“He’s just a kid, Ari. Do you mean to tell me you, yourself,never went through that petulant phase when you were a kid?” Nia teasingly prodded the Canaveris lord in the ribs as they made their way to the workshop, several paces behind his nieces and nephews. It was so much easier to move through the grounds with a helpful arm to lean on, than it was without a reliable support for her injured leg. Topped with the encroaching fatigue that dulled her senses and made her body feel inexplicably heavy, keeping up the guise of remaining completely unaffected by her ails. And now, she had to deal with a little brat who had decided to take the side of most Galeynians in despising her… This wasn’t turning out to be the dun turnaround that she had expected. But she couldn’t let it get to her. “Anyway, it’s just a matter of time. I can win him over; people can’t resist my charm forever!”
Ha--charm. If only she felt as confident about that as she looked… “But, hey, I’ll be honest--I never expected you and Is to become the best of friends. Though it just makes sense that you at least try to get along. I’m sure you’ll find a way to see past your differences to realize you’ve probably got a lot in common!” Perhaps more than even Nia realized, for she was completely oblivious to the tumultuous event that connected the Canaverises to Isidor, however indirectly. Though the tone that Ari took when he happened to mention this past to which the Master Alchemist was not privy.
“Contentious? Wait--did you and Is know each other from before? But how?” Nia furrowed her brows in confusion. “He was locked in a tower, both unwillingly and willingly, for most of his life. I thought the two of you had only gotten acquainted as of recently…”
But whatever story he had to share regarding his past with Isidor, it would have to wait until later, considering how far they already were in terms of being behind schedule for the creation of their float. As they entered the workshop, and Nia caught sight of all the raw materials, some of her anxiety dissipated. Workshops of all sorts were incredibly familiar to people such as herself who made use of them, transforming materials under the right conditions, and the familiarity of the impending tasks offered a bit of relief. She might not have been particularly useful where it came to repairing and restoring the observatory, but working with mica? That would be a breeze! “Wow. You really do have this all planned out.” Nia whistled as she scanned the proposed blueprints of their soon to be parade float. “Not gonna lie, I’ve got exactly zero artistic talent, so I’m glad the three of you are taking on the more aesthetic tasks. As for the mica,” she glanced across the expanse of the workshop, where sheets of glimmering materials waited patiently at a worktable. “Leave it to me. I may not be an artist, but when I’m finished with that stuff, you’ll be surprised it was ever made of mica in the first place!” The very sight of it was wholly inviting; when was the last time she’d had the opportunity to work her magic (well… alchemy, that is), completely free of pressure? The only driving stress was that the completed project needed to be ready and presentable in less than two weeks, but she had the easy job of tampering with the substance of the mica, and finding a way to make it transform on contact with human skin. Not as difficult as it sounded… so long as she could stay awake long enough to complete the project.
As the others sat down to get to work on the base, Nia began to make her way over to the table, just as the toe of her boot caught on something that completely upset her balance and sent her sprawled on the floor. Had she not been so tired, she might have had the sense to react in time to protect her injured leg, but it just so happened that luck was clearly not on her side. The impact of the fall shot directly up her bad leg, so bad that it knocked the breath from her lungs, and she lay paralyzed with the pain for a half a moment before she thought to push herself upright. This isn’t good, she groaned inwardly, trying to shake off the pain that registered on her face when Ari rushed over to help her up. I’m too tired to even notice obstacles in front of me so as not to trip over them… “I’m fine--really! It was just a tumble, Ari.” She accepted the Canaveris lord’s help as he eased her to her feet, but she was quick to realize she absolutely couldn’t put any pressure on her injured leg. The hypertense muscles and affected scar tissue throughout throbbed and burned from the impact of the fall. “Blame my clumsiness for not seeing that rock. Serves me right for being too enraptured with your pretty mica to be paying attention to where I am going!”
But as the Master Alchemist, along with the Canaveris lord, scanned the ground to find the item that had led her to her fall… none could be found. Just the smooth, clear ground of a workshop kept in pristine condition. Ari’s practices were far different from that of Isidor’s, after all; he didn’t navigate his way through heaps of mess and disorder to get things done. “...huh. I guess it must have just been a misstep…” But the reasoning didn’t sound particularly convincing in her ears, either. She knew the difference between tripping over her boot laces or over her own two feet, and being tripped up by a foreign object. Her toe had definitely hit something, for it also throbbed, as if she’d hit it on the corner of a door frame. And, yet… there was nothing there. Meaning that any bystanders could only chalk up the little accident to her clumsiness, resulting from obvious lack of sleep.
“I’m fine--really! It was just a little fall, Ari. No broken bones and no reason to be upset.” She knew he would insist that she go and rest, or seek care from a healer or physician; she knew he was already worried, and that she was doing a poor job of convincing him otherwise. This was just another reason for him not to believe her when she said nothing was wrong… “My leg was bothering me before we even got here. Fortunately, I’m not going to need to stand up or move around for what I need to do today--and we’re already behind! There’s work to be done! Help me over to the mica, and I’ll get started.”
Whether or not he voiced his sentiments aloud, Ari seemed very much opposed to putting her to work at all. He had been, even before she’d taken a fall, and this just added another layer to his anxiety. Yet, just as she had anticipated (and hoped), he did not put up any argument or deny her. Allowing her to use him as a crutch, he helped her over to her own workstation, where sheets upon sheets of sparkling mica awaited their inevitable transformation. “Don’t focus so intently on me when we’ve got a lot of ground to cover in a very short amount of time,” she urged him quietly as she took a seat. “And don’t freak out your niece and nephew. I’m fine; I want to work. I’ll take a break midday when I have to go and check on Hadwin.”
But while Ari was visibly concerned, and so too was Sylvie, given the furrow of her brow, Nikodemus, who made no eye contact, seemed rather… content. If Nia didn’t know better, she would have thought he almost looked… proud.
“No--no, Lady Canaveris, you do not know the half of what Master Alchemy entails for the alchemist or for its victims, because you are neither one of those things.” While Nadira made an attempt to keep their conversation calm and civil, Isidor realized he had no patience for civility, when she had done the least civil thing imaginable and left a child to suffer at the hands of someone like Master Zenech. So he was harsh, because he knew he could afford to be. Because he had the higher ground, knowing that, regardless of what he said and how she felt about him now, she still required his cooperation, if she sought to save her son. “So don’t look me in the eye and claim to know exactly what it is you have done, and what you are doing, because if you truly knew from experience… no self-respecting person would say those means justified their end.”
Unless they were a monster… and the more he spoke with Nadira Canaveris, the more he was inclined to believe she might be.
Understandably, Isidor had not been aware that he and Nia had not been the first Master Alchemists to ‘treat’ Aristide Canaveris for his ‘condition’. He fell silent long enough for Nadira to touch on that story, only in order to offer context for its ending, which he assumed was her attempt to make him sympathize for the Canaveris lord who, if this first Master Alchemist was to be believed, only had another three human years left to live. His heart had already turned to stone a second time, during the peak of Locque’s reign of terror, and had it not been for Nia, he would be gone already… There might have been truth to that claim, then. But nothing… there was not a single life that was worth sacrificing for the life of another. And if only Aristide knew just how many--Master Alchemists, and their victims, included--had fallen for him and him alone… would he still agree to this procedure? Knowing not only what his life had already cost countless others, but what it might result in for Nia…?
“So a Master Alchemist has already willingly taken a fall for your son.” The only remaining Kristeva brother pressed his lips together in a thin line. “I’ll believe it. Contrary to your experience, not all Master Alchemists mirror the temperament of Zenech or Felyse Ardane. Many are not so arrogant, but on the contrary, they are so disgusted with themselves that if they could save a single life at the expense of their own, they would do it. The thought has crossed my mind in the passing months as well, if I am being honest. But then I realized that I am infinitely more helpful to the world and more able to atone for the pain that I am both directly and indirectly responsible for if I am alive than if I am dead. So while it matters not to you, since you already have Nia lined up to risk her life… I certainly wouldn’t be taking her place, if the opportunity demanded it.”
Upon first opening up this conversation, Isidor had been willing to give Nadira Canaveris the benefit of the doubt. It was easy to forgive ignorance, for there was no malice or willful wrongdoing behind simply being totally oblivious to the consequences of one’s actions. But the more she said, every word from her mouth just incriminated her more and more. She’d willingly let children suffer; she’d willingly let the one and only love of her son’s life die for him, such that they would never see their potential happy ending. And she was trying to justify this by claiming it would benefit Nia, most of all?!
For someone he’d thought he despised, Isidor Kristeva was beginning to realize that Nia Ardane, who seldom showed remorse for what it took for her to earn her runes, paled in comparison as a villain when it came to Nadira Canaveris. At least the Ardane woman was (and had been) reaching out to help. To put her skills to use for the sake of others, including the man she loved. Nadira, on the other hand, was willing to let the world and everyone in it burn… if only for her last remaining son to survive. “Your loss does not justify the losses of others for the sake of your son.” He all but snapped. Since when was he upset over what could potentially happen to Nia? “Certainly, no death occurs in the Night Garden--but neither can it heal someone who has met the brink of death. It is not a necromancer, and it cannot bring them back. It could not bring Elespeth Rigas back from her coma without my intervention. These numbers,” he tapped on the mirror with his fingernail with such force it swayed on the wall, “were calculated with the Night Garden taken into account. With physicians and healers and Gardeners all taken into account. Were we not to perform this procedure in the Night Garden, then your son’s and Nia’s death would be almost guaranteed--that is how risky this is. But even if she does not die, even if she is healthy as she can possibly be on the day, her body could still succumb. Her organs could fail to thrive on her own. The rest of her life--if you could call it that--would be spent in a coma, in the Night Garden. Her body could never be removed or she would die instantaneously. Would you really call that life or living, Lady Canaveris?”
How many excuses did this woman have? And how, after so many years, and so many others falling to their graves as collateral damage, could she continue to justify continuing on her path to save Ari, at the expense of so many innocents? Upon first entering this room, Isidor had resented Nadira Canaveris for failing to help him, and then even moreso when she revealed she was well aware that she had let him down, long ago. But now… now, he despised her for so much more. One Master Alchemist had already fallen: and she was willing to continue to let them fall for Ari’s sake, until the day when she finally found one who would come through for her son.
“Don’t stand here and tell me you don’t enjoy the carnage you have caused, while you are perfectly fine letting it continue, until someone finally saves your son.” He spoke in an irate hiss as he made his way to the door. He couldn’t stand another moment in the room with that woman. “And what of Ari’s opinion, then? What do you think he would say if he knew his survival might be contingent on Nia’s death?” It was on those words that he saw Nadira’s eyes widen, and he realized why he’d suddenly struck fear into her. I could hold this over her head forever. I have the leverage; I could end this all before it started.
But… he wouldn’t, he suddenly realized. Because at the end of the day, if he were the one to break the news to Ari, who would refuse the procedure and then succumb to death in a few years, that would make him directly responsible for another death. “Rest assured, I’m not going to show him those numbers. They may change, marginally, but the outcomes may not differ much. That will be your burden, Nadira Canaveris. You get to tell your son that he may live at the expense of Nia’s life. If he agrees, then we will go forward as planned. I will not interfere, either way… but he deserves to know. And you know that.”
One moment, Ari was busy carving out the circumference of the float’s base, careful in tracing out a perfect circle between his cocked fingers, through the magic releasing from them. The next, an unceremonious thud of what unmistakably belonged to a living body jarred his concentration, causing him to cease everything at once in favor of the potential emergency occurring behind his back. “Nia!” He dashed towards her fallen form, crouching to the ground to assess her injured leg and any other bruises she might have sustained. It was bad enough to have her head crack against the hard tile in his hallway, inducing a nasty concussion that left her bedridden for days. To account for any future mishaps, he ensured the cavern was filled with layers upon layers of a fine silt, cushioning one’s fall, should an accident come to pass. But if even his forward-thinking precautions weren’t enough, and she suffered an accident at his estate, under his watch, yet again…
She was fine, insofar as she hadn’t acquired any visible injuries. No cuts, gashes, or broken bones. No concussions, either. One couldn’t rule out bruises until they emerged from the skin like blood floating on water, but they weren’t nearly as horrendous as the worst offenders on his list of top-most concerns. Still, his worries weren’t yet allayed, because he knew of Nia’s tendency to downplay her symptoms. He knew this innately, intimately…because wasn’t he also guilty of doing the same? Every flare-up he’d ever nursed in the public gaze required discretion. Optical illusion. Little tricks, employed on the regular. From completely altering his method of walking, always employing a swagger in his step in case he developed an unavoidable, lead-footed hobble, to always donning innumerable layers of clothing, flattering as they were concealing, Ari understood the game of cover-up, because hadn’t he co-authored some of the rules? Naturally, his first thought was to doubt her sincerity. Not that he believed her to lie; but as he was also intimately familiar with how to issue polite dismissals to any passersby who caught him stumbling on the pavement, or favoring one arm more than the other, a charming smile and a deflective comment or two always served him well, and he kept both weapons equipped when necessary to wield them, for the sake of his honor and self-preservation.
This is a farce, Nia, his sharp, dark eyes conveyed his suspicion, boring them into her own gaze with their empathetic, albeit exacting, condemnation. I, too, am an actor on the same stage, in the same performance.
But who was he to call her out, exposing her for the little deceptions he also couldn’t help but implement? He, too, recognized the importance of surviving under the pressurizing weight imposed on him by polite society. This is how you must carry yourself. Never show weakness. They will eat you alive. Even among family, surrounded by his own niece and nephew, he never thought to dismantle his leader persona because to be anything less wasn’t currently tenable. Now that he’d exposed his secret, his curse, the pressure to demonstrate his unruffled, unflappable, untouchable nature had multiplied in intensity. His detractors, equipped with the fuel, waited with bated breath for one wrong misstep, one tiny indicator that he was not fit to rule, and they would gleefully douse him in flammable liquids and light him ablaze.
And on a more personal note…
His eyes softened at Nia’s insistence to work, come what may. Oh, how often he’d begged Nadira to overlook his flare-ups, just this once, so he could leave the clinical safety of his apartments and indulge in a bit of normalcy! Kicking a ball around the courtyard, riding astride a horse outside the city limits, attending a ball, a lecture, going on a stroll…anything. As he grew older, she finally began relenting on certain requests, but it had taken him until almost adulthood to enjoy what others took for granted. If Nia wanted to contribute, with all her heart…
“All right,” he agreed, extending his arm and carefully hauling her to her feet, mindful of the injured leg. “I shall trust in your wellness, Nia—but on several provisos. One; you allow Lord Rigas to treat your leg at his earliest availability. Two; your end-of-day ritual includes plenty of food and drink. And three; I accompany you for the remainder of today, as your guide. This compromise comes at the expense of my host duties. Under any other circumstances, I cannot allow you to resume labor-intensive activities when you’ve sustained an injury as a guest in my home. Alas, our circumstances are rather unique, and so…I will overlook them.”
Nicodemo, who peered out from around the bend of the cavern to spectate on this exchange, changed his expression from smug satisfaction to…raging disappointment. As Ari lowered his charge into her chair and settled her at advantageous proximity to the sheets of stacked mica, the eldest son of Casimiro stalked back to the marble-extraction tunnel, having seen enough.
…Until he returned, several hours later. The trio had since carved out the four marble pieces from the cave wall, sanding down each one to the appropriate shape and smoothness and rolling them over to the central part of the cavern for their eventual configuration. Before they commenced the next and most laborious stage of compiling the float base into one well-oiled, moving piece, Nico excused himself for a few moments and slipped away, heading straight for Nia and her workstation. Contrary to his attitude from a few hours ago, the boy was all smiles as he sidled close to her, leaning his shoulders against the wall into a casual pose.
“So, you are a Master Alchemist,” he said conversationally, heedless of whatever state of concentration she required for her task. “Does that mean you killed people? How did it feel, to slice them open?” He peered forward, almost over her shoulder, caring not about his invasion of her private space. “What are you doing now? If you change the properties of this mica, do you also change its function? If it is no longer under the category of mineral, can Uncle Ari still create golems with it? That would be a shame, to put forth so much work only to render these sheets entirely ineffective. But no need to fret, because Uncle Ari would never tell you how badly you bungled things for his project.” He tilted his head to one side. “Is that not great news? All of Galeyn can despise you, and you can render yourself useless from exhaustion, but no matter what you do, or fail at doing, you shall always have my uncle’s heart.” His smile flipped immediately to a disgusted grimace. “Best not turn it to stone.”
As former head of the Canaveris family, Nadira had learned to develop a thick skin, a vital characteristic when her dealings often faced her against particularly stubborn, uncompromising people. In her long tenure holding the vaunted position, she had needed to take decisive action on many devastating issues including, but not limited to, signing her husband’s death papers.
Roland Canaveris was from one of the branch families that served under the Canaveris banner, a sweet man, handsome, unfailingly polite, and the picture of a perfect gentleman. Ari grew up to be his spitting image not only in appearance, but in mannerisms. His speech patterns, specific turns of phrase, natural positivity, and big-hearted generosity—it all came from Roland. Her gracious husband seldom felt threatened by her successes, and happily adopted a supportive role, always standing one step behind, warming her shadow whenever it threatened to ice over.
But then came young Ari’s fatal accident, and the tight-knit dynamic between loving husband and wife…shifted. Even when the Master Alchemist, may the earth rest his beautiful soul, managed to reverse the effects of their son’s curse and place the worst of it into a remission of sorts, Nadira was beside herself, stricken and reduced to her core, hollow and infected by nothing but grief. How Roland maintained the patience to temper her frequent outbursts, she hadn’t the foggiest!
“How could I let this happen to my son?! What manner of negligent mother am I! A monster, that’s what! A man is now dead because of me!”
“—Darling,” Roland interjected, sweet as always. “We share in the responsibility equally. No—I bear most of the blame, because I was meant to watch Ari that day…and I failed in my duty. Please Nadira, let me make amends. Let me travel to the Fallow Islands, and search for a cure. The locals must know about an antidote to the stare of the basilisk serpent.”
“No.” She slapped her hands on the desk and rose from her chair. “No, Roland. If it should be anyone, I should partake in this mission. I am responsible most because I am the family Head, and this incident occurred under my jurisdiction.”
“Precisely. You are the family Head. All the more reason for you to remain and do what you excel most at doing.” He pressed a gentle hand on her shoulder and urged her to sit. “At this juncture, no one can replace you, should something disastrous occur during your journey. I am not, nor will I ever fulfill your legacy in your absence, and Casimiro is far too young to welcome the mantle.” He smiled in that self-deprecating way he favored so much. “As I am now, I am…entirely replaceable. But not you. Never you. I beg of you, Nadira…let me do this for you. For Ari. For our family.”
She should have objected. She wanted to object, and call the matter finished. But the prospect sounded so enticing, and he, so confident in triumphing, so she had relented and sent him off to the Fallow Islands with her blessing. It was not long after his departure that an envoy arrived at her door, reporting the appalling news: the ship upon which Roland Canaveris boarded had capsized in a storm…leaving no survivors.
No survivors.
What have I done?
I do not...I do not deserve this position. Not if I cannot protect those I love.
In place of mourning, she threw herself into priming Casimiro to replace her as family Head, relentlessly drilling the boy on every aspect of the lofty position. Once she felt satisfied with the knowledge she had imparted, she promptly stepped down from her duties. With her glowing endorsement, Casimiro bid for the empty seat, won, and presided as the youngest family head in all recorded Canaveris history, barely older than Nicodemo—and with Nadira standing in his shadow, warming it whenever it grew too cold.
As for Roland Canaveris…
“Where is papa?” Ari asked his mother, shortly after she received report of the disaster at sea.
“Oh, little mouse,” she tutted, guiding the child to his bed. She was hardly able to look at his eyes. Roland’s eyes, dark and soulful and uplifted. “He has gone on a long journey…and I cannot say when we will expect him to return.”
“Did he leave because of me?” His question, both innocent and so sad, so wistful, broke her heart, prompting her to hug the boy tightly to her chest, preventing him from seeing the tears that caught on her eyelashes.
“No. Never! He loves you, Ari. He would never leave you or us behind. Who told you such a thing!?”
“…Casimiro said it. So he didn’t leave because he hated me? Because I’m not human anymore? And he’s disgusted that I am a monster, now?”
What is wrong with that boy?! “No, Ari. Never think that. I forbid you to think that way! Do not listen to your brother. He knows nothing.” She clutched Ari even tighter against her chest. “You are perfect, Ari. As you are. And we love you. Your father loves you. We all love you.” At that moment, at the height of her loss, she made a solemn oath in her son’s bedchambers. I will not let anyone hurt you. I will not let you go. I do not care what it will cost to keep you here…but I will gladly pay it. No one else is going to die. No one.
Oh yes, Nadira had tough skin, but only because she needed to prevent the only surviving family member from sinking beneath the waves.
“Master Kristeva, if you are so convinced I will never understand the pain of a Master Alchemist because I’ve not lived it, I must also counter by saying you will never understand the pain of a mother, for the same reasons.” She recovered her footing, her undeniable stage presence, and stood tall. No more kowtowing in an attempt to appease a man who would never be appeased. “To abandon my son, to betray him to a fate I am responsible for creating, is tantamount to branding myself as a monster. You may think differently. In fact, you may find me morally bankrupt, and that is your prerogative. I will not attempt to rewrite your perceptions of me. I merely offer my perspective—for the story you asked me to tell. If you need me to be the boogeyman in your fairytale, then I am just so. I’ve chosen this path long ago and I’ve no intention to abandon it when the way behind is populated with my footfalls. You may view this as a path to hell; I view it as a path to salvation. Summarily, you have suggested that the better option to do, in my situation, was to allow my young son to die rather than grant a Master Alchemist to save him in exchange for his life. While I would never ask people to die for my son, if they offer and I say, ‘No,’ why, I have closed off my avenues for a solution, and have, yes,” her mouth enunciated the word, “abandoned him. That outcome, to me, is true hell.”
Now it was her turn to approach the morally superior Isidor Kristeva, desperate rage filling in the cracks she’d once reserved for his vengeful knife to slot through and stab repeatedly. No more. She was reasserting her control, and her thundering, quake-worthy steps forward represented the crux of her self-righteous fury. “Since you think me so despicable, so horrible, then you should feel no compunctions offering me to the sacrificial altar, Master Kristeva, the sub-human who succeeded in abandoning you. If you are looking for me to atone for my unforgivable actions, then take my years, take my magic, take this vessel, if it will ensure the survival of Ari and Nia both!” She was no longer calm, all composure and civility gone. A primal thing stood in her place: a bear, with claws extended. Her level tone devolved into raw shouting, its dangerous rumble enough to tremble the panes on the window. “Is that what you wish to hear? I assure you, this is no lip service. I will gladly pay for this procedure with my life. Ari need not know. The boy is decent as he is foolish. He will accept no outcome in where people die so he may live. But," a tremulous truth crept into her otherwise fierce, unwavering delivery, forcing her to swallow back an agonizing lump down her throat, "he does not need me anymore. So, if you are willing to keep such numbers a secret from him, you can have me. Remember, I do not count as human, so I will not affect your death toll. It will not register as your kill if I am the one to offer, besides! A soul willingly sacrificed shall provide a boon of protection for the party or parties it chooses. It is blood magic at its most ancient and powerful, and I know how to enact the ritual.” She threw her wild, roving hand against her chest as in solemn salute, there to emphasize every word she sputtered came expressly from the depths of her soul. “I have lived my life, so I shall gladly pay off my debts!” She tossed back her head and laughed riotously. “We shall raise those abysmal percentages, yet!”
And when Isidor Kristeva finally took his leave of the room, her laughter turned to tears, and her tears turned to sobs. Falling to her knees, she wept. She wept for the first son who died in fire and defeat, the second son who the earth cursed, the husband who sank beneath the sea, and the boy in the tower who blamed her for it all.
“Don’t worry yourself, Ari. Everyone falls down from time to time.” Much though Nia attempted to assuage the Canaveris lord’s worries with her words and smile, there was no feasible way for her to effectively convince him that she was ‘fine’, when everything about her stated otherwise. And now, he thought she was so tired that she was liable to trip over her own feet at any given time… “I’ll contact Al, see if he can help me with my leg a little more. If it makes you happy, then I’ll eat whatever you put in front of me later today. I do have to go and check in on Hadwin around midday, but you’re obviously welcome to accompany me. For now--why don't we all get to work, hm? I’m more worried about Alster and Isidor kicking our asses in this competition!”
At the end of the day, it was never so much about convincing Ari that she was fine as much as it was to convince him to relent. He wanted her to be well, but moreover, he wanted her to be happy, and to not feel restricted or restrained (especially considering how long she’d been Galeyn’s prisoner, at this point). Even with the promise of seeking Alster’s help and eating a full meal at the end of the day, he was still not convinced of her well-being after helping her to her seat and then retreating to the other side of the workshop. Were Sylvie and Nicodemo not present, he might have put up an even greater scene and not relented quite as quickly. But Ari knew better than anyone what it meant to her to downplay concerns, just as he wished others not to fret for him when he experienced flare-ups. “Accidents happen--not your fault. Really,” she gave his arm a gentle squeeze, “you need to stop taking responsibility for every little mishap that occurs in the Canaveris villa. It’s only going to give you a headache.”
Despite the throb in her leg, exacerbated from the tumble she had taken, and the fatigue that was only narrowly fought off by the candy root, the Master Alchemist otherwise felt in good spirits, and she wasn’t lying when she expressed her eagerness to work. Any excuse to do something, as opposed to fixate on how miserable her leg and lack of sleep rendered her, was preferable to lying around like an invalid. Oh, no one in the world was quite so determined as a Master Alchemist barely running on the fumes of sleep! If anyone doubted her skills or what she was capable of even under the least favourable conditions, then they were in for a reality check.
One such as Nico, in fact, fell into that very category of doubters. While Nia hadn’t even known the boy an hour at this point, Nico had, for whatever reason, decided he did not like her. If it hadn’t been apparent in their initial interactions, Ari’s nephew had seemed far too pleased when she’d taken a tumble… and then, subsequently, very sour when Ari hadn’t seemed fit to evict her from the workshop to rest and to seek help. Since he was located at the other side of the room, Nia counted it as a blessing that she would not be required to make smalltalk with the young man, and was content in working her alchemy on the sheets of mica. One at a time, she would pass it through her fingers, and each time the sheets would become lighter and lighter, gradually taking on the consistency of a feather that had remembered to pluck from the seam of her pillow the night before. This was the easy part; what would be difficult was causing them to change their shape entirely, upon contact with skin. It was something she still had to sit down and think about…
If only she had the space--which Nico, evidently having grown bored of whatever tasks his uncle had him up to, crossed the room to invade her space with his toxic attitude. “Hello, Nico. Yes, I am a Master Alchemist. I’d have thought that would already be abundantly clear to you?” Nia knew what he was doing. The questions he was asking, goading her in such a way as to make her guilty or uncomfortable. This might have worked on someone like Isidor, but Nia had had the time to be alone with herself, her thoughts, and every impact she’d had on the world thus far (good and bad) that she’d already managed and processed her guilt to a considerable degree. She’d already spent those long nights, wide awake and wondering why she deserved to survive when no one else had. She’d felt bad for herself, for others, and had gone through phases of regretting the runes on her palms. So the reality that Nico imposed on her was one with which she was already very familiar; his tactics, therefore, fell short of his intentions. She wasn’t rattled, and instead, chose to confront his bothersome comments with tact and neutrality. “And yes, unfortunately, many people have died either directly and indirectly because of me. It is rather difficult to remember all of the names and faces, but those who died did so a very long time ago, when I was still young. I wish I could tell you in greater detail what my training entailed and what it ‘felt’ like, but I’m afraid that most of it, I can’t remember. Although, I will tell you… the feeling of knowing my skills saved a life in the aftermath? Now that’s a pretty good feeling.
“As for this,” she held up the sheet of mica that she was currently working on. His second question wasn’t so much a bother; in fact, it was one she was happy to explain. “I could change this into something else entirely. Turning lead into gold is no myth--though it’s far more difficult than ordinary alchemists might lead you to believe. But for the purpose of our float, this will remain in its mineral form. The only difference is, the building blocks of its matter are lighter. They’re hollow; inside each of these sheets, I am creating more and more tiny air pockets to mimic the lightness of a feather.” She nodded to the pinch of goosedown that sat on the corner of her work desk. “But, despite being hollow, it’s all still mica. Just softer, lighter, and far more fragile than it was before. I haven’t added any properties into this substance that weren’t already there--I’ve only taken away excess. Give, take, change: those are the core purposes of any alchemy. So, your uncle Ari shouldn’t have any difficulty working with it; it’s still a mineral.”
Since none of his previous questions were getting the desired reaction, Nico apparently decided to go right for the jugular and confront her about Ari. The kid didn’t miss a beat--and he wasn’t wrong. Even if Nia royally fucked up this entire project, and left them without a float when the time came, all thanks to her incompetence, the Canaveris lord would think no less of her. But Nia knew how good she had it with Ari. She didn’t take it for granted--not even for a second. And if this little brat thought she would ever let anything happen to Ari, or that she might indirectly cause him harm… he was far off his mark. “Nico, dear, you seem to forget that I am very accustomed to being hated. All of Galeyn hates me. Ilandria hates me, and that I survived. I often wonder how and why your uncle sees me differently… but, he does. And I will do everything in my power to keep him safe, and one day soon, help him be rid of that curse. So if you are genuinely worried for your uncle--don’t be. I do not make promises that I cannot keep. I will not let him down. But, will you?” Nia raised her eyebrows and nodded to Sylvie and Ari, who were still hard at work at the other side of the room. “They roped you into this because they need your help, kid. Instead of questioning me on what I’m really capable of, you should be more concerned with proving yourself to your uncle as an artist, and as someone he can rely on. So let’s get this float built and finished, hm?” She winked at the boy and flashed a coy smile. “As soon as the project is complete, you won’t have to put up with me or pretend to be nice to me if you don’t feel like it. The Canaveris villa is big enough; surely you’ll have the space to avoid me.”
Whether or not Nadira Canaveris could truly excuse her behaviour, the intentional actions or negligence that cost others their lives all in the name of curing her son, Isidor couldn’t deny that she was right. He was not a parent; he had experienced loss, yes, but he could never understand just what a mother was willing to do on behalf of her son. Just like she could never understand his pain and the guilt that followed him throughout a lifetime, or the fear and pain the victims that he had never wanted. But the difference was… Ari was only one person. One person, whom many, directly or indirectly, had already died for. What was the value of a single man’s life? And how did one determine that it outvalued the lives of others?
The answer was simple: Aristide Canaveris had someone who wouldn’t rest until he was cured and permitted to live a normal life. In fact, he had two someones, both Nadira and Nia, who would stop at nothing to end his pain and suffering. And everyone who had fallen to that cause, be it at the hands of a Master Alchemist, or the Maser Alchemist himself, they were unfortunately without such a guardian. It all came down not to worth, but to who was willing to fight for you. And Nadira had chosen to fight for her son at the expense of so many others she also could have helped--or spared.
But… did that really make her a monster, at the end of the day? Wanting to help her child--her only remaining child? What would he have done, had he ever been in the same situation? I don’t know. I do not know what I would have done… but I know what I would not do: decide that the lives of others pale in comparison to a life that I personally hold dear. He thought of Arisza. Of Tivia… Neither of them would have wanted him to sacrifice anything, let alone anyone, for their sakes. He couldn’t imagine that Aristide thought much differently. “What does it even matter what I think of you, Lady Canaveris? What does it matter when you have already long ago made up your mind that your way is a righteous one?” Isidor’s tone was flat and deflated. He realized there was no point in raising his voice or expressing his anger when it had no effect. “Make no mistake, I did not confront you with the hopes of changing your mind. I wanted to better understand why you did what you did, and why it mattered so little to you what happens to anyone else. I wanted… I wanted to be wrong. To think that you might have harboured such remorse that you wished you could have done things differently, in the past… you know, your son and I ended up actually finding common ground. Days ago, I didn’t like him; I’m glad to find that I was wrong about him. I wanted…” Though his side was despondent, the crease in his brow did not relax. “I wanted to be wrong about you, too.”
It turned out that Isidor had succeeded in hitting a nerve in the Canaveris matriarch upon bringing up his certainty of Ari’s ignorance as to just how dangerous this future procedure would be both to him, and to Nia. He was right: there was no way the head of the Canaveris household would put the life of the woman he loved at risk if it meant saving him. Not even if it was what his mother wanted, or what Nia wanted, Ari would refuse. And without full consent and cooperation, it would be impossible for it to ever take place. Nadira knew this--and in her desperation, she suggested alternatives. Namely… her life, in exchange for Ari and Nia’s.
