kristeva.” He bowed yet again, bending even deeper from the waist in a symbolic show of abandoning his title for the duration of his magnanimous gesticulation. Before him, Ari prostrated much like a peasant presents to his Lord. “If it provides for you an easy form of expression, you may continue to remain candid with me, in any iteration you consider most effective. I only ask you spare Nia the brunt of your vitriol. She has received her fair share of inflammatory comments from the kingdom at large. She rather looks up to you,” his mouth spread into a conciliatory smile. “I am certain it would warm her to earn your respect.”

“In any case,” he retreated towards the door, “I thank you for your disclosure, Master Kristeva. As well, I do hope you understand why we owe you a debt. You will find your bedchambers in the guest quarters directly opposite this corridor, on the south end of the villa. I shall send an escort pending your request. “Pay it no matter where Nia will be housed.” His dark eyes sparked, amused by Isidor’s minor faux pas. “You will find that will be properly compensated for her change in accommodations. “He raised a suggestive eyebrow, the edge of his smile hooking mischievously.

“Should you decide to stay longer, I do recommend a tour of the undercity,” he cleared his throat, changing the subject to something more neutral, and palatable. “It is quite a sight. We have recently discovered an expansive cavern containing the most impressive calcite formations I’ve had the privilege of seeing thus far. Stately columns, stalactite chandeliers, lambrequins like permanent icicles draping over the high roof shelves…it is a spelunking trip well worth your while, given what I know of your interests.” His partially-petrified hand gestured to his expansive rock collection. “Do help yourself, Master Kristeva. I’ve half a mind to show you where I keep the rest of my collection.”

For all her brother’s accusations lambasting her lack of awareness (separate from her natural wolf instincts, of course), Bronwyn noticed the shift in Hadwin; noticed that instead of plowing towards his death, as before, he was simply…waiting to die. What a passive thing! He never waited for anything. He’d sooner kick the door down than allow someone to open it for him. So removed was he from the virtue of patience, he was too impatient for Death to come calling on Its own, and wanted to rush through that finite process, as well. If it couldn’t be done quickly, he wanted no part, living included. While Hadwin seemed to accept that short-handing his way down to the land of the shadows was an unacceptable usage of his cheater’s wits, and decided to stay put, she thought he had awakened an appreciation for simpler, long-term, less destructive pleasures, and perhaps it remained true, for a scant few months…until Rowen died, and she resolved to drag her brother with her to the grave. Now, she scryed it in his eyes; liked deadened swirls of leaves spiraling around a gutter after a storm, they moved by the will of the collective pools of rainwater gathering in the street, slowly clumping together to clog the drain and to sit there, bloated and waterlogged, until forcible removal. It was painful to watch, and Hadwin knew it was painful to watch, because he barked at her to leave at every opportunity.

“Bron, you’ve got shit to do.” Following the first shot of his serum, he struggled to lift his head from the pillow, the weakening of his underused muscles weighing on him like iron chains, paralyzing him to the bed. Not even the knitting of his brows or the characteristic smirk he hooked on his roguish mouth could expunge the misery surrounding his bruised ego, and the fierce independence he’d lost; it carried in his tone, flat and pressed underfoot like a squashed grape. “So get the fuck out. I mean it,” perspiration glittered on his brow under the low lantern light on his tableside. “There isn’t a thing you can do tending to my bedside, so go out and be useful to folks who need it.”

“That’s all anyone can ever say to me.” Bronwyn hugged her arms, tilting away her chin so Hadwin wouldn’t see the indignation and hurt etched across her fingers. “‘You’re in the way, Bronwyn. We don’t need you here. Go on and shoo. Let the adults talk.’ Do you have any idea how disheartening it is to keep getting chased out of my own family like I’m nothing?!”

Strangely, Hadwin didn’t have a smart retort, electing instead to close his eyes and release a soft grumble of a sigh.

“I know it was you,” she spoke into the eerie, awkward hush, rubbing her fingers against the tough, thick skin around her elbow. “I don’t know how you did it, but you turned around the public’s opinion about me. I also heard you played a huge part in finding me after I…threw myself into the rubbish bin, so to speak. So why, Hadwin? Why do you get to step in and be the hero when I never asked for your help, but you want absolutely nothing to do with me in the aftermath? Don’t you understand how much that hurts? Getting me out of hot water, but not giving a shit about…about us? About what we have left? Am I just some liability to you, someone to rescue to satisfy your guilt, but worthless otherwise? I’m not enough to earn the right to stay with you and check to see if you’re fucking ok?!”

“Goddammit, Bron, are you really that dense?” Hadwin snapped his eyes open, but lacked the mobility to twist his head in her direction. As a compromise, he glared at the ceiling. “I ain’t gonna spell it out for you, either. If you don’t get it by now, you never will.”

Bronwyn took the bait. Furious, she stalked at his bedside, throwing her hands over her hips. “And what? What don’t I fucking get? Since I’m such an idiot, go ahead and treat me like one. Go ahead and spell it out, plain as day!”

Hadwin’s brow loosened, becoming thoughtful, as if considering for a moment. Then, it hardened, and crinkled. His mouth pulled into a grimace. A dismissive laugh cracked the surface. “Forget it, Bron. Go and live in your ignorance since you’re so hellbent on staying there, anyway.”

His words had their intended effect. An accomplished pusher of buttons, he succeeded in driving Bronwyn, pale and sputtering her rage, from his company, punching the cushioning beneath his bed in lieu of punching him before stalking out of his room, leaving him alone with no one but for Teselin, asleep in the armchair perched against the wall opposite his bed.

“Pity that shit doesn’t work on you,” he whispered to the summoner’s sleeping form. “It’d be so much easier if you hated me.”

The worst part about being left to his own devices, bored and with nothing to distract him, was how the urge to sleep cloyed ever stronger behind his eyes, an eventuality impossible to fight off for much longer. Lack of movement, paired with the groggy side-effects of the serum, made his monumental feat more daunting, and foolish, because he knew where he was going to end up once he exhausted the struggle to remain conscious. I’ll rip you apart, came Rowen’s gleeful assertion, rumbling against his ear. And I won’t let you go. I’ll suck out your spirit until you’re a useless husk. Not that I have to try hard. Her voice sharpened, catching someone particularly tantalizing. That serum won’t help you in the slightest. Get used to it, Hadwin. A life like this. Bedridden and joyless and beholden. They’re going to have to take care of you, you know. All these people you’ve inconvenienced, picking up after you. Cleaning your messes. Wiping the shit from your rank asshole. The clucking of her tongue sounded less like a piteous tsk, and more like measured tick-tock of a clock, counting down the moments of his annihilation.

It was no small wonder, then, that he latched onto his new visitor with all the exuberant ferocity of a puppy reuniting with his master after being left to starve alone in the dark. “Nia!” Despite being fused to the bed, he grinned wide, a manic gleam attached to his reflective golden eyes. “Yes, please relieve me of all this fucking boredom before I make my daring escape out the window. Seriously, this is torture, and not the fun, kinky torture where I bleed a lot,” he chuckled, but what resulted resembled gentle weeping, and he stoppered its pathetic cries, tongue in teeth. Speaking of blood..,

“Not what I had in mind, but I’ll take whatever I can get. Prick me good, my fair mosquito.” Much to his chagrin, the needle-fine syringe point painlessly slid through his vein, a dissatisfying and disappointing experience, to say the least!

“I feel boneless. Like some slag of meat waiting for the butcher or something. My eyes are all wigging out. The walls are melting and they like to hum like this.” He pressed his lips together and shared a discordant, strident tune, akin to breaking glass upon breaking glass, like the audible equivalent of fractals patterning endlessly. “But I’ll take that over sleeping, and that’s saying something, cuz I’ve never had one good dream a day in my life. Think I’d be used to it by now, but,” his shoulders twitched the equivalent of a shrug, “life finds new and interesting ways to get under your skin, like a virus that mutates and overcomes your immunity to its bullshit. As you could probably guess, my nightmares are family-related, like yours.”

His eyes followed the herb pouch she deposited on his nightstand, smelling its sharp, medicinal contents. He screwed up his nose, tasting the potent herbs on his tongue. “Nah. Papa Sorde is too straightforward to mess with you so elaborately. If he wanted you to suffer, he wouldn’t fucking bother giving you shit from the Night Garden. A rule-abiding citizen such as himself won’t violate his honor as a budding Gardener just to get one over you. Whatever you’ve got there, looks like it’s a legitimate attempt to clear your head of all those spidery nightmares building webs in every damn corner. That said,” he paused, chewing over the proviso, the operative ‘but,’ hanging in the air, “while I’m nothing if not a risk-taker, I say we make this a mite more interesting. So I’ll tell you what. I’ll take Papa Sorde’s panacea of wonders, but only if you take it, too. At the same goddamned time as me. Doesn’t pay to suffer if I go it alone with no partner in sight. So keep me company in that respect, yeah? We’re in the same boat so we might as well float—or sink—together. And before you bemoan the fact that I’m being unreasonable or stubborn or whatever, you’re the one trying to pawn that shit on me when it could seriously fuck me up just cuz you’re too afraid to take it yourself, even when it was meant for you. Since you’re responsible for my recovery, it wouldn’t look good on you to hand me over something you don’t want, to treat a symptom you refuse to treat yourself. Don’t get me wrong, Nia. I’ll be your test subject—for a price. This is my price, and it’s a goddamn double-edged sword. Don’t like this deal? I’ll sweeten it up a bit.” His smile twisted, very much emulating shades of the sadistically-minded Hadwin Kavanagh who used other peoples’ fears as currency to stuff his pockets. “You can take Papa Sorde’s shit with me, or…” his eyes flashed their preternatural glow, “I can bring the nightmare to you, Nia. Your choice.”

“Lord Canaveris, are you equating me to a barren field and atrophied soul?” As much as Isidor was oblivious to most fanciful figures of speech, and often relied on literal messages to fully understand a message, he’d been following the Canaveris lord’s flowery speech too closely to misinterpret what he meant. “I understand, though. I can only imagine how you must perceive someone like myself, under the circumstances. Someone who achieved freedom once Zenech died, and then… squandered it, when I imagine your curse must have prevented you from living as openly as you would have wanted. But, the truth is…” The Master Alchemist sighed and removed his spectacles temporarily to polish off the lenses with the hem of his tunic. “By the time I was free to set foot in the sunlight again… the sun was just too bright for my untrained eyes. The world was suddenly big, too big, and I didn’t know where to go or what to do. I had no connections, and no family willing to have me back. And I realized very quickly that I did not know how to live outside of the tower, so… I ultimately decided to stay. And without Zenech around, or fear of harm, or anyone dictating every second of my day, the tower felt less like a prison, and a lot more like a home. I got comfortable there, so I never left. Not until Alster sought me out with the help of my wretched brother.”

Even following Vitali’s death, Isidor could not come to forgive the necromancer for turning down his plea for help, some years after he had squandered that chance with Nadira Canaveris. She might not have saved him, but neither did she reject him. What Vitali did was far, far worse, seeing and understanding his suffering… and leaving him to rot. “You’re right, in a sense. Had I chosen my actions differently, had I not been such a coward, perhaps it could have all been avoided… or, at least, remedied. I understand where I went wrong; I fully admit that I lived the life that I did because I just gave up. I couldn’t understand what more there could be to live for, in a world among unpredictable people with potentially nefarious intentions… although, of late, there was a short while when I began to understand just what I had been missing.”

Thoughts of Tivia ran before his vision. How sweet that brief period had been, when he had begun to realize the meaning of living for someone else, alongside them… She had been light a window to a world he had never seen, before, enough that he realized what he had been missing all of this time. And then… just as quickly as she appeared, she was gone. Isidor thought all of this, but made no mention of it, considering the icy response he had gotten the last time he’d hinted at the topic with Aristide Canaveris. The last thing he needed was for the man to make him feel even worse about what he lost.

But, while the Canaverises might have indirectly had a hand in his prolongued suffering under Zenech’s cruel tutelage, they could not be blamed for his most recent loss. He was fully at fault for that, all on his own. “I see your apology as unnecessary because, to extend on your metaphor… there was nothing growing in my garden to begin with. I am no earth mage, but I cultivated enough of my own food back at the tower to know that only fungus and mold can grow without ever seeing the sun. I was barren long before and long after you and your family interfered. But…” He pressed a sigh from his lungs and checked the superficial cut on his palm. The scrape stung, but had stopped bleeding. “If it somehow placates your conscience for me to accept this diamond from you, then I will take it with me when I return to Nairit in some weeks’ time. Following this kingdom’s upcoming celebration, there won’t be a need for my services here, anymore. Particularly not when Nia is just as capable. And I’ll… do my best not to put on a sour face in her presence.”

Isidor folded his hands in his lap and acknowledged Aristide’s parting words with a nod. “If you recall, Alster and I are competing against you and Nia in crafting a parade float, and I have already lost two days’ worth of work thanks to the meddlesome faoladh. It doesn’t behoove me not to return to the palace, so as much as I’d enjoy peering at the rare ores you earth mages have dug up from Galeyn’s core, I think you’ll find me gone as early as tomorrow morning, once I confirm Hadwin is stable. Although, should I ever require materials in the future… then I know who to consult.”

Just as the Canaveris lord was about to take his leave, Isidor stopped him with a halting thought that forced its way to the surface of his mind before he could think better of it. “Aristide.” He purposefully chose to use the man’s given name to startle him into stopping in his tracks, impolite as it might have seen. “As a gesture of solidarity… would you let me see to your hand? Rest assured, I am too overtired to be sick over the sight of blood right now.”

“Yeah, I can empathize with that. Sitting around a cell or being confined to a bedroom had me feeling pretty much the same way. Even worse, I couldn’t jump out the window if I wanted to, because of my leg.” Nia rubbed the sore expanse of her leg, and wondered if it would ever return to the way it used to be, even with Alster’s help. Sometimes, the scar itself burned and stung like a fresh wound. A reminder of her carelessness and of the people she had hurt, who’d sought to injure her in turn. “If you ask me, there’s nothing worse than lying around to stew in your own thoughts for a prolonged period of time. It’s enough to drive you completely crazy. But, at least you’ve got no end to the company you can choose from! More than I could say for myself, locked in that room back in the palace. Well, before Alster stepped in and spoke up on my behalf to give me a few more liberties… and fewer spiteful Galeynian guards. But--I promise, if you play the game right, you won’t be subject to that boredom for much longer! That’s why I’m here, after all.”