“It doesn’t work that way.” Isidor’s tone dropped in comparison to Nadira’s rising desperation--which, admittedly, was jarring. “Because what I think about you personally, Nadira, also doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if you are sub-human or a bogeyman. I don’t have the right to decide your worth, or that you deserve to die over someone else. Because if I did… If I thought that way, then I would be no better than you. I am a lot of things. I am a social failure; I’ve failed as a friend, as a brother… even as a lover. I never know what to say, or what is appropriate to say in a given moment. I am horrible in my own right, because of everyone who died for me to be where I am today. Maybe I am an entirely different breed of monster; but I am not a hypocrite.” Not anymore; not since his promise to use an alchemist stone to revive the fallen Cwenha, who by now had a homunculus body with no way for her soul to ever find it, was null and void in the wake of his brother’s death. “Anyway, to tie blood magic into an already dangerous procedure will only muddy the waters and skew those numbers for the worse. I ask you to not interfere--but you will have to tell your son the truth, sooner than later. Because I cannot in good faith proceed without having his full, informed consent. And that means making him privy to those numbers, however I might change. You are free to feel whatever you want with regard to what is worth risking for your son’s life; but he is an individual with autonomy, and you cannot impose your beliefs and desires onto him. Good day, Lady Canaveris.”
It wasn’t with a sense of pride or accomplishment that Isidor left, however. When he closed the door behind him and heard the heart-wrenching wails as a direct result of his diatribe, the Master Alchemist felt suddenly… empty. Like not only had he not managed to accomplish anything, but it had cost him something to confront the Canaveris matriarch for her questionable life decisions. And while she was the one who was reduced to tears, defeated and cornered while he had all the power in his hands to tell her son what she wished he wouldn’t know… Isidor did not feel as though he’d walked away a victor. Rather, he felt as though he walked away a monster.
It was with numb strides that he made his way from the dusty, unused bedchamber and continued aimlessly down the corridor, one hand to his head as he struggled to understand what exactly was wrong with him. What was overcoming him? His outbursts toward Nia, Lord Canaveris… and now, Lady Canaveris. Suddenly, he demanded that everyone speak to their vices and shortcomings and that they account for the poor decisions they had made. As if he hadn’t ever made similar decisions… what was going on? Where had this anger come from? And, moreover, where would it end…?
“...Alster?” He wasn’t sure at what point he had stopped moving and had slumped against the cool stone wall of the corridor, or how long the Rigas mage had been standing over him before he noticed. “I’m fine. That is… no. That’s a lie. I’m not fine. I don’t…” He curled one hand into a fist, against which he rested his forehead. “I’m horrible. And I don’t know… what is becoming of me.”
Of his brothers and sister, his grandmother, and of course, his uncle, Nicodemo undoubtedly held the unpopular opinion among his family, regarding Nia Ardane. But it was nothing new; he tended to deviate from familial expectations in small ways. Little rebellions, little disruptions. He saw them as an homage to his late father, whose elevated position prevented him from doing as he wanted. Oh yes, Casimiro might have believed his little song and dance had fooled the public, and by extension, the whole of his family, but Nico scryed the truth. Suspecting there appeared more than met the eye, he stole into the shadows of his father’s study, and watched as he shed his coat of falsehoods from his shoulders and dropped the affected smile from his face—the same smile he granted his own wife and children. In reality, his man was miserable. Did he love anyone? Did he love them, or was it all a showy demonstration to appease the impossible expectations of high society, who obsessively ogled their family with cold, scrutinizing eyes and demanded perfection?
His uncle adopted the same mannerisms. Hide beneath well-tailored clothes, fool the world, fool his family, don the mask that once belonged to his miserable father, and parade through their estates, claiming nothing would change, that he would still honor his brother’s glorious rein by continuing on the same path. After Casimiro’s death, Ari decided to quite literally adopt his brother’s unfinished legacy and wear him, like some macabre coat made of rotten flesh and decay. It sickened him how he propped up the dead like a puppet and pantomimed through him, even when his words, speeches, and policies slowly began to deviate and take a life of their own—away from Casimiro’s posthumous influence. Nowhere had it been more apparent than when Nia Ardane insinuated her big head into their family affairs, and Ari gradually began to drop his act, and become his own person. And Nico resented that, resented her, because the only time he would shed his stately persona was when he spoke to her. Not them. To them, he was pleasant, but distant. Sylvie defended their uncle, saying how a lifetime of nursing a curse and keeping its scandals a secret had affected Ari’s ability to let down his guard around anyone, but that explanation angered Nico all the more. Why was he not privy to the details of his uncle’s curse? Why did he, like the rest of the gawking crowd, D’Marians and Galeynians alike, learn of it together when family should already know each other’s blackest secrets? Why was Sylvie informed, and not him? Was he not trustworthy, reliable, or dependable? And why did Nia Ardane get to hold so much power over them instead, like she mattered more than Ari’s own flesh and blood?
Why…couldn’t he be the one to reach his uncle?
I thought that if I painted, if I became an artist like you, you would notice me. You would…love me.
But you love only Nia Ardane, and someone long dead who loved not a damn thing in this world. No one…
Not even you. Not even…me.
“This mica will function as the wings for the fireflies,” Nico pointed out as though speaking to a toddler. “Wings must have flexibility, not fragility. And how is Uncle Ari to craft them into golems if touching one will transform it into an entirely different structure? Forgive my fault-finding, Miss Nia,” he couldn’t help but bookend her name with a derisive snort, “but I am having difficulties understanding your vision. Sometimes, one has an idea, but when they mold that idea into tangible form, they quickly realize it cannot hold shape in reality. Perhaps your idea is a sound one, but only in your imagination. Now, it is fortunate that you are slowing our progress, Miss Nia, and not I, because were I the one bungling this project, Uncle Ari would nix me from the team. But you,” he gestured to her, all of her, “need simply to throw yourself at him in the bedchambers and he will grant you whatever strikes your fancy. Why, it would not surprise me to hear that you intend on riding alongside him in the float!” A hard, dark line appeared between his brows, like a steak of black paint impossible to scrub clean. “How fortunate to be in Lord Canaveris’s eternal graces.”
In his casual position against the wall, he stiffened at her not-so-innocent mention of slacking off on his end of the job. Who was she, to act so above reproach, so secure in her appointment to the Canaverises, that she could accuse him of idling about?! “Oh I assure you, I am doing no such thing,” he effused, despite the dangerous, bitter glint in his eyes. “This small reprieve is a sanctioned one, permitted by Uncle Ari himself. Oh look,” he drawled, his head snapping towards another approaching figure, “it appears he has granted my dear sister the same request.”
Ebullient Sylvie trotted up to the duo in the corner, her usual effervescence replaced with equal turns suspicion and concern. “Nico, we mustn’t disturb Nia. And before you snap and tell me, ‘Come off it; you are not my minder!’” she deepened her voice and crossed her arms moodily in an approximate imitation of her brother, “Uncle Ari sent me personally to relay this message. You best listen to him or he might reconsider having you on for this project.” As if it proved his point, Nico barked a laugh and tilted his head to Nia, as if to say, ‘See? He would have me ousted just for inconveniencing you.’
“Yes, yes, I hear you,” Nico swatted at the air, shooing his sister out of his range. When she didn’t move far enough to his liking, he huffed a long-suffering sigh and stalked off, his feet petulantly kicking aside the thin layers of sand as he wandered off from Nia’s workstation.
“Forgive him,” Sylvie said, once Nico drifted out of hearing range. “Did I not say my brothers are tiresome?!” She elected for a chuckle, though, like before, it operated at half its usual radiance, as her gaze still twisted with uncertainty around Nia’s vicinity. “I,” she twirled one of the loose strands of dark hair that had come loose from its braids, “I shall leave you to your alchemy, but first…if Uncle Ari approves, that is, may I come with you to visit Mister Kavanagh? It is just…it is because he was kind to me, before, and it is devastating to hear how unwell he has become. While I know little about the summoner girl who occupies his side…might they both be interested in some company, perhaps?”
It might have been an odd choice of words, to use ‘kind’ when describing a faoladh whose reputation frequently involved mischief and, in extreme cases, violence, but Sylvie was not so naive to look at a wolf and see a lamb. Fully aware of his tendency towards delinquency, she also couldn’t ignore how committed he was to the people who mattered most in his life. It was something she became privy to just the other day, when she caught him on the street, extolling the virtues of his eldest sister. As an eldest sister, herself, those words were attractive to hear; if only her brothers would pontificate at length about her most delightful attributes!
“Whoa, there!” Too distracted by her thoughts, Sylvie hadn’t watched where she was stepping, and would have taken an injurious tumble over the cobbles if not for the faoladh’s fast-acting arm propping her upright. “Can’t have Ari’s cute little niece fall down and skin her knee open, can we?” At that, he gave her a conspiratorial wink. A wink that said it all. I know what you are hiding, but I won’t say a word of it to anyone. During that brief interaction with the famed Hadwin Kavanagh, Sylvie decided that this divisive, larger-than-life man embodied a similar level of kindness to…well, to Nia. If only the Master Alchemist still fancied her—but she had gone and ruined it by visiting her at the palace, unannounced, to plead her uncle’s case. No doubt, Nia regarded her as some presumptuous pest she could not shake, no better than Nico and his insensitive interrogations.
So as not to bother the poor woman before she, like her brother, developed a tangential mouth overflowing with drivel, Sylvie took her leave shortly thereafter and spent the rest of her afternoon among Nico and her uncle. An hour before supper, Ari called their operations to a close for the day, but not before praising everyone for a job well done. And what a job it was. Sylvie took a moment to admire the platforms they constructed; a formidable round stage around which three disks, attached to grooves in the sides, spun around the center like a mobile of planets revolving around a grand sun—a feat of engineering fit to make any earth mage proud.
“Uncle Ari,” Sylvie marveled, “truly, it is a wonder. And we have not yet added the centerpiece or the dioramas! Surely, we cannot lose!”
“Ah, that is my intention, but we mustn’t underestimate Lord Rigas and Master Kristeva. Artisans and engineers they might not be, but they are considered geniuses in their respective domains, and they possess cross-disciplinary skill-sets, to boot. We cannot loosen our guard for a moment, lest they dominate the competition,” Ari said, in gentle warning. At his side, Nia, who he had fetched from her workstation and guided over to observe the completed marble structure, leaned against his arm, their intimate show of proximity impelling Nico to retreat from the cavern before Ari had called a formal dismissal. Before anyone thought to draw too much attention to her brother’s borderline withdrawal, Sylvie turned to Nia and her uncle, distracting them with an eager smile.
“So, may I accompany you to visit Mister Kavanagh?”
At that request, Ari frowned a little. “I cannot say his current condition inspires me to allow an influx of visitors to gather around his bedside, so we shall wait outside his door and grant Nia permission to enter first. I will give her to decide if Mister Kavanagh is willing to entertain guests.”
As it turned out, Hadwin seemed in better spirits than the night before. Having slept a full, uninterrupted block of over fourteen hours, the faoladh woke refreshed, unplagued by nightmares, for once…and with no memory of what happened between himself and Nia last night.
“Well look who’s dropping by!” he said of the Master Alchemist, who almost gingerly stepped through the doorway. Still bedridden, Hadwin was propped up against bolstering pillows and in midst of receiving dinner, which Teselin was helping him to consume by holding the bowl of broth while he shakily wielded the spoon towards his mouth. But he gave up on the task at Nia’s arrival and offered the teeter-tottering woman a grin…and a raised eyebrow. “Took a tumble, did you? Here,” he patted the edge of his bed. “Room for you aplenty to sit. Can’t imagine you need to administer my shot while you’re standing!” But she hesitated to accept his invitation…and one glance into her fear-glazed eyes revealed why.
“Huh. Seems I’ll have to ask the question everyone around always ends up asking of me: What did I do?” He raised a shaky hand to run it through his mop of rusty, tangled hair, messing it further in his mounting sense of unease. “Did it happen again? I lost track of myself, somewhere? Damn,” the nubs of his nails clawed into his scalp. “I did, didn’t I? No wonder Bron’s been avoiding me since Tes here took over looking after my useless arse. Must’ve gotten her in the crossfire, too. Well, what else is fucking new?!” A low, ironic chuckle rumbled from his throat. “Hope that shot’s got a sedative equipped. Wouldn’t want to be a repeat offender for whenever my damaged fucking mind goes under another damn eclipse.”
In Isidor’s days’ long absence, Alster took it upon himself to prepare the necessary components for building the solstice float. Ever the perfectionist, he tackled every possible avenue of the process that he could conceivably address, minus his partner, so that when Isidor returned to the palace, the time lost would not end up becoming as impactful or detrimental in the long run. For his part, the Rigas mage spent the last several days consulting with Gardeners and carpenters. From the Gardeners, he requested flowers ranging in the thousands, a veritable potpourri of undulating cornflowers, forget-me-nots, and bluebells, and from the carpenters, he commissioned a sturdy, balanced wooden platform upon which would rest a delicate, semi-autonomous framework. When it came to calculating the logistical side of the labor, including the cost, materials, and hired help, he was no Chara, and would have much preferred poring over his notes and refining his spectacle-leaning magic in blissful solitude, but seeing as someone needed to handle the least desirable aspects of the work, and Isidor, even were he available for the task, would bristle from the prospect of venturing around, requesting favors from strangers, Alster opted to deal with whatever affairs required a social bent. Compared with the fractious, inflammatory D’Marian people, Alster found little resistance from the Galeynians, who, in general, harbored more positive opinions of him and happily lent their cooperation for the project.
On returning from the Night Garden, Alster traversed the palace corridors, wondering if he should pay Elespeth a visit at the Sorde suite, where she had been frequenting most, nowadays, assisting Haraldur and Vega with the care of their unceasingly energetic twins. While the Eyrallian royal children had since grown in size and were not as fragile or tiny as when they were infants, Alster couldn’t help but feel nervous and awkward around them, still, which was unfortunate, considering how their parents had named him and Elespeth Kynnet’s guardian. No doubt his wife was playing her part with eagerness and aplomb, but he, on the other hand…had it become obvious how much he avoided the nursery, especially when Elespeth was present? If he walked in at the wrong time, he might catch her longing gaze directed towards the little bundles sleeping in the bassinet and, with him there, the idea might strike her like an iron on the blacksmith’s forge: “Why don’t we…?”
Alster adjusted his course, heading down a smaller corridor going in the opposite direction. It was there where he came upon Isidor slumped against the wall, his expression reflecting a man trapped within himself in some wayward labyrinth, searching not for the exit, but hunkered down in the corner, hiding from the beast residing there. He would soon come to learn the accuracy of his assessment…and that Isidor viewed the hider and the monster as one and the same.
“Isidor?” He called the man’s name several times, with no response. Taking care not to startle him out of his deep and bleak thoughts, Alster slid forward, muffling his steps, and edged closer. At last, the Master Alchemist noticed another presence and glanced up to acknowledge him. “Isidor…are you alright? I take it you just returned from the Canaveris villa. Did anything happen there?” It almost surprised Alster to hear how Isidor hardly attempted to conceal his current state of mind, and how quickly he confessed to feeling, by his own admission, ‘horrible.’ For as long as the both of them had been acquainted, the Rigas mage always knew Isidor to downplay or dismiss his emotions, revealing them only when they had become too glaringly obvious to ignore—or whenever he had given to despair and surrendered the charade of mental wellness. Whatever happened, Alster had seldom seen Isidor reduced to such a state, not even after Vitali’s death, or Tivia’s disappearance. What he was seeing now was raw, poignant…self-loathing. Only one other time did he witness something similar, back when Isidor resolved to burn the silvery runes off his palms in an intense fit of mania—except, in contrast to then, none of the mania was fueling him into rage-motivated action. Perhaps that’s what seemed so different in Isidor now. His requisite anger appeared to have…burnt away, which only meant one thing: who had he unleashed it on, before?
Alster slid down on the floor beside his friend, resting one supportive hand—his prosthesis—on the other man’s shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it? I’m here to listen. Or consequently, I can sit here with you in silence, for however long you need.” He smiled encouragingly. “I have nowhere else I need to be and I could use the companionship of a good friend, besides.”
As much as Nia wanted to give Ari and all his family the benefit of the doubt, the longer she spent in the presence of Nicodemo, who was a far cry from his amiable sister, the more she realized that nothing she said or did would convince the little brat that she was worthy of his respect. And, in all honesty, maybe she wasn’t worthy; after all, she had been working for the very entity that had threatened this kingdom since long before she was even born. If she couldn’t blame the entirety of Galeyn for disliking her, then it was foolish to assume she had the right to anticipate a petulant teenaged boy would differ in opinion. The difference was, while most of Galeyn would’ve preferred her demise, the people didn’t go looking for trouble. Though it appeared that Nico did. “If all goes well, then when I’m finished here, the wings will be light and flexible. Very fragile to work with, indeed, but that’s just part of the fun of the challenge!” Nia’s eyes sparkled with confidence and excitement. No matter; the kid could lob as many insults at her as he wanted, and nitpick to his heart’s content. It wouldn’t change her outlook or anything she did. Besides, she was well acquainted with being grossly disliked. “And they won’t change their form by touch until after Ari crafts the little fireflies. That will be the last step. I’ve got it covered; I’ve already thought several steps ahead of the process, and we have well over a week to get this all sorted out. Don’t worry yourself, Nico--we’ve got a plan. And I’m a competitive person. We’re gonna win this.”
Go ahead; keep it coming, she almost wanted to say aloud. Keep telling me I’m immune to poor outcomes because I’m in bed with your uncle. Nothing I haven’t heard before. “In fact, I would love to ride upon the float. I’m not sure I would be permitted to partake in festivities, otherwise.” She commented, while methodically running the sheets of mica through her fingers, the weight dissipating more and more with each pass. “But, if I’ve got to play by the rules, then I’ll just have to rely on you guys to fill me in on just how everything turned out. Believe me, Nico, while I might be a guest in your uncle’s home, I’m well aware I’m still a prisoner to Galeyn. You don’t need to remind me. And if you’re really so concerned about the outcome of this float, then why not focus your energy on actually being productive instead of argumentative?”
It appeared that Sylvie felt obligated to come to her rescue, well aware that her younger brother was obviously looking for trouble. Bless the girl; she had to put up with the kid’s attitude on a daily basis! “Ah, don’t you worry. Nothing I haven’t put up with before. I had a brother once, too,” Nia commented, as she gingerly placed a newly transmuted sheet of mica aside. Her entire hands had become covered in glittering dust at this point, and it also speckled her clothes and hair, giving her the appearance of something straight out of another realm. “An older brother, but from what I can recall, he was an even bigger jerk. Your little brother’s at a stage in his life where he feels he needs an enemy to be the target of all of his pent-up emotions. In fact… I could be wrong, but something tells me he’s jealous of the attention your uncle’s been giving me. He wants some of that attention for himself. Give it time; I’ll win him over.” She winked, though in all honesty, watching the boy retreat and kick up dirt in his wake, she couldn’t speak to just how confident she was about that claim.
What Sylvie asked her next took the Master Alchemist by surprise, such that she stopped what she was doing entirely for half a beat. Hadwin? What connection did the little Canaveris niece have to someone like him? Of course, whatever Sylvie’s reasons, not checking in on the faoladh by herself after what had happened the other night was indeed a very attractive option. “Of course--I don’t see any harm in that. Hadwin’s bedridden and would love the company. I’m sure he’s getting sick and tired of only seeing my face.”
Finally free of Nico’s annoying presence for the time being, Nia managed to make excellent progress with the mica, having processed all of the sheets several times, to the point where they were now as light and flexible as gossamer. “What do you think?” She asked Ari, as he went to retrieve her from her station. “Will this pass? If it’s too flexible, then I can fix it to your liking; don’t be afraid to be vocal about what you need. I’m not so fragile that I can’t handle constructive criticism! But,” she smiled, taking his arm and trying not to think too much about the blossoming bruise on her thigh that made every step even more painful than before. “I wanna see what you’ve been working on, all this time.”
The Canaverises certainly didn’t disappoint. They were already well underway with the base of the float, and in her mind, Nia could already see how it would shape up with the stone animals he intended to craft. “Your uncle is right,” she said to Sylvie; Nico, evidently, had already chosen to take his leave. “We can’t let our guard down when we don’t know what Isidor and Alster have already devised. Our competition is gonna be fierce, I can tell you that much!”
Nia didn’t miss the hesitation in Ari’s tone when his niece inquired as to whether she would be permitted to accompany the Master Alchemist to visit the faoladh. Ari was hesitant; and despite his words, she knew it had little to do with not wanting to overwhelm Hadwin, and had everything to do with not wanting to overwhelm her. It was his way of trying to lessen her burden without outright admitting that he knew she was already overburdened, and while she couldn’t convince him not to worry, she was grateful he wasn’t inclined to forcibly make decisions on her behalf. “You know, I think seeing a few fresh faces would actually benefit Hadwin. Being bedridden doesn’t put you in the best state of mind, and seeing the same faces over and over again can be dull and frustrating. But--let’s take your uncle’s advice and play it by ear.” She smiled, looking between Ari and his niece. “Either way--come along! We’ll see for ourselves how he’s faring. If he got the rest he needed, then I expect him to be in better spirits, anyway.”
While she was hoping Ari would let her go off with Sylvie on her own, she had a feeling the Canaveris lord intended to hold her to her promise to dine with him for supper that evening. Had she not been so clumsy as to have taken that fall, she might have been able to get away with skipping the dining hall again. Her stomach was still in knots, even worse since last night, and food was the last thing on her mind. But she didn’t let on to her inner distress, and happily allowed Ari and Sylvie to guide her back to the villa, where she wasn’t too keen on seeing Hadwin, all things considered. However, with both Teselin and sweet, agreeable Sylvie in the room… perhaps that would be enough for him to behave. He did seem to have a soft spot for young and impressionable girls, desiring to protect them from corruption--especially if he was the one bringing the corruption.
Drawing a breath, she knocked on the door once, before stepping inside. Hadwin was awake and eating, with Teselin’s dutiful help. He didn’t appear to have much strength, but there was no mania in his golden eyes; this was the Hadwin she’d hoped to see. “What can I say? I’m clumsy as hell, and having a bad leg hasn’t helped. But it’s nothing serious.” She waved off his concern with a flippant gesture and ran a hand through her hair. “Not to worry, though, there are no shots for you right now. Isidor gave you your dose of serum early this morning before he left; you must’ve been asleep. I just came by to check up on how you’re doing.” And it appeared… that he didn’t remember anything from the night before. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t see the residual fear in her eyes that caused him to suspect…
“Look--it’s nothing to worry about. You’re stir crazy; you’ve been bedridden for a hell of a long time, really, and it just got to you. Yeah, you did scare me a little, but Bronwyn got it under control.” Much though she tried to downplay it just how much his behaviour had left her shaken, it was difficult to hide it from someone who could literally see right through you to your fears. “How about this: promise not to lose your shit on me again when I’m trying to help, and it’s all water under the bridge. Deal?” While the fear might have lingered in her eyes, she wasn’t lying: while Nia had powerful allies, they were still few in comparison to the majority of the population that wanted her dead. Hadwin had always been a good friend and ally; she didn’t want to lose him over a single incident.
“So how did you sleep last night? You look like you’ve got more colour in your face.” The Master Alchemist commented after a beat, in an attempt to change the subject. When she took his hand, she didn’t notice anything particularly array with his vitals, either. A good sleep had done him wonders! “Did you… do you remember having any dreams, or anything? Oh--before I forget, there’s someone who wanted to pay you a visit. Come on in, Sylvie!”
Satisfied that Hadwin was well, and in good hands, Nia gingerly made her way toward the door. “I figured you’d be getting tired of my face, so I brought you a fresh one. I’ll check up on you a little later--if anything feels off, don’t hesitate to send for me!”
Confident that he wouldn’t lose his shit on Sylvie the way he had on her the night before, Nia stepped outside, where Ari was waiting for her. It felt as though a load had been taken off her chest. Hadwin was alright, and those herbs… they appeared to work. He hadn’t suffered dreams or nightmares; he looked refreshed. Healthier than before. Maybe… it wouldn’t do any harm to give Haraldur Sorde’s herbal remedy a try.
“All is well; responsible young women bring out the good in him, I think.” She assured Ari, so that he didn’t feel as though he needed to supervise. “And speaking of young people… I think you should have a talk with your nephew. Not about his behaviour. I’ve got a nagging feeling he wants attention from the only male figure with authority that he has left in his life, and until he gets it, he’s going to continue to give us all a headache.”
“No. Everything’s fine. In the Canaveris villa, I mean. Hadwin is stable. I left his care in Nia’s hands because at this point, there isn’t anything she can’t do that I can, and there was no point in having two Master Alchemists in one place.” Removing his spectacles from his face, he rubbed his eyes and the bridge of his nose, as a headache began to blossom just behind his forehead. “Everything will be fine there--they don’t need me. And I shouldn’t be there, anyway. I shouldn’t be anywhere, and the longer I am away from my tower, the more I am beginning to realize why I need to be locked away!”
Realizing that none of his rambling would make any sense to Alster, who didn’t have a clue as to what he meant or what had reduced him to a heap on the floor, he sighed and rested his forearms on his knees. The more worked up he became, the blurrier his vision often grew without his glasses; it made him wonder whether, under other circumstances, he would even need them at all. “I’ve been… remembering. More and more about my past. Not just about Zenech or having killed him--I don’t even care about that anymore. I’m numb to it. I took that device that I was working on to Nadira Canaveris, like you suggested, and I realized… that it wasn’t the first time I’d seen her. Her face was familiar,and I finally figured out why. Because… because, she was there, one. In the tower, trying to negotiate with Zenech. She saw me, plain as day, and she… she did nothing. So,” the Master Alchemist exhaled a shaky breath, staring ahead of him without seeing much, aside from the blurry grey wall before him. “So, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I couldn’t get that recollection off my mind--that she left me there, when she could have saved me. I didn’t want to have to deal with her son, so when I found myself alone in a room with Aristide… I told him exactly what was on my mind. I held back nothing. And, to his credit, he… took it in stride. He was understanding; friendly, even. I daresay we may even have left on ‘good’ terms. But when I saw his mother just now, in the hallway, I… I realized I wasn’t done. I had more to say, it wasn’t Aristide who deserved to hear it: it was her. So…” Isidor curled his hands into fists. “Everything I had left to say, I said to her. I said it in hopes that I was… wrong. That maybe she hadn’t thought I was a child who’d needed help, or even that she regretted not asking if I was alright… I wanted to be wrong about her, Alster! She was a mother, then--I wanted to believe that no mother with the capacity to care for their own children could bear to see another child in danger.” His throat tightened, just like it had when he’d confronted Nadira. Admitting it was no easier now than it had been upon initially hearing it. It only made it feel all the more real.
“But that wasn’t the case. She knew I was in danger--and she chose to leave me there, on the slim chance that one day, unlike Zenech, I might agree to help her son. She did it all for Ari. And if she could go back--she’d probably do it all again, the exact same way! So… I told her,” his hands relaxed from their fists as his fury was gradually replaced with guilt. “I told her that Ari will never agree to go through with the procedure we’re planning… if he knew that the odds of Nia surviving are slim. Because they are. And I told her that before I would agree to proceed… that it is up to her to tell Aristide, herself. But of course, once he finds out, he will refuse. He will not allow Nia to risk her life for his sake. I just… couldn’t fathom how many people she is willing to let die for his sake. I was harsh--I did not hold back. But I don’t… I don’t feel better. I don’t feel vindicated. I feel like…” He tilted his head back toward the wall. The headache behind his eyes blossomed in intensity. “I shouldn’t have said anything at all. There was nothing to be gained by confronting someone about something they cannot change. And now… all I’ve accomplished is jeopardizing the thing that she, that Nia, and that Aristide want most. What is becoming of me, Alster?!”
He could see it all unfold before him: the fear in Ari’s eyes when he learned the truth. The desperation in Nia’s when she begged him to reconsider, to let her heal him. The grief in Nadira’s when she realized in a few short years, she would lose her only remaining son. And all because… he was angry. Angry that he had to suffer, so that everyone else could get their happy ending. “I… don’t know what to do. I don’t want to apologize; but I don’t want to be the reason other lives completely unravel. With proper planning, it is possible we could raise the odds in Nia’s favour… but I didn’t mention that. I had no idea… that I was so angry. And I’m afraid of who I will unleash that anger on next. What else will I remember, that I seem to have forgotten for a reason? Maybe… maybe you should keep your distance, too.” Isidor draped a hand over his eyes. His headache had escalated to pounding in such a short amount of time. “Since I am liable to burn every bridge I have built with this volatile anger… that I cannot seem to control.”
“Stir crazy is right,” Hadwin huffed out a halfhearted chortle in a pathetic attempt to rattle himself into relative normalcy. While he couldn’t recall the details surrounding his behavior from last night, he vaguely remembered a soft, golden light melting over his senses like soothing wax and peeling away the impurities as it retreated, leaving him strangely…in awe of one person in particular. Bronwyn had done that. Her Sight reached in, penetrated the thick panes of smoked glass where his fears swirled about, trapped, and…she separated them. Not dispersed them, no. His fears were still kicking about in there, ever-present and ever-feisty, but she encouraged them not to congregate and congeal into some inoperable, tumorous mass which leaned on his brain and pulsed behind his eyes, squeezing. She did something…and she gave him something, too, and though he wasn’t put to rights upon awakening, he felt better equipped to handle whatever curveballs were lobbed in his direction. The subject of his mind, however, sat on much iffier territory, fast becoming a sore point to end all sore points.
Hadwin was no stranger to losing his shit. Of the several times he fell into the worst of his dissociative episodes, he climbed back out only to discover untold destruction. The first time, he’d committed cold-blooded murder, torturing the hunters peripherally responsible for his mother’s death. The second time, a tavern full of people succumbed to madness-induced fire—a madness he had stoked ablaze with a stick. The third time was by far the most costly. Apelrade… No matter how much Teselin took responsibility for those thousands of lives claimed by the sea and sky, there was no denying his role as the catalyst. None of it would have happened if he were sound of mind—or if he hadn’t run in the first place. Of all the shitty maneuvers he pulled, the fate of Apelrade was by and far an offense he couldn’t shake off like all the others, because it hadn’t affected just him. It had affected Teselin, primarily, all because she saved his sorry excuse for a life—a life that thrived on inflicting injury and mayhem to whoever he crossed, even to those he liked.
So what would he have done to Nia last night, had Bronwyn not intervened? And what level of damage would that have caused? After so much time he invested on maintaining good terms with the Master Alchemist, going so damn inexplicably far to ensure her mental well-being, her life, and her relationship status remained intact, one bad night almost ruined all that dogged progress? Depending on how effectively he crippled poor Nia’s senses, like hell would Ari give him a pass to kick back in his villa consequence-free.
Damn it all did it suck to try so hard by doing good for others, when he embodied, at his core, the ability to unravel every bit of progress he ever made because he lacked the consistency to remain decent. In him existed a sadistic, self-destructive avatar who relished the idea of carrying the torch to end the world, and so, he couldn’t help but push his agenda during unavoidable moments of unchecked impulsivity, to see how far he could go. Simply, he wanted to watch everything fall apart and be there at the event horizon for no reason other than to herald in the coming of the void, of ultimate, oppressive blackness. No one should be so beloved by others when he stood as their enemy, an enemy of humanity and agent of chaos, obsessed with unmaking and deconstructing every aspect of a person, himself included. And yet, despite this, people gave a damn about him. People gave too much of a damn about him and hell if it wasn’t alarming. Concerning, even. Because now…what was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to move forward when he was finally bothered by the fact that he destroyed everything—and everyone—he touched?
“Don’t know if I can reliably say I won’t lose my shit ever again, but I promise to do my level best to redirect it elsewhere. How’s that?” Nia’s fear was too palpable to ignore. It slithered around his head and constricted, creating a painful, crowning throb indicative of a developing headache. He’d really rattled her something fierce last night, and he didn’t even have the memory to own it! “Not sure offering you an ‘I fucked up’ drink is adequate payment in exchange for almost pissing the drink out of you in unbridled fear, but we’ll start my road to redemption right there; at the pub, like old times. Y’know, once I tire of doing the whole crippled and feeble song and dance. On a related note,” his hand flopped into his lap like a dead weight, “you know, I couldn’t tell you a thing that happened while I was out cold. Must have been too dead-tired to dream. All I remember is that Bron did something that made me clear my head; then I swallowed some crazy bitter drink…and that’s that. Dunno; judging by your curiosity, it’s got something to do with the Night Garden, yeah?”
But before he could probe any further on her own nightly troubles, Nia stepped aside from the doorway to invite inside an unlikely, and not at all unpleasant, guest.
“Ah, lookie here; it’s Ari’s cute niece again! Sylvie, was it?” Hadwin sharpened a grin for the young, raven-haired woman. “What can I do for you? It can’t be you’ve come around to rub the belly of this miserable old wolf. Upstanding woman like yourself? Bah; I’ve got nothing for you except the novelty of my company, and even that’s been wearing real thin nowadays.”
But Sylvie, taught well by her mother, uncle, and perhaps her late father, was the epitome of pleasantness and pleasantries as she stepped through the doorway at Nia’s introduction and dipped into a respectful curtsy. “I would love nothing more than to accept the pleasure of your company, Mister Kavanagh. It bothers me not what the other D’Marians say about you outside these walls when I have given to developing my own conclusions about your character, which you will find is not altogether unflattering.”
At that, Hadwin raised one eyebrow, releasing some of the resting belligerence that often clung to his expression. “Oh Miss Canaveris, do go on! I’m not immune to flattery, you know. Don’t keep me waiting; tell me why your assessment of me is so sunny and bright, like you,” he tilted his head and winked at the girl, who didn’t hesitate to perk up with a wide and radiant smile in kind.
“Ah, well, it is a rather silly observation, but it is one I cannot help but make,” her dark brown eyes crinkled around the corners, disrupting the smile creases with folds of uncertainty, afraid of committing a social faux pas. “When you defended the honor of—oh!” Social faux pas committed, her cheeks tinted a light bronze as she whirled around to address the other person in the room. “How incredibly rude of me, about to speak of you as though you are not present. Forgive my utter lack of decorum.” For Teselin, she dipped into an even lower curtsy to overcorrect her mistake. “Though I know you by name and by deed, we have not yet met. I am Sylvie Canaveris. It is lovely to make your acquaintance, Miss Teselin Kristeva. I only meant to comment upon the wholesome nature of your and Mister Kavanagh’s bond. It is rather touching and inspiring to witness a relationship not dependent on blood ties, for I have certainly known none other, preoccupied as I am in the care of six younger brothers. Why, they hardly give you leave to partake in a hobby without running roughshod around your workspace!” She released an unladylike snort as the inspiration behind her miniature rant floated into her thoughts. The image of Nico’s smug and perpetually-annoyed visage dominated long enough to develop feelings of annoyance out of sympathy—or perhaps the annoyance stemmed from herself. “But I digress. In any case, how are you finding your accommodations? I do hope you know we can arrange to have an additional bed laid out for you.”
Hadwin, watching this adorable exchange between two self-conscious and hyper-conscientious, flustered sweethearts who seemed in a bid to out-cute the other, looked on, eyes twinkling with the beginning sparks of a scheme. “That’d be great! Tes is too young to have back problems from sleeping on chairs all the time! Now,” he pressed back against his pillows, having tired of supporting his weakened muscles on nothing else but his own will, “you think the two of you could do me a huge favor?”
Sylvie’s infectious smile turned back in his direction. “Oh, anything you’d like, Mister Kavanagh!”
“Psh, call me Hadwin. Seriously, I’ve never been a ‘mister’ a day in my life, save for in other, less appropriate contexts,” he chuckled lightly to himself. “So, as my weight keeps fluctuating, and my latest transformations shredded everything I own to useless scraps, I’m in desperate need of some better-fitting clothes, and I have it on good authority that you can help me with this. As a budding embroiderer, I’m sure you have impeccable fashion sense.” He pinched the fabric of his white bedroom shift, wrinkling his nose at it in emphasis. “I want to leave this villa in style. Sharply dressed, like I just walked out of your uncle’s wardrobe. Gotta make a societal comeback, y’know, or everyone will wonder if I really did up and die. According to the two Master Alchemists working my case, I should be up and about by the end of this week, and I’ll hold them to that prediction. So—I take it you can attire me properly? I’ll pay, of course; I got the money to spare!”
“Oh, I would not dream of taking your money, Mis…excuse me, Hadwin.” Sylvie rocked on her heels, poorly hiding her excitement over the faoladh’s request. “Of course I can be of service to you! It would be an honor!”
“Now I wouldn’t go on to say ‘honor,’” Hadwin gave a playful roll of his eyes. “Didn’t do anything to earn that glowing endorsement. Anyway,” his golden gaze rested on Teselin. “Why don’t you go with her? Other than Briery, you alone know my measurements, and you’ve got an inkling for what I’d like. I’m looking for comfortable and casual, but distinguished. Gotta make a statement, after all. Now, don’t worry about me,” he waved a dismissive arm, masking the amount of energy it required him to make such a flippant gesture, “I just heard Siggy shuffling about next door, so I’ll be sure to rope her into wolf-watching duty while you’re gone. Now get on with you!” He jutted his chin towards the door. “And don’t pick up any jester patterns while you’re out! If ever I make a triumphant return to the circus, it sure as hell won’t be as a clown!”
As Isidor relayed everything that was currently weighing him down, quite literally, to the floor, Alster listened, not interrupting or inputting his own interpretation of events during his friend’s delicate retelling process, afraid that one misplaced word would discourage him from laying bare all his most troubling grievances. In lieu of vocalization, Alster nodded along, not only to visualize his rapt attention, but to show his understanding…on both ends of the spectrum. Oh, hadn’t he wanted to be saved by someone? In Stella D’Mare, he tried appealing to the adults in his life as a young child suffering under the rigors of intense, relentless training under the often cruel instruction of his uncompromising mother. He’d approached Adalfieri, Lysander, even his father…and they all ignored his cries for help, thinking him an inadequate arbiter of his own emotional needs. In their eyes, they didn’t see a burnt-out boy, but an invaluable member of the Rigas elite, too resource-rich to allow even one second left idle. Adults had consistently failed him when growing up, and it led him to make unsavory deals with a beast that summarily damned him and saved him. Now, their paths intertwined, inseparable entities tethered, soul to soul. How things would have ended differently, had he decided not to choose to answer the call of the Serpent from the dark. For one, he would be dead, by his own hand—and all because he failed to convince just one sympathetic adult to help him, to mentor him…to save him.
Yet, at the same time…
He understood Nadira Canaveris. He understood her because wouldn’t he pull something similar, in order to save Elespeth? Hadn’t he almost headed in that very direction?
“For one…no, I don’t feel the need to keep my distance from you, Isidor. Nice try,” he elected for the smallest of wry smiles. “Don’t forget, you’ve also been the recipient of my own breed of anger, fueled as it was by the need for vengeance, heedless of who I might harm along the way. I’m not so free of it, either. The…deep, unwieldy rage residing in the pit of your stomach, that churns so strongly, it turns you inside-out—yes, I’ve been there. I’ve only just now started to untie the impossible knots out from here,” he pressed on the once affected area, which hadn’t bothered him with its chronic inflammation since shortly after…that night. “If only you’d seen where I was just a few days ago…I don’t know what I would have done, so furious that I couldn’t be the one to kill Locque. Maybe I would have taken this place down with me in my uncontrollable fumes of caustic anger.” Funny it should be Locque herself who curbed his toxic darkness into manageable levels and provided him the curative flower petals which cleared his condition. But it was too soon to reveal the most inexplicable explanation for his sudden turnaround in health and wellness—and he was far from restored to full. “So in short—no. I have no reason to stay away from you on those grounds when I am far from unaffected by what’s been done to me. Neither have I been a saint in how I chose to react. Not just lately, but in the past, too. In fact, you may think less of me after I admit this to you. A confession, of sorts.”
He lowered his steel hand from Isidor’s shoulder, resting it atop his lap with all the delicacy of a flower petal falling from above, silken and buoyant and so very precious. “Before arriving at your tower, Vitali questioned me on how I would approach you with my earnest request, including what I would do if you denied me aid. If you said, ‘No.’ My answer was immediate. Simply…I wouldn’t have agreed to a ‘No.’ Interpret that however you will, but knowing my level of desperation, there would have been a point where I used more extreme forms of coercion on you, as a last and final resort. Such were the depths of my willingness to do whatever necessary to ensure my wife’s survival. I’m not proud of this disclosure, but I tell you this to drive home a point. Nadira Canaveris is desperate. And desperate people will often abandon their moral compunctions, their sense of right and wrong, to achieve their desired result. It’s not fair to the people who are hurt, of course. I speak this from the dual perspectives of one who has been hurt, and one who has done the hurting. There is no right or wrong answer. Both parties can justify their anger and their decisions equally, and that’s what makes this situation so nuanced and complex. If you want my opinion, Nadira Canaveris is no villain, but neither are you. Roughly stated, you were both trying to survive. And if it helps you to address the source of your anger, or not to forgive that source now, or ever, then that’s fine…just as long as you can find a way to forgive yourself. But that’s going to take time. You’re well on your way towards healing, perhaps further along than you realize, Isidor. You recognize your anger, and you have the self-awareness to know that it’s poisoning you to carry, in its current manifestation. So give yourself a little more credit, and a little more mercy. You’re doing your best to face yourself and to understand the stages of your pain. There will come a day when you will have to approach Nadira Canaveris a second time, in whatever iteration you deem appropriate for your current situation, but don’t feel the need to push yourself there right away. Give yourself some time, and some grace. And please remember I’m here if you ever need to talk, alright?”
“Speaking of time…nothing is jeopardized, Isidor. Do you honestly believe I would agree to this operation if it would all but guarantee Nia’s untimely demise? Not a chance.” A defiant light appeared in his blue-green eyes. “I’m a healer. It’s my job to ensure everyone survives. But I’m not above asking for help in this endeavor. So—let’s do this together. Devise a solution that has the approval of all parties. If we do this…then nothing is lost.” Rising from the floor, Alster extended one hand for Isidor to grab, but beyond its function as a device for propelling one to their feet, he also extended it as an act of solidarity, in a gesture that read, ‘Take my hand if you don’t want to do this alone. Take my hand if you don’t want to be alone.’ “But before we decide upon this route at all, I don’t see anything wrong with embracing an innocuous activity for the sake of a little levity, to get our minds off the things we perceive as unchangeable states of being, with no end in sight to the misery. There is a parade float awaiting our attention, and if you’ve truly reconciled with Ari, then here’s a chance to show him your mettle. If you’re convinced of burning your bridges with Nadira, but you’ve had positive relations with her son, then I daresay you can repair whatever damage you believe you’ve caused…by continuing to foster favorable ties with him. So, what do you say? Do you want to continue what we’ve started?”
Nia wasn’t looking for an apology from Hadwin; in fact, the faster they could move on to other topics, the better. It wasn’t something she wanted to remember about the faoladh who had so quickly become her friend, and without judgment, so his simple apology was enough to spur her bury the hatchet… and simply pretend it didn’t happen. She didn’t have the energy to dwell on the fact that, however much he meant well, Hadwin was still a largely unstable being. Perhaps he would unleash on her again; but that was something she would deal with down the road, if ever the time came. “I’m gonna hold you to that drink, then. I do miss drinking with you.” The Master Alchemist winked, and her expression softened with relief upon hearing that he had, in fact, slept well. “Yeah--I gave you some herbs from the night garden, because your recovery is contingent on being well-rested. That’s when your body repairs itself and rights all of the wrongs going on with it; if you’re awake all the time, you won’t be walking out of here anytime soon. I’ll get you more of those good herbs to get you through the week so that we can keep on the timeline we have planned.”
And yet… she still wasn’t sure she trusted herself enough to take them. They had no adverse effect on Hadwin, but his nightmares also hadn’t been incited by the Night Garden in the first place. She’d think on it, maybe experiment with a dose that evening, but… only if she couldn’t get away with another night staying awake. In the meantime, while Hadwin had fortunately reverted back to his old self, she was more than happy to quietly slip out and open the stage to Sylvie.
Since Teselin had been asleep so soundly the night before, not stirring even at the peak of chaos that was occurring in the same room, this account of Hadwin frightening Nia came across as worrying and strange… but, it also elucidated just how much she was also in need of rest. And since the situation had apparently resolved itself with Bronwyn’s help, there was no reason to draw it out when that topic had naturally (or, perhaps, not so naturally) concluded. That said, the buoyant kindness of Lord Canaveris’s niece was so palpable it left the young summoner temporarily speechless. “Oh--Sylvie, it’s lovely to meet you. And… I apologize for imposing on your family.” And for being responsible for having Hadwin here, she wanted to add, but she knew the faoladh refused to let her take on any of the guilt associated with his condition. “Really, I’m perfectly fine sleeping in that chair next to Hadwin’s bed. I went several years during my travels without having a proper bed to sleep in--I’m actually quite resilient, so don’t feel bothered to accommodate me.”
Her dismissal seemed outweighed by Sylvie’s insistence and Hadwin’s agreement that she required a better place to rest, however, and given that everything was only just beginning to fall back into place with Hadwin’s recovery… she was remiss to argue. Not to mention, she didn’t have time to get a word in, before the shapeshifter decided to put her and the Canaveris girl on an incredibly important errand: fashioning him new clothes to walk out in, so that he’d feel less like a patient. It seemed so trivial, and yet… the Kristeva girl couldn’t help but smile. When was the last time Hadwin had cared about looking good? Even if he was only being enthusiastic on her behalf, it still warmed her to see him smile, and to want to get back to living. “You know I’m not privy to anything fashion-related, Hadwin.” Teselin commented, and gestured to the loose-fitting tunic that she’d been sporting for the past three-or-so days. The young summoner had only ever sported oversized clothing, which gave her the appearance of looking younger than she really was, hiding her lithe but feminine form beneath sheets of fabric. “But I do know your measurements, more or less. There is no point in bothering Briery when I can help Miss Sylvie just as adequately. Though…” Her brow furrowed with that ever-present concern. “Are you sure you’ll be alright? What if… you need something while I’m gone?”
Hadwin assuaged her concerns with the possibility of Sigrid looking out for him in the meantime, and while it was impossible not to worry, she did feel better that he would be in the former Dawn Warrior’s care for the time being. Of course… it was highly possible that he was finally getting sick of her company, which she had no choice but to accept. No wonder he’d so readily welcome Sylvie! “Well… I’ll come and check on you later, alright? I don’t have to stay the night in your room if you’d prefer privacy. But I do want to make sure you’re getting what you need…”
Suddenly feeling like she’d not only overstayed her welcome in the Canaveris villa, but in Hadwin’s company, Teselin accompanied Sylvie out of the room, following her like a shadow considering she had no idea where the girl was headed. “If anyone can provide Hadwin with an exceptional outfit, then it’s certainly your uncle, Sylvie. I daresay I’m not much help in that field.” She mentioned, a little self-consciously, and rubbed the back of her neck. “In fact… I’m not sure I’ve been much help in any capacity, since Hadwin was admitted here under Nia’s care. Please don’t feel as though you need to accommodate me. I can… I could find another place in the D’Marian villa. Or, return to the palace, and make daily visits, if Hadwin so desires...:”
For as long as Isidor could remember, adults had never played to his favour, much like Alster. It was such that eventually, over the years of neglect and lack of proper care and upbringing, that the Master Alchemist had developed the unhealthy interpretation that his sole purpose on this living plain was to give himself away, piece by piece, until there was nothing left. Such an understanding had manifested and festered during the years he’d spent in the tower, before and after Zenech’s quiet tyranny. When the man had died, and Isidor had found himself all alone, he’d gradually begun to take on the small requests that citizens of nearby villages who happened to know of his presence and location would make--but just enough to survive. He treated Severin’s father’s aliment with tonics in exchange for grains; to others, he would even provide services without direct compensation, and took them on their word that they would repay the favor as soon as they were able. However, this tendency to give as much as his skills could offer did not register with him until recently. After all--hadn’t he initially refused Alster, when he had come in search of help?
But that was different: it wasn’t the help itself that had served as a deterrent for the reclusive Master Alchemist. Rather, it was the fact that he had been requested to leave the safety and sanctity of his tower, which was something he had not been prepared to do. Had the Rigas mage required something as simple as a tonic that could have been crafted within those stone walls, he’d likely have agreed immediately--and even when Alster and Vitali had managed to convince him to leave, he felt there was no other expectation than to give another piece of himself away, anyway. For Elespeth, whose life he hadn’t even been certain he could save… but he had to try. And it hadn’t stopped there. Wasn’t it exactly that tendency, to give and give, even to his own detriment, that had driven Tivia away? All he had wanted was to see her happy--to make her happy, and she had yearned so badly to have her face restored. He hadn’t thought twice before taking it upon himself to bear the burden of those burns in favour of granting the Star Seer’s only wish. But… somehow, she had decided he had taken it too far, and it was that very selfless act that had broken their fragile, fledgling relationship, leaving him feeling confused and hurt. Wasn’t this what he was good for? Wasn’t this the purpose of his existence, as it had come to manifest? To be a means to someone else’s end?
That truth had never been so clear to him, before Nadira had confessed, herself.
“Zenech wanted to save himself. You wanted to save Elespeth. Nadira wants to save her son--at any expense. But no one…” His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose as he stared at his rune-scarred hands. His voice had dropped to something fragile and broken, and barely above a broken whisper. “No one… ever wanted to save me. No one saw fit to save me, because if they had… what use would I be to them? What use would I be to the world, if I’d been led to safety…?”
It was difficult to picture a life where he had grown up happy, loved, and fulfilled. A life where he had learned to be around people and to be with people and, damnit all, to make friends. He had no reference point for that long-lost possibility… and yet, he still remembered that time, so long, long ago, when he had been happy. When he had been under the illusion that he was loved, and safe, and that the one adult in his life cared enough to do what was best for him.
He remembered that morning so well, because for years after, it was the last good memory he’d had to cling to on long nights where he lay in pain, barely able to move, and on the precipice of breaking completely. He remembered that morning, that one last morning in the early summer, when he’d awoken to sunlight in his mother’s caravan. He’d had a warm bed, a meal waiting for him, and books tucked under the cubbyhole beneath his bunk. Still cozy beneath the covers, he’d nibbled on a piece of hot bread, freshly from the oven that his mother had baked that morning, as he poured over a book. Not a story, but a text written exclusively about the different flora, fauna, and rocks and minerals within the region of Nairit, where he and his mother had recently ended up. It hadn’t been unlike any other morning; he had no reason to believe it would have ended on such a dark and terrible note.
“Isidor--you’re getting crumbs on the bed.” His mother had gently chided him, and plucked the book from his fingers. “Come and eat at the table like a civilized person.”
“Sorry, Mama,” he’d replied, with a mouthful of bread as he scrambled to the table, book still in hand. “Did you know, this place is full of pyrite? It’s in the soil. It looks like gold, but it’s not real gold. People call it ‘fool’s gold’ because it fools them into thinking it is gold. I wonder if we’ll find any!”
“Well, we’ll just have to see.” Solenice sat across from him and smiled softly. She really had, for all intents and purposes, felt like a real mother, at the time. “When you’re finished eating, let’s go take a walk. You can only learn so much from books. This is a beautiful, lush forest.” She gestured to the window, and rested a hand on his arm. “Why don’t we see what we can find?”
While his preferred method of getting to know the world was through books, the bright, young boy had not been entirely opposed to exploring in the safety of his mother’s presence. In fact, it was one of his favourite things to have her accompany him as he ran around outdoors, discovering what the world had to offer. The walk they had together was pleasant; it was a warm day, and she was in no rush, allowing him to take his time to examine whatever he found interesting along the way, be it the flora of the forest, or curious little animals foraging for food. “Mama--look at this!” Young Isidor plucked a tendril-like plant from the ground, snapping it off halfway. It oozed a clear, gelatinous liquid. “This can be used to help heal burns. Like a sunburn, or even a mild burn from fire. I read about it in that book today; it’s very useful.”
“Excellent. Now I know just what to look for, the next time I burn myself while making bread.” Solenice chuckled. “You never cease to amaze me, Isidor. One day I am teaching you letters, and suddenly, you take off reading and learning all on your own, while other children your age are too busy throwing balls around for amusement.”
“Throwing balls is boring. But the world is really interesting--don’t you think so, Mama?” Isidor dropped the sticky leaf and wiped his hands on his trousers and beamed at his mother. “It’s fun to learn new things about it every day. I like that we don’t have a normal house, so we can move around and find new places and new things. The caravan is the best home.”
“Isidor,” Solenice chuckled and reached down to touch her son’s face. “One day, your brilliance will truly change lives for the better. I believe it.”
He didn’t understand what she meant at the time, and didn’t think much of it. They’d walked further and further from the cozy caravan, until, almost like magic, a tower appeared before them, and a man with a stern face stepped outside. He regarded the young boy in front of him with distaste. “This is him? He doesn’t look like much at all.”
“He is my son. Both of my children are about as far from ‘not much’ as one could possibly get.” Solenice lifted her hand from Isidor’s shoulder and extended it, palm up. “I’ve brought you what you seek. You could live another century, and you won’t find a better candidate. The choice is yours--but do not waste my time.”
The man with the stern face frowned even deeper, creating more creases in his forehead and cheeks. There wasn’t even a fragment of kindness or warmth in his eyes; just looking at him had sent a chill down his spine. Who was this man? How did his mother know him, and what did he want?
The boy found out soon enough when the old man reluctantly handed her a bag. It clinked and jingled, and sounded like it was full of money. “He had better deliver like you promised he would.”
“I am no liar.” Solenice raised her eyebrows and took the bag full of money. “He’s already brilliant. But I’m sure you can bring out the best in him.”
Bring out the best? What did she mean? Isidor didn’t like this man, didn’t like the way he felt around him, or the gnawing pit in his stomach that warned him something was wrong. He didn’t understand what was happening. “Mama…?” But when he looked over his shoulder, Solenice was gone. And he was alone with the man who would single-handedly break him and put him back together as he so pleased, over the course of several years.
It was the last he ever saw of Solenice Kristeva, his mother, and the last that he knew of a happy life full of safety and love. His own mother hadn’t seen him as worthy of keeping, of nurturing… nor did Aristide’s mother. Nor did his own brother. To this day, he wondered what love and care he might have found had he escaped with Arisza to find her family, again… but that was an opportunity that he had squandered out of cowardice. He would never know if his best friend’s family would have seen him as worthy of being saved…
“I was never worth saving. It is all justified, isn’t it? Because of what I did for Elespeth. Because of what I can do for Aristide. Nothing else matters, so long as others continue to live…” Alster’s words were all but lost on the distraught Master Alchemist. His face felt hot; tears pricked his eyes, just as they had when he’d finally conceded defeat as a child, and recognized his mother would never come back for him. But I just wanted to live. I just wanted to be safe. Why wasn’t I allowed to have that…? He wasn’t proud that he’d hurt Nadira Canaveris with his words; but neither was he ready to apologize. And even if he proceeded with Nia’s risky plan… there is no guarantee he would be ready to apologize, even then.
“I wonder, if things had been different, if I’d have learned how to talk to people. I wonder if I’d have learned how to play, or how to properly befriend…” But could anyone really blame him, when the people who had mattered most had turned their back on him? Only Arisza had reached out--and she died for it. “I just… I just wanted to really live. To continue to see the world as something beautiful. But the truth is… I loved this world and its people much more, when its secrets weren’t revealed to me by touch.”
Clenching his hands into fists, Isidor pushed himself to his feet. “Alster… I don’t think I am reliable enough to create a parade float. Perhaps, instead of competing, you should lend your expertise to Nia and Aristide, and create something even greater together.” He offered no further explanation, before departing, but not for his chambers. He didn’t want to feel stifled--he needed space, and a lot of it. Neither the palace nor its residents would see him again for the remainder of the day or even come nightfall.
It was all a show, of course, a concentrated effort to appear like he was on the up and up, but one hopeful smile from Teselin and Hadwin began to reevaluate the stance on his complicated recovery. If acting right as rain would produce more smiles from the summoner, who had precious little to smile about nowadays, then he really had to lean more heavily on his priorities. Forget thinking so damn hard about everything. This whole bedridden for months thing had knocked him off his stride, getting him firmly lodged and stuck inside his head, where he, as a rule, never resided in for long. Why worry so much about depreciating in value, or accidentally causing a stir, when all he needed to consider was how to make Teselin happy? That was it; the only standard he needed to satisfy. One day, she would cease worrying so damn much about him, and imagining that day gave him enough of a goal to strive towards. I’m done holding you back, kid. You need a life. Friends. Romantic conquests. Folks who aren’t afraid to get close to you because you might blow down their home by accident.
Hence, the wheels of a plan turned in his head when in walked Sylvie Canaveris, a pure and unrelenting beacon of light, undeterred by stormy waters and whipping winds. She had to be, for why else would she so easily accept the likes of him, and unflinchingly treat Teselin as a person and not as an earthquake about to fracture the whole kingdom in two? Hell, she even expressed her mad respect for Alster Rigas, and not only did he belong to a rival family, but he caused her uncle a whole heap of trouble by dumping a cosmic hell beast on top of a village he’d just surrendered to the Canaveris lord. If that didn’t paint for Hadwin a picture of a young woman who showered everyone with the benefit of the doubt, then it was definitely in how she simply…shrugged off the news about almost frightening Nia to death last night. One could argue that Sylvie was merely acting as a stand-in for her hospitality-obsessed uncle, but he read her nonverbal tells differently. True, she wanted to be seen as a gracious host, and eagerly adopted her role as an extension of Ari, but also, she yearned to be surrounded by exciting people. The throb of adventure thrummed in her heart, and she heeded the call where possible, because the alternative was stagnation, and she feared it. Feared rotting away as a girl who achieved nothing more than as a glorified nanny to six younger brothers who didn’t appreciate her tireless services and squeezed the last drops of freely-given nectar until she withered and ran dry. For Sylvie, speaking with potentially dangerous people like Hadwin and Teselin gave her a thrill seldom experienced in her sheltered lifestyle.
So why not see what would come of pairing her up with the storm-prone summoner?
“Well, that’s why you’ve got Sylvie here as your guide. She knows what’s the latest in D’Marian fashion, and you, scamp, have seen the types of clothes I fancy, so with the two of you bumping heads, I’m sure you’ll find some outfits that’ll blow me away,” he said, handing the two of them another one of his signature grins. “And hey, if there’s time in the end, are either of you handy with a pair of scissors?” He ran his fingers through his tangle of hair, which in the long months of neglect had grown out, bunching at the nape into unruly waves long enough to gather into a ponytail. “Don’t think I’ve got the type of luscious locks made for lengthy hairdos, though if you know what pomade Ari uses to make his hair so shiny and smooth, I’d give it a go! I’ll have you know I was once considered Galeyn’s most eligible bachelor, and I personally see it as a challenge to knock Stella D’Mare’s most eligible bachelor off his podium…though I’m sure the ladies—and men—are gonna weep to discover that Nia’s caught his eye!”
As he playfully shooed the two young women towards the door, he added one more bit before shutting his big, blathering mouth and letting them get on with their set-up of a task. “Aw, Tes, you should know by now I can never get sick of you. Come back when you’re done, yeah? But only if you want to keep this old crank company—cuz I know I’ve been a barrel of laughs lately…and, well,” he blew out a sigh, and his easy grin dissipated, revealing the rubbed-out look he’d disguised behind his faux joviality, “you can use a breather, too, you know.”
On exiting the wolf’s chambers, Sylvie did not hesitate to lead her charge through the ornate corridors of the Canaveris villa, her slippered footfalls contacting the plush rugs laid atop the silver-veined marble tiles. “For all Stella D’Mare calls him a scoundrel, I think Hadwin Kavanagh is rather sweet,” Sylvie concluded, slowing in her steady strides so as not to tire or overwhelm Teselin. “At least, in the sense that he cares for you so very much. Forgive my presumption, for I hardly am acquainted with you or with Hadwin, but I do not believe you are an imposition to him at all. He is only worried about you insofar as your freedom is concerned. It seems to me that he wants you to be unburdened of him, not because he sickens of you, but because he is interested in seeing you live a life rife with happiness and self-fulfillment. If my assessment is true, then I for one find it incredibly touching, and I would love to assist by providing you with whatever pleases you most. Now,” she hurried, shielding some of the disappointment that was threatening to tug on her friendly features, “before you interject by saying, ‘I need nothing and I do not wish to impose,’ do reconsider. I am not yet ready to see our guests depart, especially if they depart out of the concern that they are not welcome, because that belief is misguided and…and wrong!” Ashamed of her sudden, impassioned outburst, she slapped at her cheeks, resolving to smother the patches of heat that likely manifested as a pink-bronze blush across her face.
“Ah, forgive me, Miss Kristeva. Where are my manners?” She tittered a laugh, trying and failing to recover from what she perceived as a hostess faux pas. “I cannot control whether you decide to leave, but I hope that you stay, truthfully. In fact,” she placed a fist in her open palm, striking it as one would strike a tinderbox to produce flame, “while we are in the realm of searching for appropriate attire at Hadwin’s behest, I see no reason not to optimize our search by also finding some suitable clothes for you to don. Not to say your current state of dress is unacceptable,” she passed her gaze over Teselin’s frumpy, too-large tunic, which trailed down to her knees and had more in common with a gunny sack than a deliberate fashion choice, “but wouldn’t you like to try something more appropriate for your size, that flatters your form or at the very least, grants you ample support in several key areas?” She gestured vaguely to her own body, hovering near the shape of her breasts, a modest curve that contoured well with the bodice of her yellow sundress. “I daresay we are similar in size, although it is hard to discern for certain unless we avail you of that tunic. Oh, won’t this be fun!” She launched forward as if to take Teselin’s hand, but refrained, having firmly been instructed to respect one’s boundaries, considering her uncle’s touch-aversion and her own strange…imperfections of the flesh. “Please tell me you accept, Miss Kristeva! If nothing else, it should be worth it to gauge Hadwin’s reaction, yes?!”
No one saw fit to save me, because if they had…what use would I be to them? Those words struck Alster like a hammer upon a blacksmith’s forge, rattling him with all the ensuing vibrations and blowback. How many times had he thought as Isidor did? And hadn’t he confessed the same to Elespeth recently, when he had, ironically, tried to save Isidor from his loneliness by utilizing dangerous magic to contact Tivia via the stars he had openly defied? I am only as relevant as my abilities, he had disclosed to his wife during one of his many recovery sessions in the sanctuary. Magic is my strength. My sole strength. If I lose what I was born and raised to excel in, to master, then…who am I?
It was the same sentiment. He and Isidor both had become formidable powerhouses because others deemed it so, irrespective of their input, their wishes, and their pleas for a different path. The principle difference between them, however, and one that Locque, of all people, reminded him of, was that Alster had been saved, multiple times over, by several people, at an age in which he was still young and impressionable enough to accept help. His father, one of his greatest childhood disappointments, had, at last, reached out, and guided him through the tumultuous aftermath of his horrific, citywide undertaking. Under his father’s tutelage, he would never become the brightest star of his namesake—outside influences inevitably spurred him towards his questionable obsession with heroic self-sacrifice—but through him, he learned how to forge a healthy relationship with his magic, pushing his limitations not out of obligation, but from a genuine interest in the process…in learning for the sake of pursuing the purity of knowledge. Isidor, on the other hand, had received knowledge in a corrupted form, and derived no comfort, no acceptance, from what he had been forced to master, against his will. So, while Alster and Isidor bore similar sentiments, similar motivations, what differed was in their relationship with power. Isidor didn’t want it, but saddled himself with the burden to give back to society out of guilt, whereas Alster, also driven by guilt, wanted more power, both as a means to pay off his monumental debts and to explore infinities of possibility to better himself and civilization at large. His goals were lofty, but they finally began to transcend his anger, his resentment…and eventually, his guilt. In short, he’d been given the tools to rise out of his self-made mire, his multitudinous slip-ups and regressions notwithstanding, but Isidor had nothing, leaving Alster at a loss for how he could save his friend, when his friend was utterly blind to hope and progress.
“It matters to me, Isidor,” Alster said, emphatic, but steeped in defeat, knowing his words would fall short of their mark. “You are worth saving as you are, as you were, as you could have been. Would that I could show you just how willing I am to help…” But you won’t let me. You won’t let anyone save you. Not as the person the world made you to be. Before you earned those runes, yes, but not now. Not when you’ve deemed yourself too unworthy to heal. “It’s not too late, Isidor, don’t you see? You can still learn to talk to people, to find happiness, to live and be loved…” He wasn’t listening, and was already walking away, rejecting any form of recreation, of companionship, of joy that could be derived out of their joint activity of building a float together. Or of spending any measure of time together, productive or not. Is there nothing I can do for you? Nothing at all?
“Isidor…” But Alster didn’t give chase, didn’t follow. Out of respect for his privacy, he gave him leave to depart, watching helplessly as his dear friend turned the corner and disappeared.
Upon returning to his chambers late that evening, Isidor was seized by some supernatural bout of tiredness and, before he could properly prepare for the overpowering sensation, collapsed just shy of reaching his bed. Prior to losing complete consciousness, explosions of ethereal light popped around his fading vision, little scatterings of stardust unmistakably celestial in nature.
When the spots cleared, Isidor was standing, as a young boy, beside Nadira Canaveris, small hand clutched in hers, as they approached a massive villa on a hill overlooking the sea, a place that outsized and outshined Galeyn’s miniaturized version twenty-fold.