Even through the glass of the vial, she could feel a difference in his blood compared to before. It wasn’t as hot and brimming with excess energy that wreaked havoc on his body; like the person lying before her, it felt calmer, and more sluggish. Still not ideal, but Nia had the utmost faith in Isidor’s solution. And if they proceeded just as he’d instructed, she had no doubt that Hadwin would be back to his son-of-a-bitch self in no time. “I know you’re gonna call me a damn hypocrite for saying this, and I can most definitely empathize with not wanting to sleep… but, it’s all down to basic self-care, Hads. Sleep’s the time when your body repairs itself. You’re feeling like shit because you haven’t given your body the chance it needs to do that. And I’m sure Is’s serum isn’t helping in terms of ‘feeling better’. Not gonna lie, this whole recovery shit isn’t easy--I’m there, too, but for different reasons. But won’t it be worth it if you’re on your feet again in a week? Back to hitting up shady taverns and drinking your weight in booze? I haven’t had ale in a dog’s age. And you’re probably the best drinking buddy I’ve found. So, if you think I’m gonna give up on you, or if anyone is, for that matter,” she nodded to Teselin, who slept quietly in the corner, “then you’ve got something else coming. I’m not abandoning you. But neither am I gonna let you sabotage yourself.”

Picking up the tiny pouch full of ground herbs, Nia pulled the drawstrings to open it and give it a good sniff. She promptly pulled away in disgust. “Yeah… I doubt that tastes any good.Then again, any medicine worth its weight tends to taste like shit. But, Commander Sorde instructed that it has to be taken orally. I’m not cruel, tho; I can get you something that doesn’t taste like shit and just mix a little bit of this concoction into it. Anything you fancy? I’ll even be bad and get you a little sip of something alcoholic.” Her lips pulled into a conspiratorial grin. “Ari’s got no shortage of amazing booze here, believe me.”

Nia had expected reluctance, the moment she’d met the exhausted faoladh’s sleepless eyes. They weren’t too different, the two of them, both suffering demons in the dark that threatened to take over when they were at their most vulnerable. And while Hadwin did at least appear to have some faith in Haraldur’s concoction of strange herbs that even her unique abilities as a Master Alchemist could not identify, he, like she, was reluctant to take it. First and foremost, Nia didn’t blame him: he didn’t want to sleep for the exact same reasons she didn’t want to sleep. Demons, lurking in the subconscious, threatened the both of them the moment their eyes closed. But while Nia’s intentional insomnia was a nuisance and, at best, simply slowing the progress of her recovery, there would be exactly zero progress if Hadwin did not allow his body the chance to repair itself.

That said… she could not accept that ultimatum. Or the threat.

It wasn’t like Hadwin to make threats to her, though; of everyone in Galeyn, he’d been the one person she’d never wondered about. Hadwin was always up-front and he hadn’t been putting on an act when he’d spent those nights drinking with her while she was still employed to Locque. He was… well, he always had been so genuine. What suddenly changed? Deciding not to feed into intimidation, Nia chose to brush it off, for now. “What? Come on, how would that work if the both of us are fucking unconscious, Hads? I’m being candid, here; I dunno how Sorde’s herbs work or what they’re gonna do. If you don’t wanna take it, I’m not gonna make it, but you need sleep for Is’s serum to be effective, and I feel like you’re more at risk of having dreams if you just let yourself nod off naturally. Like I said, you have my word that I’m gonna keep a close eye on you. You did a solid for me and helped me out when I might’ve otherwise died of my injuries when Locque went down; I don’t forget good deeds like that. Be right back!”

Ignoring the ache in her injured leg, Nia stood and crept quietly out of the room. Several moments later--hopefully long enough for Hadwin to have forgotten or at least renege on his threat--the Master Alchemist returned with a decanter of a salmon-coloured beverage, closed at the bottleneck top with a cork. “So, I forgot I kind of can’t go creeping around the wine cellar because getting down those flights of stairs and back up again without basically crippling myself. But, I had some of this magical stuff this morning for breakfast, and it’s soooo damn look. Like a strawberry and a peach had a baby, and it tasted better than the both of them. No alcohol, but it’ll mask the taste of Sorde’s nasty herbs. Wanna give it a try first?” She poured a bit into a tiny glass she’d brought, and offered it to Hadwin. “If you don’t like it, I can find something else.”

Hadwin didn’t take the drink; his tone hadn’t changed. Instead, he reiterated what he’d said to her before. Nia’s smile finally faded. “And what if it fucks both of us up, huh, Hadwin? Who’s gonna help us then? Who’s gonna know what the fuck is going on? Looking out for each other is literally the best thing we can do, because you know what’s eating me, and I’ve got a pretty good idea at what’s gnawing on your brain, as well. Doesn’t take a fucking psychic to observe you haven’t been yourself since you did your not-so-sweet little sister in. I’m not here to be your enemy, Hads; I’m trying to fucking help you. Can’t you see that?”

She set the decanter of water down on the nightstand and ran a hand through her brunette locks and began to pace. “Why are you trying to alienate the people who want to see you up and back on your feet? What the fuck did I do to deserve your bullshit, Hads? I’m trying to look out for you. I want you to remember your fucking will to live! So why? Why are you making this intentionally difficult?” Seeing Teselin stir in the armchair across the room, Nia took the cue to lower her voice, so as not to disturb the sleeping summoner. The last thing they needed was to upset a walking catastrophe waiting to happen… “Don’t you know what I’ve got riding on my performance, here? It’s not just about helping Isidor. I’m still a prisoner. I’m still obligated to prove myself to this goddamn kingdom enough to dissuade any more angry Galeynians to try and take my fucking life. I play nice, help Ari built a float for their little celebration, and do whatever Isidor tells me because he can use my skills to the fullest. This reflects on me, too, and if I fuck up… how long do you think Galeyn will be willing to tolerate me then? So,” she lifted her hands and dramatically dropped them down to her sides. “I can’t fuck up. Is has a plan to help you recover. That plan requires you actually rest, and he’s leaving it to me to see that it is carried out properly. So it’s not even up to me, Hadwin. I’m just the pawn, here, who’s been slated to see that the job’s carried out. In case I haven’t spelled it out enough for you, it’s not just about the fact that I give a damn, but I’ve got a lot riding on this as well. Your unwarranted threats aside, if you don’t recover… well, that’s not gonna look good on me either. If you cooperate and play the game, then we both win. You’re back on your feet and I look good to the kingdom. Why can’t you just play nice?”

Exhausted from her own outburst (which miraculously hadn’t woken Teselin), Nia pressed her back to the wall. He wasn’t relenting; why was he making this so difficult for her?! As if she didn’t have enough on her plate to begin with!

“...fine. You want me to take this shit with you? I’ll do it.” After a moment, almost violently she grabbed the tiny cup of salmon-coloured beverage that Hadwin had refused, and sprinkled what she assumed was a decent amount of herbs into the drink. Immediately, it looked far less appealing. “But it’s not going to benefit you in any way if I happen to react to this worse than you. Yeah, your demons surfaced from triggering events. Mine? The fucking Night Garden ripped opena wound that won’t heal anymore. Why should I believe this will help me? But, hey, who the fuck cares, right? If this’ll get you to listen to me, then let’s go for it.”

But Nia, with all the intention of downing that small glass of specialty juice laced with herbs, hesitated--because her hands began to tremble again. Just knock it back. It’s not that hard, she silently tried to coach herself, but that trembling intensified the longer she held the glass, until she couldn’t hold it any longer. It tumbled from her fingers, landing on the floor with a clank, leaving a puddle of fruity beverage at her feet. “...I can’t do it. I can’t risk it.” It was more a realization than a confession. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I’ve been broken in more places than I’m willing to admit for a long, long time. And then I broke even more when Ari turned me in to the Galeynian authorities, and by the time Galeyn demanded my death, I didn’t have much left to give. I was willing to submit to that brokenness and just be done with it. But, a while back, Ari took me to the Night Garden to witness the most beautiful fireflies… nothing like I’d ever seen before.” She gazed at the wall in front of her, but her sight wasn’t on the ornate walls; it was harkening back to that magical evening. “And I started to feel myself mending. Just a little bit at a time. It felt easier to breathe, and my body didn’t feel as heavy. Ever since then, since Ari and I reconciled, I’ve been getting even better. My appetite’s coming back; I’ve got energy to actually do more than lie around in bed. And you know what? Between you and me, Ari and I stole an intimate moment together in the bathhouse he’s working on, and I did it--for the first time in my damn life, I actually fucking climaxed. Never thought I would know what that feels like, but that’s just proof enough that I’m becoming whole again. Maybe more whole than I was before I ever met Locque. But… one night of Nightmares…” Her eyes felt dry. She wanted to blink, but dreaded what she would see behind her closed lids. “That’s all it would take to unravel all this progress. To just completely break apart again. I don’t have the faith in myself that I’ll be alright, and I’ve come so far… I’ve come so far, Hadwin. To feeling whole, for the first time in my life. Ari doesn't even know how bad off I've been, doesn't know of the nightmares or why I'm avoiding sleep... I won't worry him. I can’t risk it… I’ve just got too much to lose.”

In the company of any other guest, Ari would readjust his mask to address a person’s needs, irrespective of his personal feelings, but for some reason he couldn’t rightly explain, it felt, well, refreshing not to win someone over, for once, and to focus, instead, on the unfiltered, untailored truth. Considering the grave subject matter, helped along by Isidor’s decision to detail his vulnerabilities, caring not for endearing to his host by following a convoluted social code in the process, perhaps Ari was fulfilling a need by discussing, rather than disguising or dismissing, his visitor’s scruples. “Goodness knows that to imply one’s soul equates to a fruitless stretch of earth violates several core principles of hospitality, not to mention it is unspeakably rude, but one honest turn deserves another, I suppose,” he said, a bold admittance for one such as Aristide Canaveris, who perfected equivocation and tact in his arsenal of artisan’s tools and brushed. “In the interest of full transparency I lay bare my grievances, that we may hope to reach a mutual understanding. It pleases me to report an optimistic outlook insofar as our ability to relate with our shared and disparate experiences is concerned. Out of respect and penance, I shall elaborate on my meaning. What I convey to you is not necessarily a metaphor.” 

He stood before a painting of a vase, its whorling patterns granting an almost surrealistic look to the yellow and white blossoms sprouting from their bone china containment. “We Canaverises truly believe in cultivating our souls by pursuing, to the utmost extent, self-fulfillment and listable achievements, declared under the family name. This is how we maintain our connection to the earth and to our magic-given abilities. It is a symbiotic relationship, if you will, and quite literal in execution. When we are born, a ritual ties our literal blood to the land, our home, wherein the Canaveris elders declare our corporeal and our ethereal bodies as an extension of the earth, a sacred bond that, to break, by neglect, by idleness, or by base immorality, is a most egregious betrayal of the sacred life we have been granted. According to our creed, the most valuable and undisputed path to the divine is to live a worthy existence. It is how we honor and respect our earth, and all Her wonderful gifts. It is also why our family sigil is the noble honeybee; a hard-worker who provides for the hive and the survival of the swarm.” His fingers played with a ring, more grandiose than the others; a carved, golden bee, burnished to a shine as rich and liquid as honey, bedecked in diamond studs shaped to form the wings. A ring passed down to each new head of household, historically reserved only for Canaveris women, but recently expanded to welcome men for the sanctified and symbolic role as “Queen” of the hive. “That said, sometimes we extend this belief to other beings who are not of Canaveris blood, and judge others based on our rules and edicts. We are all, after all, children of this wide and varied terrestrial plane, and should resolve never to poison its fertile landscape with the mortal vessel we leave behind at our fatal terminus.”

“Idealistically speaking, it seems not unreasonable for others to follow these edicts to the letter; alas, the world is not so black and white, and I have done you a huge disservice in treating you as an irredeemable blight who scours but never blesses, forgetting the indispensable services you have provided Lord Rigas, who will never think less of you, I am sure, for the breadth of help in saving his wife’s life. If you were to ask me again, how I view the state of your soul, Master Kristeva, I would offer an addendum. You need not choose to remain a barren wasteland, when salvation for you rests so close, among the people you assist, among those who respect you, and among those who name you as a friend and brother. If I am to be frank, and let us admit, I have been nothing but dangerously frank all evening long,” he chuckled in spite of himself; nothing mean-spirited or mocking, but self-aware of his borderline cattiness, which hadn’t quite faded, despite his warming attitudes towards the unfortunate wretch of a Master Alchemist, “returning to your tower in Nairit sounds much like surrendering to the fate you have penned as the one and only unassailable truth residing within yourself. There needn’t be any reason to take a pair of shears to the malnourished buds struggling to leech essential nutrients from the soil, if you continue to indulge my analogy. The plant is not dead, and neither is your soul. Do not shutter it away from the sun, or deny it proper care. There is much yet to explore, to appreciate. In fact,” he eyed the taller man hungrily, several ideas brewing and taking form in rapid succession, “I must insist we schedule an excursion to the undercity. I simply refuse to allow for your permanent departure without first attempting to change your mind. I would see it as an act of willful negligence on my part if I did not try my level best to saturate you with earth’s finest and most beautiful pleasures. Do look forward to my recurring presence in the future, Master Kristeva, for I am not quite finished with you.” It was a gleeful promise and also a sinister threat wrapped with the same shiny bow. To one so severely introverted as Isidor, he likely interpreted Ari’s helpful and well-meaning prospect as the latter. “For now, however, I will leave you to your affairs. As well,” his gaze rested on the other man’s injured palm, “I shall send a servant to leave you a salve for your hand, should it interfere with your ongoing work.”

Before he turned to exit the study, Isidor’s sudden announcement of his name, sans honorifics, had their intended effect. Stopping mid-stride, he glanced over his shoulder in a furrowed expression of concern. “Yes, Master Kristeva? Are you in need of anything?” Upon receiving Isidor’s offer, his second offer, in fact, to restore his stone-encased hand to flesh and blood, he hesitated. Since associating the simple procedure with something rather intimate, as it involved touching, and Ari could count on one hand the people allowed to make skin-on-skin contact, he shifted his discomfort at the suggestion, preferring, as always, Nia’s soft and deliberate ministrations as they exfoliated the petrifaction off the topmost layers of skin, transforming it into harmless gravel and grist. Figuring it best to reprieve Nia while simultaneously granting Isidor the opportunity to explore the functions and behaviors of his complex curse, he nodded his compliance, relenting. As they had reestablished the parameters of their repaired relationship, it would be rude to decline.

“Very well.” Emerging from the doorway, he pulled off the glove that concealed his affected left hand, exposing the calcified thumb, the mound of flesh it accompanied, engulfing half his wrist as it spread down his forearm. “And as a return gesture of solidarity,” he flashed an amiable smile, “feel free to call me Ari.”