“Well, here we are,” the former Canaveris matriarch said to the young boy, giving his trembling hand an encouraging, tender squeeze. “This is your home now. Come along. There are people who wish to meet you.” Two grown men waited by the gilded front doors to the villa, one who appeared in his early twenties by mortal human standards, his long, silken raven hair hanging past his shoulders and stylish red longcoat fluttering around his ankles in the ocean breeze. His dark eyes stared, unfocused and far away, down the stately hill and towards the shore. Beside him, an older man in his late twenties or early thirties sported wavy locks of hair that floated to his mid-back, his expression hooded, neutral, but with liquid brown eyes piercing and ever-discerning.
Nadira led the boy to the front entrance. “Aristide. Casimiro. Please welcome Isidor Kristeva. He will be living with us for the foreseeable future. Regard him as your new brother and treat him with the utmost dignity and grace as befitting your noble birthright.” Her brows dropped into a surly warning, which neither son had missed. Or else.
“Of course, mama,” Casimiro responded with immediacy, sweeping into a judicious bow at the waist, exacting in execution. Perfect. False. “The pleasure is all mine, young Master Kristeva. I am Casimiro Canaveris, the ruling patriarch of this fine estate. Do mind yourself well here, and I daresay you will fit in without trouble. I have several children—a bit younger than you—but they will most assuredly appreciate having another playmate to engage in games and general frivolity.”
A smart and not-so-subtle nudge from his brother dispelled whatever siren call to the sea had had Aristide so preoccupied and distracted. “Oh! My apologies.” He repeated Casimiro’s bow, an imperfect rendering, but almost endearing in comparison to the staid sterility as employed by the family Head. “I am Aristide Canaveris. Ari, if you would prefer.” He smiled, but the smile never affected his eyes. “Allow me to show you to your rooms. They are not far from my workshop—the quietest, most serene locale on these grounds. Perfect for study, contemplation, or artistic pursuits. Tell me honestly; do you fancy paint, or sculpt-work? If so, I would be happy to share my space, and share what I know if you are keen on learning.”
It turned out, young Isidor would capitalize on Ari’s invitation a few days later, at entirely the wrong time, for when he walked inside with barely a knock to inform his arrival, he found Ari on his hands and knees, surrounded by shards of broken pottery, blood dripping from his hand while the other lay limp on his lap, a dead weight petrified to gray-granite stone. When at last he noticed Isidor, Ari’s head shot up, tears brimming in his red-rimmed eyes. “Ah, Isidor…please excuse the mess. I have had a bit of an accident. Nothing alarming, I assure you. This is,” he gestured to his stony hand, “an experimental art installation. It errs on the macabre, yes, but it is but paint and plaster.” He wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his bloodied hand and rose, balancing the petrified appendage carefully in the crook of his arm as he searched in vain for a bandage to wipe the ‘paint’ off his palm. Throwing aside half-finished paintings and sculpted busts featuring the same haughty woman’s face projected on every medium, he didn’t get far in his frantic search when a child-sized hand offered a kerchief, and the small kindness not only stymied him still, but flooded his eyes anew.
“I…I thank you.” He removed the cloth from the child’s outstretched hand as though it were a delicate keepsake, liable to crumble under clumsy handling. “You do not mind if it retains a stain?” At the child’s gentle shake of his head, Ari bunched it up and placed it on the wound, staunching up the blood-like paint…the paint-like blood.
“I fear you are not seeing me at my best, Isidor,” he admitted, turning his hunched form away from the child to stare out of a crack in the drawn, blue-velvet curtains. “Adults should not act this way, yet here I am,” he chuckled without humor. “The truth is, I lost…well, I lost someone. Someone I loved. Someone I trusted. And…I do not think she will return. But this is nothing to mourn. We Canaverises do not mourn our losses,” he plucked some of the moisture out of his eyes, scrubbing them from existence. His petrified hand showed no sign of flaking, of shedding the ‘plaster’ he claimed had encased it stiff and inoperable. “We…we move forward. Would you like to move forward, too? We can do so together, you and I.”
Move together, they did. Throughout the years, their bond depended, blossomed, and grew, developing into a tight-knit fellowship steeped in a brotherhood so noteworthy, it impelled Casimiro to take notice. Generally neglectful of the Canaveris ward, the family Head did little more than tolerate the boy-turned-adult-turned-scholar, and his children followed suit with his father’s wishes, keeping at a respectful distance. Only Ari and Nadira treated him as a legitimate extension of their family, protecting his interests when Casimiro nearly requested he fight in the war between Andalari and Tadasun, a petty squabble over territorial disputes turned quickly violent. Their family remained strong after Casimiro fought in the war and met his demise, after Ari’s rise to supplant his brother as Canaveris Head, after the Serpent’s rampage over the city and its subsequent vanishing by one Alster Rigas, their most reviled rival, after Mollengard’s soft invasion, after the grueling D’Marian diaspora, and after the long resettlement process in Galeyn, which was interrupted by Locque, the kingdom’s resident bogeyman. Alster Rigas, maddened by grief over his wife’s untreatable condition, forsook his duties as D’Marian head and departed from the material world, leaving a power vacuum that Ari gleefully snatched. But it was not a position he maintained for longer than a season, for when Locque staged an offensive over Galeyn, and a fully deified Alster Rigas descended to do battle, D’Marians and Galeynians alike fell in the crossfire, including Ari, who, without Nia in the vicinity to fend off his invasive, life-threatening flare-up, succumbed to complications involving his curse and died, his heart calcifying and hardening to stone. Before he passed, Isidor, who was at his side, helpless and powerless to watch as his oldest friend and sworn brother lost all claims to the material plane, ended his life with a wan, but heartening smile. “It has been an honor…Isidor, my brother. Please…do not mourn me. Canaverises…we do not mourn. We move…”
We move forward.
His eyes lost their light before he could utter the last word. Nadira, beside herself with grief, cradled her son’s body and wailed her sorrow to the heavens and to the earth, caring not for how the Canaverises primarily handled death. Not mourning loved ones…how could one be so callous as to shed no tears, to not rail in rage against fate, against the congregation of stars above that winked and mocked the pain of humankind, who died and died a million times over while they stayed hungry, and burning, and unaffected?!
“Both of my sons are dead,” she sobbed into Isidor’s shoulder. “My sons, my husband…I am all who is left of my family. What have I done to inflict this curse upon them? What have I done…”
Isidor jostled awake from his dream to a polite rapping on his door. It persisted, in even intervals, never climbing in scale or petering out into silence--but neither did it cease. Once the Master Alchemist finally received his guest, an open door revealed…Ari. Equipped with his blackwood cane, the Canaveris lord, oddly stripped of his finery, sporting only a plain silken coat of royal blue and a white tunic underneath, which for him was dressing down, gave a polite bow of greeting. “Master Kristeva. Or, excuse me…Isidor,” he tested the familiar name on his tongue, his expression almost…contemplative. “My apologies for the early hour. My, has it been too long since I’ve frequented this section of the palace.” He made a half revolution with his feet, veering in the direction of a statue occupying the alcove beside Isidor’s quarters. “It is a shame Miss Cwenha’s memorial has sustained some structural damage,” he pointed to the chipped-off toes residing on the right foot. “While I am here, it is only right that I make a few repairs. I hope she has been a companionable presence for you during these last few tumultuous months.” He opted to leave out a very curious observation, revealed first by his pebble golems, of the Master Alchemist obsessively taking her measurements and absorbing every inch of detail at varying angles and lengths. Maybe he fancied himself an artist…or an ardent fan of the female form.
“This…is not why I am standing by your door,” he admitted, revolving to face Isidor, the patterning of his feet deliberate, too deliberate. Upon closer inspection, one could see him favoring his right arm over his left and listing rather severely, cane-wise. “‘Construction efforts at the palace require my immediate attention.’ This is the message I’ve relayed to my manservant to pass along to Nia. The truth, however, is far more damning. If she saw what I am concealing at present…it would cause her much stress and anxiety. She is too unwell, and the resulting strain, I fear, would exacerbate her injury and add another layer to the exhaustion she refuses to treat. I ask, humbly, for your specialized aid,” he lowered his head, sections of raven hair sliding off his shoulders and tumbling forward. “I do not typically acquire flare-ups during slumber, but this particular dream was…” he lifted his gaze to Isidor. Upon looking at the man, his brows folded in curiosity and confusion, as if seeing something he hadn’t noticed before. “Ah, let me not burden you with such a boorish topic. Seldom do others enjoy suffering through traversing the rich inner worlds of dreamscapes secondhand, when they make sense only to the dreamer. I should not bandy about the topic, nonetheless.” Stepping forward so that his shadow aligned with that of the doorway, thus providing a bit of cover in the publically-traversed space, Ari pulled down the left side of his coat and tunic sleeve, revealing a hard plate of stone directly over his chest. “It is affecting my lungs, I fear. And my heartbeat is sluggish, and,” he hesitated to use the word, “faltering. Isidor Kristeva,” he released the fabric, withdrawing one step out of respect for the alchemist’s personal space, which he had invaded, “I ask as a man, humbled and hobbled. Please may you grant me your hands for this most demanding task? I know I have little right to ask you, all things considered…but I am not without my price. Ask…and you shall receive, if it is in my power to grant.”
“If you don’t mind… I’ll come back later.” Teselin said, relieved that he wasn’t ushering her out for the sake of getting her out of his hair. “We’ll get some outfits in the works for you, and we can consult the Canaverises about a barber to style your hair. Although I always thought you enjoyed looking a little wild?” She returned Hadwin’s smile, and ultimately, relented and followed Sylvie out of the room.
It was at least heartening that Sylvie chose to see the best in Hadwin, when so much of the population--her brother included--chose otherwise. Sometimes it was exhausting to have to justify her connection to him to other people. “Hadwin is a good person who has been dealt terrible hands. He’s never wanted to cause harm out of malice…” Of course, she still wasn’t privy to what had become of him the other night, and how it had frightened Nia, so… but it must have been a symptom of something else. At least, that was what she wanted to believe. “Honestly, he’s only in this condition because of me. I wasn’t being careful… he was only trying to make sure I didn’t get hurt. If anything,” she smiled weekly, “I have quickly become his burden. He’s never been a burden to me--he’s like family! I… I’ve never had the opportunity to grow close to either of my older brothers. And with Vitali gone, and Isidor intent on leaving for Nairit again… Hadwin is my only constant. Some days, I don’t know where I would be without him…”
While others might have been well acquainted with Canaveris hospitality, Teselin now experienced it firsthand through Sylvie, who now was not only insisting she stay, but that she also don more… flattering attire. Her cheeks coloured a little at the offer. “I… truly, I’ve never given much thought to what I wear. I’ve spent most of my life traveling, so everything I’ve owned has merely been comfortable and weather-appropriate. But not exactly… fashionable.” Come to think of it… she really had been sporting the same dowdy tunics for years. Since she was a child, in fact. But Teselin was hardly a child anymore, and maybe… just maybe, Sylvie had a point.
“Well… if we are in search of clothes for Hadwin, anyway, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to take a look?” Sylvie seemed so enthused at the task that Teselin couldn’t possibly turn her down; her energy was infectious! It was hard to believe, that not long ago, before she had been captured and tortured by Mollengard… the young summoner had been much the same. “Since I’d like to stay close to Hadwin, I’d like to remain in your villa, if it isn’t much trouble. I don’t need my own room or anything--I could sleep on a log if need be. I don’t want to be a bother… really, I just want to make sure he’ll be alright.”
Alster had said it wasn’t too late. That even if he hadn’t mattered to anyone twenty-something years ago, as a bright, vulnerable boy who had only ever desired to get to know his world through gentle and supported exploration, he could still matter now, as a person. As someone the world had effectively broken. Maybe there was even some truth to it: hadn’t he mattered to Tivia, for even a short period of time? Their beautiful but brief union had temporarily allowed him to let go of the past and, for once, find solace and happiness in the present. But that union had been ill-fated… because he had never been prepared for it in the first place. He had effectively ruined it, because he had no idea what he was doing, or what was acceptable, or what was right. What was the point in hoping or actively searching for another opportunity like that, if he was already too far removed from an ordinary human being to be able to properly enjoy and nurture relationships of any sort? “One day, your brilliance will truly change lives for the better. I believe it.” That was the last kind thing Solenice had ever said to him, and at the time, he hadn’t understood what she’d meant. It turned out, she was right: but what she had failed to mention is what he would have to sacrifice to get there. That one day, his worth would be solely reduced to his skills…
It didn’t matter that the powerful Rigas mage thought he could save him now; there was no innocence, no vibrancy… there was nothing left to save. Nothing worthy, anyway.
“It is too late, Alster. Because this is my path, that others chose for me.” The Master Alchemist murmured to himself as he made his way to his room. There was no getting those lost years back; there was no backtracking to find a better path to a better life, because the damage was already done. And he was the result of it.
Isidor turned the handle on the door knob when he reached his chambers, and hastily shut himself in, desperate for a moment alone, so that the world could not watch him fall apart. But no sooner did he release the handle that an abrupt heaviness washed over him, causing him to stumble forward, barely managing to maintain his balance as he grabbed the bed post. His free hand clutched his head as his vision began to swim. So tired… what was coming over him, all of a sudden? He needed to lie down… just for a moment. Just long enough for the dizziness to pass…
He didn’t make it to his bed before his legs gave out, and blackness blanketed his vision.
When he opened his eyes again, the world around him was moving. Blinking back to consciousness, he managed to take in what appeared like the inside of a carriage before it pulled to a halt. The door beside him opened, and a woman with dark hair and rich skin took him by the hand, and told him, “Well, here we are. This is your home now.” Her hand was warm; her voice was kind. He hadn’t held a hand or heard a voice like that in a long time.
But where was here? Who was she? Uncertainty made him tremble from head to toe, but he had no choice but to go with this woman, who escorted him toward what appeared to be a lavish home, with two men who also bore rich skin tones. One man addressed him with politesse and austerity, and the other seemed a bit flustered, but neither one exuded the same bone-deep chill that Zenech had. He was reluctant to let go of the kind woman’s hand and depart the forcefield of safety her presence gave off, but the man with shorter hair didn’t appear to be a threat. Hesitantly, he followed him, and in the days that followed, it was some time before he could comfortably fall asleep at night, overwhelmed by the culture shock of his new surroundings and this family that had welcomed him to their home. He wondered if it was a good idea for him to be there at all: What if Mama comes back to find me? What if Vitali comes back…? But he knew deep down that neither one of those people, his own flesh and blood, would ever come back for him. And that the kind yet commanding woman with rich skin was the sole opportunity the universe had sent at a chance for happiness. When at last he began to grow more comfortable in his new surroundings, he decided to finally take a chance and take up the man called Aristide on his offer to see his workshop. But as luck would have it, he arrived at what appeared the most inconvenient of times.
The first thing he noticed was the blood, which instantly sent his stomach into roiling knots, but what startled him more was the sculptor’s hand, which looked to be made entirely of… stone. “Wh… what happened? Your hand… you’re hurt…” He gasped in a trembling breath. Completely on reflex, he hauled his own personal handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to the bleeding man in front of him. Aristide did not go into the details of why he was bleeding, or what exactly had happened to his hand, but he did reveal to young Isidor another avenue of pain he was experiencing. It must have been profound, for tears pricked the corners of his eyes. “...I lost someone, too.” He replied softly after a moment. “I always thought… I wanted to think she was coming back. Because I couldn’t think of anything that I did wrong. But… Lady Canaveris came instead.” Thinking of his mother still made him want to cry. He still remembered her and the Caravan so clearly: the lumpy bunk beds. The rough terrain they’d traversed. The buttery taste of her freshly baked bread in the morning. But Aristide said that the appropriate thing to do was not to dwell, or mourn, but to move on. So that was what he would do.
“...I want to move forward,” he told the man, who would gradually become the older brother to him that Vitali had never been. Isidor quickly grew attached to Ari and his kind, welcoming aura, and it wasn’t long before he learned his dark secret: the real reason behind his hand and why it looked like stone, for it was not the last time that he would bear witness to such an event. Eventually, the Kristeva boy approached Nadira with a request--no, it wasn’t even a request. It was determination, and perhaps the boldest step that Isidor had ever taken.
“Lady Canaveris… can I speak with you?” He asked her one day, approaching her in the Canaveris library. When he had her attention, he met her eyes with a bld resolve he didn’t know he was capable of. “Lady Canaveris… I want to help Ari. I want to study alchemy--just ordinary alchemy. It can be just as powerful as Master Alchemy, it’s just not as intuitive and the results might take longer and the process is more tedious… but I’ve already got a foundation. I’ll find a way to help Ari, so that he can live the life he deserves to live. Will… will you let me?” He took her hands in his. It had been some time since he’d been subjected to Zenech’s training; since it was left incomplete, the runes developing on his hands had begun to fade. “Please let me learn to help Ari, Lady Canaveris.”
Of course, Nadira did not hesitate to set him up with the highest quality tutors and resources that Stella D’Mare had to offer. Over the years, those incomplete runes on his hands faded almost to nothing, but those hands still worked furiously toward his goals. The difference was, the only pressure Isidor worked under was the pressure he put upon himself. While Casimiro never really seemed to accept him into the Canaveris household, and his family remained rather distant, both Nadira and Ari were fully supportive of him and his pursuits. Instead of working away agonizingly at tasks that he did not want to do, involving harming others or even taking lives while locked in a tower, Isidor had the entirety of Stella D’Mare at his disposal, consistently warm, nutritious meals, a safe place to sleep, and… care. Even though he was not technically a Canaveris, Nadira never turned a cold shoulder or turned him away, and Ari was a brother to him like any other, as far as he was concerned.
Isidor grew up with a sense of self-actualization and purpose. While still an introvert at heart, and a little more awkward around others than his adoptive family, he made an effort to socialize at events, and even went so far as to make a few friends. He progressed so steadily in his studies that by the time he reached his late-teens, he had surpassed all of his mentors in the art of alchemy and became Stella D’Mare’s most capable alchemist who didn’t rely on magic as a buffer. As life unfolded, however, not all was sunny and bright for long. Admittedly, Casimiro’s passing did not affect him much, but the attack on Stella D’Mare and the need to evacuate the place he had called him was as heartbreaking for him as it was his new family.
Things grew even more complicated at their arrival and establishment in Galeyn. Soon after, the controversial Head of Stella D’Mare, Alster Rigas, abandoned his duties after his wife fell gravely ill, and Ari was quick to pick up the slack. But that came with consequences, and the stress worsened his unique condition, leading Isidor to worry about his health. And when the witch Locque had revealed herself as a threat, she came accompanied by not only a feral she-wolf, but a remorseless Master Alchemist. Something Isidor might have become, had Nadira not torn him away from that toxic life. The Master Alchemist who identified herself as Nia was chatty and obnoxious, and showed zero remorse for her title, or for working with the kingdom’s greatest threat--and Isidor hated her instantly. She even went so far as to try and negotiate surrender with Ari and the D’Marians, but Isidor, never far from Ari’s side, cautioned him to keep his distance.
“Ari, there is nothing redeemable about that woman. She exhibits no remorse for who she is or what she has done: she’s only out for her own self-preservation. Please be careful… you must keep your distance. If the rumours are true, and she is a descendant of the Ardane family of Ilandria…” He furrowed his brows and pursed his lips. “That family is as bad as Zenech, the man who held me captive, in their own right. She works for the witch, and is our enemy: we cannot forget that. And you must never, never let her touch you, lest she find out your secret. Here…” He handed the Canaveris Lord a small vial of vibrant, pink liquid. “Your arm should be as good as new by tomorrow morning.”
Isidor had made progress in Ari’s treatment, insofar as he was able to craft tonics that reduced the duration of his adoptive brother’s symptoms. Admittedly, it was slow acting, and did not treat the cause, but it allowed Ari to feel held captive by his curse just a little bit less, when the stone would dissipate in a day instead of two or three. But, unfortunately… that was not enough.
The night came where the peak of Locque’s terror came down hard on the D’Marian settlement--and in, particular, on the Canaveris villa. The monster that caved in the ceiling had struck Ari with such terror, it had petrified his heart… and Isidor’s tonics and serums would not take effect fast enough to save him. “Ari--Ari, it’ll be okay! You need to hold on,” Isidor begged, panicked, as his brother and best friend began to fade in his arms. “I’m not going to say goodbye, do you understand? You need to hold on… just give me a little time…”
But there was no time, and Aristide was gone. Nadira sobbed, a woman left without any of the family she had begun with… and only Isidor left. Isidor, who could never fill the shoes of a real Canaveris. “I’m sorry. I...I’m sorry I couldn’t… save him. I’ve… failed you, Lady Canaveris.” He was not a Canaveris; he did not hold his emotions in, and wept just as freely as the woman who had saved him. Who saved him… and yet, lost both of her biological sons. She did not deserve this. Ari did not deserve this. But Isidor… did he deserve this? Did he deserve to live this beautiful, pain-free life, when the family who had welcomed him lay completely shattered.
Nadira had saved him… but was this the life he deserved?
The Master Alchemist awoke with a pounding headache that mimicked the pounding at the door, and with a mind full of… memories. Impossible memories that should not belong to him, because that was not how his life had played out. Memories of a bountiful home, surrounded by care and encouragement… but that had only been a dream. Just a dream, yet why… Why had it felt like so much more?
The rapping at his door did not cease, so he eventually pulled himself to his feet and groggily made his way over to the door. These days, it was anyone’s guess who might be standing in the doorway: but he’d never have anticipated his company, this time around.
“Lord Ca--Ari…?” Isidor blinked several times, turning his attention to the damaged statue of the former Missing Links’ acrobat when Ari mentioned it. “Oh… of course. The statue. It’s lovely, damaged or not. You are quite talented…” But Isidor knew he had not come to make idle chat--especially not showing up unannounced. Something was the matter, and he stood quietly by until Ari saw fit to confess the real reason for his visit.
“That… Ari, that sounds rather alarming.” He said outright, when the other man divulged the details. “May I…?” Isidor reached forward with a hand to touch Ari’s petrified chest. “And this… is all from a dream? I… I just awoke from a strange dream, myself. But it left me with a mere headache…” And that last, terrible scene, was still so fresh in his mind. Where he had yearned to help this man, to save his life, and he could not. Ari had died, in that dream, but he was alive and well in reality. And unlike the Isidor in the dream… this was something he could fix. “Please come in--you need to lie down. Take as much stress off your body as possible.”
What was going on? Just days ago, he couldn’t have cared less about this man, and now… it was like he knew him. Like that kinship he’d felt in his dream lingered, and they had been connected all along. Refusing Ari help did not even cross Isidor’s mind, and he immediately sorted through the mess on his desk to find a tiny scalpel to sanitize. I couldn’t save him… The sobs of the Isidor in his dream still rang in his ears, such that he felt it in his own chest, like a weight he couldn’t lift. The truth was, Nia Ardane had not been there to save Ari at the pivotal moment for a number of reasons. For one, Alster Rigas, distraught by the imminent death of his wife, was not there to transport her in time, but more notably… the Nia in his dream had died, just hours prior to Ari’s death. She had never befriended Alster, as he was no longer part of the physical plain, and more importantly… she and Ari had never become romantically involved, because Ari had heeded Isidor’s advice not to get close to her. Instead, she had met her end shortly after Locque had unleashed her fury, ironically at the hands of the very invisible beasts the witch had summoned.
It all made sense: Elespeth was slated for death, because Isidor was not able to help her. As a result, Alster had lost himself. Without anyone to call a friend, Nia had adhered to Locque’s side, and died as a result, leaving no one to save Ari when he needed it the most. All of this… because Isidor had not become the right person, in the right place, at the right time. All because of him…
...I get it, now. The Master Alchemist thought with quiet dismay and defeat as he cleaned off the scalpel with a sanitizing solution. There was never a life for me without sadness and pain. At least, on his current path… several important people were still alive. Elespeth; Alster; Nia; and… Ari. This path… as much as it destroyed me… who’d have thought it was the path of least destruction?
“I understand that you wouldn’t want to bother Nia to help you in her current condition.” Isidor crossed the room to where Ari lay on his bed, and nicked his palm with the tip of the blade to draw blood. “I daresay this would leave her physically disadvantaged for a day or so. She’s not doing as well as she lets on, you know. When I ran into her the other morning and handed her what she needed to provide care for Hadwin Kavanagh, I detected a substance in her system that I cannot identify; something from the Night Garden, I imagine. She may be using it to stay awake… and she won’t recover if she doesn’t let her body rest. Ari…”
Isidor paused, as he ran a skilled hand over the man’s petrified chest, slowly but surely buffing away the stone. Even after that dream, that had unleashed a flood of emotions that didn’t even belong to the version of himself in this reality, he would not apologize to Nadira. But… neither would he force her to divulge what she knew to Ari and Nia. For the kind woman in his dream who had taken his hand and brought him to a better place… this was the kindness that he chose to offer her. “Seeing what I am right now… this condition is posing more of a threat to you than I realized. And, in my own professional opinion, I feel that your treatment should be expedited. The only thing happening in this kingdom at present is a celebration; your health can be prioritized. But… forgive me for saying so, but both you and Nia are the agents holding it back.”
When his concentration was fixed on Ari’s heart and lungs, Isidor fell silent to concentrate, and did not speak up again until the man’s pulse stabilized, and his oxygen levels rose. “You both have things you are not telling one another, information that is pertinent to the success of the procedure, and non-disclosure is not going to serve anyone if we want to see that success. I think... you know what I mean. Oh--don’t sit up right away. Give yourself a minute to adjust.” Had had to cut rather deep into Ari’s hand for the amount of blood required to reverse his symptoms, Isidor bandaged the small gash with sterile gauze. “You need to be up front with Nia about the state of your forecast longevity, as things stand. And she… she has a lot she needs to divulge to you, regarding risks within the procedure, as far as we have come with planning it. So… here is what I want in return for my services.”
Standing up, he put the scalpel aside to be re-sterilized, and adjusted his spectacles to meet Ari’s gaze. “When you return today, I want you to speak with Nia. Tell her what I said. Tell her what I told you to tell her… and when you’ve both divulged what needs to be said, I want neither one of you to make any decisions about going forward with this procedure until you speak to me. From there, we will involve Alster, and the four of us are going to have a very long discussion about how to proceed. Is that fair? Oh, and speaking of Alster…” He dropped his gaze, and ended up staring at the floor again. “I… I don’t think I will be proceeding with crafting that float with Alster. We haven’t begun to build, yet; perhaps you and Nia would consider welcoming him to work on your project, instead of competing? I can only imagine anything the three of you can devise would be nothing less than brilliant.”
Slumber had encroached on Ari so suddenly the night before, giving him little time to prepare for the ensuing crash. Following supper, a swirl of lightheadedness descended, along with a cloying fatigue behind his eyes, and the signs were too telling to ignore. Always so attuned to the demands of his body, he was apt to listen when an imbalance occurred, and this particular imbalance was one battle from which he was unable to emerge victorious. With a heavy heart, for he’d intended to heed Nia’s advice and speak with his nephew (not to mention, he had yet to contact Alster on seeing to Nia’s leg that evening, or address exactly what had occurred between her and Hadwin the night before), he cancelled all other plans and retired to bed immediately.
The moment his head made contact with the pillow, the world around him melted, then coalesced into a new setting. Stella D’Mare unfurled before him like a bolt of aquamarine fabric, at once vibrant and jewel-toned as he remembered, but with one noticeable difference. It seemed to shimmer in the air, like a mirage, or a water mirror, its reflection distorted. This place was Stella D’Mare adjacent, but that was an observation for a waking Aristide to make. For now, he was fully immersed, submerged, into this new reality. His sole reality. Never did he question Isidor Kristeva’s steadfast presence, his fierce loyalty unmatched only by Lazarus, whose fabricated soul demanded his unwavering fidelity to the Canaverises. This was simply how it had always been: with Isidor as his adoptive brother, the devoted friend he yearned to find in the confines of his relatively lonely existence, surrounded by the sculpted stone constructs of his own creation, Lazarus, his mother, and on occasion, Casimiro. Gone was Chara Rigas, having evacuated his life after fleeing in disgust over their sex-related mishap and the horrifying result brought on by performance anxiety. Weeks had elapsed. Months. No sign of Chara anywhere near their rendezvous point. He combed the beach obsessively, searching in vain for the barest hope of her; a glimpse of sunny blonde hair, the slip of her gown by the waterside, the flash of her intelligent, terrifying eyes…but nothing. Not one to be deterred, he sat on the sand and waited for her like a foolish puppy pining for the return of its caretaker who had long ago drowned at sea. Wasn’t it just like him to embody the same pathetic role he had played decades before, when he scanned the horizon line for the emerging sails of his father’s ship? Only…the sails he spotted had been black.
In spite of his fading optimism, he waited, under the bake of the hot sunlight, under the starry calm of night, amid storms that soaked him through and sent chills over his skin, chills that tingled and assailed him with shivers so familiar, because they reminded him of her, and if this was the closest he would reach to receiving her embrace, then he would contend with whatever illness he contracted during the aftermath. Pleurisy, pneumonia, a frozen heart…he didn’t care, as long as someone still cared to hold him as a human, as a person not liable to crack and break into pieces on the ground. He would have stayed there forever if not for Lazarus forcibly dragging him back to the villa before anyone noticed his disappearance.
Reduced to his deepest low, Ari, alone, shattered, bloody, and tearful, crouched in the center of his artist’s workshop, amid destroyed pieces of his own art, of her, and it was where young Isidor had stumbled upon him and, even though he had no reason to show concern for a man he hardly knew, had delivered a small but heartfelt token into his bloodied hand. If this small and terrified child, who suffered far worse atrocities than a broken heart and occasional turns of petrifaction, could set aside his fear in service to a stranger and open up to his pain so willingly, then Ari could do right by the boy and lead by example. To be a role model, the type that others looked to for guidance. Hadn’t he always wanted to be needed instead of needy? Not to exist as some resource sink that required constant care and maintenance to function merely as a half-formed member of the family? Thus, they formed an unwritten pact to sally forth in spite of adversity. To move forward, together…
For young Isidor had planted a seed in Ari that day. I never again want to feel helpless and over-reliant. I want to give, to provide.
I want to lead.
Little did he realize his wish would come to fruition a handful of years later.
It was a short-lived reign, he thought as he rapidly cycled through his present situation. He had been pinned beneath Casimiro’s memorial statue, trapped in the eerie, magical-generated darkness of Locque’s widespread chasm. An unseen creature had formulated from the nether-space and launched at him, but a solid body intercepted the attack in time and hauled it away with massive reserves of strength. A distinct scent, like mud, like slurry, rich and earthy, wafted into Ari’s nostrils, filling him with deep-pitted dread.
Lazarus!
Hunks of wet clay sloughed from the massive golem and splattered across the ballroom floor. The monster was dissolving him, unmaking him; he felt each pronounced tear shred and slice at his head, through the avenues of their decades’ old psychic bond, and the thoroughness of the carnage rattled him into flinch after unbearable flinch…until the waves abated, and nothingness prevailed. Lazarus was gone, and Ari…was frozen. His arteries clogged as though with plaster, and crystals formed over his heart, hardening, seizing, crushing down with all the force of iron ore. The force of his pulse knocked harder on his ribcage to counteract the sudden assault on his failing organ, but this measure only bought him seconds. Several painful, but vital, precious seconds…to say goodbye. Somehow, through the intractable barriers of darkness, he knew Isidor was near, and more stricken than he, because while Ari had the prescience to know his ending with certitude and clarity, his brother did not possess such insight. For him, the future granted no sure answers; only confusion, and grief, and loss.
I do not want this for you.
Live on, move forward, and do not mourn, my brother. We all knew how this would end; exactly as it had begun.
What is borne of earth will return to earth.
I only wish…
I could have lived longer…
For you.
But when he closed his eyes to die, he had opened them elsewhere, and lived.
And how narrowly he had lived! Ari awoke in his bed to discover a thick layer of stone covering his chest plate…along with a head full of memories that did not previously exist. They differed, however, from the ephemeral clouds of vapor from which dreams were typically spun. After the rains fell, the clouds scattered and the water buried into the ground, hardly remembered after the sun returned and dried up much of what remained, save for any stubborn droplets clinging to the undersides of leaves. Such was the nature of dreams; only the wisps survived, if that, and they told an imperfect tale, fraught with inconsistencies, lexical gaps, and incongruities too vast and bizarre to string together into a comprehensible whole.
But in contrast, this dream held volume, no, tomes heavy with volumes of lore. There existed no holes, no missing pages, no foggy recollection, no cryptomnesia. He did not stumble across a similar series of events that his overactive imagination rewrote into its own original story to present as a fresh and new bedtime fairytale. On the other hand…he had experienced these feelings, this connection, this other world. Perhaps…in another life.