Something—someone—had possessed Hadwin Kavanagh, damaging his senses and removing him far beyond the realm of reason or reality. This wasn’t new for the troubled faoladh, who routinely underwent departures from the material plane—moreso lately, when debilitated mobility contributed to his expedited mental deterioration. With nothing to grab hold to, he floated in the etherspace, too exhausted, too weary of life and weak of will, of strength, to fend off and deny those whispered voices who encouraged him to act out his most ill-conceived impulses. After all, what did it matter? Nothing was real. Existence was a farce, a joke, and he, the biggest joke of all for believing in it for so damn long! 

“Break the illusion,” Rowen whispered. “By breaking her. She’s holding you captive in this bed. Break her and you’re free. Get up. Get up! And show her you won’t let them control you!”

A shift took place in his eyes. Subtle, at first, but increasingly more noticeable as the seconds spanned. What before registered awareness of his surroundings grew dim and foggy. His pupils dilated, nearly swallowing the edges of his golden irises. And while they were poised on Nia, a hint of a glow fringing them like tiny twin haloes, they looked beyond her, not even seeming to register her quick exit and return. He addressed her as if she were always there, as if time had no function, as if she hadn’t spoken her argument at all and the herb-sprinkled drink she carried in her hand had always been there, awaiting consumption. He said what he said before, an almost word-for-word reiteration save for one key difference. His tone, usually so rich and animated, a deep, chuckling baritone, had flatlined, becoming paper-thin and drone-like, drained of spirit and purpose. A puppet with its string cut off, head lolling by its own function like a haunted thing possessed of itself. And then, much like the puppet he emulated, he rose from the bed, ignoring the restrictions placed upon his body, ignoring all rules established by reality, by the alchemical solution that sapped the strength from his limbs, restricting movement to but its basest forms. Hadwin dismissed those rules, and played by his own, crawling on hands and knees like the wolf inside, yearning to undergo a transmutation of sorts, turning human to beast.

If he had noticed the crashing of the liquid on the ground, he paid no heed and remained on all fours, never once removing his unblinking, halo-fringed eyes from Nia, a hungry animal feeding on her fear like a juicy, savory, blood-soaked cut of raw meat. He licked his lips, salivating.

“You know I can do much worse to you than any piddling pouch of herbs can, right?” His mouth gnashed like the jaws of a predator. No, not like a predator. He was a predator. “Ask Isidor. He never fucking recovered from the hell I unraveled for him. Tivia Rigas’s dear old dad won’t ever be the same, either. My fears have killed people. Ask the thirteen poor souls who burned to death in a tavern fire as they all ran for their lives, screaming to escape the shades of mortal terror only they could see. Think you could risk that?” His lips curled, revealing pinion-sharp canines. “Try shaking off a living nightmare. One that doesn’t have the decency to stay put in your sleeping mind like a good little dog that respects boundaries. But you know what? It’s better like this. I’ll shatter you and then you’ll let me go. Everyone will let me the fuck go, and I’ll laugh and laugh because I’ve worried over nothing this whole damn time. But you won’t keep me here. Locked doors don’t hold me. I’m free. If I can kill my own sister, I can kill anyone and it won’t make a lick of difference. So I’ll free you, too, and then you’ll know how stupidly ridiculous you’re being.” The haloes in his eyes narrowed into half circles, a lunatic moon at half-phase. “So let’s go, Nia. Let’s go into the furnace, and melt.”

“Oh no you don’t!” In a rush of steps, a blurry figure stood between Hadwin and Nia, arms outstretched to form a shield. The sudden change in targets stymied Hadwin’s concentration long enough for Bronwyn to whirl on him, grab his shoulders, and reroute his attention to her and only to her. 

“You’re a dumbass if you thought you got rid of me forever.” She pushed his shoulders, forcing him off his hands and knees and into a seated position, folded on his heels. “Go ahead and say the cruelest fucking things you can think of, Hadwin. My Sight might not be reliable, but it can see through your bullshit!”

Hadwin struggled in Bronwyn’s vicegrip, too weak to fight her off. “Let go,” he growled dangerously, turning his Sight-primed eyes on her, the fear winking behind them like a promise waiting for release.

“What’s the matter, Hadwin? I thought none of this was real. Surely, you can shake me right off,” she challenged, her dark amber eyes also glittering. “Gods, you really are a fucking idiot,” she smacked his forehead, a light flicking of her fingers that prompted him to blink and blink again, delaying whatever reckoning he planned to unleash on her, in the form of her greatest fears. “Do I have to spell it out for you? Looks like I do, and I will, because I’m nice like that. However infuriating you are, we’re family, and you wouldn’t have done that shit for me if you didn’t love me. So here’s a sign of my love. Just try to stop me.”

His eyes bulged, growing wide. “No…” But it was too late for him to object. As she had done for Isidor, Bronwyn delivered an ocular retort, half-unaware of its activation until she noted the change in her brother’s demeanor. For one, the ambient light in his eyes had vanished, leaving them under the singular source of a dim, tableside lantern that Nia had provided for the room. Second, the slurry of impenetrable madness encasing his muddy aura seemed to flake off in areas, leaving the faoladh confused and memory-addled, but free of his destructive, world-burning edge, at least. Most important, he looked more or less himself again, albeit a little worse for wear.

“Where,” he wheezed as his head hit the pillow, overtaken by a sudden spell of lightheadedness helped along by his fluttering, hyperventilating gasps. His body, which he had yet again overtaxed in his previous surge of adrenaline, crumpled and collapsed into a useless pile of involuntary twitching. Golden eyes crinkled, looking lost. And frightened out of his wits. “Where,” his breathy voice wavered, “the fuck...am I?!”

“Sssssh. You’re with us, Hadwin. It’s me, Bronwyn. I have Nia next to me and Teselin is in the chair across the room,” Bronwyn said, softly, masking her uncertainty. She had done something to him…but she didn’t know what. Had it helped, or hindered him? “You’re going to be alright.” She twisted in her seat on the edge of her brother’s bed, tilting her head at Nia. “He needs to sleep. I overheard you mentioning those herbs won’t plague him with any nightmares?” She stretched out one hand. “Give them here.” Luckily, she had also taken with her the bottle containing the fruity sweet beverage. Refilling the cup that Nia had dropped, Bronwyn sprinkled a second dose of the potent herbs on the surface and brought the medicine to Hadwin’s parched lips. Too feeble to resist, he swallowed the contents of the cup, spluttering and coughing, but eventually managing to consume the foul-tasting herb. Within minutes, his eyelids grew heavy, and he, at last, fell into a deep and hopefully uncomplicated slumber.

“I’m sorry.” Throwing a quilt over her brother’s unconscious form, she stood from the bed and faced Nia. “I know it’s become standard practice for me to apologize for my siblings, but old habits die hard. My sister…Rowen,” her breath hitched. Like her brother, she wasn’t quite prepared to speak aloud the name of the murderous she-wolf who caused everyone so much pain and panic, “she meant the world to Hadwin. He tries to hide it, but it’s impossible to hide as he is now, and…when he gets like this, you have to be careful. He isn’t in his right mind. He’s not grounded in reality. He’ll hurt you. He’ll hurt others. I don’t think he wants to hurt you, but he’s not in a place where reason and empathy are going to reign supreme…and,” he eyed the shaken Master Alchemist, frowning, “you’re not doing too great, yourself, if you’re also convinced one bad night will do you in. You’re going to have to sleep eventually, or else you won’t fare much better than my brother. Take it from someone who is extraordinarily ‘dense,’” she snorted, casting a side-glance at the unconscious Hadwin as though he would pop out of his covers to concur, “if I’m taking notice of you, other people are, too. Lord Canaveris, included.” She jerked her head towards the door, which she had left open in her haste to prevent Hadwin from seeding Nia with a deluge of her worst nightmares. “He’ll know that you’re absent. Go. I’ll stay with my brother. And,” she dumped the pouch of remaining herbs into Nia’s hand, “if these end up doing the job for Hadwin, then you’re next. Believe me, if they work on him, they’ll work on anyone. Sight prevention is inexplicably resistant to a lot of herbal cures and concoctions. Oh does he try, smoking anything he can get his hands on, to mixed results. But if this herb can silence the nightmares of someone like Hadwin, who eats, breathes, and lives fear, then I’d like to think they’ll do the job for you, too.”

Leave it to the Canaveris lord, the man with a tongue as ornate as his home and its surroundings, to be at once direct and convoluted with a man who often struggled to pick up on the hidden meanings of words and other social utterances. However, it had been Isidor’s choice to engage this man in conversation, however convoluted that conversation was become, and he himself had already depleted his reserves of the rambling and over-explaining that he now realized he’d so desperately needed to get off his chest. If it made Aristide feel better to further delve into the meaning of this words, then the Master Alchemist decided not to bother pointing out that in trying to explain, while it wasn’t the Canaveris lord’s intent, he was, in fact, making it even more difficult for Isidor to follow. But he did his best to follow and piece together the man’s meaning, if for no other than in hopes that he would not come across as entirely socially hopeless. “No offense intended, Lord Canaveris, but you certainly have a roundabout way of being ‘frank’.” He couldn’t help but comment with the barest hint of a smile. “Metaphor or not, I’m simply not well equipped to distinguish between metaphors and literal meanings. While I’d never ask you to change your mannerisms on my behalf… I hope you have the patience to allow me a moment to decipher exactly what it is you are trying to say.”

Whether or not the man truly thought him a ‘barren wasteland’ was something still relatively uncertain to Isidor. But when Aristide referenced the Master Alchemist’s tower, as well as his desire to return to the cold and lonely place, he was mercifully more direct with this meanings. Unfortunately… understanding the man didn’t make this conversation any more comfortable. “You’re not the only one with that opinion. Alster and Teselin also seem to think that returning to Nairit is a poor decision. Maybe it is; but it is what I have grown used to. It is what I know… it’s easier to breathe. To survive, when I am not struggling to navigate the rest of the world around me. Don’t misunderstand, I’m well aware that it is a flaw, and I am, as you say, succumbing to an unyielding fate. But it’s at least a familiar fate, and a peaceful one. On one hand, I am glad and grateful to have experienced the world beyond my tower, but at the same time…” Sadness and regret swam in Isidor’s dark eyes. He shook his head. “It has also caused me to realize that I don’t belong. And the harder I try, the more devastatingly I fail. I know what awaits me in Nairit. And knowing that there are no surprises brings me a sense of peace.”

Ari wasn’t about to let him off that easily, it seemed. And Isidor did not have the clever know-how to effectively argue with the man and all his flowery words. Heaving a subtle sigh that caused his shoulders to droop, he simply nodded his agreement with a small smile. “...alright, Lord Canaveris. If it pleases you, and somehow eases your conscience, I will agree to an excursion. The materials the earth provides have always interested me in their endless uses. Furthermore, I can work with them indefinitely, without causing any harm to myself or to another living being… After all,” his smile faltered, “As far as my knowledge extends, you cannot harm a rock.”

Waiting patiently to see if Aristide would agree to let him tend to his hand, Isidor was rather surprised when the Canaveris lord did, in fact, agree. It was something that Nia could have just as easily done, but if she was currently resting, then he knew the man wouldn’t deign to disturb her. “I’ll admit it’s been quite a while since I’ve turned stone to flesh… in fact, I can only seem to recall ever performing the  very opposite procedure.” But that was as far as he went when it came to his memory of having literally turned Zenech’s heart to stone. “The principles are all the same, though. And where the majority of you comprises flesh and blood, it isn’t even a real transmutation; just a reversal of adverse effects, back to the primary substance.” Since Ari was already well familiar with the procedure, he didn’t bother with preamble when he reached for a small, sterile knife sitting in a pouch on the desk, and very gingerly drew blood from one of the man’s fingers. “Compared to what I did with regard to Alster’s prosthetic arm… this will be a walk in the park.”

Although Nia always performed the act with a loving touch that Isidor obviously could not (and did not want to) replicate, Isidor was not by any means rough, and took his time to ensure Ari’s hand was properly restored. He might have taken a little more time than Nia, as it wasn’t quite so second nature for him, but otherwise, the results turned out the same. Within minutes, Lord Canaveris sported a completely flesh-and-blood hand all over again. “I’m beginning to learn that the trick to working with blood is to do it when I’m too tired to care,” he quipped, and speaking of, wrapped his previously bleeding hand in a handkerchief to prevent foreign particles from entering the superficial wound. “No need to bother your serving staff on my account. I think… if the room is indeed available, then I might well just take the night to rest.” Even he couldn’t believe the words coming from his mouth, considering that sleep often involved dreams of memories he’d sooner rather forget. But if he was too exhausted to be negatively affected by blood, then he was too exhausted to care about what he might dream of. “Though, if you insist… then Ari it is. I’m afraid I don’t have a shorthand of my own name. Please,” he couldn’t help but grimace a little, “don’t parrot what Nia and Hadwin call me. I’m a name; not a verb in the singular present tense.” 

After Ari took his leave, Isidor made a haphazard attempt to clean up the desk in front of him, but ultimately opted to leave the majority of the mess for the morning. Recalling his instructions in locating his (formerly Nia’s) room, the Master Alchemist waded into the empty corridor, until at last he found the aforementioned room. It was modest, by Canaveris standards, but still far too flashy for his own. Fortunately, the only thing that really mattered to him was the unused bed. For the first time in what felt like eons, Isidor Kristeva removed his spectacles, reclined on top of the quilt, and closed his eyes.

And, curiously, he dreamed of a fictional life wherein Nadira Canaveris had actually helped him, all those years ago.

The one dangerous thing that Nia had failed to realize was that as soon as she had walked into Hadwin’s room (it might as well have been his; he’d been in it for far longer than Sigrid at this point), she wasn’t talking to the same person who had offered her friendship and companionship when the rest of Galeyn--the ever-pacifistic Alster Rigas included--had given her the cold shoulder. It wasn’t the same person who had found her and brought her to Ari to have the grievous wound on her leg treated, or even the person who, just days ago in the Night Garden, had empathized with her plight of fearing sleep, and had handed her the candy root in case it helped her stay awake. He looked the same, and sounded the same, but it wasn’t the same Hadwin Kavanagh that she had come to know and love. Something had gotten to him, whether it was grief over losing (well, killing) Rowen, the gnawing pain of feeling helpless and bedridden, or even some fucked-up side effect of Isidor’s serum. But regardless of the cause, the fact remained that as soon as she had set foot in this room, however good her intentions were, she was in danger.