It therefore took Ari a bit by surprise when Isidor admitted to waking from a dream he defined as ‘strange,’ but assuming the other man said as such as an attempt at conversation, he relaxed a little. After all, weren’t all dreams designated as strange?
“It was not exactly an unpleasant dream. Well, save for the end. This may sound a little morbid, and not conducive to a productive dialogue, as I am doing exactly what I promised not to discuss, regarding dream recollection, but I…well, I met my demise.” He stepped through the threshold of Isidor’s quarters, pointedly ignoring the curtains of dust and the wild disarray of papers and books strewn all about the table, the floor…the bed. Everywhere but on the actual shelves. “The curse smothered my heart, succeeding where it had failed, several weeks ago. When I awoke, I was greeted by this handsome specimen,” he tapped against the plate of stone, “and…I suppose I must consider myself fortunate for the near-miss.” He faced Isidor with a smile, a smile reserved for very few individuals. Family, primarily, radiating warmth, fondness…and a touch of mirth. Catching himself in the overly-familiar gesture, he placed a strategic hand over his mouth and released a throat-clearing cough. How embarrassing, and socially unacceptable! What had impelled him to treat the man as though he had known him…for many years?
At Isidor’s instruction, Ari headed for the bed for a lie-down, again doing his best to ignore the frumpy, untidy sheets and their rather stale odor. He discreetly cleared aside some papers before propping his cane against the wall and reclining on the bed—the same bed on which Isidor and Nia had…relations—bolstering his head atop the pillow for a better vantage point of the proceedings. “One of these days, I will have to insist that you and Nia poke me elsewhere,” Ari said, his tone breezy and half-joking. But only half. He flexed his affected fingers, the well of blood on his palm pooling into an even larger puddle. “Too many nicks and bruises on my hand can impact my ability to sculpt, and I’ve much sculpting to do in preparation for the parade float. It is just as well that I have devised workarounds for when one hand is too…stiff to operate effectively, but I would prefer not to hinder my optimization practices when speed is paramount..” His ongoing flood of words served a purpose other than verbosely stating his blood-drawing preferences. Understanding all too well Isidor’s aversion to blood, he spoke and spoke to distract him from the task until he was ready to tackle the slab of stone weighing on, and slightly crushing, his heart and lungs. Perhaps it was more accurate to say that Ari was trying to distract himself from facing his own mortality, and from focusing too much on the grin memento left behind upon waking from death, but alas, the more he spoke, the more winded he became, requiring him to pause and take a few recovering breaths. As Isidor worked, diligently shaving off the weight and bulk from his chest, Ari’s burdened and encumbered organs eased, allowing him to expand his diaphragm with better ease. His heart, for its part, found its old rhythms and pitter-pattered at a normal pace, neither skipping nor dragging along at a snail’s crawl.
Although Isidor had removed the malignant flare-up weighing on his chest, another weighty topic dropped from above to take its place. Abiding Isidor’s advice, Ari waited a moment before sitting up slowly, his uninjured hand sliding over the soft, smooth plains of restored flesh beneath his collarbones, satisfied in the elastic rebound bouncing up from under his fingertips.
“So…you are aware,” he sighed with finality, not sounding in the least bit surprised. To avoid Isidor’s perceptive gaze, he lowered his head and busied his fingers with rebuttoning his tunic. “It may sound silly and unreasonable, but do not wish to place a moratorium on festivities in favor of my health. I should fare just fine in the interim, or until celebrations conclude. Such disproportionately-sized flare-ups are uncommon. Or…” he shifted uncomfortably on the bed, “they were uncommon. Not to worry, though,” he slapped on a reassuring smile. “I am nothing but resilient, Isidor, and under the most exemplary care, I might add. I thank you, nonetheless, for your counsel. And for your prompt response to my unscheduled emergency. Your eye for detail and professionalism are without peer. You have my unerring gratitude.” However, his enduring smile faltered when Isidor not only suggested that Nia was withholding pertinent information from him, but that he reveal to her the truth about his projected survivability rate. “I…do not wish to alarm her,” he stared into his lap. “The last time I rejected her aid for a cure, she did not respond well to my demurral in the least. If she learned of my ‘forecast longevity,’ as you put it, the news would devastate her. However, as she is now…I would not allow her to proceed with this operation unless she is at peak health. And you are implying she may be far shorter from her peak than I realize…” Lapsing into thoughtful silence, Ari reached forward for his cane, just to give himself something to grip. A stabilizing aid, in a moment of uncertainty. “I am a man of my word,” he said after a length pause, a little pale around the cheeks. “If this conversation is what you request as payment, then I shall see it done.”
As he climbed to his feet—carefully, so as not to upset his balance—a footnote of a comment from Isidor inspired him to forsake his attentive footing in favor of whirling on the Master Alchemist like a sudden gust of wind. “Nonsense!” he yelled, in a spirited outburst so unlike the calm and polished Canaveris Lord. “You can do no such thing!” Realizing the clueless man’s probable lack of understanding his unintentional social affront, or the grave insult it carried towards his would-be competitors, namely, him, Ari withdrew his intensity, voice lowering to a previously acceptable volume as he ventured a patient explanation. “Isidor, there is no honor in winning by default. I will not have it. If you do not participate in building this float, then neither will I. It simply cannot happen. May I ask why you have decided to change your mind? It cannot possibly be for lack of skill.” He lifted one of Isidor’s discarded papers, featuring a handsomely detailed sketch of Alster’s prosthetic arm. “If you can draw this, and design its three-dimensional replica with near-exact proportions and configurations—and I know you have succeeded on this front, having seen the final product on Alster, himself—then you cannot claim your unpreparedness for a similar, albeit larger-scaled task.” He leveled the Master Alchemist with a fierce, unblinking look. “Do listen well. You are brilliant. Use that brilliance well. I implore you, Isidor—defeat me. I dare you.” His soil-churned eyes narrowed their challenge. “Grant me your official answer by the end of today so I may inform my team on whether we must cancel the event.”
Ari returned to the Canaveris villa by midday, after indeed checking on construction efforts at the observation tower (to which his mother seemed a little out of sorts). An hour’s travel by carriage brought him home to the D’Marian settlement. As luck (or misfortune) would have it, Ari encountered Nia near the entranceway, en route from Hadwin’s chambers.
“Ah, Nia! Lovely afternoon. Do you have a moment?” He might as well get this discussion over with, before he lost his inertia. He swept out his arm for her to take. “Will you accompany me to the garden?”
The Canaveris gardens were a new addition to the grounds, located behind the villa and just ahead of the glittering grotto in which many of their fondest memories had blossomed. He chose not to head inside, electing to linger near the lily pond so as not to taint the tranquility of their beautiful refuge. A tiny waterfall trickled into the lily pond, causing small ripples to form upon the shallows. Black-spotted orange koi fish flicked their iridescent tails, their suctioning mouths popping out of the water in search of handouts. Ari guided Nia to a stone bench across from the pond, laying his cane on its side as he took a seat beside her.
“While I was at the palace this morning, I paid Isidor a visit,” he began, his attention fixated on the serene waters. “I confess, my primary reason for traveling to the center of Galeyn was not construction-related, but in answer to a particularly nasty flare-up I awoke with this morning. As I could not, in good faith, allow you to treat my flare-up in your present condition, I enlisted Isidor’s services instead. Moreover, he was forthright in informing me of certain…complications that may befall you during this procedure. Please be aware,” he rested a gentle hand atop her own, “if you are nothing but at the pinnacle of health, I will not allow this procedure to happen. As you are now…it will not go forward. That is my strict and uncompromising condition, and it is entirely non-negotiable. But Isidor seems to believe there is something else I do not know, regarding this operation—involving you.” He raised one hand, his bandaged hand, and rested his fingers on her cheek. “Won’t you tell me, Nia? What is it I do not know? In exchange…” he inhaled a courageous breath, “I shall reveal to you something I would rather you never learned.”
He lowered his head to his chest, which, just this morning, had hardened into an unyielding plate of stone. “My flare-ups are worsening in grade. You yourself bore witness to it, during Locque’s bestial assault. My heart would have succumbed to stone, were it not for your speedy delivery at the cusp of time. As it stands, and please do not be alarmed…I cannot imagine my body is equipped to handle the numerous stressors associated with the escalation, growth, and increased frequency of these flare-ups. In other words,” he placed a hand over his chest, “I feel myself deteriorating at an expedited rate, and…I will soon reach my event horizon, where I can no longer fend off my petrifaction episodes. Simply, there will come a time when I…cease to be. But there is no need to fret just yet, or rush along the process,” he hurried, pressing upon Nia’s shoulders in case a surge of panic bounced her to her feet and placed unnecessary strain on her injured leg. “Isidor is instructing us to delay our plans until he and Alster can devise a solution which is amenable to all parties, and I think we should adhere to his advice. I…trust him.”
“Dreams of death that leave you to awaken in a state that could very well result in that same outcome only makes me all the more concerned,” Isidor mentioned, brows creasing in a furrow as he stepped aside to allow Ari entrance to his room. It was rather alarming to hear that Ari would dream of dying and then wake up to such an incident as his heart and lungs compromised by a particularly nasty flare-up, but what struck him as all the more startling was the implied similarity to the dream that he’d had, as well. “I… it so happened that I dreamed…” For whatever reason, something gave Isidor the idea that it would be perfectly acceptable to enlighten Ari as to the details of his dream, as well. That he had also witnessed the Canaveris lord’s death toward the end, when the rest had been, just like Ari had described… pleasant. A dream of another world, another time, when he had lived a good life. A life where Nadira Canaveris rescued him from pain, and where he had found comfort, happiness, and fulfillment in his new home, among a new family. It had been everything that Isidor, from a young age, had ever wanted. And then… he had lost the thing that had meant the most to him. The person who had made the greatest impact in his life… who Also happened to be the person in his room right now, awkwardly moving books off of the bed so that he could lie down, as instructed.
Afraid that it would come across as too strange, Isidor abruptly dropped the topic with a shake of his head. “...nevermind. I won’t waste precious time when you are dealing with life-threatening complications.”
Proceeding with his least favourite part of the process, as he drew blood from Ari’s finger, Isidor was actually rather appreciative that the Canaveris lord chose talk while the red lifefluid rose to the surface of his flesh, simultaneously while colour evaporated from the Master Alchemist’s face as the sight of blood. “Apologies--I didn’t take the time to consider how this might impact your craft,” Isidor admitted, and he did sound genuinely sorry for being so short-sighted. “I imagine your hands must be very sore of late, if you’ve been experiencing such an uptick in your symptoms… Generally, small quantities of blood are easier to draw from the hands. But it isn’t very practical if this is occurring too frequently…” He pressed his lips together thoughtfully as he smoothed a hand over the stone chestplate. “Perhaps a reasonable and more functional alternative would be to draw a quantity of your blood directly from a vein and store it in a cool environment to draw from whenever it is needed. Although, I… would ask that you have Nia do that, if she is able and willing. Drawling blood is not my speciality, to say the least…”
After several long minutes of taking his time to ensure that not a single cell of Ari’s body remained as anything put purely live material, Isidor withdrew his hands and straightened the spectacles on his face. Why did it suddenly fill him with such relief to see that the Canaveris lord was alive and well? When he had repaired his hand the other day, while he was just as dedicated to his task, it did not come with that strange sense of avoiding otherwise foreboding consequences. That dream, where Ari collapsed as his heart gradually petrified until it was no longer an organ, but just a simple rock… somehow, that image left him so shaken and so much more invested in this man’s well-being. It was only a dream, none of it had actually happened. None of those memories were real, and there existed no real kinship between himself and the Canaveris lord, so why…
So why did he suddenly care?
“I am not suggesting that the festivities must cease as a result of your condition. In fact, I’m not certain that I could even make that decision on my own; it wouldn’t be good for the morality of this kingdom.” Isidor amended, understanding Aristide’s point of view, and the sheer importance of spreading joy throughout Galeyn again. “They should proceed as intended. But that doesn’t mean we cannot make progress behind the scenes. And, Aristide,” he leveled the D’Marian leader with a serious gaze, “this means that there is no longer time to spare to accommodate Nia’s feelings as you may see fit to do. There may be no secrets between the two of you regarding your life if you intend to have her save it. I believe you when you say you are resilient--but, so, too, is Ardane. She must be, or she wouldn’t have survived, herself, for as long as she did. So you must be honest with her. And, the same goes for Nia.”
Still feeling rather out of sorts from his abrupt venture into unconsciousness, and his even more startled awakening, Isidor took a seat at his desk. “I understand her situation. She is under scrutiny by this kingdom; she cannot afford to appear unwell, so she expends all of her energy to entertain the illusion that she is faring better than she is. All that aside, she is a Master Alchemist. She has demons--all of us of our sort do. And those demons thrive when we are at our most vulnerable. I’m afraid I am unable to help her; but, she will listen to you. And if she knows that this plan simply will not pan out because of her personal negligence… I know she will make amendments to her behaviour so that the both of you can have the future you want and deserve.” I want that for you, too, he almost said, but caught himself at the last moment. Just the other day, Isidor might have been half-invested in the process of ridding Ari of his curse, beholden to the task out of little more than obligation to the promise he’d made to Alster. And now… Now, there was nothing that anyone could tell him to convince him to remove himself from this process. This man would live out the rest of his years, his intended lifespan, if he had anything to say about it.
“Good. Then I trust you to do what is right. And, Ari, when you hear what Nia has to say… Regardless of how it might startle you or cause you concern… I implore that you keep an open mind. Remember, part of my request in exchange for my service this morning is that you and Nia make no further decisions until you confer with Alster and myself, afterward.” Isidor, having nothing left to contribute to the conversation, had expected Ari to simply take that information with grace, as well as his decision to withdraw from this ‘competition’ in crafting a parade float. It startled him visibly when that was the part of the conversation that the Canaveris lord did not take well. “I… ah, I did not realize how… important this was to you,” Isidor stammered, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “But… must it be a competition? Why not just craft something beautiful for the sake of it? I am not a competitive man, Ari. Why compete against the likes of me when you could just have Alster to make your piece all the more stunning?”
Competition was, at its core, something that made Isidor extremely uncomfortable. Even under Zenech’s tutelage, he had never developed the need or desire to be “better” than someone else. Why bother, when your own worst enemy was your own self-doubt? But Aristide--even Alster--had grown up in very different environments. They had both been in the public eye, with parents who had sought to raise them up on pedestals above others. They had always had something to prove, while Isidor had only ever needed to prove himself to Zenech, first, and then to himself alone. “Do not take me as someone without confidence in my skills, Lord Canaveris. I know my limits, and more importantly, I know what I can do. That is not the reason.” The Master Alchemist asserted--as best as anyone with his lack of social directive could ‘assert’. “It just… it didn’t quite seem conducive of my time, considering… everything else…” Considering I just made your mother completely fall apart for no good reason. Would Ari even see fit to forgive him if he found out what he had done to Nadira? How he had torn into her and unleashed all of his anger and pain and dismay until she had come to the conclusion that she must sacrifice her own life to save her son? “But, Ari, you can’t seriously mean to cease progress on your own project just because I do not wish to proceed with mine--that is ludicrous! You can’t really mean it…”
But there was no sign of jest or bluff in Aristide’s coal-dark eyes. The glimmer of competition and resolve made Isidor want to shrink into his seat and sigh, shoulders slumped. “Why must you aristocrat types be so bull-headed…” He murmured, propping his spectacles atop his head to pinch the bridge of his nose. “You really see fit to put it all on me and my decision to participate or not? When you know this kingdom desperately needs something uplifting, with or without my cooperation? As if I don’t have enough to feel guilty about. You really are Casimiro’s brother.”
He didn’t realize the words he had uttered, or their impact, until they’d slipped out, leaving both himself and Aristide bewildered. “I-I… I’m sorry. I don’t know where… forgive my transgression. I had no right to say that.” Because he hadn’t truly known Casimiro, had he? At least, not in this reality. And yet, that dream… Quick to change the subject, he reverted back to the previous topic. “Alright. If what you really want is a competition, regardless of my feelings on the matter, then I will resume construction of the opposing float with Alster. If defeat is what you want,” he cocked an eyebrow and readjusted his glasses on his face, “then I hope you like the taste of it when Alster and I serve it to you. You may well come to have hoped I’d pulled out of this competition, after all.”
When Ari took his leave, Isidor rapidly cleaned himself up, running a comb through his hair and donning a new outfit for the first time in three days. Shortly after he deemed himself just a little bit more presentable, he took a steadying breath and ventured out into the corridor, stopping just before the door to Alster and Elespeth’s shared bedroom. He hesitated, wondering if it was perhaps too early to call on the Rigas mage, but ultimately decided that he’d wasted enough of their time hiding away and wallowing. Ari likely already had a good head start on his float; it was time he and Alster caught up.
Moments after he knocked, the Rigas mage answered the door, looking rather astounded at who had come to call on him. “Alster. I… what I came to say, is… I hope you can forgive me for yesterday. And that I rescind my previous decision regarding our float.” He clasped his hands in front of him and bowed his head. “If you’ll still have my help. I’ve no other commitments today, so if you happen to be ready and willing… let’s do our absolute best, and make the Canaverises regret ever considering competing against us.”
Nia hadn’t seen much of Ari the next morning. He had left rather abruptly, with an excuse that she could not quite make out, but… his departure didn’t bother her. She hadn’t slept the night before, once again relying on the candy root to keep her alert and functional. The trouble was, her body was beginning to acclimatize to it, and she ended up requiring more and more just to fight off fatigue. Sooner than later, she was going to have to make an excursion to the Night Garden to find something stronger, or beg Alster to put her out for another day or so. This lifestyle wasn’t sustainable; she knew it wasn’t, but… what more could she do? When so much relied on her putting on a good performance so that Galeyn would eventually cut her shackles, where did that leave room for her to feel safe falling apart?
She almost saw fit to bother Hadwin for more information on what she could find in the Night Garden, after she administered his serum that morning, but she’d ended up walking in on not only him, but both Sylvie and Teselin, who were in the process of showing him some possible fashions he could sport when he was finally up and about. Now wasn’t the time; maybe later, when he was alone…
As she departed Hadwin’s chambers, her footfalls heavy and her eyelids heavier, Ari appeared around the corner and greeted her cheerfully. “Ari; I think you know I always have a moment to spare for you.” The Master Alchemist beamed and took his proffered arm. It took some of the pressure off her still-throbbing leg. “What’s on your mind? How is reconstruction of the observatory going? I’m sure your mother capably has it progressing beautifully.”
Taking a seat on a stone bench in the garden, across from a thriving koi pond, Nia lent an ear to what Ari had on his mind; and it was everything she could do not to interrupt him when he revealed the real reason for his departure that morning. In a way, she even felt a little… betrayed. Why go all the way to Isidor when she was right there and perfectly capable of treating him? “What do you mean, in my ‘present condition’? I’m fine, Ari--and I could have taken care of you! There’s no need for you to bother Isidor when I’m already at your side, and… and what are you trying to say, that you’re ‘deteriorating’? You don’t mean that you’ll…” Had it not been for Ari’s hands, clasping her own, she would have bounded to her feet in alarm and sought out Isidor immediately. “Ari, if you are trying to tell me that you… that you are dying, then we will not delay the procedure to banish this curse! In fact, we will expedite it! I will work on the details immediately…”
But that wasn’t all. Isidor had informed him of something Nia hadn’t realized he was privy to; and that was the risks of the procedure. Specifically, the risks pertaining to her own life and well-being. “I haven’t… I’m not withholding anything, Ari! It’s just that, I don’t have the details and the kinks worked out, so what’s the point in telling you what I’ve figured out as of now when it will only change in the near future? You of all people should understand why someone would choose not to present an unfinished project, right?” She wasn’t fooling him, though. Isidor had tipped him off in a way that Ari wouldn’t relent, and to lie to him, or to continue to withhold… Nia could already see the hurt in his eyes from the mere knowledge she hadn’t been forthright with him. This was a tenuous moment for their mutual trust… she couldn’t fuck it up.
“Look, I don’t know what Isidor told you--but it’s irrelevant, because we haven’t smoothed out the details of this procedure yet. As it stands…” She exhaled slowly and stared at the tips of her boots. “I couldn’t tell you this, because I was scared you would refuse, and that you would insist on shutting the whole thing down. But as it stands, without revisions, there isn’t… There’s a good chance I might not survive the procedure. Even if it’s successful for you. B-but that’s a moot point, Ari, because like I said, it isn’t finished! I’m still working it out. We’ll make the odds better, because you can bet that I plan to spend a good, long time with you after you’re no longer burdened by your curse. It isn’t just for you, Ari--I want to do this for both of us. You understand that, right?”
Now was not a good time to unload emotionally. Nia was tired; her body was sore, and felt weak. And now, Ari might decide that he was no longer worth saving… It was too much, and ultimately, she couldn’t hold back the tears that poured from her eyes. “I’m working on it Ari, okay?! I’m going to balance out the dangers and we’re both gonna get through this together--you have to believe me! We will both survive, regardless of what Isidor says! You can’t… you can’t back out now. I won’t let you!” The Master Alchemist sobbed uncontrollably and leaned her head heavily against Ari’s shoulder. Her fingers dug into the sleeves of his tunic. “I won’t let you back out, because I need you here, with me, years from now. I’ve already lost everyone else I’ve loved… I won’t let it happen again. Not to either of us…”
To say the least, Alster was not anticipating the unexpected arrival of his early morning visitor. Resigned to Isidor’s decision, the Rigas mage, learning his lesson against forcing a better outcome at the behest of someone who didn’t ask for his help, cut his losses and tried not to take his failure to reach Isidor personally—to little avail. Alster was simply too involved, too affected, and the impact of Isidor’s vast depths of depression captured him, urging him, with inky tendrils, into the miasma alongside his companion. Such was the strength of his empathetic resonance, a mainstay of his sensitivity to energy signatures, especially when they pertained to electric charges found in individual people and in groups. Sometimes, depending on his personal investments with the subject in question, the acuteness of their distress circumvented his mental shields and manifested within Alster as a leaden, unremovable weight on his chest, or worse, as a stomach-related affliction. On that particular morning (and the previous day), not only could he digest nothing more than bitter, Night Garden teas, but he could not sleep an uninterrupted night free of herbal tampering.
Color him surprised when the very subject of his secondhand grief came knocking on his door, a rarity that impelled him to rub his weary eyes to confirm the reliability of his sense of sight. “Isidor,” his brow furrowed, unable to temper his visible confusion. “Is everything alright?” As Isidor spoke his peace, Alster next needed to check if his auditory facilities were working properly, or if he were enabling a vast hallucination. He massaged the lobes of one ear, for good measure. “Just so I’m hearing you correctly…you want to resume building and designing our parade float? If I may ask…what brought about this change of heart? No, you don’t need to give me an explanation; I’m glad to have you back on board. Really, I am. So much so, that apologies aren’t necessary at all!” To demonstrate just how much he appreciated Isidor overturning his own decision, he beamed a smile, which immediately brought a revitalizing light to his blue-green eyes. What exactly had happened to the Master Alchemist in the short span of hours since they last spoke? Upon cursory inspection of his vertically-gifted companion, who was more freshened up and clean than recent memory served, Alster noticed in the frame of his firmer-set shoulders an almost noble bearing, rife with fierce determination, and he wore it well.
“I’m available to start immediately. You’ll find I’ve already commissioned the local carpenters to build the stage upon which our frame will rest, and I’ve made inquiries about how we might obtain the inordinate number of flowers we require for covering the piece whole. I know I’ve been downplaying my involvement in this project, but I have a small confession to make.” A rather devious smile played on his lips. “I haven’t fully made peace with how Ari lambasted me, on stage, in front of a frothing mob of D’Marians. I thirst for revenge, no matter how petty. Let’s take him down. The Rigases have an unbreakable winning streak to maintain.”
The quiet, hour-long carriage journey from central Galeyn to the D’Marian settlement had given Aristide plenty to ponder. Alone with his thoughts, and there were plenty of thoughts to parse from today’s events thus far—and it was barely noontime!—the Canaveris lord glanced, half-seeing, out the window, at the passing wheat-dotted fields, patches of woodland, and sprawling farms, and attempted to reorganize the chaotic spread of excessive information that littered his mind like Isidor’s clutter-happy chamber.
Which brought him to his first concern. Isidor Kristeva. What had happened between them? Just yesterday morning, they regarded each other as shallow acquaintances, their burgeoning tolerance at its infancy, considering they had only begun to reconcile their scruples and act like civil, respectable men when thrust into the other’s company. One inexplicable night of dreaming later, and the hermit crab of a Master Alchemist suddenly metamorphosed from some frowzy, wrathful wretch to a precious, indispensable companion for which he wanted only the best. And why had Isidor been so…familiar with Casimiro, enough to make such a bold—and accurate statement about the two brothers? Only an individual acquainted with the former Canaveris Head could assert that claim, and Master Zenech’s pupil was too preoccupied in his alchemical studies to care about the rankings and relationships of D’Marian nobility. Unless Alster had informed him, at length, about the late Casimiro’s strong personality and disposition..but even secondhand information would not be enough to bridge the connection in so flippantly a tone—especially for one such as Isidor Kristeva, whose social intelligence amounted to grape skins clinging to the bottom of a wine barrel. So then where had he learned about Casimiro Canaveris?
Isidor had mentioned emerging from a particularly odd dream. Could he have experienced the same other-world in which Ari imagined? Was it possible? If so, what manner of insidious magic had rewritten their destinies, at least in relation to each other?
Perhaps he was not thinking clearly. While the likes of Alster Rigas, who dealt extensively within the realm of dreams, would beg to differ, it was far more likely to believe in coincidence than in outlandish happenstance. And yet…the dream and its consequences, its alternative version of events, refused to leave his head. What if Nadira had rescued a young Isidor Kristeva from Master Zenech’s tower? Would Ari have elevated him in importance over Casimiro, as the dream indicated by rewriting his breakdown in the workshop to include the scared young boy instead of his concerned older brother? Would Ari’s motivations towards leadership have changed, as a result? Would Alster, grieving over the loss of his wife, disappear into the etherrealms and ascend as a deity? Would Lazarus have died protecting him from the unseen creature assembled from the fibers of pure darkness? Would Nia, bearing no romantic significance to him, as he would have respected Isidor’s request not to engage, fall to Locque’s beasts as a reward for her unwavering loyalty? And last…
Would he have ceased to exist?
It was that last, damning thought that caused him to reevaluate his relationship with his mortality, and grapple with his latest near-death experience. Originally not wishing to dwell on his death-throes in excruciating detail, as he disliked dwelling on unchangeable outcomes residing in the past, he reopened the horrific memory from its locked, sequestered chest, and sat with it until he really accepted how close he was to losing everything. His achievements, gone. No illustrious titles would follow him into death’s chokehold. Artist, famed sculptor, Canaveris Lord, Stella D’Mare’s first non-Rigas leader—all surrendered at Life’s feet. Neither would he have access to the people whom he so loved and cherished. His D’Marian citizens, his mother, Sylvie, his nephews, Laz…Nia. No one. He would not even be granted the grace to deliver a proper goodbye. How rude, how cruel, to offer his loved ones naught but grief and some platitude of a reminder not to mourn, as though that would cease everyone’s tears!
He always suspected his cause of death would be curse-related, and he accepted its inevitability long ago, counteracting his fatalistic due date by pushing himself towards fulfilling his long, inexhaustible list of goals, no matter how lofty or improbable, because he refused to regret departing without having earned his place through accomplishment. To succeed, he recklessly banished the multifarious barriers that oft galvanized him before: fear of inadequacy, fear of shouldering the responsibility of thousands, fear of underselling expectation, fear of…intimacy, and touch, and finding love. Looking back, he had done it all, and in looking back, he discovered he had not alleviated his regrets at all, but multiplied them, several-fold. Now that he had created a proud legacy, he was loath to leave it behind. He thought himself prepared to close his eyes and expire at the appointed moment when his body decided its limitation, whether two weeks hence or two years forward, but the deeper the imprints he pressed into the mud, the harder it was to ease his footfalls and to stop walking. To stop moving…forward. What use were his accomplishments if he could not watch them evolve? What use was falling in love if he abandoned it in spring, like a cherry blossom wilting to the earth?
He didn’t want…
He didn’t want to die.
Having sorted out his confession speech on the carriage ride home, he was better prepared for broaching the subject with Nia. Better prepared, yes, but Ari anticipated the trajectory of their discussion, and every second from here on out required him to breathe, to check his pulse and ensure its steady normativity lest he turn entirely to stone before he could even articulate the modified changes towards his quality of life.
“You cannot fool a deceiver, Nia,” he said calmly, predicting Nia’s objections and insistences explaining that her health hadn’t taken a severe dive, as of late. “There is no need to hide from me. I am aware of your tells. The little cracks in your facade that reveal your flaws. I say this not to put you ill at ease; much the opposite. Because I so often erect mirrored barriers to deflect the demands of public expectations, I understand the method you are employing. You are free to persist in wearing this indomitable face to the world if it so pleases you. Perhaps I may even offer a few helpful tips for working the crowd, should you desire. However,” he lowered his volume into a thoughtful, intimate whisper, made to mollify and comfort, “you needn’t hide from me. Aware I am also a guilty party to burying my true feelings from my family and closest confidantes, I shall endeavor to be more forthright if it will soften the glare of my hypocrisy. Expressing one’s vulnerabilities is…terrifying,” the admittance generated in him a reflexive shiver, despite the basking warmth of afternoon. “Even when you are among trusted company. Be that as it may, I hope that we can continue forth in our relationship with honesty in mind. Nonetheless, if I hurt you by seeking Isidor’s assistance in place of yours, that was not my intention, and I deeply apologize. Isidor tells me you have been consuming a Night Garden herb, its purpose of which prevents you from slumber. Before you consider accusing him of betraying your secrets, he only confirmed what I already suspected to be true. You have not been sleeping, and it is negatively impacting your health to an alarming degree.” Nothing but concern and unwavering care flooded his expression. Every word, he selected carefully, all too aware he might spook the flight-prone Master Alchemist and hence lose his opportunity, and his nerve, to rehash such a difficult subject in the future. “Please understand that I would not feel comfortable inflicting increased physical distress on your recuperating body when an alternate solution presents itself in my path. I hope you do not take offense, but my nephew was not wrong in declaring that you need rest, Nia. Dearly.”
When it seemed she would not yield to his gentle coercion, Ari’s hands slackened, as if ready to pull away and disengage, though he lacked the awareness to realize how his body language was responding to her rejection. Like Nia’s tendency to flee, Ari felt the sudden urge to rise, to separate, to turn away in shame. Confessing to the woman he loved that he was dying…what a short-sighted folly! How else would she respond to the news but with intense heartbreak?! Here, he encouraged her to rest and recover, and then in the next breath, devised another reason for her not to sleep by revealing a nightmare made tangible.
He was about to stand and apologize, to formally withdraw and propose they revisit the conversation at a later date, when the shock of his confession faded, but then she came forward with her own deeply troubling news and her hesitant disclosure widened his eyes and froze his facial features into a rictus of horror.
“No, Nia. No. I cannot…you must know why I will not agree to… After all I have done to keep you alive! You expect me to throw your life away on a chance roll of the dice? Why would I want that?!” A pained shout bucked his heart against his ribcage in a sinister punch of warning. He was in a dangerous position, moments away from inciting a flare-up, one he might not have the capacity to resist so soon after nursing the one that petrified his chest. Before losing himself altogether, he remembered Isidor’s advice to keep an open mind. She will not relent. Meet her halfway. I do not wish to die…and I must believe that neither does she. Open mind, open mind. Approach with an open mind.
“Sssh, Nia, sssh. It is alright. I spoke too hastily. I did not mean to cause you upset.” In a bid to comfort and console her, he enrobed his arms around her waist and held her in a firm embrace, adjusting his angle to better accommodate the cushioning of his shoulder, which he invited her to use for alleviating her tears. “Please…it is too early to despair. Far too early…” he shuttered his eyes closed, concealing the moisture that threatened to escape from the overwhelm of seeing Nia so distraught, so affected by the mere thought that she might lose him at any moment. “Listen well, Nia. Listen. We will have a future,” he declared, brushing a tender kiss, a promise, atop her head, despite the waver, the catch in his throat. “I believe you. I trust you. We are staying on this material plane, do you understand? But if we both stand a chance at survival, I need you to promise me that you will look after your health.” He withdrew from his embrace, tilting her chin so she would meet his misty, overbright eyes. “A verbal agreement will not alone suffice. You must gain the approval of Isidor, Alster, and pass a physical examination from an accredited physician. Otherwise, I cannot with confidence condone this operation. As I have before stated, this condition is non-negotiable. Fail to meet the requirements as stipulated by the healers and overseers in charge, and I will have no choice but to deny you until others deem you ready to proceed. This is also to ensure my survivability. If you are not at your best, if your mental and physical acuity are compromised beyond the normal parameters of a Master Alchemist’s impressive spectrum of efficiency, then you cannot convince me that you will meet with success regarding the preservation of my life, let alone your own. Is this clear?”