And it was completely on her for not realizing it soon enough. For refusing to hear the sadistic promise in Hadwin’s voice when he had refused to take Haraldur’s herb in the first place. She’d assumed he was just being difficult, because surely, surely he wouldn’t actually hurt her, when his full recovery was contingent on having her around and functional. The Master Alchemist had tried to call a bluff, and when it was apparent that he wouldn’t be taking that herb if she didn’t, as well, she mustered what little faith she had in Haraldur’s solution and had every intention of swallowing it… and failed. Her fear got the best of her at the last minute, and she realized too fast that she just wasn’t ready, in case she ended up regressing. This was the first time her hands had trembled in several days, now; she was getting better. She was getting better, damnit! And she needed to be in a good, solid place before she gradually introduced natural sleep back into her regime.

“Hadwin--what’s going on with you?” She breathed, looking helplessly at the spilled drink and upended glass on the floor. “You know I’m here to help you, right? I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, asleep or awake; that’s why Isidor put me in charge. Not only because I can properly monitor you, but because I care. You know this… I know you know it. So why hurt me? Where is that going to get you, where you’re already weak and barely recovered? I don’t understand…” Tears actually welled in her eyes. She had heard of faoladh madness, and had witnessed it first hand with Rowen. But Hadwin… he wasn’t Rowen. And until now, it never would have crossed her mind that he would be capable of such sadistic tendencies, so keen on hurting those who cared for and helped him. 

“You’re not her--you’re not Rowen.” Nia couldn’t help but whisper. As if it would make any difference at all; as if he was actually hearing her beyond the madness buzzing in his ears. “You don’t hurt people the way she does--you don’t have to start now. Please, Hadwin…”

Had Bronwyn not suddenly thrown the errant faoladh off his game, startling him out of his bloodlust for chaos and causing pain and terror in someone who only sought to help him, Nia wasn’t sure exactly what she would have done. Would she have found it in herself to flee? Or would her legs have failed her, forcing her to succumb to Hadwin’s fearsight? As much as she had wanted to run, a stronger part of her still wanted to help, knowing that this was wholly uncharacteristic of him. Although as it turned out, she was not the one capable of helping him in that moment. Whatever reason Bronwyn had to be awake at stupid-o-clock in the morning, Nia was forever grateful for her intervention. 

“Hey… hope you’re gonna be available for the next week.” The Master Alchemist, still shaken from the way this event unfolded, flashed a smile that trembled as much as her hands as she slowly made her way for her feet. At what point had she sunk onto the floor in despair? “‘Cause, see, I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on your lug of a brother for the next week. Do administer Isidor’s serums and all. Your bro should be right as rain if all pans out well, but, uh… If we got off to this start, I’m not sure I’m gonna be able to handle it all on my own.” Her expression softened a little, listening to Bronwyn’s account of Hadwin’s… psychosis. She had no solutions to offer, but it was reassuring to hear that the faoladh woman didn’t seem to believe that this incident was a permanent state of mind. Hadwin had been through a lot… Hopefully, once he was feeling better and relatively strong again, this wouldn’t be a side of him that would manifest all too often. “Nah, I get it… no need for apologies. He’s not in his right mind,and I was too dense to see it right away. I mean, I can’t blame the poor guy. We all go a little crazy when it comes to feeling like shit for… well, for a hell of a long time. Not to mention, being bedridden doesn’t help. At all. So don’t take it all on yourself, Bronwyn. Just ‘cause he’s your bro doesn’t mean he’s one-hundred-percent your responsibility. Let’s share the burden, hm? I’m sure Teselin will wanna pitch in, as well.”

Although her hands were still trembling, Nia’s smile didn’t falter until Bronwyn just had to point out that Hadwin wasn’t the only one in rough shape. The well-meaning faoladh woman held out the remainder of the herbs Haraldur Sorde had given her, and as much as Nia didn’t want to take them (and knew she wouldn’t be taking them that evening--not after what had just happened), it was best she hold onto the small stash. In case Hadwin needed them again, that is. “I’m fine. At least, I’d be fine if everyone would just let me get to a point where it’s actually safe to sleep again.” There was no vitriol in her tone, no anger, but desperation could easily be misconstrued as such. “Why does no one seem to understand that? No, I’m not one-hundred-percent alright. I haven’t been at my fucking ‘best’ for a real long time, but I’m getting there. I’m getting there, I just need… I need time, and space, and right now, neither of those things are in conjunction for me to want to fall asleep on terms that aren’t my own. And now just isn’t that time. Hell, maybe it won’t be ‘that time’ until I’m no longer a prisoner to this kingdom. Have you ever tried to just relax and have a grand ol’ sleep when technically, you’re not even a free person?”

Realizing her escalating voice was beginning to come across as harsh to someone who clearly did not deserve the brunt of her frustration, Nia drew in a long, shaky breath and released her trembling hands from the fists into which she had gathered them. Bronwyn wasn’t the enemy; she was just stating what was one everyone else’s mind. “Haraldur Sorde provided these herbs. He said they shouldn’t induce dreaming. Part of me is inclined to believe him. But, then, he also said the Night Garden doesn’t dish out what you aren’t prepared to deal with… and that’s where he’s wrong. Because the shit that that Garden already shows me in my sleep...” She trailed off. She was going off on the wrong person, for the wrong reasons. It wasn’t Bronwyn’s job to understand what she was dealing with; and she’d already saved her ass, that evening. Best no to burn bridges. “...thanks, though. If you’re sure you can stay up to keep an eye on your misbehaving brother, then I certainly can’t begrudge you that. But, if you find you’re getting tired, please don’t hesitate to wake me. Ari knows I’ve got more than one important job to do, here. He won’t mind my occasional absence.”

Flashing one last, uncertain smile, Nia took her leave of the room, and met up with the Forbanne guard who had been patiently waiting for her just outside the door. “You’ve been following me all day,” she couldn’t help but comment to the large man as they made their way back to Ari’s chambers. “Do you even sleep?”

He didn’t comment on her question, and really, she hadn’t expected him to. As soon as they reached the ornate door, Nia opened it, ever so quietly, in hopes that her lover was still fast asleep and hadn’t woken to her absence. Unfortunately, Nia found no such luck. Carefully though she tried to pull the sheets back and slide into bed beside him, Ari stirred and sat up. Just her luck… it appeared that he was already wide awake. “Sorry--did I wake you? I was just checking up on Hadwin. Making sure he wasn’t keeling over in the middle of the night or something.” Nia explained, and kissed his cheek for reassurance. “Worry not: all is well. Hadwin’s still very much alive and a pain in the ass. Bronwyn’s gonna stay nearby tonight in case he needs anything.”

She didn’t make mention of the heftier details of her visit, lest Ari see fit to throw Hadwin out on his ass for causing such a disturbance, and threatening her safety. As much as the errant faoladh frightened her right now, Bronwyn was right: he didn’t want to hurt anyone. He just wasn’t in his right mind. However, her hands had yet to cease their trembling, something that  Ari took note of as soon as she crawled into bed next to him, beneath the silken sheets. “Don’t worry about it. I guess I’m a little restless.” The Master Alchemist explained as an attempt to pass it off as nothing to fret about. Knowing well that he probably wouldn’t simply take her word for it, however, she pasted on a sultry smile and touched his face with her fingertips. “What about you? Feeling restless? I happen to know a pretty surefire solution for that problem… if you catch my meaning.”

“I’m in the D’Marian village for the foreseeable future, so I’ll be here.” In spite of the tense and fraught situation, Bronwyn released a shaky smile, Nia’s equal in terms of uncertainty and doubt. It did nothing to dispel or soothe their shared, trepidatious attitudes, but the gesture was there to show her support, and understanding in the complexity of Hadwin’s fractured state of mind. “I’m not in the business of playing nurse for my brother, I’ll have you know. For one, he hates it, and throws a stink whenever someone so much as fluffs his pillows or asks if he needs anything. For another, I’m not cut out for this type of role, either.” Her gaze floated towards the ceiling, a neutral territory to glance at; no eye contact to accidentally graze from up above; no accidents waiting to happen in the event her Sight should go haywire, following, as always, in the shadow of her brother. “But I can’t deny that he’s been looking out for me, in his own way. You could say I owe him, though that admittedly puts a bad taste in my mouth,” she stuck out her tongue and made a sour face, for full effect. “But don’t worry about it. I haven’t been pulling my own weight in…well, since I left my clan in search of my sister.” 

She tried not to shiver from the repeated mention of Rowen. While she chose not to reference it, Nia’s entreaties where she desperately debunked his associations with their youngest, sadistic sibling about broke her heart. How close to the truth had that statement touched? Hadwin was not Rowen, but he also tended to adopt features of his dead loved ones in order to keep them close to his chest. But as his fear had twisted and transformed every pure memorial into something ugly and monstrous, the effigies in his mind warped and took a life all their own, possessing him with their most poisonous attributes and becoming haunts. She saw it for herself, when his fearsight and her virtuesight touched during that narrow span where he’d nearly afflicted her with the worst and darkest of her shadows. In lieu of receiving a deluge of her spitballed fears, she caught a dollop of his own truth, reflected into her eye-path. Hadwin didn’t believe death separated people; they merely changed form. He welcomed the ‘spirits’ of their mother, their sister, because if he accepted they were gone forever, he feared he’d damn them to oblivion…along with himself. At least, that was how Bronwyn interpreted the doleful echoes pocked on the hollowest, most tender spots of his heart. Hadwin wasn’t Rowen, but, like their mother, he wouldn’t let her die…and that could present complications in the future if he chose to let her influence manifest. 

“This gives me a sense of purpose,” she swallowed, returning to face her unconscious brother. His repose anything but gentle, his brow twisted and lay thick with perspiration. She dipped a fresh cloth into the basin situated on the nightstand, wrung out the excess water, and laid the cool rag across his forehead. “I can’t leave it all to Teselin. The poor girl is wiped,” she nodded to the small lump populating the chair, miraculously still asleep amidst all the rustle and tussle of a faoladh’s mind breaking anew. “I can’t imagine how Hadwin managed to convince her to take it easy and rest. But they’ve always had hands over the other’s heart anyway. He can get through to her, and vice versa. And I can’t leave it to you, either. Not as you are now.” She raised her head and observed the Master Alchemist through the thin pall of darkness, frowning at the mess of shivers overwhelming her hands, as well as the unsteadiness of her feet. “I don’t mean that to be rude, but it looks like Hadwin got to you. Are you sure he didn’t clip you with some of his fearsight?”

Perhaps because she herself was sleep-deprived, having achieved no sleep that night as she lay on the floor of her and Sigrid’s newly shared chambers as a wolf, twitching and squirming, but she bristled in defense at Nia’s inflammatory wording. “So let me get this straight. You don’t intend to sleep, at all, until the kingdom exonerates you of your crimes?” The question dripped with wryness, but she didn’t correct her attitude; rather, she leaned into it, for no other reason, she wagered, than the similarities she found between Nia and her brother, prompting her to act like she was addressing the unresponsive slag of meat on the bed beside her. “Good luck, because if I were a betting woman, I’d put money on the guarantee that you’ll collapse from exhaustion sometime around day five. What use will you be then, if you can’t get up and do your part? Besides…that’s not the problem you’re having. If you’ve been running most of your life, I’m willing to guess you haven’t felt safe in a long, long time. Did you have trouble sleeping before?” Shaking her head, she thumbed over to Hadwin, his head lolled to one side, breaths shallow and erratic. “I heard what he said to you—and you’ve just now confirmed it. You’re afraid of the nightmares. And yes, maybe they’ll go away whenever you earn your freedom, but that may be a long time from now. Strong as you are, it’s going to be almost impossible to sustain a schedule based on all work and no rest. I say this not to condescend,” she sighed, releasing some of the latent frustrations that peppered the strung-out voice of a faoladh who reached the limits of her patience, not keen on directing it toward a woman whom, unlike the majority of Galeyn’s populace, she harbored little ill-will. She remembered the kindness of a warm shoulder and a sympathetic ear when she learned of Rowen’s death by Hadwin’s hand, and saw her brother’s barely living body sprawled brokenly in the quiet muffle of the sanctuary. Shouldn’t she offer a little kindness in turn? A little sympathy, and understanding?

“I say this because where you are now is an awful place to be.” She gathered the thick of her hair, looping its mass of bronzed curls over her shoulder. “And I know where you’re coming from. I can’t sleep, either. There’s nothing good awaiting me there, besides. Just...reminders of what I lost. Maybe I’ll try some of those herbs. A little, if you don’t mind.” She tentatively took the pouch from Nia’s hand and dribbled a little in her palm. “It won’t be for tonight, but tomorrow evening, if my arse of a brother allows it,” she gave her brother’s shoulder a small, vengeful shove, “I’ll give them a go. This might not be my place to say,” she began, carefully watching Nia in case she ended up venturing too far beyond what was acceptable conversation, “but have you ever stopped to consider that the Night Garden didn’t induce your nightmares? Perhaps you unconsciously resisted its help, and as a form of resistance, you had a bad reaction. In other words…you didn’t have faith the medicine would work, and what you’re experiencing now is your body’s attempts to fight off an ally. But that might be my hope talking.” She released her hair, letting it curl in place around her neck. “I wanted to believe Breane’s treatments could help my sister. I don’t see it as any fault of the Night Garden, or of the Gardener, but Rowen…she was too trapped in the soup of her fears, and it spelled her downfall. Whatever is eating you, please be aware that you’re not in this alone.” Her dark amber eyes, sorrowed and sad, sought Nia’s for understanding. “You’ll be hard-pressed to find many people in this kingdom not dreaming nightmares of their very own. And some of those people genuinely want the best for you.”

“Ah; do I?” It hardly occurred to Ari, an aristocrat servicing other aristocrats for the majority of his life, that his speech patterns might come across to some people as difficult to follow and understand. Now that Isidor brought the issue to his attention, he wondered, and worried, how he often addressed the crowd. Surely, he didn’t devolve into long-winded, flowery interludes apt to bore or confuse his audience. D’Marians were, as a whole, an assertive people, and tended not to hold back when they wanted their true opinions known. If his speeches were too ornate and plodding, then for certain, wouldn’t he have heard about it as a chief complaint? Unless he unconsciously adjusted his rhetoric to suit a more utilitarian audience, Ari was seldom bothered by his artistic methods of oration. In fact, he preferred to pontificate at length about simple matters people oft took for granted with simple words or ideas, to the point where it became his default method of speaking, but if the layperson, or social unsavvy people, had difficulty translating his florid words and unclear meanings, then how could he define himself as the voice of Stella D’Mare if his citizens required a dictionary and the patience of a saint to understand him? Suddenly, he felt a little self-conscious. While he was assured of his ability to adjust when necessary, there existed a small part of himself who questioned his level of unambiguity.

“What I mean to say,” he began anew, a little flustered in his attempt to give a third and less complex explanation, “is that I once interpreted your soul as ugly and beyond saving, but in speaking more with you, I’ve concluded that it is not beyond saving after all. But it is still ugly, and requires a hearty amount of self-maintenance to polish and beautify. What’s more, if you continue to neglect your needs, your true needs, not your wants, you will effectively cast yourself away into the realm of beyond saving.” No wonder why he opted for disguising his meanings in poeticisms, cushioning the overt in blankets of subtlety and soft language. It was in order to hide the stings and barbs of cutting dialogue! He almost flinched at the barbaric sounds coming from his mouth. He came across as positively uncivilized! Impolite, rude, and a little too blunt for his comfort. All the same…he couldn’t ignore the little thrilling shiver that tingled down his spine for speaking his mind in the most no-frills manner he could convey, at the time. “Do I speak with clarity?”

“Anyway,” he loosened the neck of his cravat, feeling suddenly overheated, “I hope you can well deduce my meaning that returning to your tower in Nairit as you are now is tantamount to surrendering one’s soul to a lifetime of rot and festering. And while I sympathize for the pining of one’s home, home is never the same once we leave it for the first time.” A wistful, almost contemplative tone whistled over his usually resonant tone. “I know this about fair Stella D’Mare. Once we reclaim our land, it will have changed, and we will have changed, and in spite of this, we’ll perhaps find that we are ill-suited to resume our role as its guardians and stewards. I digress, but I speak a similar concern, because I advise you to be prepared for possible disappointment, or loss, when you again greet the walls of your beloved tower. But on a less bleak note,” Ari took in Isidor’s frumpy clothes, his overladen shoulders struggling to heft an invisible weight, the near-permanent bags under eyes that read their defeat, “I do not doubt your efforts to mingle with your fellow peers, but it is very possible your definition of ‘try’ differs and deviates from the social convention. It is no wonder, then, that you are failing, when you’ve no frame of reference on what is considered normal or acceptable. I believe you are in need of a patron; one that can help you navigate the grueling rigors of social complexity or, failing that, provide a buffer between yourself and the most blood-sucking of individuals. Lord Rigas has done his part in sponsoring you, I am sure, but he also lacks the finesse and popularity to introduce you properly.” He pointed a proud finger to his chest. “However, I can perform such a service in your honor. In fact, it should not prove too difficult, considering the role you’ve agreed to play in lifting my pesky curse. But I do get ahead of myself. We shall speak of this again once the events of Galeyn’s grandiose festivities expire, and we’ve carved out a little free time for ourselves, preferably in the cavern of the undercity. After all…Nia and I still have a float competition to win.” Ari’s eyes crinkled, twinkling their promise for swift and certain annihilation.

At first, the Canaveris lord hesitated to extend his hand for Isidor’s evaluation, and did so with a tentative, almost timid movement. Bracing himself for the Master Alchemist’s invasive touch, he was surprised, and relieved, to experience a far different and largely neutral sensation, akin to the Clematis healer’s no-nonsense, but not rough, handling of his flesh. Desensitized to the routine pricking of his skin, and the blood pooling from the wound, Ari watched the transformative process, beginning to end, but out of respect for Isidor and whatever bout of nerves he might be experiencing, he politely kept his observations covert, staring only from the corner of his eye. Finally, when his half-petrified hand reverted to warm, pliant, organic matter, Ari, finger bandaged, stood from the chair where their proceedings took place and delivered a bow of gratitude and appreciation, flexing his fingers as he did so. “You have done an exemplary job, though I should expect no less from one approaching your level of genius, Master Kristeva. Or should I say,” he clicked his tongue, experimenting with the name, “Isidor. I do believe the rambunctious faoladh can be referenced by a simple past tense verb, but something tells me referring to him as such will not faze him—unless you suggest that whatever he once possessed is lost to yesterday…if you fancy yourself interested in delivering what they call a ‘low blow.’”

Feeling in rather a buoyant mood, Ari departed from the study, immediately preparing for a pleasant evening laying beside Nia in the same bed, enveloped by her inviting touch—or, consequently, chilled and bereft of covers, as her per claim to thief and plunder away the bedding for her own selfish comforts. The night started out as planned, the two of them situated, cozy, and content, but a few hours later, he awoke to find her absent. Before he could scramble out of bed in alarm, however, he caught her tiptoeing through a crack in the door and stalking over to her side, stealthy and determined not to disturb his slumber. So as not to prolong her need for sneaking about, he sat up and gently announced his wakefulness. “You did no such thing, Nia,” he whispered assuringly, taking her trembling hands in his. “I had stirred, all my own—a natural progression of the sleep cycle’s high and low tides. I am gladdened to hear, at least, that Mister Kavanagh is faring well. But,” he cupped her hands, holding them steady in hopes of slowing the intensity of her trembling. “What ails you? Is there anything I can do to help?”

He believed her when she claimed restlessness, but it was so vague a conclusion, and one she was less than keen on dwelling on, for when he opened his mouth to say something on the subject, she promptly silenced it with her tempting proposition. Tired though he was, and saddled with plenty of tasks and responsibilities for the following day, Ari also couldn’t ignore how literally shaken and, well, afraid, his partner had appeared, the prominence of her faulty well-being apparent, even darkness could not conceal the nuances. Alas, he didn’t want to frighten her away by gouging away at her sense of unease, so he elected for a gentler tactic. “Who am I to deny you, Nia, but only if it, too, provides for you a sleep remedy. Also,” the lightest touch of a frown appeared on his face, “penetration of the sort may not be achieved unless I’ve imbibed an adequate amount of wine, as you well know. But I am sure we can occupy ourselves with alternate methods of a similar persuasion.” Leaning forward, he captured the side of her neck in a delicate, but sensual kiss. “With all of my verve, I shall endeavor to suck your restlessness dry, Nia, and cart us away into a beautiful midnight haven where we can watch the stars overhead and sink into a peaceful, undisturbed rest. Would you like that?”

“Yeah, I’m afraid of nightmares. I’m not trying to hide that. If you want me to be more specific, I’m afraid of what those nightmares will do to me. They’re not ordinary. And when I dream, they only get worse and worse.” It was difficult not to get defensive when everyone else seemed to think they knew better than Nia what was good for her--Bronwyn included. “Yeah, it’s been a while since I’ve felt safe, and that hasn’t changed. Galeyn still hasn’t let me off the hook, and I’m not going to truly be safe until they do. But you’ve just proved my point: I’ve seldom experienced a full night of sleep for that reason. And, I still had the energy to run and hide when the occasion called for it--that hadn’t changed! The only difference now is I can’t steal an hour or two of sleep when I need it, because it fucks me up worse than if I hadn’t slept at all. The only reprieve I have is when Alster sends me into some half-dead state where I can’t dream… but I can’t rely on that forever.” And especially if Alster was aware that Haraldur had attempted to provide her with a solution, whether she chose to use it or not, chances are he would be far less likely to accommodate her wishes and continue to use his chthonic magic as a bandage for her problem. 

Bronwyn was too genuine a person to be condescending; Nia knew that much, and she knew that the faoladh woman was only speaking from a place of concern. Nonetheless, it bothered Nia that her tells--her unsteady gait, the weakness in her knees, and that incessant trembling in her hands--ensured that she wasn’t really fooling anyone. Perhaps not even Ari, although the Canaveris lord seemed to have the grace not to point out the obvious, so afraid that he would upset her. But however well-meaning Bronwyn might have been, the reminder that she really hadn’t covered much ground in her recovery irked her. She was already well-aware that her refusal to sleep was throwing her off in a bad way… but Bronwyn didn’t understand. She empathized, perhaps, but she didn’t know the details. And, even if she did, they wouldn’t register the same way, because she hadn’t been there when Nia had been a child and witnessed the bloody carnage that marked the end of her family. “I never used to think about it until now, you know. I never let the memories cross my mind. I just tucked it all away at the back, and went on with my life, and you know what? It worked out pretty damn well. But it was the Night Garden that decided it’s time to pick at that wound and make me relive it every time I sleep--as if seeing it the first time wasn’t enough.” The Master Alchemist clutched her elbows to try and contain her trembling. “You really mean to tell me I’m miserable because I’m resisting whatever the Night Garden is trying to do to me? I can’t control what it’s doing to me. I’d be fine if it hadn’t fucked with my mind at all. I never asked for this…”

But… what of she was right? Was she really so trapped in her own mind, just like Rowen had been, such that she was somehow sabotaging her own recovery? “Take as much as you want,” she said, offering the pouch of herbs to Bronwyn. “Who knows; maybe they’ll work? Maybe they’ll work for you. Not sure they’re doing much for Hadwin, beyond keeping him unconscious, but that face doesn’t exactly suggest he isn't dreaming, like Haraldur suggested they would.” She gestured to the unconscious faoladh, whose brow was furrowed in his sleep. He was still, but not peaceful. Not exactly indicative of restful slumber. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she gathered her other trembling hand into a fist. “Look… I’m sorry. I know you’re just trying to help. I’m sure a lot of people are. But I can’t forget that the majority of this kingdom initially wanted me dead, and the number of people who care, like you said, are most definitely in the minority. It’s nice to have the vote of confidence… but I’m in this--in what’s happening to me--alone. Only I can live up to whatever standards Galeyn’s put on me to work my way out of being indentured to it. There will be no forgiveness if I fail. So,” she let her arm drop back to her side. “I stay awake until I know I can handle being asleep. Alster’s been a big help; if he can just come through for me long enough to get through the next two weeks… then I’ll take it from there. Maybe start experimenting with Sorde’s sleep herbs then. Feel free to hang onto them; I just can’t afford for it to go bad for me right now. Someone might as well get some good usage out of ‘em.”

Fortunately for Nia, Ari’s chambers were several corridors and a few flights of stairs away. Enough time for her to try and decompress from the stressful situation she had just witnessed and experienced, before she had to sneak back into bed with Ari. And if he was awake, then she couldn’t look like she’d just been shaken to her core (however much she felt like she had been). He would worry, and when the man worried, he went out of his way to try to rectify circumstances that were well beyond his control--which, in turn, would lead to more flare-ups and appendages turning to stone. It was a vicious cycle that she just couldn’t perpetuate: so, she had to be alright. Or, at least, make it believable that she was. And if Rowen was right, and she really hadn’t been fooling Ari up until now, then it just meant she’d have to work harder. 

“Nothing ails me. I mean, nothing aside from the obvious: still Galeyn’s prisoner, with a huge Forbanne guard as my shadow.” She rolled her eyes in the darkness, hoping to come across as believable. But she couldn’t control the trembling of her hands, which Ari now held gently in his own. Something that wouldn’t get past him. “But, I guess as long as I’m sureful in some capacity, like being one of the few Master Alchemists to ever treat a faoladh, that’ll be my safety net. Guess I’m lucky having a rare and unique skill set.” Nonetheless, she grinned her ever-reassuring smile.

“I’ll be frank… I’m not interested in a sleep aid. Couldn’t sleep well in the first place; there’s just too much to do, and I keep thinking ahead to the plans for our float. And… I mean, we’ve found a moment alone without an excuse. Might as well take advantage of it, hm?” If she couldn’t distract from her frightened state with words, then seduction was always a good plan B. Ari never had (and probably never could) deny her, and she knew as much. So at the first sound of doubt in his voice, she crawled over his body, bracing hers against the mattress by her forearms. “And, let’s be honest, here: you only think you can’t have sex successfully unless you’ve been drinking. Let’s unlearn that--I, for one, have faith in you. And if we fail the first few times… who cares? It’s not like I’m going anywhere. Believe me, I’m not that easy to get rid of.”

It wasn’t all an act, or a ploy to get him to take his mind off of her problems; this was genuinely a hurdle that Nia wanted the both of them to find a way to surmount. Ari couldn’t go his entire life relying on alcohol to have a satisfying sexual experience, and she’d be damned if she let him remain in that mindset! But she didn’t like how he wouldn’t let go of the topic of sleep. It was best, then, to fully take control of this situation. “Oh, I don’t want rest. But it appears you do… and I’m sorry to keep you awake. I can be kind of a pain like that. So,” she planted a kiss on his neck and crawled down his body, until she hovered just above his groin. Her brown eyes sparkled with sly mischief. “Let me take care of you, tonight. No pressure, no expectations; though I can guarantee that you’ll sleep very well when I am done with you.”

It came as no surprise that her plan had the intended effect. Not only was Ari rendered completely speechless to the undivided attention her mouth gave his manhood, but he succumbed to sleep shortly after the fact. Too stressed herself to succumb to the call of sleep, the Master Alchemist then stared out the grand window in the vast bedchambers until the sun came up, signaling an appropriate time to finally rise. Slipping into something more appropriate than her night attire, the Ardane woman once again departed before Ari could wake and ask her how she’d slept. No matter how confident she was as a liar, there would be no explaining away the dark circles beginning to form under her eyes. As soon as she was clothed, she set off to check up on Hadwin again, and administer another dosage of Isidor’s serum--and, yes, it just so happened that she feared her own dreams far more than she feared whatever Hadwin could do to her, because they were one and the same: and there was nothing Hadwin could do that would be more terrible than what she experienced when asleep, which also haunted her when awake.

Apparently, sleeplessness really was a trait among Master Alchemists, for she didn’t get far before running into Isidor in one of the corridors. “Ah; fancy seeing you up so early this morning.” She beamed a tired smile. “I didn’t know when you planned to take off to the palace, so I was just gonna go and check up on Hadwin. He was pretty stable last night… though not exactly in the best spirits.”

“I wouldn’t expect any different, honestly.” Isidor replied, pressing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. “I also intended to check on him just now, one last time before I depart. After this morning, I’ll be relying on you for frequent updates.”

“So… no need for me to intervene right now?” She tried not to sigh in relief. As much as this was better than succumbing to sleep that might induce nightmares, a part of her also didn’t want to face Hadwin again; not just yet. She’d wait for later, hopefully after a point at which Bronwyn spoke to him, and he was more level-headed. “Well, I won’t get in the way, then. We’ll chat through the resonance stones later, hm? Oh, just, uh… be careful. Hadwin really was in a mood last night. A bad one; Bronwyn got him under control, but I dunno what kind of temperament he’ll be in this morning.”

At Nia’s oddly hasty departure, Isidor continued alone down the corridor, knocking once on the door before he entered Hadwin’s current resting place. Part of him wondered at Nia’s warning, and he couldn’t help but feel rather hesitant entering the faoladh’s space, but when he entered the room, Hadwin was still asleep, with both Teselin and Bronwyn slumped over in chairs opposite his bed. Try though he might not to disturb any of the sleeping forms, Bronwyn woke as soon as he approached the bed with a syringe in hand. “Sorry for waking you; I’m leaving for the palace shortly, so I thought I’d administer this now before I go and see how things are shaping up for myself.” Taking the sleeping faoladh’s arm, he injected the second dose of serum, noting that a rudimentary assessment of the sleeping wolf suggested he was stable, just as Nia had said. So far, everything seemed to be going according to plan.