To counteract the implied harshness of his words, he brushed his gloved thumb beneath her eyes, gently capturing her tears as they fell. “My second condition is that we wait to hear from Isidor and Alster. They are an integral part of the wholesale success of this procedure, and we will listen to their counsel. Are you in agreement? If so, then,” he rolled back his shoulders and bobbed a small, weary nod, “then so am I. We shall…we shall do this. But we shall do this correctly, or not at all. No more secrets. Full disclosure, on both ends. Promise me, Nia. On your name, on your clout as a Master Alchemist. On your love.” He aligned a hand over his chest and bowed shallowly at the waist. “And I will do the same, for I am none other than Aristide Canaveris, second son of Roland and Nadira Canaveris, lord of Stella D’Mare, your most fervent supporter, and humble, devoted servant. You, Anetania Ardane, are the guardian of my heart. My future. My beloved. You and I are not to be parted.” Leaning forward, he sought her mouth for an ardent kiss.
He didn’t know how long they sat there, reassuring the other in the enduring permanence of their company, when Ari lifted his head and regarded Sylvie standing a few respectable yards away.
“Oh, I did not mean to be a bother. And I chose such horrid timing, as it were!” She fiddled with the ribbons cinching tight the embroidered and beaded bodice of her exquisite purple dress. “Forgive me, Miss Nia. Are you well?” She noted the woman’s red, puffy eyes, which she had since wiped dry with the corners of Ari’s proffered handkerchief. “I shan’t bother the two of you with my most silly request.”
“I do believe we are in the market for a little levity, Sylvie. I shall entertain your silly request.” Ari tilted a curious head at her elevated state of dress. “Are you attending an event to which I am not privy?”
“Oh, nothing of the sort!” she dismissed with the swat of her white-gloved hand. “Miss Teselin and I have been donning various gowns and parading them in front of Hadwin. He much delighted when I attired Miss Teselin in one of my older, dustier things, and now he has posed the idea to involve everyone in showing off in the finest accoutrements the Canaveris wardrobe has to offer. He is most interested in seeing what constitutes your flashiest attire, Uncle Ari, seeing as you are always so impeccably dressed. As well, he wishes Nia to join us in the frippery! At present, I think he is attempting to convince Miss Bronwyn and Miss Sigrid to take part, but he is meeting a great deal of resistance. He says Miss Sigrid will look quite fetching in one of your brocade coats, and I do believe I concur,” she passed him a wink. “Perhaps this impromptu exhibition will be a glowing opportunity to outfit some of our invitees in preparation for the masquerade ball!”
“Of course Hadwin is the brainchild behind this newest bout of madness,” Ari said flatly, crossing his arms over his chest. “I am inclined to deny him the joy of this spectacle unless he provides an adequate explanation behind the events of two nights ago, occurring between himself and Nia. If he cannot behave as a guest of this villa, then as his slighted host, I will not hesitate to avail him of his privileges henceforth. Alas,” he looked between Sylvie’s pleading, hopeful eyes and Nia’s expression of leniency, and conceded with a sigh, “I shall leave to the two of you what should be done regarding our rabid wolf friend. Goodness, even bedridden, he proves to be a handful.”
Bronwyn had been right all along, and deep down, Nia had known it. She wasn’t fooling anyone with her pretense, her smiles, her energy and her eagerness to be productive and pull her weight in the Canaveris villa. It was becoming more and more difficult to move with the sharpness and acuity of someone who earned a good eight hours’ worth of rest every evening, without the fear of the demons that swam behind their eyelids, waiting to pounce if they so much as blinked. As much as Nia had learned to become a professional prey animal over the years, learning tricks to outsmart all of her predators with her penchant toward self-preservation, all on a promise she had made to her sister long ago, she could not deny the limits of her physical body and its needs. She also could not control the symptoms that still plagued her, the trembling of her hands and the dull pain in her leg that bloomed every so often if she so much as stepped the wrong way. There was no illusion, anymore; she was unwell, and had been for quite some time. The only difference was that Ari was finally bold enough to call her on it.
“I wasn’t trying… to deceive you,” she stammered, clutching the back of her neck in an attempt to ground herself and distract from the stress. “But I’m a Master Alchemist, remember? I’ve already survived worse; my body’s been through far more than lack of sleep. We are nothing if not resilient, because we wouldn’t have survived in the first place, otherwise. We…” Nia could practically see Ari’s face fall as she attempted to, in her mind, reassure him of her state of health. But it quickly occurred to her that what she was spouting was far from reassurance, and ultimately, it wasn’t the Canaveris lord she sought to convince: it was herself. Fake it ‘til you make it. That had always been her motto: to pretend all was well until, ultimately, everything did fall into place, and it was no longer a lie. It had always worked before, but this time… this time was different. She was contending with injuries that wouldn’t heal; nightmares that would not leave her alone and allow her even a moment’s rest. She had what felt like the entire world watching her, all of Galeyn just waiting for her to slip up and disprove the claim that her allies had insisted upon: that she was useful. That she could perform impossible feats with her skillset; that she could save Ari. If she continued on this trajectory, then she was surely on the path of collapse; but if she slept, and succumbed to the demons in her mind, the nightmares that would not let go… what then?
“I’m not trying to be a liar. I’m not trying to deceive you. Yes, I’m… I’m not in optimal health. I won’t deny that. But can’t you understand why, Ari? You saw how Galeyn was vying for my death, and how many only relented because I could be useful.” She wasn’t explaining; she was begging Ari to understand. But… how could he understand, if he didn’t know all the details?
“Ari, I… they gave me something from the Night Garden. I couldn’t sleep in captivity, not in the dungeon, and not in my new fancy, cushioned cell. I wasn’t trying to be difficult; I just couldn’t do it.” Nia wrung her hands in front of her. She hadn’t wanted to tell him, because she didn’t want him to worry… but that was no longer avoidable, as he had already demonstrated his concern for her health. She had nothing left to hide. “Whatever they gave me, it helped me sleep. But it… it gave me nightmares that won’t go away. Not just nightmares, but memories. Every time I fall asleep, I see… I watch my family die all over again. My father, my mother, every staff member in our house…” The trembling in her hands spread to her arms, and then her shoulders as tears flooded her eyes. “And I see it every time I sleep. I can’t change what happens, because I can’t change the past. I was just a kid; I was useless to do anything, and I let everyone die…”
Her voice broke on the last word as she sank into Ari’s embrace, her body all but going limp against him while she sobbed audibly. “I’m useless… when I wake up from that dream. I can’t get it out of my head; I can’t function… I don’t do what I need to do to finally be exonerated. I don’t want to be Galeyn’s prisoner anymore, Ari! I just want to live my life, and be happy with you, but I… I can’t. I can’t perform because I can’t rest, and I can’t rest because I won’t be able to perform. Don’t you see?” Her desperate brown eyes sought his for understanding. “There is no winning for me. I’m just doing the absolute best that I can, and it isn’t… it isn’t enough. For me, or for you…”
And now, just as she had feared, the Canaveris lord refused her involvement in breaking his curse once and for all… because it put her at risk. Don’t you see? Can’t you understand this is exactly why I couldn't tell you? “You’re not listening!” She exclaimed, but her frustration manifested in nothing but more tears. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you! I’m not done planning, Ari. I haven’t worked out all the kinks in this plan. This is why I’m not doing it alone! This is why I’ve got Isidor and Alster on board. Just because the odds are grim right now doesn’t mean they will stay that way. You can’t refuse--I won’t have it! Can’t you see that the only future I have is with you?”
It was true, for a number of reasons. For one, the Master Alchemist’s freedom from Galeyn’s shackles was directly contingent on performing the near-impossible feat of removing a curse, something that her skills only very narrowly allowed, and only with the additional help of a mage and another Master Alchemist. But beyond that, Nia had already cast off her original motivation for survival… and that was the promise she’d made to Celene, all those years ago. In tearing off that oxidized steel pendant, she had torn herself away from that promise; and in the pendant’s place, she now wore the jade leaf and crystallized cherry blossom that Ari had so lovingly crafted for her. Ari was her new reason for fighting; her new reason for putting one foot in front of the other, even on an injured leg, with dwindling reserves of energy. He was the future she wanted to live for, and without him… The possibility of failing, of moving on alone, was unbearable. Without him, none of it seemed worth the struggle, and she might as well have just given into the fate that Galeyn had originally desired for her.
Exhausted, hurt, and afraid, Nia wept longer and harder than she ever remembered. Longer and harder than she had when Celene had died; when Palla had died. Longer and harder than when she’d fled from her house, an orphan of a nearly extinct legacy. Longer and harder than the first time she had trusted someone outside of Ilandria, and it had nearly cost her her life. The thought of a future without Ari was not a future she wanted to entertain, and it seemed her desperation finally reached him when he sought to comfort her. He had to understand why she couldn’t let him back out of their plans.
The Master Alchemist effectively soaked the shoulder of Ari’s fine attire with her tears by the time she pulled her face away, her dark-rimmed eyes now also sporting bloodshot scleras from the incessant weeping. Something about Ari acknowledging her pain, the fact that she was so far from alright, made it feel all too real to her, and Nia’s ability to fool herself into feeling better than she really was began to fade. Her head pounded, a headache behind her eyes from the heart-wrenching sobs this conversation had wrought from her lungs. She felt light-headed, weak on her feet, and her stomach was all twisted in knots. She wanted to lie down and close her eyes comfortably and safely, but that fear in her had her resolve in a vicehold. She wasn’t strong enough to circumvent it, but inevitably… she would have to face it. It was like Ari said: there was no point in vying for a future that did not include the both of them.
“You know I would never put you at risk--no matter my condition,” she managed to choke out. Her voice felt as raw as her emotions. “I didn’t realize… I mean, I knew we were always fighting against time. Your flare-ups are occurring more regularly, and one nearly killed you, already. But I had no idea that it was preordained that, as things stand… you don’t have much longer. I did want to wait until I was well to proceed--I don’t do anything half-assed. But time is a bigger enemy than I imagined… and by the time I feel ready, you may not be here. This changes things. It changes everything…”
There would be no fooling Isidor, nor Alster, nor any physician that assessed her physical condition. Ari was right: she had to be well. And not only well, but healthier than she had ever been, in peak physical form. And this had to happen fast. To refuse Ari, or any of the conditions he set, was to directly let him down… and she couldn’t do that. She wouldn’t. “I’ll do it. Whatever it takes--you have my word. No more secrets.” Her strained voice broke on a whisper. “We’ll speak with Alster and Isidor. Whatever they want from me, I’ll try to--no, I’ll do it. No matter how hard it might be… I won’t have a future without you in it, Ari. I refuse.”
Nia all but fell into Ari’s kiss, the plush press of his lips against her reminding her why this was so important. Why she needed to be well for him, and why she chose to fight to the bitter end to save him. I won’t have a future without you in it. It was as much a promise to him as it was to herself. Ari was her reason for finding light and hope in a world that had tried so hard to take it all from her at such a young age: they were one another’s salvation. There was no room for error, and not even the demons in her dreams would deter her from her goal.
Sylvie’s voice startled Nia such that she jumped ever so slightly, her face flushed with being caught mid-kiss with Ari. Not that their relationship was much of a secret, anymore, and she was far from shy with public displays of affection, but it somehow felt… less than decent to be kissing the girl’s uncle so passionately right in front of her. Fortunately, the spry Canaveris girl was not intent to dwell on the awkwardness of the situation. “He really must be feeling like himself again if he’s not only demanding fine clothes, but demanding that everyone around him participate.” Nia snorted and shook her head with a wide smile. “You know, an impromptu ball doesn’t sound half-bad, Sylvie. And did you say that you found something for Teselin to wear? Now that’s some progress! I don’t think I’ve ever seen Izzy’s little sister dressed in anything that wasn’t three sizes too big for her. She’s a young woman, now; she needs to take pride in what maturity has to offer, am I right? Ari…”
Nia rested her hands on his shoulders and tried to catch his gaze. “Don’t worry about what happened. Hadwin didn’t hurt me; I’m fine. And if he had, you can bet he would be the absolute epitome of regret. Truth be told, he was my first friend, here in Stella D’Mare. The first person who actually accepted me for me, despite that I happened to be the underling of Galeyn’s greatest threat. I don’t think he takes that lightly, and I could tell he already feels bad. But don’t we have enough to worry about? Leave it as water under the bridge. And, Sylvie,” she turned back to the eager young woman, in her fine dress. “Did you happen to say that Hadwin is trying to get Sigrid to dress up? I don’t know what kind of powers of persuasion he thinks he has, but that would be a sight to see. I mean, it’s true, you’d never see her alive or dead in something like what you’re wearing, but…” She pressed her lips together thoughtfully, before giving Ari’s arm a squeeze. “Oh--Ari,what about that sky-blue coat of yours I once saw you wear with matching earrings? I daresay, Sigrid Sorenson just might pull it off a little better than you. But I’d have to see her in it to judge…” Grinning conspiratorially, she clapped her hands together. “Okay; you’ve got me convinced, Sylvie. I’ll play the game. Let’s go be flies on the wall to convince Sigrid to dress up nice and pretty. I’ve never seen the woman “clean up”, so to speak, but something tells me she’d be a sight to see in a brocade coat!”
“Yes, everything is fine, Alster… I’m sorry I made you think otherwise. I…” Isidor rubbed the back of his neck. A tint of embarrassment coloured his cheeks. “I’m sorry about earlier. I was so stuck in my own head, and couldn’t really find my way out, but I already promised you to take part in this, and it would not be fair to heap all of the responsibility onto you, alone. That is, if you’ll still have me, and my unpredictable temperaments, of late...”
Alster, in his mind, was all too forgiving; he had no reason to welcome him back with open arms, and yet he did, no questions asked (much to the Master Alchemist’s relief). “Well, do you mind showing me what you have planned or completed, so far? And leave the flowers to me: why pluck beautiful flora out of the ground, where it thrives, when other materials can be alchemically altered to resemble them to such an extent that you couldn’t tell real from fake?” He raised an eyebrow and mirrored Alster’s grin. “You know… there is just something about Lord Canaveris that does make me want to see his face when he loses. From this point forward, I promise you my devoted help to bring your brainchild of a float to life, and maintain your Rigas winning streak.”
They set to work immediately, both taking breakfast in the workshop they had overtaken just beyond the palace gardens. Once, it had been where local potters and glass artisans crafted dishware for the palace, but those folks had never awoken from the century-long sleep, and none had yet come to take their place. The area was spacious and well-lit with a sunroof, and the addition of witchlights kept it illuminated even into the evening, when the sun had set. The two, making up for lost time, worked tirelessly throughout the day, working out some trial and error for the shape of the float, as well as for the flowers themselves.
“What do you think? Are they too larger than life that they’re beyond belief?” The Master Alchemist held out a bouquet of roses whose colour shifted, depending on how the light hit them: blue-green, red-purple, yellow-orange. Initially, they had all been made of paper, but with a few small samples of vegetation, the transmutation hadn’t been difficult. “If you like, I can make them a little more realistic…”
He was interrupted by a buzzing in his breast pocket. The resonance stone, the twin to the one he had given to Nia, was alive and seeking his attention. Brows furrowed in concern, he gingerly placed the roses on the ground to retrieve it. “Nia? Is all well with Kavanagh?”
As it turned out, Hadwin was doing so much better than anyone anticipated, and that wasn’t the reason Nia was contacting him. So… it turned out that Ari had spoken to her, and they had come to an agreement. Isidor had anticipated as much, but he hadn’t thought it would happen so fast. “...understood. Darkness has fallen; Alster and I can be there within the hour.”
Pocketing the stone, Isidor turned to his Rigas companion, whose confused blue eyes sought an explanation. “Aslter, you and I need to go and confer with Nia and Ari regarding his curse removal. A lot has been brought to light, particularly between the two of them, and we best get started sooner than later, on fine-tuning the procedure. Like you… I refuse to participate in anything that does not guarantee the survival of all parties.” I ruined your lives--all of your lives--once, he thought, recalling that dream that was still as fresh in his mind as if they were real memories. Because I wasn’t the right person, in the right place, or the right time… At least, now, I have a chance not to let any of you down.
“Nia, it is all right,” Ari reiterated, circulating his hands in gentle motions against the sobbing woman’s back. “I am relieved, to say the least, that you have opened yourself to share this information with me, however difficult it is to divulge. I was upset at the onset, but I am listening now, Nia. I hear you.” As he continued to hold his disconsolate beloved, who mourned for the man who had died, but only in dreams, he nearly struggled to accommodate her very loud outpouring of raw emotion. Among Canaverises, pain stayed private, contained, out of sight. A few tears spurred on by a moving musical piece or work of art were acceptable, as was a dash of water on the cheeks if the situation called for profundity, be it responding to troubling news or sharing in a subtle cry of solidarity, a common occurrence among D’Marians nowadays, who required the catharsis in numbers to weep for their lost homeland. Whenever a Canaveris required a moment alone, they disappeared for a while and spoke not of what had happened on emerging, however obvious their grief, as it was universally assumed they had succeeded in purging the severe downturn in their behavior.
So while it was generally frowned upon to put on a public spectacle, or to rely on sorrow above productivity, it was an unspoken, understood rule that one was free to do whatever they willed behind closed doors, as long as it did not negatively impact the family or one’s work—or, heavens forbid, inconvenience anyone. As a result of needing to secret away and conceal expressions of intense and oft ugly sadness, many Canaverises forwent tears altogether, finding them unnecessary or counterproductive, and loudly judged others, extending their derision even to people outside the family who implemented this coping mechanism, condemning them as weak-willed or infantile.
It was by unfortunate happenstance that Casimiro had caught Ari in the midst of one of his more melancholy moods, stumbling upon the heartbroken artist at the height of his Chara Rigas-related doldrums. While he had done nothing wrong, nursing his hurt in private, as was the way, it still shamed Ari to see his brother bear witness to an extremely personal ritual. Receiving validation from another Canaveris, the family Head, of all people, was not something he had come to expect, but Casimiro acknowledged the importance of sharing pain as a more superior method of dispelling it, and that lesson stayed with Ari for the next cycle of his life. With Casimiro’s blessing and approval, he learned it was acceptable to sit in mutual understanding with a person in need and provide them a salve, whether in the form of a literal shoulder to cry on, or as a quiet, sympathetic observer, to replace the Canaveris tendency of immediately and awkwardly withdrawing one’s company to allow the individual to grieve in peace.
Despite accepting this alternative coping method, not for himself, but for others to feel safe expressing themselves in his vicinity, and despite being honest in his appreciation that Nia had laid herself bare, it did not come as naturally for Ari to endure. As a result, it became almost unbearable to stomach Nia’s heart-wrenching sobs, feeling throughout the ordeal that he was nothing more than a dirty voyeur glimpsing some extremely intimate act through her window, or worse; he was bobbing along in the ocean, safe in his boat as he watched her drown, offering her no place on his vessel, no relief, no salvation.
He knew it was important to let her cry, and not to interrupt in case he disrupted the development of their delicate, fledgling bond. In fact, it almost seemed like she was crying for the both of them. For Ari, who either disallowed his pain to bury beneath surface level and linger, or ignored it altogether, both as a result of his cultural dictates and as a preventative measure against managing frequent flare-ups, she found some well residing deep inside his chest, urged it to the surface, and drank from that well before it could flood his eyes with the poignant sting of their worst, feared scenario. He could die. She could die. And neither would rest unless the other was spared this fate. The tears wouldn’t rest either, unless they survived to see another spring—a promise he immortalized in the petrified cherry blossom attached to her jade-leaf pendant. To renege on his promise was to let her down, and Nia had already suffered enough loss to last a lifetime.
We must see another spring. We will see another spring.
“Light this when you fear the dark, when the nightmares threaten to encroach.” After Nia’s sobs had lessened, Ari scooped her pendant into his hand and pressed a thumb over the dimple residing beneath the jade leaf design. At his touch, the carving began to glow a lambent green color, a gradual and variable light like the embers on a smoldering flame—or the bulb of a firefly. “That is my intention behind giving it a glow effect; so that in times of uncertainty, you needn’t be without the comfort of a friendly pulse reminiscent of a guiding firefly. I cannot banish those terrifying memories from your dreams, Nia. If I could, I would do so in a heartbeat. The closest comfort I am able to provide you is…well, my company. You have shared my bed these past few nights, but never have you slept in it. Tonight, will you trust my enclosing arms to fend off that which aims to hunt and harm you? If you endeavor to sleep, Nia, I shall happily accept the role as your firefly, lighting the night as a soft beacon to see you home. To here,” he brushed aside a few strands of hair that stuck to her tear-strewn face. “If ‘here’ is where you consider home. Let me help you sleep. Whatever it requires on my part, I will do everything possible to accommodate you in your journey towards wellness. To make a few adjustments to this popular adage: Help me to help you…so you may help me.”
Sylvie’s interruption didn’t startle Ari as much as it startled Nia, but he cast an apologetic and scandalized glance towards her nonetheless, a little flustered by his breach in etiquette, given their improper display of public affection. To think, impressionable Sylvie had seen them, no less! What a glowing example and role model Ari had turned out to be. If his niece seemed affected by their overt show of intimacy, she did not broach the subject or appeared bothered, but as her attitude often reflected that of her uncle, it was likely she was just being unfailingly polite in her silence.
“Well, I would not refer to this gathering as an impromptu ball,” Sylvie corrected Nia helpfully. “Rather, it is an opportunity to lend out ensembles for our would-be guests ahead of time, so they will have something to wear for the masquerade! Oh, Nia, you must know about the masquerade. It is scheduled to take place at the Canaveris villa, in the restored ballroom, following the float parade! Let us also outfit you for the occasion. You simply must attend this one!”
“Remember, Sylvie, anonymity is the intention behind this particular revelry,” Ari offered as a friendly reminder. “Before entry, everyone is to don masks and cloaks that conceal their identity from immediate discovery. This was decided upon to deter others from worrying over a dress code, and to reassure our non-noble attendees that they will not be the subject of open gawking or ridicule for merely choosing to celebrate an event at an aristocrat’s establishment. It is unnecessary, therefore, to dress in one’s fashionable best.”
“Of course, Uncle Ari, but there is nothing wrong with wearing fineries beneath one’s cloak, in case they bore of shrouding themself in mystery for the duration of the entire event!”
“Ah, touché, Sylvie. Very well. But first, we must ask our guests if they are interested in acquiescing to the wolf’s indecorous demands. Speaking of…” After listening to Nia’s defense of Hadwin Kavanagh, and Sylvie’s animated nod of approval, Ari conceded to their unanimous vote to reinstate the unstable faoladh. “Admittedly, I do not care for Hadwin’s methods of operation, but I would also be remiss to say I have not benefited from those same methods. Since he is your friend, Nia, and Sylvie has taken a shine to him…consider the faoladh safe from my withdrawal of hospitality and sanctuary. For now.” He plucked his discarded cane from the ground and was just about to rise from the stone bench, helping Nia to her feet, when her comment about his sky-blue coat took him aback, and delayed his movements. The last, and only instance of him wearing that coat in Nia’s presence was at her trial. This whole time, he thought she refused to see him, to imprint him in her memory, when in reality, she made note of what he was wearing in spite of the awful tribulations she was facing.
But then, her comment continued, and his expression of mild, intrigued shock pursed and puckered its objection. “Excuse me; better?!” Ari narrowed both brows in slight affront. “With all respect to Miss Sigrid, the coat is tailor-made to my specific measurements. It fits no one better than for whom it was intended.”
“Oh no, Miss Nia; now you have done it.” Sylvie let out a low whistle. “You have gone and offended my uncle!”
“No, no. Surely, Nia does not know any better and speaks from a place of ignorance.” In case Nia truly believed she insulted the Canaveris lord, he turned his head and gave her a clandestine wink. “Not only has my curiosity been lit aflame, but my honor is on the line and I must defend it from my harsh critics—Nia.” With renewed ferocity, he stood and offered his arm to his so-called ‘harsh critic.’ “Let us go and discover if your suppositions are correct. For your sake,” he adjusted the lapels of his royal blue coat, eyeing Nia willfully, “I hope you are incorrect.”
The trio arrived at Hadwin’s chambers—rather, the chambers he supplanted from Sigrid—a half-hour later, and Ari, rising to the challenge, wasn’t about to be shown up wearing his frumpiest attire. Retreating to his rooms for a wardrobe change, he’d emerged wearing the aforementioned sky-blue coat, its mottled colors and geometric embroidered patterns resembling the D’Marian sea as if viewed through a paned, broken window. Ari did not stop at the coat. Having gathered his raven locks into a half-ponytail, he exposed his ears, which sported a pair of his flashiest earrings to date; teardrop-shaped sapphires encased with gold filigree and studded in diamonds. Cane and all, Ari entered, to the mouth-splitting delight of the bedridden wolf. Despite remaining clad in his bed things, Hadwin presented a little differently, compliments of his redesigned head of hair. Someone had accepted the onerous task of hacking away with a pair of scissors at the overgrown lion’s mane sprouting from the faoladh’s head, and resolved to shape it into a respectable coiffure. Paying homage to the wolf’s ‘feral’ roots, his bronze waves answered to no definition of neat or orderly, but one could define it as a more manageable version of its previous iteration, at the very least.
“Mister Kavanagh,” Ari stepped through the threshold with Nia on his arm, bowing politely. “I daresay you are faring well these days. I am rather partial to your new hairstyle. It harkens back to what makes you…well, you.”
“Well fancy that; it was exactly what I was going for.” Hadwin combed an experimental hand over his stylishly messy locks. “You ain’t bad, yourself. Fancypants is at it again! Wonderful to see you’ve come eagerly knocking to my summons, dressed to the nines!” He flashed his golden eyes at Nia, humor lines crinkling them into little crescent moons. “Did you put him up to it?”
Ari ignored Hadwin’s cajoling remarks and tilted his head at Teselin, who, true to Sylvie’s word, was outfitted in a modest gown which flared at the hips and flattered the young summoner’s budding form without sacrificing comfort, or inviting unpleasant stares. “My, Miss Kristeva, you are, in every word, stunning.”
“Isn’t she?!” Hadwin roared his fervent approval, oozing his uncontained pride and support for his adoptive sibling, irrespective of proper volume control. “You’re a damn sight, Tes. A delight and a half, and fresh as ever!”
“And where, might I add, is your eldest sibling, Hadwin?” Ari took a cursory sweep of the room in case he missed Bronwyn crouching in a corner, as she tended to disappear beneath the layers of her brother’s bombast, but his secondary scan revealed only, minus the trio who joined, Hadwin, Teselin, and Sigrid.
“Oooh, get this.” Hadwin’s voice dropped into a conspiratorial whisper. “I got Bron to bite! She said if it would get me off her case, she’ll throw on the damn thing. She’s putting it on in the other room as we speak. Now,” he rolled his shoulders in Sigrid’s direction, “Siggy here’s a harder nut to crack. Care to help me change her mind?”
“If Miss Sigrid does not wish to partake in this activity, then I shall not pressure her into it. However, should she change her mind,” Ari loosened the buttons of his ankle-length coat and turned to address the former Dawn warrior, “my council,” he gestured to Sylvie and Nia with his cane, “are in agreement that you would wear this coat well. If you are at all interested, I shall gladly shed this from my person and offer it to you for a try-on. I understand that you have a preference for masculine-presenting attire and I would happily indulge your specific tastes, should you ask.”
Before Sigrid could respond with a tentative ‘yes’ or an impassioned ‘no,’ a polite, albeit awkward cough filled the room. In the doorway, Bronwyn stood, her hair down and arranged in loose curls around her face. The gown she modeled was in a rich blue, but layered at the hem and cut short past the knees in such a way to display a yellow-gold strip of accenting fabric peering out from beneath all the blue, a bold contrast that also intensified the honeyed amber in the faoladh’s eyes and the smattering of freckles dusted across her nose. A collar wrapped around her throat, festooned in a ribbon, and the corseted bodice, beset with a heart-shaped sapphire, accentuated her naturally thin and shapely waist, while the shorter in the front, longer in the back angle of her dress emphasized the length and taper of her long, muscular legs. Bronwyn lowered her head, fiddling with the ends of her collar ribbon with a hyper-investment directly in proportion to her self-consciousness. “Get it all out of your system now, Hadwin,” she aimed a heated glare, daring him to laugh. “But if you do, I won’t hesitate to extend your bedrest. Indefinitely.”
Later that evening, after the hype following the day’s proceedings had settled to rest beneath the sheets, Ari and Nia welcomed the arrival of Isidor and Alster at the Canaveris villa entrance. Alster already sensed something was awry the moment Ari focused almost exclusive attention on the Kristeva alchemist, and his greetings were not altogether unpleasant. On the contrary, Ari was effulgent, his smile genuine, outclassing the genteel politesse of his usual, sophisticated bearing, and…did he detect a hint of a tease in the man’s tone? “I suppose you could not keep away for long, Isidor, despite your haste in evacuating the premises last time. How is your float coming along?”
“Nothing you need worry yourself about, Ari,” Alster said languidly. “Until the day we annihilate you, of course. Look forward to it.”
“Oh, I will, though I would withhold your prognostication of certain victory. It is in bad form.” Ari’s soil-dark eyes squinted, lilting at the edges, approving of his rivals’ spirited responses. “Well, shall we relocate inside?”
They gathered in the parlor. Ari invited everyone to sit as he mixed drinks for his guests to enjoy. Nothing alcoholic unless they specifically asked for it, knowing not to prematurely intoxicate the team tasked with saving his life and hence muddle their brains. Alster’s curiosity piqued further when Ari handed Isidor a dark, fruity beverage, followed by a confident assertion delivered to no one else but the man he barely knew. “Brambleberry and burdock root, yes? That has always been your preferred summer libation.” Catching himself, he brushed back a long tumble of hair from his forehead as an excuse to preoccupy his attention with something else. “I believe you revealed this information to me a few days ago. Correct me if I am wrong.”
So as not to allow the strange moment the space to breathe and breed long tendrils of memory in the minds of everyone present, Ari hefted his pewter goblet and toasted to his guests. “Thank you for your prompt attendance, Lord Alster Rigas, Master Isidor Kristeva. I am filled with nothing but swells of appreciation for the work the three of you have set out to do, at my behest, no less. It goes without saying that I am both humbled by your largesse and inspired by it. My debts to you are boundless.” He drew a thumb around the rim of his goblet, his features shadowed in thought. “I do hope I will not come across as too ungracious in asking for an additional favor. We have, the three of us, established that my flare-ups can and will arise at any moment’s provocation, and considering their manifestations are increasing in aggression and in size, I inquire as to the possibilities of creating some sort of device to monitor these occurrences remotely, so that if I am inconvenienced by one such flare-up, and no one is nearby, they will be alerted to my condition with expediency. It would be counterproductive if I were,” he chose his words carefully so as not to upset Nia, “incapacitated before we were to commence with the procedure proper. Alas, I am getting ahead of myself.” He sampled a sip of his beverage, and judging by the lingering, acrid smell emanating from his goblet, the drink he selected for imbibing was akin to what Hadwin would throw down his thirsty gullet to guarantee an undisputed state of intoxication. “Please, Isidor, Alster, do grant me access to your brilliant minds. How are we to improve and optimize this operation to its greatest magnitude? In other words,” he took an eager sip, “how are we to ensure no one will relinquish their ties to this plane of existence?”
“Ari--has anyone ever told you your vanity is adorable?” Nia couldn’t help but laugh at how affronted he looked at the mere suggestion that Sigrid might look better in one particular outfit than he would. “Feel free to prove me wrong. Just saying, if that blonde warrior can pull off men’s armor and put chivalry to shame with the way she holds a sword, there’s nothing to say she won’t absolutely look to die for in clothes as fancy as yours. You just wouldn’t know it because she doesn’t know how to dress herself. So--” She took the Canaveris lord’s proffered arm. “Let’s go and see if she puts you to shame!”
When Sigrid had agreed to help look out for Hadwin while he recovered, the former Dawn Warrior hadn’t realized it would all become a game. First, he wanted a hair cut--fair enough, and it was a rather easy task. But when not only Teselin showed up in something completely uncharacteristic of the girl, at Hadwin’s encouragement, but his own sister also conceded, the tall blonde was about ready to call out these shenanigans.
“Don’t you think there are more important things to worry about than playing dress up?” She folded her arms across her chest, a position she had assumed when she’d refused to partake in this ridiculousness. Bronwyn was more easily guilted into it--but not her. “Do what you want, Hadwin, but don’t bully others into following suit.”
“I wasn’t bullied.” Teselin interjected. She didn’t, however, look as though she was particularly comfortable in her new, better-fitting gown. “Just… Sylvie seemed very excited. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings…”
Just as she mentioned Ari’s niece, both she and her uncle entered the room with Nia in tow. The Master Alchemist’s face lit up at the sight. “Wow--looking good, Hadwin! And Teselin, you’re going to have suitors banging down your door looking as gorgeous as that!”