“I can’t say for certain, but in a week, there shouldn’t be any more need for bed rest on his part. Of course, if you have any questions at all during this process, Nia will be stepping in for me to answer them. And if she cannot, then I will do my best to get you an answer.” Tucking the syringe away to be broken down and reformulated into something more useful later, Isidor made for the door before he could find himself roped into conversation, but hesitated just before closing it behind him. “Could you tell Teselin… not to take this upon herself too hard. If Alster’s account is correct, she blames herself for the altercation at the pub because Hadwin was protecting her. She couldn’t have known it would lead to this. I certainly wouldn’t have anticipated it.”

Having sent for a carriage the night before, shortly after Isidor packed up his belongings (and, as per his promise, tidied up Aristide’s study from the massive disarray his work had caused), he was on his way back to the palace and the comfort of his own bedchamber. Despite having actually slept the night before, without being plagued with Zenech or Arisza’s faces in his dreams, the Master Alchemist felt undeniably exhausted--moreso than those nights he forsook sleep for work. Possibly he could chalk it up to spending time in the Canaveris residence; after all, he and Aristide were only beginning to continue future relations on better footing, but that wasn’t all of it. After having spoken with the Canaveris lord about what weighed on his chest, and finally understanding the reason he’d had to run from Lady Canaveris the other day, Isidor realized he had opened a forbidden box of memories and feelings that would no longer be ignored. What really happened that day? Isidor turned the events over and over in his head, but as much as those memories demanded attention, he could only piece them together in fragments of images and feelings. Had he been mistaken? Perhaps Lady Canaveris truly hadn’t realized who it was she’d spotted all those years ago…

It just so happened that he was about to have an answer.

Arriving at the palace sometime in the afternoon, Isidor gathered his bag of tools and belongings and quietly made his way back to his chambers, intent on having no one disturb him for the remainder of the day. He had work to do on the float he and Alster were designing, and his interaction with Aristide, while it had been positive, had left the introverted soul completely burnt out. But just as he was turning a corner, another person was making their way in the opposite direction--toward him. A woman in fine clothes and dark hair who carried herself well, with her chin held high.

“...Lady Canaveris.” Was fate really so cruel? That he would run into the object of his anxieties so soon?! There was no avoiding eye contact or pretending he didn’t see her when they were the only two occupants of the corridor. How was he supposed to get out of this? “Good afternoon to you.” And with that--he hurried past her. The only way to get out of this was to remove himself before he was trapped in another conversation that he didn’t want to have. And yet… and yet…

“...wait.” She hadn’t pursued him, clearly respecting his wishes not to speak at this given time. She would have let him go without batting an eyelash. It only occurred to Isidor once he had that chance to walk away that… he couldn’t. His feet stopped him, halting him mid-step before he realized what it was he was doing. If I do this, there’s no going back.

But… there is no going forward if I don’t.

“Lady Canaveris.” Drawing a breath, the Kristeva alchemist turned again to face the woman, several paces away at this point. “Years ago… I saw you. I saw you at the tower in Nairit. I heard you speak with Zenech. And I know… I know you saw me too. So… so I want to know…” His throat tightened as his palms became clammy with sweat. No going back… no going forward. “I want to know… why? You met Zenech. You must have known what he was capable of. You must have questioned what the hell a boy, clearly unrelated to him, was doing in that tower. So I want to know… why didn’t you help me, then? Was it really not obvious that I…” His last words barely made it out, choked and strangled with a despair he hadn’t felt in a very long time. “That I… I needed help?”

Keenly aware of keeping one’s vulnerabilities in check among the public, and even private, sphere, Ari didn’t press Nia to reveal to him her innermost horrors and demons. As a highly scrutinized figure himself, albeit leagues less so than Locque’s infamous Master Alchemist, he respected her right not to discuss something that clearly bothered her, however much he yearned to lend the type of assistance specific to her needs. Alas, all he could do at the moment was show her receptiveness, support, and understanding. Anything pushier was anathema to their recovering relationship. If she interpreted his well-meaning interference as a betrayal, then the delicate balance they achieved would plummet, and they may never again have another chance to repair what they lost. 

“Ah, the transition to sober love-making will be an eventuality, yes,” he deflected, “but not tonight. At least, in terms of the literal act. However, that does not mean I cannot interest you in other carnal delights.” He removed his mouth from her neck and proceeded to head downward, towards her ladyhood, but she beat him by lowering his night trousers and taking gentle hold of his member. He hid his nervousness on his face, but it was undeniable how he’d stiffened (in the correct place as well as in all the incorrect places) before a moment that should bring him nothing but pleasure. When he and Chara used to…experiment together, she never allowed focus on him, his desires, or his wants. As a result, whatever resulted in his specific sexual attention generated in him a little unease and hesitation. Now that his mind was awake, uncushioned by the wine he often imbibed for the occasion, the unease hit him all the harder. It didn’t help matters, either, that he so often lost control and couldn’t maintain his composure for longer than a minute before he climaxed, no matter the device used for guiding him towards that highly attained state of orgasm.

“This cannot possibly be exciting for you.” He laughed away the malaise, the tension, and rested a tender hand atop her own. “You needn’t proceed, if the mood does not strike you. I will not be disappointed, or offended.” But she had insisted, and if he kept trying to dissuade her, then she would sense the spiritedness of his objection, and the climate between them would quickly turn awkward. It was the last thing he wanted. So, dispensing of his nerves (carrying on despite them, more like), he allowed the transaction, shivering when her mouth ran along his shaft in rhythmic motions. No doubt he relished her suctioning sensations, albeit guiltily, because he knew where the end result would lead. And as the air gasped and escaped his lungs in equal measure, and his hands gripped the bedsheets, and his head bobbed around, unsure of how to pose upon his neck, the inevitable happened. He tried to pull away in time, tried to warn her by other cues; a grunt of effort, the shivering of his knees, but they were not ample enough warnings, and she succumbed to the streams of his ecstasy. Perhaps because he never experienced fellatio before, nor didn’t understand what was considered socially acceptable, the conclusion upset him a little, such that he sputtered apologies and immediately handed her a handkerchief from the nightstand.

“That was lovely, Nia,” he elected to say, a little winded and out of joint, as he was still reeling in mortification from how he had behaved during what should have been an enjoyable reprieve. Yet, he refused to stew in the awkwardness. There were some small wins; at least. His member hadn’t petrified to stone, for one! “And I thank you for it, even if I likely overstepped my boundaries. For that, I apologize. Please allow me to do something for you, in turn.”

Alas, he wasn’t long for this conscious world, and before he could move to do anything of the sort, he fell on the pillow, and his heavy eyelids shuttered shut, trapping him, prematurely, just as his sex-based escapades had done, into the realm of sleep.

The following morning, Ari woke, at dawn as always, himself vested with a natural circadian rhythm that prevented oversleeping no matter how few hours he’d achieved the night before. But when he turned around to greet Nia, as he assumed she wouldn’t have slept, anyway, she was nowhere to be found. An imprint of her body had wrinkled the sheets, but bereft of a body, it remained as a remnant of her occupancy. The temperature around her side was cold to the touch, indicating a long while had elapsed between its last usage. Would this be common practice for Nia, in the coming days? Sighing in defeat, Ari rose out of bed and prepared for the day ahead.

It was as though she had made herself scarce, for how she seemed to disappear within the folds of the villa for a huge chunk of the day. While it wasn’t a particularly huge estate, only a fraction the size of Galeyn’s palace, and he doubted she descended into the expansive undercity without his guidance, considering also the condition of her leg, there weren’t too many places where she could be. Following Isidor’s departure, of which he ascertained to see him off in the style befitting the master of the house, Ari, who cleared out free time for himself in the afternoon, searched for Nia in earnest.

He finally located her in the shady end of the courtyard shortly after lunch, which she had skipped, her Forbanne guard dutifully in step near her, but at this juncture, Ari did not come alone, as he’d accrued a very small entourage in the interim.

“Ah, Nia! There you are!” He sidled to her left side, ignoring the rather noticeable bruises of sleeplessness branding the undersides of her eyes. Did that explain her reasons for avoiding him, even after they agreed to join up and plan for the float whenever Isidor departed for the palace? “I’ll say, the likes of Mister Kavanagh have kept you quite busy today. I hope he is not demanding too much of you,” he said cheerily, deciding to give her the benefit of the doubt. “Ah, no matter. I am about to dedicate the rest of today to festival preparations—in particular, the creation of the Canaveris float. You will see that I have gathered a few helpers for the undertaking. You are well familiar with Sylvie, here,” he gestured to the fey girl, who beamed a smile as usual, but towards Nia, it was tinged with a little guarded uncertainty, as though the Master Alchemist was about to dismiss her from the gathering outright. “She has a natural gift for textiles and embroidery, and wanted to add some unique patterning to our forest scene. And this,” he turned to a teenaged boy no older than sixteen, his dark hair styled in short but no less elegant waves, “is Nikodemos, my eldest nephew. He is quite the up-and-coming painter, specializing in landscapes. He had the idea to paint a sweeping mural around the base of the float.”

“It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Nia.” Nikodemos dipped into a polite bow, and although his expression was impassive, his brown eyes held trace amounts of contempt.

“Shall we all reconvene at the workshop?” He tilted his head at Nia in curiosity, but made level sure not to express concern so overtly, afraid of how she might receive it…and him. “Of course, if you require some time to sup, relax, or check on your wolven charge, we do not mind commencing this project ahead of you. It is no great bother, really.”

“No, not at all.” Nikodemos smiled, but it was tight-lipped, an unwanted and forceful feature on his face. “Uncle Ari, she is obviously ill. I daresay it would benefit her most to rest, considering all the work we are bound to do today.”

“Niko!” Sylvie sharply elbowed her brother, whispering harshly, “that is very rude of you to say!”

The eldest son of Casimiro raised his eyebrow, unaffected by the elbow to his gut. “Sylvie, Miss Nia is our guest,” he said in mock affront. “Is it not our duty to provide for her needs? She needs rest.”

“As do we all,” Ari sighed, aiming to defuse the situation with a conciliatory statement in place of outrage. “Niko, I appreciate your concern, but rest comes at a premium for the people of Galeyn nowadays, and I am no better. Do you think less of me for shirking sleep? For I am partaking in fewer hours, myself. At any rate, we must be respectful to our guests, regardless of what we perceive.” He gave his nephew a pointed and meaningful look, prompting the out-of-line teenager to redden and stare at his feet.

“Ah, yes. Well, in that case,” the chastised boy lowered his voice to almost inaudible levels, “my apologies, Miss Nia.” But the hardness in his eyes never changed. As they lifted, they conveyed a petulant message to the person receiving his obligatory apology: I don’t mean a word I said.

“Why don’t you and your sister get situated in the workshop?” Ari looked to the two siblings. “We will join you shortly.” After dismissing Sylvie and Nikodemos, Ari took hold of Nia’s hands, holding an apology in his gaze. “If this new arrangement brings you discomfort, Nia, I would not blame you for withdrawing your assistance. Nikodemos is a fine young man, but he has recently taken to moods, and the last thing I want is to promote disharmony if he decides to treat you as a threat or a target. I do hope you forgive me for involving them without first informing you of the change. Alas,” he withdrew one hand to remove a loose strand of black hair from his eyes, “a float of this magnitude requires all willing hands to participate, and my niece and nephew were first to volunteer. The workshop in question is in a hollowed-out cavern cut into the side of this mountain,” he turned his gaze to the half-moon crag looming behind the villa. “There will be plenty of space to branch out into individual teams and tasks, as such. Oh, but before we proceed any further,” he pulled a small wooden box out of his pocket and handed it to her, “this is for you.” Upon opening the box, one could glimpse the familiar jade leaf carving, but this time, it was accompanied by the pink rose quartz cherry blossom, fused carefully on the upper side of the leaf that whorled into a sinuous flourish. Together, they created a perfect marriage, a balanced asymmetry of symmetrical components, oft found and celebrated in nature. No doubt the leaf and blossom belonged, each complementing the other in such a way that seemed deliberate by the artist, when the inverse was true. “All finished,” he said, with a small, almost modest smile. “I’ve eliminated the pesky problem of the glowstone flashing at inopportune times. As it stands,” he plucked the necklace from Nia’s palm and fastened the chain around her neck, pendant and all, “it should glow only when you press your thumb along its underside. Feel free to experiment with it at your own leisure.” Carefully removing her hair from snagging on the chain, Ari retreated, but only one small step, allowing him the space to withdraw his arm for her to take, should she require it for balance purposes. “Shall we go together, then? Unless you have decided your services are needed elsewhere. Either way, I shall guide you to wherever you’d like to go, and regale you with some good tidings in the meantime—for you will be happy to hear, I’m sure, my decision to coexist peaceably with Master Kristeva.”

While Ari was readying himself to begin his work on the Canaveris float, another Canaveris was also hard at work on an entirely different project. Nadira, designated master of the observation tower construction effort, paused progress to take a midday break. Pleased so far with their projected ahead of time unveiling date, insofar as the exterior of the tower would reach completion, sans the unique furnishings that would distinguish it as an observatory foremost, the Canaveris matron allowed the earth mages and stonemasons an elongated reprieve for the day, two hours instead of the usual one. Ever since she began utilizing Isidor’s magical-malfeasance measuring contraption, the workers at her command began showing a surprising amount of cooperation. Not that this quick turnaround was in any way related to the presence of the curious scale, given her surreptitious use of its properties when all other bodies vacated the tower, but instead, she viewed it as something of a good luck charm. Although it was more than likely that the masons and mages under her service were motivated by their eagerness to finish by their tentative deadline as a point of pride, as well as to enjoy Galeyn’s upcoming festivities unburdened, Nadira could not deny the admittedly irrational belief that her Master Alchemist-created acquisition was, indeed, keeping the Galeynian-D’Marian infighting at bay.

It was in the midst of this midday break that Nadira stumbled, rather by accident, upon Isidor Kristeva. She was not expecting his prompt return from the Canaveris villa! If Ari had made him feel less than welcome, despite her fevered protests to the contrary, he would certainly hear it from her!

“Master Kristeva. A good afternoon to you as well,” she greeted the skittish young man, stepping aside to allow him space to pass her unencumbered in the hallway. She respected his desire for space and the freedom to despise her without forcing guilty company onto his already overladen shoulders. Having accepted this new precedent set for their future, half-acknowledged interactions, it took her by surprise when he called for her attention anew. She stopped short, swerving on her heels as she tried—and failed—to mask her overeagerness.