“Here’s hoping that doesn’t happen…” Teselin murmured, but Nia’s eyes had already shifted to Sigrid, who was the only one yet to cave in to the faoladh’s desires.
“Sigrid--come on, humour us. Just for a minute.” The Ardane woman looked between the warrior and the Canaveris lord, assessing how well his coat would fit. “In my personal opinion, you could pull this off better than Ari. Wanna settle a bet for us?”
“You want me to… wear Lord Canaveris’s coat?” While slightly relieved that she was not being asked to don a gown, like Bronwyn, the request that she try on something as fine as Ari’s clothes was unfathomable. “I couldn’t… that just doesn’t seem…”
Before she could gather her thoughts, Bronwyn stepped through the door, looking… well, looking exquisite. Without realizing it, or even meaning to, Sigrid couldn’t help but stare at how the bodice hugged the faoladh woman’s waist, and how the skirts cascaded past her hips like gentle waterfalls, without concealing her well-defined legs and arms. So different from her casual attire, but no less completely suitable. Beautiful, even, but although Sigrid’s eyes said as much, she couldn’t for the life of her come out and express it verbally.
“What are you talking about, Bronwyn? That looks like it was made for you!” Nia exclaimed, almost as excited as Sylvie to see the she-wolf out of her element, yet shining all the same. “Fucking beautiful. Sigrid--come on, everyone’s showing you up, here! Just try on Ari’s coat for a minute.”
“I… well, since it isn’t a dress…” Sigrid sighed and held her hand out as Ari carefully passed her the coat. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and adjusted the shoulders, then buttoned it up the front. Given her athletic build resulting in a bosom that was decidedly less developed than Nia’s, or even Bronwyn’s, for that matter, the chest and waist all fit rather well, for something that had been made to someone else’s proportions.
“See--see, I was right, wasn’t I?” Nia turned to Sylvie and Ari with a smirk. “I told you it’s the perfect colour. Now, Ari does have the earrings to his advantage, but Sigrid--that colour was made for your eyes.”
“I… don’t know what any of that means.” The blonde warrior mumbled, already flushed in the face from actually conceding to this game of dress-up. To her credit, she wasn’t facing a mirror, and couldn’t see just how regal the garment made her look. “Though if someone wants to fill me in on why of this is necessary--I am all ears.”
It had neither been Isidor’s will nor intention to return to the Canaveris villa so soon, but it made more sense for the able-bodied mage and Master Alchemist to take a quick trip by night steed to the Canaveris villa, than to have Ari and Nia--both compromised in their own capacity--travel all the way to central Galeyn. When he and Alster climbed into the carriage, Isidor took the opportunity to explain the reason for their impromptu trip to the D’Marian settlement. Alster hadn't hesitated to agree to go, always eager to go where he was needed, but Isidor was not oblivious to the look of confusion and concern on his friend’s face as they departed.
“Earlier this morning… I spoke with Aristide Canaveris. He asked me to treat him for some symptoms that acted up as a result of his curse, because he did not want to overtax Nia to treat him.” The Master Alchemist explained, clasping his hands together on his lap. “I had the opportunity to give him more insight as to what I have already determined from this plan, going forward to expel his curse. Namely, I explained the risks, and what needs to be addressed to make it possible to bend the odds in our favour. A lot of what needs to change is contingent on Nia, alone; that is what we are going to discuss this evening. I learned…” He paused, bent his head, and sighed quietly. His glasses slid down the smooth bridge of his nose. “I learned from Nadira that Lord Canaveris’s curse has, as it stands, effectively reduced his life expectancy. I’d thought we had more time to plan this procedure, but time does not appear to be on our side. As soon as we have completed our float, I feel we must expedite this process… before it is too late, and all of our careful planning is for naught.”
The trip by carriage pulled by the night steeds was fascinatingly quick, since darkness had fallen. By the time the two had climbed in and Isidor finished explaining the situation, they had already arrived at the Canaveris villa. They were not escorted inside by Lazarus, as Isidor had expected to be; rather, Ari and Nia met the two of them personally, all smiles and warmth, as if this were nothing short of a mere social call. Like always, Ari was impeccably dressed, though Nia’s clothes were barely fitting in her current condition. And while the Canaveris lord’s flamboyant zeal for hospitality was never a farce, it was already obvious that Nia’s smile, typically so wide and bright, was faltering. She struggled to make eye contact, and very much gave off the vibe that she did not want to be there--or, rather, she did not want to be around the current guests of the Canaveris villa. Isidor had expected this wasn’t a talk she was looking forward to, but it was necessary, and she knew it.
“I don’t think it is any mystery that I prefer not to leave my chambers, for any given reason, let alone venture into someone else’s territory. But if you think we are going to give you any insight into our project…” Isidor raised an eyebrow and folded his arms. “I didn’t take you to be so… daft.”
While Isidor wasn’t exactly a stranger to lobbing insults at those he deemed unpalatable, Nia couldn’t help but pick up the tic of a smile on his otherwise deadpan face. Something had occurred between him and Ari; she couldn’t sense the heated, heavy animosity between them that had been tangibly present in the atmosphere just days ago. In fact, when Isidor took a seat to her left, in an armchair next to the settee where she and Ari sat side by side, neither could she detect the animosity he’d held for her, for as long as she had known him. Isidor was… somehow, he was changed. She wondered if it had something to do with what he had confided in Ari.
For the first time, Nia chose not to imbibe on anything alcoholic: instead, Ari served her a mix of sweet and tangy juices that resembled the colour of a sunset. And for Isidor, he had something rather… extremely specific. The brief shock that registered on Ari’s face was mirrored in Isidor’s look of surprise as he took the glass from the host. “I… said that?” Truly, the Kristeva alchemist couldn’t remember ever having such a drink, although it did smell amazing. When would he ever have had the opportunity to partake in something so exquisite, and to such an extent that it would become his ‘preferred summer libation’. Except…
Except… somehow, somehow, he remembered from another time entirely--an impossible time--that at one point, it had been true. And despite that he had never tasted it, he had the distinct memory of its fragrant aroma. How was this even possible…? And, more specifically… how did Ari know? “It… looks delightful. Thank you.” He hazarded a smile, and brushed off the oddity of the drink he was holding in his hand, and why it felt so oddly familiar. But the feeling didn’t go away; just like the emotions attached to that dream, and its memories, remained crisp and clear in his mind as if they had happened only yesterday. But as much as he wanted to ask Ari just how he had come to such a conclusion with a drink that only a version of himself who had never existed experienced, he could not waste time with strange feelings and memories that had never happened. That wasn’t why he was here.
“I take it… the two of you have spoken?” Isidor looked between Ari and Nia. Ari nodded, as did Nia, but the latter would not look up from her lap to acknowledge him. The woman who was usually the center of attention in any social interaction looked like she wanted nothing more than to disappear. “I’ve already brought Alster up to date on the situation, and everything we know at this point. So we might as well get right to the point. Nia,” he looked pointedly at the other Master Alchemist, who pointedly avoided his gaze. “I understand you are probably upset with me for what I revealed to Ari. But you must know… The odds of success, as they now stand, do not have much to say in terms of your future. Or that you would have one at all, should we proceed without acting on the weak points now. Namely,” he raised his glass in her direction, “you.”
“I know--I get it! Don’t you think I know I’m far from capable right now?” Nia snapped. The entire room could practically feel the tension emanating from her body. “I’ve been useless for fucking weeks now. But I’ve got the whole goddamned kingdom watching, so I have to pretend I’m actually good for something. Galeyn’s getting a parade float out of me. I was hoping… that’ll be enough to get the kingdom off my case, so that I can actually, actively work toward being a little less useless. I’m trying.”
“Those circumstances aren’t an excuse, especially in light of what I am sure Ari has told you about his life expectancy.” Isidor took an experimental drink from the glass; it tasted exactly the way it had in his dreams. “I’m sorry, Nia, but we are working against time, so there is no room to take your feelings into consideration if you want a future where you and Ari are both around to experience. You aren’t eating; you aren’t strong. You are taking a substance to prevent you from sleeping. And you are not capable of going forward with this plan until you are at the peak of your health.”
“If it were that easy…” Nia dig her fingers into the fabric of the settee. “If it were that easy, Isidor, don’t you think I’d already fucking be there? You don’t know what… you have no idea--”
Isidor set his glass heavily on the table next to him, interrupting Nia’s ranting. “You’re wrong. I do know. Why you won’t sleep. Why you won’t eat--because I often find myself there, too. I don’t like what sleep brings, and more often than not, the thought of food nauseates me. You said it yourself, once, Nia; we aren’t so different. But…” He breathed steadily through his nose and adjusted his glasses. “But when I saved Elespeth, I forced myself to eat, and to sleep, until the very day leading up to the procedure. Because I refuse to be my own liability and to let down the people who are counting on me. And it wasn’t easy for me, either… but it was necessary. I did what was necessary to save Elespeth. So my question to you is this:” His voice softened. Harsh as he knew he could be with the Ardane woman, he also knew she wouldn’t respond as well to being kicked when she was already down. “Are you ready to do what is necessary to save Ari’s life? Furthermore, are you ready to accept the conditions that I’m going to recommend in order to get you there?”
Nia didn’t look up, but didn’t hesitate to nod. Her hand, beginning to tremble, found Ari’s. “I’ll do whatever it takes.” She whispered. “I don’t want a future… where only one of us is able to experience it.”
“Good. Then we are all on the same page; that is what is important.” He exchanged a confident look with Ari and Alster, before straightening his posture in his seat. “This is what I would like to do, going forward. First and foremost, Nia, I want you to cease whatever it is you are taking to stay awake. No Night Garden herbs in your system unless provided by a Gardener, themself. A solid eight to ten hours of sleep every night. Three meals a day, the contents of which will be decided for you, depending on what it is your body needs on a daily basis. And you will be expected to eat everything provided--even if it takes you hours. I’ll be consulting with Senyiah specifically for the addition of any necessary supplements she can recommend to hasten your recovery. In addition to proper sleep and eating: you need to get out. Get sunlight, and exercise, to rebuild the muscle mass you’ve lost in captivity. I understand your leg is still causing you discomfort, so as early as tomorrow, I would like you to allow Alster to finish tending to your leg.”
“In a single sitting?!” The Ardane woman blanched and rubbed her injured leg. “Do I at least get to take something for pain? C’mon, Is, you know my pain tolerance is absolute shit.”
“Fine; whatever it takes to get you through it. When you are able to walk without interference, there are several people who can provide you with the proper exercise: for one, Alster’s wife is no stranger to getting people into shape.” He flashed a knowing smile at the Rigas mage, who had become far more muscular and lean during his time living in the farmlands with his wife. “Sigrid Sorenson is also a capable candidate, and it is my understanding that she has currently devoted her time to Lord Canaveris and Stella D’Mare as her own self-appointed redemption. Last, if you make steady progress, you’ll have weekly physical assessments with a physician; if your progress is lagging, then it will be daily. I realize that this is a lot, but,” he turned his hands palms up, knowing he had nothing else to offer, “the more you cooperate, the easier it will be. We’ve had our… differences, but no one working to help you heal is working against you.”
It was a lot to take in, and by the pallor of Nia’s face, all of these expectations were intimidating. But, to her credit, she nodded her agreement. “Haraldur Sorde… he gave me some herbs that are supposed to help me sleep without dreaming. I haven’t tried them yet, but… well, they seemed to do wonders for Hadwin. The nightmares set me back; I can barely function in the aftermath. If those herbs work for me… it might need them, or I don’t know that I’ll be able sleep at all”
“Haraldur Sorde is able to communicate with the Night Garden; anything that he provides you for sleep is acceptable.” Isidor agreed. “Take them tonight. And tomorrow, when you are not working on your float, I want you to eat those meals, and I want you to allow Alster to treat your leg. You can ease into exercise afterwards. Does that sound reasonable?”
“It sounds fucking overwhelming, if you ask me.” Nia barked a laugh, but she didn’t let go of Ari’s hand. “But… count me in. The only future I want is one with Ari in it.” She turned to catch the Canaveris lord’s eyes, and something distinctly intimate lingered in their brown depths. “Have faith in me not to fuck this up.”
Not only was Hadwin bored out of his skull, but he was patently uninterested in entertaining himself for one very simple fact. The moment he focused inward, he’d never escape the assorted junk piles that would fall on him if he so much as shifted a centimeter in the pursuit of tidying up all the rubbish left rotting and festering. So, in true Hadwin fashion, he concentrated outward, which inevitably involved whatever unlucky sods crossed his path. Sigrid turned out to be a perfect candidate for his targeting gaze.
“Of course there are more important things, Siggy,” he rolled his eyes as if she announced that water was wet. “I’d be the first person to tell you the world sucks. But I’d also be the first person to tell you to lighten up. Not like there’s any harm done in playing dress-up at a nobleman’s estate. What else are we supposed to do, huh? Stare at each other till the first person blinks? I’d win that contest, by the way,” he pounded his chest proudly. “Would standing here at my bedside, looking official, suddenly make this assignment of yours ‘important’? And hey, it’s not like I didn’t first suggest something tame, like playing a card game, but since you’re so against doing anything remotely interesting, can you blame me for wringing out whatever bit of fun I could get my grubby hands on? So c’mon, Miss Drama, cut me a break. I’m not bullying you, besides. I’m cajoling you. There’s a difference. Don’t think I’d have a prayer if I bullied you, of all people.”
With the propelling scrub of his shoulders, he gave an experimental heave and twist in his bed, a general direction adjustment for better ease in engaging with the one and only person that still tolerated him. Teselin had pushed herself against a corner, more apt to vanish in her more noticeable garb than before, when she was actually hiding in the folds of her tent of an outfit. Some of his cocksureness faded on catching the summoner’s obvious notes of discomfort and distress. And if that weren’t enough, he saw the shades of her fears burning the edges of his periphery like crisp paper. So he still couldn’t make her happy, huh?
And you never will. One of those junk piles residing in the corner of his mind came to life, sporting Rowen’s eyes and cutting teeth. Because even when you’re at your most genuine, most sincere, you twist it all up.
“Aw, kiddo, if you don’t like it, you can always change back after we leave, yeah?” Hadwin tuned out the buzzing in his ear. “The Canaveris squirt never has to know.”
Speaking of…in walked the welcome brigade, in the flesh. Aristide, Nia, and short-sighted, well-intentioned Sylvie, who wanted the best for people, but didn’t know what that meant. Was ‘best’ in respect to someone’s wishes, or was ‘best’ providing a service for someone, irrespective of their wishes?
We all twist it up, Rowen. No one’s got it figured out.
“Psh, no worries, Tes,” Hadwin chimed in after she blanched at the suggestion of attracting suitors. “I’ll punch them all out before they think about getting in your breathing range. That’s a Kavanagh guarantee, bedridden or not.”
Bronwyn’s entrance snapped his head towards the door. No way in hell was he missing out on seeing her unglamorous arse spruced up for once in her life and…damn, she did not disappoint! “Well hell, miracles do happen,” Hadwin guffawed, a laugh entirely free of ridicule. Plenty of amusement, sure, but it rolled from him in pure waves of delight. “Take it all in, Bron. I’ve got nothing snarky to say. Burn it into your brain. It might be the only time I hold my tongue.”
Although Bronwyn’s gaze was too preoccupied with the floor to notice whose eye she caught, Hadwin wasn’t so oblivious to Sigrid’s open, awed stare, and…was that a little blush he saw, blooming on her cheeks?
He didn’t think anything could top the blonde warrior’s speechless ogling, but oh ho ho, it got better! Somehow, Bronwyn’s fancy dress debut finally inspired Sigrid to partake, and she freely donned the coat Ari offered for her to wear. After she slipped on the sleek garment, which was surprisingly form-fitting, Bronwyn, detecting movement, raised her head, her mouth forming a small ‘o’ in surprise. Now it was her turn to be taken off guard by someone else’s appearance. Bronwyn didn’t even know how to check someone out! She never showed interest in a person a day in her life, and now was when she chose to shrug off the shackles of her repressed upbringing and react? To Siggy the Humorless? Frankly, Hadwin didn’t know what to think, but he was there for it. And maybe, just maybe…he’d give them a little nudge forward. The corners of his mouth pulled into a devious smirk. Oh, wouldn’t this be a fun project? Come at me now, Sigrid! Apparently, I never learn from my mistakes!
“Ffft, I already filled you in before, Siggy. But I guess killjoys need all the help they can get to make sense out of the senseless. It’s not necessary, but isn’t that the point? Don’t you do things because they enrich your life, make it a little more bearable? ‘Sides,” he gestured at the handsome coat, at how it fanned out around Sigrid’s waist and flattered the whole of her, “have you seen yourself? You’ll change your tune in a heartbeat if you go visit a mirror. Take Bron with you, too.” He gave a teasing grin. “Don’t think she knows what a mirror is.”
Ari, looking deflated without his coat (and for other reasons, too), and accepting his defeat with equanimity, presented Sigrid with a congenial bow and a well-mannered smile. “It seems I have been soundly outmatched. Please, as a token, accept this coat as a gift. It would be a shame to deny someone the perfect article of clothing when it acts in complement to your complexion and augments your aesthetic appeal to such an unmistakable degree. You have made it yours, Miss Sigrid. Truly, I no longer deserve to call it my own when you exhibit the same ensemble with a princely flair that I can only dream of emulating.”
The more Isidor took charge of the proceedings without hesitation, the more Alster felt comfortable standing back to play a supplementary role, a quiet observer who supported his friend one hundred percent. Fully on board with Isidor’s methods of operation, as sketched out on the expedited carriage ride to the Canaveris villa, the Rigas mage found he had little to add. Whatever had occurred in a mere days’ time, whether it was a delayed reaction influenced by his confrontation with Nadira Canaveris or if it had anything to do with unexpectedly treating Ari’s flare-up that morning…or, alternatively, if it involved something else entirely, it looked as though Isidor had the crux of the situation well in hand, and he was content to follow the man’s lead. In fact, he was proud of Isidor’s take-charge attitude and proactiveness. Just yesterday, he was convinced of alienating people due to his self-proclaimed, monstrous anger and today…did he realize how much he was able to accomplish? While Aristide Canaveris was not an unreasonable man, he abhorred being seen as a victim of his circumstances. Nothing short of a strongly-worded ultimatum, or a threat, would convince the Canaveris lord to share with Nia the details behind his compromised life expectancy. He was too distasteful of being viewed as a charity case, but perhaps the most pertinent reason of all stemmed from his concern for Nia’s likely visceral reaction to the heartbreaking news. Ari wouldn’t dream of creating so much stress for the overwhelmed Ardane woman. So how had the hermetic, word-stumbling Master Alchemist managed to inspire Ari into showing his hand so quickly? Unless Nadira, driven by guilt, had stepped to coach her son, Alster couldn’t imagine how much sway Isidor conceivably had over the current leader of Stella D’Mare, otherwise. Judging by the jocular, over-familiar interactions between Ari and Isidor, the latter hadn’t used blackmail or harsh bullying to garner such admirable results. Really, the whole scenario seemed confounding and completely out-of-character to Alster, almost as if…the universe had stepped in and rewrote history.
Their suspicious companionability didn’t stop at the villa entrance, either.
“Ah, yes, if memory serves me correctly,” Ari responded to Isidor’s visible confusion with a similar frown of confusion. “For one, it is not a common combination of flavors, so I would not forget such a concoction. For another, I make it a point to memorize the food and drink preferences of my guests. If I have transgressed, or acted in error, I do not mind mixing you something different…” But Isidor accepted the tart beverage and the expression that passed over his face while imbibing was not unpleasant. Rather…it looked as if he enjoyed the oddity of the drink.
“What you propose isn’t beyond the realm of possibility, Ari,” Alster began, electing to focus on the sensical rather than obsessing over the bizarre mystery revolving around two men who couldn’t be more dissimilar from each other, at first glance. He swished the liquid around in his goblet. It contained nothing special. Springwater, with a hint of cucumber flavoring. Ari did take his hospitality seriously, as it precisely reflected what Alster preferred to drink. “When you encounter your next flare-up, have Nia collect a sample of your leftover stone sheddings. Then, with a droplet of your blood, I can combine the two and create a warning talisman, or three,” he swept out a hand to include Nia and Isidor in the count. “The moment you’re afflicted by another flare-up, the warning talisman will light, or buzz—or both—and inform the holder of your present condition. Seeing we’re all connected by resonance stones, it won’t take long at all for someone to respond to your emergency posthaste. Of course, that’s contingent upon Nia’s unavailability…or if she is, for whatever reason, indisposed.”
Similar in execution to Ari, Alster seldom selected blunt or brusque terminology, ever conscientious of one’s personal feelings and mindful of inciting anger, defensive posturing, or distress. Isidor, on the other hand, employed no such tact, opting to tell it exactly how it was, with no margin for misinterpretation or error. The no hand-holding, no nonsense approach was admittedly jarring, but Alster approved the tough-love tone, because sometimes, when softer persuasions failed, one had to change tactics to a more forceful bent, and Isidor was nothing but results-oriented. An abundance of understanding and coddling often smothered one’s flame-crackling determination to stand up and face the inferno, however much it burned, or killed, or defeated. Too much was at stake to soft-language around the problem and Isidor was well-equipped for tackling this task. Yes, it brought Nia to a mess of squirms and yes, it drove Ari to seek the goblet in his hand with ever-increasing regularity, but…remaining undisturbed and blissfully ignorant within the comfort zone would save no lives. Absolutely none.
At the very least, Alster could redirect some of the blowback triggered by Isidor’s plan of treatment. “Rest assured, Nia, I’m able to treat your leg, virtually pain-free,” he smiled, failing to mention the part where ‘pain-free’ translated as ‘pain-transference,’ and that he would be receiving her share. But it didn’t bother him much. Contending with the near-constant agony of his steel prosthesis for months prior to Isidor’s quality of life-saving reconfiguration, he developed a higher pain threshold as a result. “I can also vouch for Elespeth’s training regimen. It’s effective,” he massaged at the swells of his exposed left forearm for reference, “but it’s unforgiving. But she’s your better option. I heard training under Haraldur is worse, and I can’t imagine Sigrid would go easy on you, either. Speaking of the former, I’ll ask him to provide some more of the Night Garden herb he uses to dispel nightmares. And if push comes to shove, I do have a technique for possibly eliminating your nightmares—but you’re not going to like it, as it requires you to face the crux of your terror at the source. If that is something you’re considering, it can be as gradual a process as you like. A little bit every day won’t be as daunting or scary. The same goes for Isidor’s proposed health protocol. Once you establish a routine, which will admittedly take a few days of significant discomfort, you’ll find you’ll be too busy—and exhausted—to dwell on other factors such as Galeyn’s opinion of you. Believe me; my own city wanted to execute me—thrice—over the course of the last fifty years.” He tried for a casual shrug of the shoulders, but likely missed the mark. Alster defaulted to self-deprecating humor, but it didn't mean he was any good at running himself into the ground and making it funny. “Much as I might have denied it, I can’t help but obsess over and monitor D’Marians’ approval and disapproval levels. And yet, never have I cared less about their regard for me, or about anything, really, than when I was vomiting water at my wife’s feet after a non-stop ten-mile run.”
However poorly Nia was reeling from the pressures to deliver without delay, in some respects, Ari was faring worse. For someone who reveled in chewing the scenery, the Canaveris lord lapsed into uncomfortable silence, staring at a drink he’d already drained dry. Alster could only wager a guess, but he suspected the man simply did not enjoy people speaking of him like an instrument to be saved from the fire, at the expense of everyone else getting burned. Even if it did not amount to her death, because of Ari and the physical demands of his operation, Nia needed to run an entire gauntlet in a short span of time—a fortnight, by the sound of it—in his name. The more vocally Nia had expressed her objections towards Isidor’s reasonable, but staggering list of demands, the tighter and paler his lips became, his dark eyes unfocusing, flickering, drifting from the conversation. His hand, an anchor for Nia to clutch in comfort, firmed and loosened, firmed and loosened, not quite aware of the erratic patterns it was exhibiting. He looked like a copper penny that had been rubbed of its shine. Regrets roosted in those sagging shoulders that once stood so proud and undefeated. Why? He could almost hear the raven-haired man articulate, through the weight of his overburdened energy signature. Why did I reveal the truth? Why did I say anything at all?
“Inform my cook of Nia’s dietary needs, and she will not only create a nutritious feast, but transform it into the most delicious arrangement of comestibles this side of Galeyn.” As if catching Alster’s watchful eye, Ari shook free of his fugue and rearranged himself into his unruffled best, his faltering grip strength recovering its handhold on Nia. “In solidarity, Nia, I will eat what you eat. It would benefit me as well, I daresay, to maximize my exponents of salubrity. Every night, we shall restore ourselves in the hot mineral baths and—I do believe you would also benefit from the rejuvenating properties of our salt cave. Tomorrow, I will free some time and we shall venture there for a spell. It does wonders for one’s lungs and respiratory system. Perhaps you might even enjoy some hot stones laid upon your back?”
Alster couldn’t help it; he released a long, humorous snort. “Leave it to a Canaveris to cure with excess. Too much of it and Nia will be spinning on a spit like a roast chicken.”
At the utterance of his guest’s unforeseen comment, Ari raised an arch eyebrow at the naysayer. “Leave it to a Rigas to turn their nose at earthly delights when it suits their self-righteous agenda. Yet, they are the first to petition for precious jewels and line their mouths in decadent pastries.”
“Well then,” Alster deposited his empty goblet on the table and steepled his fingers, “I suppose we’ll have to settle our ideological differences, Lord Canaveris, in the best way we know how.”
Ari issued his rival a challenging glare. “Indeed, Lord Rigas. Indeed.” His lightly intoxicated gaze flicked to Isidor, and its heat changed to mischievous playfulness. “Godspeed to you, Master Kristeva. I pray you will be able to move forward after your sound and humiliating defeat.”
Move forward. Something about that statement folded Ari’s brow in a tic of bewilderment, as if plagued by an episode of deja vu.
It was too telling for Alster to ignore a moment longer. Upon their former dismissal and subsequent return to the carriage, Alster cocked his head at Isidor, his interest piquing. He waited until their conveyance lurched forward and the Night steeds bounded off on soundless, gliding hooves before inquiring, preferring to broaden distance between themselves and the villa before touching on the subject of the Canaveris lord. “Did anything happen between you and Ari? The two of you seem, I don’t know, different. I know you said you set aside your animosities, and you’ll have to excuse my presumption, but you and Ari have had a blisteringly quick turnaround. It’s like you’ve known each other for years. And…it might be my imagination, but,” he hesitated in his assessment, knowing he was about to broach potentially sensitive material, “you feel…star-touched, for lack of a better term. There’s an unmistakable aura of celestial magic around you, and it’s not coming from me.” The answer would be ‘No,’ but he had to ask—to eliminate the pool of possible persons. “Have you…have you been around any other Rigases lately?”
Sigrid had to admit… the luxurious coat, of a colour she would not ordinarily wear, wasn’t at all uncomfortable. Given her lean, athletic stature, it wasn’t particularly tight in any notable areas, and the fine fabric wasn’t scratchy or heavy against her skin. But the nature of the garment, up-scale as it was, had the former Dawn Warrior flustered and feeling like a fish out of water. In all her days, Sigrid couldn’t remember even once when she had seen fit to don attire designed for nobility. The closest she had ever come was sporting tunics with moderately more decals and unique patterning, those times that she had accompanied Naimah to balls and other celebratory events in Galeyn. A time in her life that had been tragically short… but no less meaningful. Now, she couldn’t even put a finger on where any of her somewhat-passably formal clothing had ended up. Prior to leaving Galeyn, grief-stricken at the loss of Naimah, Sigrid had purged the majority of her non-essential belongings, having never truly intended to come back. Parties and social celebrations no longer interested her; so what did it matter whether or not this coat, however comfortable and exquisite, looked on her?
“W-wait--what? No--lord Canaveris, I’m sorry, I couldn’t possibly accept this!” So taken aback by the very much unanticipated offer, Sigrid’s eyes widened visibly. “This coat, it was obviously made for you, not for me. I’m sure it suits you exponentially more than it suits me. I appreciate your generous gesture, but I must decline--”
“Oh, hold on a minute, Sorenson. You haven’t even seen yourself. Neither have you, Bronwyn. So neither of you has any reason to complain or object before you see what we’re seeing.” Nia interjected before Sigrid could shrug the coat off her shoulders, holding up her hands for everyone to pause. “Just a minute. There’s gotta be a mirror in here, somewhere. This is a Canaveris room; you’ll find a little bit of vanity everywhere.”
Thoughtfully tapping her chin, Nia surveyed the room, and her brown eyes came to rest on the bedside table next to which Teselin stood. “Hey, Tes--wanna open that drawer for me?” The young summoner complied, and sure enough, pulled out a gilded hand mirror with a long handle. Nia’s grin broadened. “Ah-ha, I knew it. Well, Sigrid? Bronwyn? What do you think? Step back--take a look at yourselves head to toe.”
Teselin helpfully held the mirror facing the two arguably most uncomfortable people in the room. Sigrid did as instructed, and was rather taken aback at how the colour of the coat almost perfectly mimicked the colour of her pale eyes. It did fit well, and elongated her already tall body, very much giving her the appearance of a nobleman. With appropriate trousers and boots, and with her hair styled just the right way, she could easily have passed for nobility. Naimah… she would have loved to see her, styled in such a way.
“It really is lovely.” Came her reply at last, soft and defeated. “It does serve to make me look more presentable than I typically do on any given day. But… it is yours, Lord Canaveris. Not mine. This was not made for me. As much as I wish I could accept this gift, donning something as regal as this isn’t just about looking good. This was designed for you, for a purpose. It is rightfully yours, and should remain as such; giving it away just because a handful of people think I wear it better is rather silly.”
“Sigrid,” Nia whispered, not so subtly, as she made cease-and-desist motions with her hands. “A Canaveris just offered you a gift. You’re going to offend him if you don’t accept.”
The former Dawn Warrior paused, having no intent to upset the kind lord who had not only forgiven her transgressions against Stella D’Mare when she’d been under Locque’s thrall, but who had welcomed her as a guest indefinitely and allowed her to help in any way she could to make it up to his people. She didn’t want to sour his opinion of her for refusing such a kind gesture--however, she couldn’t help but note the defeat in his shoulders when the man’s own lover had declared she was better suited for this particular attire. For all Nia was afraid he might be offended… in a way, Sigrid felt he already was.
“In that case… perhaps you can direct me to the tailor who crafted this for you?” Shrugging the coat off her shoulders very gingerly, afraid to tug on a single thread lest she harm the integrity of the garment, Sigrid held it back out to its rightful owner with a respectful bow. “I cannot accept this from you when it was not made for me. However, I would love to invest in something similar. I haven’t owned any formal attire since… well, in a very long time. Tell me who to talk to that can fashion me something similar, and that would be a gift in and of itself--and far more practical than giving away something that obviously still has meaning to you. Perhaps something could be fashioned for you, too, Bronwyn.” Her gaze returned to the faoladh woman, and she struggled not to settle those azure eyes on how the gown complimented her waist and bust. “You arrived in Galeyn with little more than necessities; you and I could both use a few improvements in our wardrobes, for when the right occasions occur.”
Impressed with Sigrid’s ability to read the subtle tells that Ari likely had no idea he was giving off, with regards to his own discomfort and disappointment, Nia smiled her appreciation with the Dawn Guard, and took the proffered coat. “You know, she’s got a point, Ari. Besides…” She helped the Canaveris lord back into the azure coat, one arm at a time, “Regardless of how well Sigrid can pull this off… I still really, really like you in this colour. Sylvie--you know where all the good clothes are made, don’t you? Maybe go and take Sigrid and Bronwyn for a consult. Oh, and why don’t you go as well, Tes? Don’t worry, I’m done my work for the day and won’t be far if Hadwin needs anything. Besides, you also deserve something pretty, all your own.”
Teselin was about to protest, but her hesitation was easily drowned out by Sylvie’s enthusiasm. “I mean… I suppose consulting wouldn’t hurt. Though I don’t need anything particularly flamboyant. You sure you’ll be alright by yourself for a little bit, Hadwin?” Her dark eyes fixed on her bedridden companion with concern. Over the past few days, that worry line between her brows had all but become permanent. When Hadwin insisted that Nia was right, and he wouldn’t turn to dust the moment she took her eyes off of him, the young summoner relented. “...alright. I guess…” She looked between Bronwyn and Sigrid. “It can’t hurt to find out what we’ve all been missing, right?”