“Yes, Master Kristeva? Is everything well with you? Have you found the accommodations in the Canaveris villa to your liking?” In other words: Did my son muck it up beyond repair?

Whatever lingered on Isidor’s mind, she wasn’t quite prepared for his question, bold and direct and…desperate. His voice cracked upon it like stone on tile, breaking along the fault lines and steadily coming apart. Nadira’s hardlined eyes, her default expression, evaporated on sight. Her mouth slackened, rounding into a loose O. “You remembered me, then. I did not believe you would, or that our brief encounter would impact you so greatly. In that case, you have my apologies for omitting that detail when last we spoke. I,” she gestured to the closest room she could locate, an unlocked and vacant bedchamber, to her relief, “let us continue our conversation away from prying eyes and perked ears.”

Once inside, Nadira positioned herself beside the window, peering through the curtains to the sunlight courtyard beyond. It helped to clear her head, to focus on a sight more uplifting than the memory of those bleary, dolorous, eyes, and the void-like depths within which housed so much pain—but to no avail. No one worth their salt could claim immunity to a child’s silent and unanswered plea. And yet…

She had walked away.

Nadira rejected the window and the unspoiled image of daisies bobbing lazily in the sun-drenched summer breeze. It did not reflect her current mood. “Here is the truth, Master Kristeva, and I am not proud of it, but neither will I shy from this troubling subject. If this should bring you closure and catharsis, then I will be one hundred percent frank with you. Yes, I was not blind to Master Zenech’s…questionable character, but truthfully, I chalked it up to a feature representative of all Master Alchemists. Master Felyse Ardane was, if you could believe it, more of a nightmare to handle, correspondence-wise. But I digress,” she sighed, twisting around the diamond ring on her finger in an uncharacteristic bout of fidgeting. “I was not ignorant to your untenable predicament, but so too did I view it as a necessary evil. To create a Master Alchemist, one must, so I am told, be forged under extreme heat, cold, and duress. Beyond saving a small child who dreamed of escape from a harsh and heavy hand, I required the expertise of an accredited Master Alchemist…for my son.” She closed a hand over the ring and raised her head, a protective fire illuminating the red hues in her brown irises. “For him, I would sacrifice my moral fiber and put all else aside if it improved the chances of his survival—including, yes, including my abandonment of a cry for help.” Her brow crinkled, almost beseeching Isidor’s understanding of the lengths a mother would go to ensure the health and success of her children. Her children. No one else’s. 

“Now, fate has been so kind—and cruel—as to saddle me with an Ardane and Master Zenech’s grown-up and certifiably titled protege, gifts I do not rightly deserve, and ones I did not orchestrate into motion, myself. Credit goes to my son for endearing himself to an Ardane, and…” she dipped into a begrudging mutter, “to Lord Rigas, who requested your assistance for Ari’s procedure. I am aware of where I stand, in this present moment; absolutely nowhere. My attempts to locate aid for my son’s worsening condition resulted in failure. I do, however, accept responsibility for my failures, and the damage my interferences have wrought—on you, specifically.” Clutching both hands, she dipped low to the ground, her right knee about touching the tile beneath her, and lowered her head into a penitent bow. “I could not save you, Master Kristeva, because I dare not save you. Because I dare not lose the opportunity to save my son. Judge me as you will. Reject me, if it pleases you. Nonetheless, I shall stop at nothing to pay restitution for the irreversible damages I have incurred. Even if my aid comes too late and all amounts to nothing, in the end. Allow me to, nonetheless, offer whatever it is you desire, Master Kristeva—if it is in my power.”

As soon as she parted ways with Isidor that morning, Nia knew that she had to finally delve into the candy root that Hadwin had given her a few days before. It was that sensation of feeling light-headed on her feet, with heavy eyelids and a gently throbbing headache that made her realize she would not be getting through this day or fooling anyone regarding her condition if she didn’t do something. The event with Hadwin the night before had drained her more than she’d thought, and as much as she wanted to close her eyes for just a moment, she couldn’t afford the potential consequences. So when she wandered out of sight into the courtyard for the morning, to let the sun and fresh air rejuvenate her as much as they possibly could, she didn’t even bat an eyelash to the Forbanne guard who eyed her warily as she chewed a few bite-sized pieces of the root.

“It’s from the Night Garden. Totally safe, and gonna help me be effective in my job, here. Nothing like what you guys, Prince Sorde, and Elespeth Rigas were chewing on. Here,” she held out the curved white root to offer him a piece. “Try it if you don’t believe me.”

But it was then that Ari rounded the corner, trailed by Sylvie, and a young man that Nia didn’t recognize. Pasting on her brightest smile, she tucked the candy root back into the satchel hanging at her waist and rose from her seat on the ground to greet them. “Ari! Just thought I’d step out and get some sunshine. I haven’t actually been outside since Hadwin took a turn. Fortunately, he’s stable for now.” A poor excuse, but not an untrue one. “But you can be I am ready and eager to get to work on our float--and since Hads put us a few days behind, we can use all the help we can get! Welcome to the team, Sylvie. And nice to meet you, Nikodemus!” The Master Alchemist stuck her hand out for him to shake, but he bowed to her instead; almost as if he’d rather not touch her. Well, at least that was a reaction she was used to.

“Why put this off any longer? Make hay while the sun shines, am I right?” Nia tried to brush off Ari’s thinly-veiled concerns, but she wasn’t so successful where it came to his nephew… whose concern couldn’t help but feel like more of a passive-aggressive attack. “Ah, it’s fine, Sylvie. No offense taken. Your brother’s just saying what everyone else is thinking; it’s not exactly a secret that I haven’t been my best for a while, now. And this leg is still giving me trouble, even after all of Alster’s help.” She gingerly stretched her injured leg, which seemed to hurt more, the more exhausted she became. “And, it’s also no secret that I’m not exactly a “guest”, here. This isn’t a vacation: Galeyn wants me to be useful, so I’m here to work and be useful. But, it’s awfully sweet of you to be concerned, Niko.” Knowing it would irritate the petulant youth, she reached out and patted his shoulder. “You’re almost as sweet as your sister. She’s just got you beat by a little bit with her smile--but that’s nothing you can’t work on, hm?”

When Niko and Sophie headed for the workshop, the Master Alchemist brushed off Ari’s concern with a flippant gesture. “Oh, Ari, he’s a teenager, like any I’ve seen. And, his unfavourable opinion of me isn’t exactly an unpopular one. If I can let a kid’s bad attitude ruin my day, then there really is no hope for me!” 

Before she followed suit with the two Canaveris children, the box Ari held, and what it contained, captivated her attention. “Ari… it’s beautiful! I can’t believe it, but somehow, it’s even more beautiful than it was before. And it has so much more meaning, with that cherry blossom.” She deftly touched the delicate pendant that fell to her chest as Ari fastened the chain around her neck. Sure enough, despite all of her repressed stress and discomfort, it wasn’t glowing. “And… are you serious? So--what, you and Is are friends, now? That’s wonderful news!”

Using her leg as an excuse, she took Ari’s proffered arm as they made their way to his workshop, trying not to drag her tired feet too much. “I knew you guys shared some common ground. You’re both enamored of rocks and pretty, sparkly things, but… damn, I’m just impressed that you managed to get through to him! Not sure I stand a chance of doing the same, but I’m just glad he’s got more than just Alster as a friend. The poor guy needs friends, or else he’ll never come out of his shell.”

Isidor wasn’t quite sure what he expected to hear when he confronted Nadira in the hallway; frankly, he wasn’t sure what he even wanted to hear. Was there anything she could possibly say that could heal a wound such that she had caused when she walked away from him as a child in need, that day? Was there anything that could possibly justify or remedy what was ultimately a tragedy? Furthermore, the Master Alchemist wasn’t certain that he was even ready to hear her answer, whatever it might be. Was closure what he needed? Or, at this point in time… was it merely comfort?

Part of him, an angry, sore, and vindictive part, didn’t want to allow Nadira the decency of having this conversation in private. Whatever she had to say, well, the whole world could bear witness to her explanation or excuse, and judge her accordingly. But there didn’t happen to be any other souls occupying the corridor, anyway, and it wouldn’t have been fair to make it awkward for others who simply sought to pass and go about their day. He quietly followed the Canaveris matriarch into the vacant room, and quietly shut the door behind him as she began to delve into her explanation--or, rather, it sounded more like a confession.

At first, he was hopeful, the way she began. Perhaps he had overestimated the extent to which she was aware of just how terribly Zenech treated his disciples, and having apparently also been acquainted with Felyse Ardane, it was understandable that perhaps she merely thought all Master Alchemists present with the same bull-headed and sour temperaments. And yet… wouldn’t that lead one to believe that a child might not be safe in the care of someone of that sort? Had it really not been obvious to her that day, when she locked eyes with a pale, thin, frightened child, that perhaps that vulnerable being needed someone strong and with authority to help them?

No… Nadira was not so tone deaf, nor colourblind to the suffering of others. She had seen Isidor and known exactly what was happening to him (insofar as she knew he was not in a good place, or in good hands). And yet, somehow she could stomach leaving someone--leaving a child to suffer at the hands of a cruel Master like Zenech… so long as it left the possibility that, one day, her son would not suffer. When it came to Ari, the end would justify any means.

“In the time I was Zenech’s prisoner, I wasn’t allowed to leave the tower. I saw a grand total of three other people. One was my own brother; the other was the girl Zenech had indentured to keep up with housekeeping. The third was you, Lady Canaveris.” Isidor’s words felt slow and sluggish on his tongue; like it was difficult to get them out, one by one. “It would have been impossible for me not to remember everyone I encountered during that period of time. I never forgot; I’ll never forget the two people who could have helped me, and by helping me, changed my life forever. For the better. Arisza… the girl in Zenech’s employ, she was the only one who reached out, and tried to get me out of there. But her failure, and her subsequent death, is on my hands, because I was a coward. And I relive it all the time; I’ll never stop shouldering that burden. My brother…” His mouth dipped downward in a frown as he leaned one hand on an empty bedside table. “It doesn’t seem right to speak ill of the dead, especially if he had a hand in Locque’s downfall… but he was a scoundrel. I even asked him for help, I begged him to take me with him--and he refused. For reasons not so unlike your own, Lady Canaveris. Why come with me when you can become so much more, here?” He hissed the words on a grimace. “That was all he said to me.”

Isidor stared at the woodgrain of the end table. Just as Nadira could not bring herself to look him in the eye, neither could he meet her guilty gaze. It was too much right now. “It’s hard to say whether, in my absence, Zenech would have found another disciple. The majority of children do not survive the physical transformations of their bodies required to earn those runs on their hands; to become a literal instrument of change. He might have tried, might even have stooped to kidnapping, but most children are too fragile, and it is hard to say whether he would have found someone as resilient as me. But that’s beside the point. Lady Canaveris…” He withdrew his hand from the table and finally looked up. Steely resolve glimmered in his dark eyes. “Let me enlighten you as to what exactly creating a new Master Alchemist entails.”

In a bold move, Isidor took a step toward the guilt-wracked woman who, while she had the grace to own up to her mistakes and acknowledge the impact her negligence had caused… none of that guilt mattered, if she would have done the very same thing again, given a second chance.

“Admittedly, as a child, I was involved in my own desire for self-preservation. It mattered then that you and everyone else who turned their back on me didn’t see fit to want to help; it still matters to this day, because we all have to live with our pasts, don’t we? But it wasn’t just my life on the line, Lady Canaveris. Do you understand why Master Alchemy was banned in Ilandria? Why the crown went after Nia Ardane and her family, and why, to this day, she would never be safe to return home? Because, Lady Canaveris, for every full-fledged Master Alchemist that survives their training and transformations… dozens upon dozens of lives must be sacrificed for them to get there. Do you understand?” At once, Isidor’s tone shifted from desperate and hesitant to calm, and foreboding. “In order to save a life, to change a life, to alter anything on another living being, none of this can be accomplished without practice. And only so much can be learned through experimentation on animals, since they are not the same as humans, and respond differently to transmutations. And, remember, these are children. Developing humans that are bound to make mistakes--and a lot of them. Of course, there is always the occasional volunteer who is so desperate for help that they’ll willingly let themselves be that agent of practice. Sometimes, it is even worth it for them; often, it is not. And it takes many, many years, and many more unfortunate mistakes before we have a damned clue as to what we are doing. So even if the quality of my life meant nothing to you, Lady Canaveris… know that my life was not the only one affected by your decision to have me stay, and continue on that path. In fact, I consider myself the lucky one: for better or worse, I’m still fucking alive!”

He hadn’t intended to raise his voice on that last syllable; he hadn’t even intended to lose his cool. But Isidor Kristevahad begun to spiral, and there was no going back: only going forward. “And, oh, it does not stop there. Not where it comes to your precious son. Here I am, having agreed to something I cannot renounce, because then I would just end up looking like a villain. But as much as Nia would willingly do this all by herself, because she is so damn in love with your son, the procedure would be impossible without another Master Alchemist and a mage to manage the errant energies. Admittedly, I have not delved too deeply into the details of this experimental procedure and how it might pan out, but in running some rudimentary scenarios through my head, I managed to come up with a few numbers. I take you as an intelligent woman, Lady Canaveris, so I am sure that this is something that won’t be difficult to understand.”

Crossing the unused room, he approached a wall mirror that hadn’t been cleaned in so long, a film of dust had settled upon its reflective surface. “I never approach a procedure without calculating risk first. When I healed Elespeth Rigas’s heart, I predicted an eighty-five percent chance that she would fully recover, and for Alster, a rough eighty-percent chance, for what he had to sacrifice to save his life. For me, hazarding a guess, my odds were about seventy-five percent--slightly lower than Alster’s, because I didn’t have another Master Alchemist to have my back while I concentrated. As for your son…” He tapped the mirror frame with a fingernail. “Of the four people who will be involved in this procedure, your son included, we are all at varying levels of risk. Of those four, Alster and I are the safest, since he will merely be managing the flow of magical energies, and I will be spotting Nia should something go awry. The chance of our lives being in danger is extremely slim. Alster has approximately a ninety-five percent chance to walk away from it, completely unscathed. For me, given the fasting I will have to do, my chance of suffering little to few side effects is about ninety-two percent.” With his index finger, Isidor scrawled those numbers on the mirror through the thick layer of dust. “I wish I could say the same for the two parties who will be the most involved, but we’re here to be frank, so here is my full transparency given the conclusions I’ve drawn thus far. Nia’s procedure hasn’t been done before, and therefore, there is no guarantee of success; rather, there is a higher chance of failure, with harsh consequences. Given what your son will undergo… my prediction that his chance of survival with full recovery is this.”

Lifting his finger, Isidor scrawled a 64% below the first two numbers. “A little over half a chance in his favour. Does that number seem frightening to you, Lady Canaveris? Then you won’t like Nia’s odds.” And, below that 64%, he then scrawled the number 38%, before letting his hand drop. He allowed a beat of silence for the implications to sink in; to make Nadira more uncomfortable than she clearly was.

“Yes, this means exactly what you think it means. That if this is carried out successfully, with Aristide being rid of his curse and able to lead a normal life, Nia Ardane has less than half a chance of emerging unscathed--and by unscathed, I mean alive. She will have to fast and purge her body of almost all nutrients to become a blank slate as a physical conductor of this transmutation; she will be weak, and not only will a curse be passing through her body, but magic, and illness. There will be excessive strain on her immune system and organs to maintain optimal function, and since this is such a delicate procedure, it is one that I guarantee will take no less than an entire day, but likely more. She will be running on nothing, and with no defenses, to save your son’s life. But, then… why should that matter to you, if the odds lean in your son’s favour? And if you don’t think Nia is already well aware of these numbers, and this risk, then you have underestimated her. Odds regarding personal safety mean nothing when you’re in love, I suppose. So the only thing left to ask is… where does that leave you, Lady Canaveris? I can’t blame you for your ignorance prior to our conversation, but knowing what you do, now, will you let this proceed?”

Moving away from the mirror, Isidor slowly made for the door, but did not leave before making one final note: “How many more Master Alchemists--how many more people do you deem appropriate to take a fall, for the sake of your family?”

And it was with that final thought that Isidor left Nadira alone in the room to ponder it.

The resulting shoulder pat almost snapped Niko’s brow in twain, but in the interest of saving face, the teenager kept his expression to a low smolder and skulked off wordlessly to the workshop, Sylvie following close behind. Ari, observing the proceedings from his vantage point, shook his head at his nephew’s borderline shameful antics, but conceded to Nia’s unruffled opinion. “While you speak the truth, Nia, Niko should know better than to renege on his hospitality duties. Regardless of your status in greater Galeyn, in the Canaveris household, I have named you as our guest, and it is therefore imperative that family and staff alike obey my directive. I will have a chat with him, later today, on appropriate etiquette befitting his name. Please do not hesitate to report to me any misgivings associated with the interactions the two of you may potentially have, in the future. Teenager or no, he must learn to embody respectable, gentlemanly character.”

Nia’s gushing reaction to the completed necklace elicited a smile from Ari, the urge to steal a kiss from her right then and there growing. Save for the privacy of his chambers, or the bathhouse in the undercity, they, unfortunately, had precious few places in which to overtly demonstrate their love. Even holding hands was considered risqué. Linking arms, however, ranked as the perfectly genteel thing to do, especially if the person receiving the arm was elderly or otherwise infirm and needed assistance to walk. For this reason, he aided Nia, true, but it was not the primary reason—and both parties were in on the deception, it seemed.

“Oh, well, I would not necessarily call us friends,” Ari’s smile turned a little sheepish. “He had some choice words to impart on my behalf, but then again, I was no better. We have resolved to begin treating each other on more amicable terms, so we shall see what will come of future encounters. We,” he hesitated, “we share a contentious past, apparently.” But he hadn’t the time to delve more on the subject before they rounded on the half-dome crag lurking behind the villa. Within, a hollowed-out, man-made cavern, populated by Sylvie and Niko, awaited their approach.

“It looks as though we have all the raw materials to begin float construction,” Ari said, nodding at the walls themselves. Possessed of veins containing a brilliant, eggshell-white marble, the likes of which he commonly used for sculpting, extracting the amount required, especially with three earth mages on the scene, would pose no great effort. “Let us start by creating the base. We already have the design,” he unrolled a parchment he had stored in his front pocket, passing around the diagram of the circular, multi-tiered stage, its meticulous measurements included for all to peruse. “These three plates will revolve and spin around the center stage. Atop each plate, a diorama will represent a different aspect of the same forest scene. Each of you will be in charge of a diorama whilst I begin work on sculpting the centerpiece for the main stage—a giant hibiscus bud, which will open to reveal thousands upon thousands of glowing fireflies. We shall later populate each diorama with the stone animals from the menagerie, so do account for some white space in your forest scene for posing the animals. Nia,” he addressed the Master Alchemist, “I’ve the sheets of mica ready for transfiguration on the workbench over there,” he gestured to a stone slab table whereupon layers of glimmering material shone under the illumination of the yellow glow-lights overhead. Beside the workbench, a cushy chair, and an equally cushy footrest, sat, awaiting her specified use. “They will act as our firefly wings, as we’ve previously discussed. You may begin work on them, at your leisure. Sylvie, Niko,” he positioned his niece and nephew towards the far end of the cavern, the area most abundant in the marble desired, “let us begin mining the necessary pieces for base construction.”

Whilst the trio were busy taking the requisite measurements and tracing a few experimental, surface-level cuts in the cave wall via their magic, no one noticed that Nia, en route to her project table, had stumbled over a tiny mound jutting from the cavern floor and taken a rather nasty tumble to the ground on her impeded leg. Promptly, the mound disappeared whence it came, as though it never existed, and the alchemist’s bad fall could be attributed to her preexisting injury weakening her ability to walk unaided. Surely, she would be reevaluated, deemed unfit for the demanding job at hand—and sent to her chambers for recovery, as Canaveris hospitality customs dictated.

Nadira, not one for swaying, as her business model always emphasized firm and unwavering convictions, found it exponentially more difficult to justify her actions in the face of the wronged. Already, that day had haunted her for decades following her indiscriminate storming of Master Zenech’s tower. Discovering the reclusive alchemist’s residency was a feat of sheer willpower, given very few knew of its location deep in the forests skirting Nairit’s border, but Nadira was nothing but resourceful, possessed of a killer eye for detail, and feet equipped for sensing vibrations and aberrations in the earth—such as a tower constructed entirely from stone, for one. The reflective mirror panels cloaking the tower from discovery fazed her not, when Canaveris mages had been using the same disguising tricks since time immemorial! Easily, she found the front door, and knocked, to be polite. She knocked again, and waited, and knocked four more times before seriously considering disintegrating the study, oak-paneled door into useless sawdust and chips. Oh, she was ready for a one-woman assault; only her dignity kept her in check as a representative of the esteemed Canaveris family, whose influential reach extended far beyond Stella D’Mare in certain circles. It would do poorly to misbehave so egregiously before Master Zenech, who, while a miser and a curmudgeon, had not yet withdrawn in full from the community he represented. With so few practicing Master Alchemists available, let alone those who had made their names and services public, Zenech, excepting the elitist Ardane bitch, likely had connections to the other Masters, in the form of their names and whereabouts. If this glum and dishonest louse refused to help, despite her generous donations, then by every grain of sand in the ocean, she would coerce the information out of him. Not to utterly annihilate her bridges, no. She wouldn’t stoke his anger so much that he would inform other Master Alchemists, warning of the raging Canaveris woman and thus bar her access from more reasonable alternatives, but neither would she hide her displeasure over his willful negligence.

So she knocked. And waited. Eventually, he answered, invited her inside, and they discussed, in rather heated tones, Zenech’s failure to uphold his end of the deal. He explained, in his long-suffering, condescending languor, as though conveying his findings with an idiot, the improbability of a procedure that would both ensure the survival of patient and of the operating Master Alchemist. He went on to say that simply, no one would agree to her terms for nothing short of providing the answer to eternal life, because only a fool risked their lives over a definitive uncertainty. No amount of rare ores or priceless jewels would overturn his decision. But maybe, just maybe…if given time, his young protege, who was already showing so much promise in the field of alchemy, such a knack for the complex formulae, with a sieve of a mind made for memorization and retention, and a body resilient to the physical rigors required to withstand all manner of tribulations, could cure her son’s peculiar malady, given two more decades of study, thereabouts.

Nadira didn’t believe him, of course. If the boy were so precious to Zenech, he wouldn’t promise her such a shining, young candidate if he ended up a sacrifice to a procedure already dismissed as a complete failure. No one, no matter how cruel or disregarding of human life the individual, tossed away their longtime investments like rubbish to a midden heap. The man was merely making a hollow appeal to appease her, deescalating the supercharged situation by providing her some faux and bogus insurance so he could resume sucking dry her resources by the teat. Why, she should steal the boy away as payment for all her wasted donations! Infuriatingly enough, Master Zenech did have a point. If the boy remained under his teacher’s tutelage, he had the potential to become useful, later on, and she could not pass up the opportunity, however slim, of lifting her son’s onerous curse.

She conceded to his logic, but withdrew her funding, claiming she had given him more than enough raw materials to fund his projects for two decades—the very time frame Zenech proposed for the boy’s growth and maturation to fully-fledged Master Alchemist. She didn’t expect they would resume correspondence, but oh would she return to the tower on that promised date, and come to collect her dues.

Upon her hasty departure, she stumbled across the boy, peering out from the natural curve in the corridor with wide, owlish eyes. If not for Master Zenech looming nearby, she would have examined him, engaged the shy thing in conversation, ask if he was eating well (for he certainly appeared as nothing more than skin and bones!) Nothing about young Isidor Kristeva radiated well, or fulfilled, or loved. It was as though he were a prisoner, shackled against his will and serving a lifelong sentence. Only later would she find her assessment to ring eerily accurate! The mother in her ached to see this forlorn child removed from the dust and dourness and dire circumstance, cleaned up and relocated to the beauty of seaside Stella D’Mare, among the flower-trellised walkways and mottled blue waters, the vibrant frescoes, and the boundless opportunities she could grant him as her ward.

And yet…

She made her decision. Ari would not die over her sentimentality towards another boy—a boy who could very well help the Canaverises if left to study, uninterrupted, with his Master. She would not fail her son a second time, not when she had come so far to obtain a veritable antidote to his cursed body. Everything I’ve done has been for you, Aristide.

So she lowered her gaze from the boy, ignoring how those two dark abysses probed and implored. Save me, they screamed. Save me from this hell.

I cannot. Her retreating steps were swift and decisive. Forgive me, young one, but to save you is to damn my own—and I cannot do that to him again.

I will not.

“Master Kristeva, with all due respect, I understand well enough the consequences of Master Alchemy,” she said with a patient air, regaining her foothold into the conversation before she ended up drowning in those twin abysses that probed and judged her for the harsh, albeit necessary decision of leaving him behind in the monster’s den. If his goal was to brand the heavy weight of guilt on her heart, he had succeeded, but if his aim was also to have her reevaluate and regret those impossible choices, then he had fallen far short of his mark—and always would. “I have long been acquainted with accounts, oral and written, of the countless human and animal experimentations, the dozens of lives lost, the pain and profound suffering endured…In spite of this knowledge, I still chose to pursue the forbidden arts. When desperation drives an individual forward, you will find their willingness to abandon their morality comes…terrifyingly easy. Especially when I am at war with time itself.” Again, she twirled the ring on her finger, summoning up the courage to elaborate on what she meant. “A Master Alchemist is credited with saving Ari’s life. He stabilized the body, reverting it to flesh and reviving him from, yes, from death. His heart had turned to stone. That is a detail Ari does not know; death had indeed found him, and we wrenched him free from its icy grasp—but at great consequence to the Master Alchemist. Though he restored Ari to the world of the living, on his dying breath, he warned of the conditions that my son would be required to pay. Aside from the obvious—most notably his unique deficiencies and poorer quality of life—he also predicted thus: ‘Your son will not survive past his 70th birthday, if that.’ He understood a thing or two about Canaveris lifespans. For an earth mage of our clout and hardiness of form, a form nigh impervious to disease and atrophy, 70 is young. Depressingly young. And Ari…he will turn 67 years of age in the fall.”

She paused to let that terrifying thought sink in, even if it hardly impacted Isidor’s strong—and justified—opinions surrounding his abandonment. “Pardon my disturbing language, Master Kristeva, but to ensure Ari’s survival, I would allow young children to starve. I would sacrifice, and I have, and would do it again.” Sweet Roland, she spun the ring on her finger a dozen more turns. Her wedding band. I never intended this fate for you, I hope you realize. “I’ve already experienced the wrenching pain of losing one son prematurely, and I will not have it happen a second time.”

There it was. The condescension. Nadira dropped her hand and pursed her lips, but said nothing. Isidor was undeniably Master Zenech’s pupil, down to the adoption of the same, infuriating mannerisms! Alas, she held her breath, and accepted his methods of expression. If he required his quarry to cow before his mercy, or lack thereof, then he could twist the knife all he wanted. He could have from her that much, at least. She might not bleed, but she felt the sharp, gutting pangs all the same.

“Please note, Master Kristeva; I have not underestimated Nia Ardane, nor would I dare cause her such flagrant disrespect by objecting to her most adamant and persistent offer, which, if successful, will earn her D’Marian acclaim, and possibly a full pardon from Galeyn’s queen. Why would I remove from her the potential for glory and freedom? Besides, neither Ari nor myself ever asked this of her. In so many ways, we were beginning to come to terms with the constancy and fated end to Ari’s curse, but Nia has granted us something most precious; hope.” On this note, her voice lifted, as though buoyed by an effervescence residing deep in her lungs. “Tangible, graspable, calculable hope. For us, she has opened the door to possibilities I long thought expired, overwrought, or unrealistic. Instead of dwelling on your percentages, Master Kristeva, which are bound to fluctuate, I invite you to devise methods in which we can optimize those less-than-confident odds to spin in our favor. This should be no difficult endeavor. You are a smart lad, after all. I trust in your intelligence.” She smiled at her small but rather satisfying echo to his condescension. “For one, we are conducting this procedure in the Night Garden. From my understanding, no one can die in such a place. Neither are your facts and figures ‘set in stone,’ as they say. We have not yet graduated our plan of attack to its final stages when we are still poring over the rough draft. It will not go forward until all parties approve of the method. Last but not least; despite my callous remarks on the subject of sacrificing others for my benefit, let me clarify that I find no great joy in throwing bodies on the bonfire, and Nia is no exception. If I discover she is not the picture of health before we begin the operation, then we shall not proceed as scheduled. Simple enough, yes?”

But Isidor, who concentrated not on the ever-changing light casting motes over the windowpane, but on the stagnant dust collecting in shadowed corners, saw only one wall, when four comprised the room. Invisible to his periphery was the picture of the vast, limitless world outside and the door to lead him there. And though it hurt like none other to view a soul so fragile and wilted, apt to break apart in a stout breeze and actively shy away from the enriching sun, she could do nothing for him but redefine his pain. The pain she helped forge. “Gods save you, Isidor Kristeva,” she muttered after him, upon his exit. “Though I have done you a grave disservice, it is just as true then as it is now. I cannot help you…though I dearly wish I could.”