“A talisman to predict flare-ups? Heck yeah, that would be hella useful.” Nia immediately agreed, and lit up just a little, like a dying ember trying to spark a flame. “I can always be nearby--and then your life won’t be in danger, Ari. For the time-being, until we can get you to living a normal life, permanently. So long as the kingdom sees fit for me to continue serving my sentence being using here, in the D’Marian settlement, you’ll neither find me far, nor indisposed, if I have anything to say about it.”
“I believe you, Nia. And, in saying that, I trust that you are going to come through on all of the conditions I’ve put forth.” Isidor, opting for a neutral tone as opposed to a coddling one, met the other Master Alchemist’s tired eyes. She already looked so burnt out… and while some negative feelings toward her had yet to wane, he couldn’t help but wish there was a way to make this easier on her. Everything she’d agreed to do was out of complete selflessness; she’d do anything, even risk her own life, so that Ari could have a future. That version of her in his dreams, a woman who had longed to reach out to Ari time and again, sensing there could be something between them, yet who ultimately ended up alone and dead as a result of his meddling… that version of Nia haunted him, behind his own eyelids. He could do nothing for that Nia Ardane; but he could be there for this one. “To be honest… I think you might be onto something, Lord Canaveris. Anything that might relax the physical and mental body may counter the stresses that Miss Ardane will be forced to endure, however frivolous it may seem. I hope you will take him up on it, Nia; you’ll be glad that you did.”
With nothing else left to convey, Isidor stood when it appeared that everyone was on the same page, and in agreement on how to proceed. “I wish I could offer a timeline as to when we can expect to have this procedure ready to go, but I’m afraid I have no way to predict the trajectory of Nia’s progress and recovery.” He added with an air of apology. “That said… regardless of how well you adhere to these terms, Nia, recovery cannot be forced. Do not heap blame onto yourself if it turns out to be slow-going. In the meantime, Ari should have that talisman, as soon as you can give Alster what he needs to create it. That said: do either of you have any questions, before Alster and I depart for the evening? If not,” the Kristeva alchemist’s lips tugged into a smirk that rather resembled Alster’s competitive grin, “then perhaps the next time you see me will be during your own defeat, Lord Canaveris and Nia Ardane. When Alster and I blow the kingdom away with our creation.”
As the Rigas mage and his dear friend departed by carriage, Nia watched with a pensive twist to her lips, before she turned to Ari. “I don’t know what the two of you talked about or what made you change your minds about each other… but if I didn’t know better, I’d say you and Isidor are close to being ‘friends’.”
Speaking of ‘friends’, Nia, evidently, was not the only one who had picked up on the surprising idiosyncrasies between the Rigas mage and Canaveris lord. Isidor had wondered if he had been imagining it, himself: the camaraderie, the odd familiarities with things that shouldn’t be familiar at all, such as that beverage that was hauntingly familiar to him. It was almost as if… As crazy and unlikely as it sounded, Isidor couldn’t help but wonder if Ari, somehow, had had the same dream.
“To be honest, I… don’t really know what happened.” Isidor stared, bewildered, at the passing evening scenery beyond the carriage window. It was all a blur at the speed of the night steeds, but he wasn’t really ‘seeing’, so much as his gaze was dissociating from the world in front of him. “Last night, I… I must have been burdened by guilt regarding how I treated Nadira Canaveris. Because I dreamed that--well, it was like I’d dreamed another life, entirely. I dreamed that Nadira had taken me from that tower, after all, when I had still been a child. That I’d grown up among the Canaverises and had the life that I’d hoped to have. No fear or abuse or neglect; I still studied ordinary alchemy, and my life was fulfilling. It was perfect. But… it was not a paradise. And I don’t know… that I would even have preferred it, if things had panned out in that way.”
Isidor drew his gaze away from the window and adjusted his glasses on his face. His brow was furrowed in what could only be read as regret. “I know I was never there when Stella D’Mare fell to Mollengard, but I saw it in my dream. I experienced the D’Marian displacement and settling in Galeyn. But that is where events really shifted directions. There was… a lot of death.” Slowly, he raised his onyx gaze from his boots to meet Alster’s eyes. “You and I… were not friends. We were barely acquaintances. And when Elespeth fell ill, there was no one able to treat her. You couldn’t bear the prognosis, and you… it was like you disappeared, entirely, to another plain. But it didn’t stop there.”
Drawing in a deep breath, the Master Alchemist expelled it slowly. “In my dream, Ari and Nia were never romantically involved. Because I was close to him, but I didn’t trust her. So he never rose to her advances. She remained relatively alone, without many allies, and when Locque unleashed her invisible demons on the kingdom… Nia fell to them. She died. And because of that… there was no one to help Ari, when his heart turned to stone. He… died. So many people died, and all because… all because I was not the right person, in the right place, at the right time. I wasn’t a Master Alchemist. Just… a man who had been fortunate enough to escape a bad situation, all to the detriment of several other people. I know it was only a dream, but it got me thinking, and I just can’t shake the feeling that… that there is a reason that life was never an option for me. Because too many lives would have been lost. All for the sake of… what? My comfort?”
The carriage finally drew to a stop, but it was a moment before Isidor realized he could stand and climb out. “You’re the only Rigas I’ve been in contact with to my knowledge,” he explained, recalling the other half of Alster’s comment. That effervescent image of a flower sitting upon his desk, the day the Locque was defeated, did ring clear in his mind… but Tivia had been nowhere nearby. He hadn’t seen her, nor felt her presence, in a very long time. “I know it was only a dream. Some weird result of my guilt. But I recognize now that I am in a position to do differently than that man in my dream. This is my reality, and I can make a difference so that no one else has to die. As much as part of me wishes I’d been saved from that tower, from Zenech…” Removing his spectacles from his face, Isidor pressed his thumb and forefinger against his eyelids, and appeared far wearier than he’d let on at the Canaveris villa. “I wouldn’t want it, if it meant, even indirectly, I’d still be responsible for unnecessary deaths as a result of who or what I did not become. Perhaps that is why I suddenly feel it necessary to treat Aristide Canaveris with civility. He and his family are not my enemy; they never were.”
Ever the advocate for the stringent rules of hospitality, Ari accompanied Alster and Isidor to their carriage and gave them a cheery send-off, with promises to remain in close contact should any issues float to the surface. As it were, Alster was scheduled to return the following evening in service to Nia’s leg, and to collect specimens of blood and flare-up detritus, if Nia and Ari have a sampling of the latter on hand. Once their carriage rolled away on curiously buoyant hooves, Nia’s comment regarding his and Isidor’s burgeoning “friendship” snapped him from his passive observation of the diminishing coach. “Friends? I’d hardly think not,” he protested, but weakly. “We are barely acquainted with each other. True, his company nowadays is not so objectionable, and I find him more trustworthy, but it seems we have collectively decided it more prudent to foster amicable relations rather than the inverse. It would do no good to antagonize a man who is a necessary figure in the procedure to lift my curse, besides. Certainly, nothing else of greater substance is at play here,” he concluded, and it was a statement he wanted to believe, but other, more inexplicable forces pulled stronger.
As they shuffled back inside, he played self-consciously with the cuffs of his exquisite blue coat, the very same he tried and failed to pawn off on Sigrid. Ever since it transferred hands, albeit briefly, it simply felt like it didn’t belong to him anymore, and he wanted to expunge it from his wardrobe. Immediately. Burn it, if no one else would accept his gift secondhand. No matter how Nia attempted to readjust by assuring his mastery over wearing the color, it was an empty compliment, bereft of substance and meant to placate rather than to flatter or praise. While she did not say such things out of the malicious intent to harm or bruise his ego, Nia’s implication that he could not pull off his own fashions had…hurt. Without realizing it, she had effectively punched him down to elate someone else, and while he expected a political opponent to utilize such a tactic, he wasn’t prepared to receive it from her. Not her. Never her.
Worse yet, it was such a silly thing to react to in offense. To so much as utter a word of his insecurity aloud would invite people to confirm their suspicions about him as overly-sensitive, weak-willed, vulnerable, unfit to rule. Unfortunately, a good bit of their suspicions touched on the truth. He was sensitive about his appearance. For a body so afflicted by frequent turns to stone, Ari often associated their ugly, bumpy emergences as grotesque, defective, something that must remain hidden, secret…concealed. Not only because his mother insisted they tell no one, but because…how would others respond to his afflictions?
Thus, he reached a surface-level solution. No…not so much a solution, but a deception. I shall coat myself in fineries. Perhaps then, I can forget that there is a huge chunk of myself that is…unpalatable. If I am beautiful, everyone will be too distracted to notice a most undesirable trait alive on my flesh. They will see the fabric, the silk, the drape and cut and the folds, but they will not see what I am disguising.
Over the decades of donning the most elaborate garbs—costumes, really, covering the truth—they evolved to become expressions of himself. What he displayed to the world was how he wanted to be seen and appreciated. This is my body. Not the faulty thing lurking within. This is what I’d rather you see. It is rather what I would see. It is…me.
How else, then, could he have interpreted Nia’s well-meaning but careless comment about how Sigrid would wear himself better than its progenitor? Than…him?
The sad truth? Sigrid did wear it better than he, insofar as Nia thought so. And if that were the case, what was the use of continuing to don his coat like a banner of defeat when someone else was obviously more suited to flaunt it like a victory? He had nothing but respect for the Dawn Warrior, how she handled her polite refusal of his offering, and he harbored no resentment for the end result. After all, it was his sacred duty to provide for the happiness and satisfaction of his guests, and Sigrid seemed pleased with the composition of colors and the extent with which it enhanced her handsome form, once she was able to verify it in a mirror. His aesthetic eye was seldom wrong, after all. However…now he lugged around a coat no longer considered his work of art, and artists knew better than to shamelessly display an inferior copy of another’s masterpiece. It wasn’t…it wasn’t his, anymore.
“If you would excuse me, Nia, I must attend to some important matters this evening,” he said, and it was not entirely a lie. As the leader of Stella D’Mare, Ari was never at a deficit of things to do. Alas…it was for his desire to be alone, primarily, that impelled him to separate from Nia. “If you worry about prolonged travel on foot, rest assured; I shall leave you with this.” He pressed the silver-tipped cane into her hand. “You are welcome to have your run of the villa tonight, but do remember—you are slated for sleep. Do wait up for me, and as promised, we shall slumber together. Since we Canaverises are so obsessed with vanity, we would never miss the opportunity to obtain our beauty sleep.” And, as he did earlier that day, he gave a playful smile and a wink, as if the vice of vanity was the greatest joke of all, and he, its fool.
After he paid his temporary farewells, Ari turned and made a beeline for his chambers. The moment he crossed the threshold and sealed shut the door, he gracelessly slipped off his coat and flung it to the ground, careless and not caring of proper hanging protocol. Once availed of his elegant top layer, he slumped on the edge of his bed, feeling heavier than usual. Too much was circulating his mind at once, like a water wheel at full speed threatening to detach from the mill and careen into the lake. In a mere span of twenty-four hours, he’d dreamed a different reality too memorable to forget, suffered one of his worst flare-ups, confessed to Nia the truth about his shortened life expectancy, forcing everyone to expedite their plans for the procedure, and in this raw, wound-opened state, he was hyper-focusing on an insignificant, throwaway detail not even worth slotting alongside thoughts of his own demise—or of Nia’s demise. Why worry over something so minor? Why worry…that Nia didn’t want him as much as she thought she did?
A figure emerged from the corner of the bedroom as though materializing from the wall itself. Ari, his head in hands, didn’t look up from the intrusion. “Laz.”
“She insulted you.” The huge, imposing golem wasted no time on preamble. Blunt as ever, he spoke exactly what he was thinking. “She called you ugly.”
“No, Laz.” He lowered his hands to his lap, raising his tired eyes to look at his most loyal companion. “She said no such thing.”
“She might as well have said it!” He roared, and its verve startled even Ari out of his gloom. “For how much her words have affected you, if she said you were hideous, it would register as little better! Malicious act or not, careless words said in ignorance do count as a form of malevolence. Without a doubt, she caused you pain.”
“So have I,” he opened his gloved hands, spreading them wide and wiggling each digit to check for mobility. “I betrayed her to Galeyn. My actions consigned her to a dungeon, broke her spirit, and negated her desire to live. I consider it a miracle she has not rejected me outright. That she has granted me a second chance and is desperately fighting to secure our future together is more than I could ask. And now…I must have her undergo another difficult hurdle. Frankly, she is free to say whatever she likes to my face. She has earned that right. As long as we are both alive at the end, ready to tackle our future together…” he closed his eyes, containing whatever wave of emotion threatened to unseat his composure, “then I do not care how she treats me. Now,” he opened his eyes to regard the man whose head almost grazed the ceiling, “if our conversation is complete, I would like to be alone.”
Laz lifted the discarded coat from the floor, draping it over his massive arm with a daintiness belying his size. His hard-lined eyes softened. No matter what he said, it would be a losing battle. Nevermind how Ari’s throwaway comments had eerily reminded Laz of how he’d defined his and Chara’s “relationship” several decades ago. If she mistreats me, then so be it. We mustn’t forget; she saved my life. I am more than happy to withstand her ire as payment. There was no reasoning with the Canaveris Lord whenever he was in love. So he accepted defeat, and changed the subject.
“Ari, you are beautiful. Whatever happens, that will always be true. I also wish to be beautiful.” He shifted awkwardly on his feet. “This body is no longer…fitting for me.”
This information succeeded in dislodging Ari completely out of his quiet introspection. In moments, he shot to his feet, mouth parting to reflect his excitement. “Laz, that will be no problem to resolve. I shall gladly reform your body to your exact preferences. As soon as tonight, even, if this current form of yours brings you too much discomfort. Tell me, what do you desire?”
Laz turned from the wardrobe where he had hung Ari’s coat, his expression decisive, and anything but subtle. “I want my outside to reflect my inside. Inside, I am a woman. I am a woman, and I want to be beautiful. As beautiful as you can craft me to look. But,” the hard line reappeared, “I want to be fierce. And deadly.” So that I may continue to put that cheeky Ardane woman in her place. Laz’s eyes narrowed.
As the carriage rocked and jostled through the countryside, Alster listened attentively to Isidor explain the details of his very elaborate dreamscape. Well, it certainly explained his sudden camaraderie with the Canaveris lord! However, it did not explain Ari’s genial response, in turn. While he tended to ladle every guest who visited his estate with respect and amiableness, this particular interaction suggested more, beyond surface-level niceties. Judging by Ari’s reactions, which complemented Isidor’s own, it seemed possible the two of them experienced the same dream, and were that true…then it was no ordinary dream.
“That may be, Isidor. We often process our most pertinent or prominent thoughts, questions, and worries by filtering them through the realm of dreams. This is true, but,” he paused, wondering how much he should reveal, when any information he spouted was unverified conjecture and might place additional stress on Isidor, who had already suffered enough guilt—and from an entirely fabricated world, no less! “But,” he continued, deciding to leave the most controversial speculations to himself, for now, “do you think Ari was also behaving oddly? Were you actually enjoying that strange drink he gave you? He seemed so confident about the fact that you would like it, despite the unorthodox combination of flavors. Maybe I’m reading too far into things, Isidor, but ask yourself: did it feel like a normal dream to you? Something generated by a guilty conscience and nothing more? If you consider your answer to be a ‘Yes,’ then what of Ari? Is it possible he had a similar dream, and if so…why? If the dream is a product of guilt, why would he experience it with you? I ask these questions not to come off as obnoxiously nosy and curious…even if I do,” he smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, “but because I have been in many dreams, only to learn they were not dreams at all, but visions, explorations into another’s mind, curses meant to keep me sleeping, forms of telepathic communication, or astral projections throughout the universe.”
“From what you’ve told me, it’s hard to conclude that you had a ‘normal’ dream. On the contrary, I think you felt something approaching the sublime. That’s why I asked if you made contact with any other Rigases. Dreams of this sort are more common among mages. Well, not so much earth mages,” he wrinkled his nose at that, a humorous jab free of any malice, “but celestial mages, such as the Rigases, are more connected to the sky, the heavens, the stars, and are naturally closer to receiving subconscious, cosmic messages from the firmament. While you’re not a celestial mage, you are in the vicinity of some powerful magic, which might rub off on you by contact.” His eyebrows drew together, forming a deeply troubled expression. “Perhaps it was me, after all. Sometimes I don’t have full control of my abilities, and since I can travel into other peoples’ dreams and coax buried memories to the surface, it’s possible I unconsciously meddled where I shouldn’t have. If that’s the case, you have my deepest apologies, Isidor. Maybe I’m the one you should stay away from.”
Although he reacted with the appropriate levels of horror over a mishap he could very well have caused, Alster’s levels of upset were not pinging at their usual highs. Again, he might end up as the culprit, but there existed another explanation for this unprecedented turn of events: Tivia Rigas. The budding star seer had shown her baffling degrees of universe-bending power in several very specific instances, separated only by a few short months. First, there was her disappearance from the palace. Any who dared search for her, be it through magical, alchemical, or mundane means, was met with cosmic punishment. Next, her presence among the black hole dimension he had rift-sealed himself into, following his clean-up of ridding Locque’s unseen creatures from their realm, saved his very existence, his soul, and it was not the first time she performed such a feat. Last, her at-the-nick-of-time arrival, as recounted by Sigrid, at Cyprian Rigas’s home, rescued Bronwyn Kavanagh and bought her brother and Sigrid time to escape to safety—all the while, Cyprian subsequently vanished from Galeyn, leaving no trace, no trail, no indication of ever leaving. …Just like his daughter. And, given Tivia’s layered and doomed relationship with Isidor in the past, it wasn’t too farfetched to suggest his—and possibly Ari’s—dreams stemmed from her involvement. But, again, as he didn’t know the certitude of his conjectures and didn’t want to implicate Tivia, or upset Isidor, Alster was much more comfortable implicating himself until he could finalize a more evidence-based conclusion.
“It’s fine if you don’t believe me, but…there is one way of testing this out.” He fingered the resonance stone in his pocket, the one connected to Ari. “Whenever you speak next with Ari, discuss with him something only he would know. Perhaps a detail about the Canaveris estate of Stella D’Mare. Wait, even better. Tell me about Stella D’Mare, Isidor.” He scooted forward in his seat, both to better hear over the dull roar of the carriage wheels and to demonstrate his willingness to indulge his friend over the details of a dream pronounced by the dreamer as “strange” and nothing more. “Discuss with a native D’Marian about his homeland. I’ll be able to tell you if you’ve described it accurately. The more specific you are, the better. Tell me something you wouldn’t find written in a book, let alone find in a dream of a place you’ve never visited.”
“No, I think I know acquaintances when I see them. And you guys… I dunno, it’s like you suddenly have a history. But since when does Isidor Kristeva have a favourite summertime drink? Or any favourite drink, for that matter?” Nia didn't have the impression that Ari was lying; really, what reasons would he have to be deceitful? But there was more to the Kristeva alchemist the Canaveris lord than mere amicable cooperation. She couldn’t put her finger on it, and she didn’t quite know how it was possible… but it was as if, overnight, the two of them had gone from passively civil strangers to would-be friends who had known each other a very long time. Of course… it was entirely possible it was all in her head, considering how well she wanted the man she loved and a man whose skills she very much admired to get along.
But if Ari insisted it was all in her head, then she had to take his word for it. It was very well just all wishful thinking on her part. “Well, whatever happened between you two… I’m just happy you managed to find a little bit of common ground. A reason to be civil. I told you Is wasn’t some bad guy out to put you in your place; he’s just awkward as all hell. But unsettling social situations is nothing you can’t handle.” The Master Alchemist chuckled and affectionately touched Ari’s arm… just as he pulled away, and announced he had other places to be, and other things to do. She shouldn’t have been taken aback by the announcement: when wasn’t the Canaveris lord busy? But it was evening, well after dinnertime, and--if they both followed Isidor’s instructions, then it would soon be time to retire for the evening. He couldn’t possibly expect her to fall asleep on her own; not after he’d promised her that he would be her protector, her anchor, and pull her out of the danger of her nightmares. But he left her, right now, only with his cane.
“Oh… alright, Ari. Hey, listen: don’t let what Isidor said get you down. I know it’s a lot, and I know you’re probably feeling partially responsible, since this is all to save your life, but try not to worry: I’ve got this. I promise.” Nia’s lips pulled into a grin and she pressed her thumb and forefinger together in a gesture of affirmation. “Might not be easy, but since when is life easy? Besides, I feel like, with you, I can do anything.”
It wasn’t apparent, whether she had managed to assuage the Canaveris lord’s worries at all. There was a heaviness to his shoulders as he sauntered off, and perhaps she was over-thinking things, but… but it almost seemed as though he wanted to get away from her, and quickly, at that. Something she or Isidor had said during their little corroboration must have really gotten to him. Perhaps he was tired of feeling like his curse was becoming the source of other people’s aliments… because, frankly, she couldn’t think at what else could possibly have put him in such a mood.
Grateful though she was to have free run of the villa (with her Forbanne guard never far behind, of course), instead of being confined to a cell or a single bedroom, the Ardane woman wasn’t too keen on roaming far with her throbbing leg. The cane did help, to an extent, but favouring that leg also referred stress to other points of her body, and standing and walking became altogether gruelling after long, regardless of a crutch. But, neither was she ready to turn in for the evening all by herself. Moody or not, she intended to hold Ari to his promise, and would not be putting effort into falling asleep anytime soon without his reassuring support.
The Master Alchemist quickly decided that, instead of stewing alone with her thoughts, if Ari wasn’t in the mood for her company right now, then she knew someone who would be. Nia made her way to Hadwin’s chambers, abandoning Ari’s cane just outside the door so she didn’t stride in looking more like an invalid than she actually felt. It struck her as odd to walk into his room and find him alone, however. This was the first time in a long time that there was no sign of the young summoner glued to his side! “No Teselin this evening? Is she still out with Sylvie? Those two are hitting it off better than I’d thought! I mean… Sylvie doesn’t exactly give you a choice but to enjoy yourself. It was only a matter of time before Is’s little sister relaxed a bit. But, can’t be any fun for you here, just lounging all by yourself.”
To take her weight off her leg, she took a seat in the armchair that Teselin usually occupied, facing Hadwin’s bed. “Well, I’m bored, too. Don’t tell on me or anything, but technically I’m supposed to be sleeping right about now. Isidor’s orders, among a whole shit-tonne of other things he wants me to do to prepare me to lift Ari’s curse. I plan to be a good girl and do what he says, just… not yet. Ari’s busy, anyway, and like hell am I going to sleep alone without someone to wake me up if I start having those nightmares from hell. But, hey, speaking of sleep… did those herbs really help you, the other night? You don’t look as bad off as you did before. No nightmares or disturbing dreams?”
Evidently, not. Not since the night he had almost lost himself, just as Bronwyn had come to the rescue. Noticing the hand mirror still sitting on the bedside table, the Master Alchemist curiously picked it up, and very quickly regretted it as she grimaced before the reflective surface. “Ugh--come on, how long have I looked this bad? And no one’s bothered to tell me!?” She touched her sunken face, noting the darkness beneath her eyes, the way her hair hung limp without proper nourishment to give it body and shine. Her skin lacked colour and hydration, and there was no brightness to her usually vibrant brown eyes. Horrified, she ran a handful of her hair through her fingers, and as she did so, her runes stole shine from the brassy mirror and imbued that single handful of locks with the look of artificial health. Here, she’d though Nico was just being a proper little shit by suggesting she looked like death; the little brat had been right this entire time!
“The lot of you are either way too nice or completely horrible for letting me walk around looking like this, Hadwin. I wouldn’t have been offended if someone had subtly suggested I put some rouge on my face, you now.” Nia self-consciously ran the rest of her brown locks through her hair until the brass mirror handle grew dull and lifeless, and her brunette tresses shone with its borrowed vibrancy. It wouldn’t last, and would likely fade back to dullness by morning, but it made her feel better in the aftermath. “Apparently Isidor thinks I’m pretty bad off. Not well enough to lift Ari’s curse and survive. So my life gets micromanaged, down to what I eat and how often, how much sleep I get, and how much I move my body in a day. Sounds like a real fucking thrill, yeah?”
Nia rolled her eyes in the mirror and set it on top of the quilt. She wasn’t finished yet; with one hand, she sought the colourful pink and red hues sewn into the quilt, and with the other, she touched her cheeks to give her face some colour. It wouldn’t last long, either, but the poor quilt would likely never restore its cover in that one particular spot. She absently wondered if anyone would notice. “Honestly, I’d rather be in your shoes. At least no one expects you to be functioning at your best.” Nia sighed and slumped back in her chair. There was no point in tackling those dark circles beneath her eyes; those wouldn’t be properly remedied until she was well rested, and who knew when that would happen?
“Well, Ari’s off tending to some important Canaveris business right now. And I’m not going to bed without him. So--you get to tolerate my presence for a while.” The Master Alchemist smirked, and scanned the room without getting up. “Any cards in here? I could go for a game or two. I’ll even let you win!”
Isidor had thought Ari was behaving oddly. The Canaveris lord, while always a good host, had seemed almost too attuned to his own wants and needs. That drink, his mannerisms… the fact that he acted as familiar with Isidor as Isidor had, unconsciously, with him. But what were the odds that the two of them had dreamed the same thing, at roughly the same time? That drink… it had tasted not only delicious, but familiar. As if those flavours had danced across his tastebuds not once, but many times before. It had triggered memories in him, false memories that had never happened, that even the dream had not shown him. “It… at the time, it didn’t feel like a dream.” The Master Alchemist confessed, and pressed a hand to his forehead. “So you think… you think I dreamed this--or Aristide and I both had this dream--because we’ve been in your presence? But, if that were the case, Alster, then why hasn’t everyone with whom you’ve shared company dreaming up strange and fantastical events such as this? I’m not sure that you are to blame. At the same time… I really cannot explain it. Regardless, whether or not it was an ordinary dream isn’t what matters.”
While Alster was fascinated with the why and the how of Isidor’s strange string of twilight visions, Isidor couldn’t separate himself from the facts of it all… and what they had taught him. “I’ve never visited Stella D’Mare, but I remember it… as if I had.” Feeling oddly light-headed, he pressed on hand to the outer carriage wall after stepping out into the cool night air. “In my dream, I wasn’t entirely different than I am now; I didn’t spend a lot of time outside or do a lot of exploring. But I remember the ocean. And citrus trees, everywhere. The climate was temperate, and there was… well, there was one place, on the shore. In my dream, at least. If you went at sunset, you would see the sun sink behind a tall, pointy mountain, and it would make it look like it was burning. It looked like a candle…”
Isidor rubbed the back of his neck. “Though, real or not, it… it doesn’t matter. That’s not the point, Alster.” Pushing away from the carriage, he removed his spectacles from his face and rubbed his eyes. “The fact is… there was never a chance for me to live such an ideal life as what I’d dreamed. Too many other people would have suffered as a result. Nadira Canaveris was right to leave me behind in that tower, to continue to progress and become what I am today, so that I could make necessary changes to ensure others didn’t suffer. I imagine, sometime long ago, that was the entire point of Master Alchemy, until it all became about elitist greed. No… I was never slated for a happy life. And knowing what might have become of one… I can’t even long for it.”
Sigrid and Bronwyn had eventually escaped Hadwin’s game of dress up when the faoladh had tired of them, and insisted that he was fine on his own, or with Teselin’s company. But a promise was a promise, and while Sigrid had thought (or, rather, hoped) that Aristide Canaveris--or rather, his niece, Sylvie--would forget all about getting her and Bronwyn fitted for custom made clothing fit for a ball… she really didn’t know the Canaveris girl’s zeal when it came to fashion and flare (much like her uncle), and how relentless she was to see things play out to her vision.
Early the next morning, the Dawn warrior awoke to a lively knock at her door. Wondering if something had happened to Hadwin, and the possibility that it was Teselin seeking help, Sigrid jumped out of bed, in nothing but a rumpled, grey tunic that hung just above her knees, her hair all array in whisps of blonde… and opened the door to Sylvie Canaveris, Teselin, and Bronwyn. “What’s wrong? Is something the matter?”
Evidently, the only problem was that Sigrid had completely forgotten she’d promised Sylvie that she would accompany her, along with Teselin and Bronwyn, to the tailor first thing in the morning to get her measurements. Oh… oh. This really was a thing that was happening. “I… yes. Of course. My apologies, Miss Canaveris, I did not forget! I simply… uh, I overslept. Um…” The blonde warrior gnawed on her lower lip. “Let me… I’ll go put something on. I won’t be long--sorry for making you wait!” At the very least, Bronwyn appeared secretly as defeated as Sigrid felt. But she’d roped the faoladh woman into this in the first place, so that she would not have to go it, alone; she wouldn’t leave her hanging, now!
Hadwin wasn’t about to let Teselin waste away in his stuffy chambers all night long, oh no, and it appeared Sylvie had the same idea. When Ari’s cute niece invited the summoner for supper and a tour of the undercity, the faoladh was the first to nip Teselin’s polite dismissal in the bud. “Tell me honestly, Tes; are you getting sick of card games every night?” he asked his most ardent caretaker, whose constant fears over his health prevented her from kicking back with people guaranteed to yank her out of her comfort zone and help her live it up a little. “Get some fresh air, kiddo. If nothing else, do it for me. You know I’m dying to be in your shoes right now. Tell me all about your exciting cave explorations, yeah? Don’t skimp on the details, either; I wanna hear it all!”
Finally convinced that he’d be alright on his own for a little while (as both Sigrid and Bronwyn were busy decorating the city and couldn’t pop in on him intermittently), the summoner left for her little friend date, and Hadwin, abhorring the slightest sliver of idleness, whiled away his time by practicing his hand mobility flipping cards…attempting to flip cards. His prestidigitatory flair lost to disuse, clumsy fingers flopped each card from his shaky grip where they, without fail, joined their brethren in the graveyard of discards surrounding his bed, and the floor, like a gambler’s mote.
It was in this pitiable state that Nia found him, muttering curses to himself (and to someone else not seen in the room) until he finally raised his head to acknowledge his guest. “Nia!” His mouth erupted into a grateful—and relieved—grin. “Didn’t think you’d come around, to be honest. Needless to say, I’m fucking thrilled to be wrong. Tes ain’t here, you’re right, and I couldn’t be happier she’s not wasting away with me for once, but it doesn’t do much for my entertainment prospects. But I see you’re willing to volunteer, so hear my entreaty, my would-be savior: save me from the boredom!”
As Nia settled on a seat next to his bed, his luminous eyes followed her movements, along with her fears, written as they were over her form like a composite, a ghost figure, a shadow, never removed or excised and thus, impossible to rub away. Near impossible not to pick at, either, but Hadwin was trying his best to behave. Especially around Nia, who he almost kicked into the bottomless nightmare well. “Rough night, huh? Yeah, bugger all to folks telling you what to do, but if it’s for a good cause, like preserving your life, then whatever; gotta go for it, begrudgingly. Not to say you can’t make a stink about it, though. Everyone knows my reputation for taking my bedrest orders and chucking them against the nearest wall. Seriously, I’d love to switch places with you!” He barked a laugh, disguising the malaise that crept in the back of his throat and crawled, and crawled, scratching him up as it climbed.
“I’ve been bedridden for months. I’d give anything to be up and on the go again; hells, even a fully regimented lifestyle sounds like paradise on earth. I’d take it, really!” The scratching intensified. “You think I wanna be crippled? You think I want people to keep treating me like an invalid who can’t even feed himself or shit without assistance? You know how demeaning that is? At least folks are trusting you pull this off. Me? Hah; you said it yourself. No one’s expecting anything from me, and that’s the damn problem!” Another laugh; this one, less disguised, more desperate. A little unhinged. Angry. Dangerous. Explosions of fear reddened his vision. True red, not muddled red. Not brown and dull and flat. He saw the red from Nia. She was expecting the worst. Expecting he would snap again, and take it all out on her. No no no pull it back. Pull it back now! He bit down on his lip. Hard. Rivulets of blood trickled past his chin, dribbling on his pure-white night shroud. He breathed in calm. Control. This won’t make Tes happy.
“I…don’t suppose I could join you during the exercise portion of your strict as fuck training regimen?” In a far more serene state, he aimed an ingratiating smile in her direction, and his eyes flashed, I’m fine. I’m fine! “According to our hermit crab turned social butterfly, I should be on my feet in the next day or so, yeah? I’m holding you to it, then! It’ll be for everyone’s sanity not to deal with my constant bitching and moaning to get out of this damn coffin. Not exaggerating when I say I fucking feel like death…but yeah, sure, Papa Sorde’s wonder herbs gave me a restful night, at least. So that’s something. Want some?” He nodded to the topmost drawer of the nearby vanity. “It’s in there. Enough for you and me both.”
She’d wandered over to the vanity, though not to pick up the aforementioned herbs. Instead, she busied herself sucking out the essence of inanimate objects to beautify her appearance, like some object-seeking vampire. It didn’t make a huge difference to him, but then again, he was color blind and couldn’t make out the nuances in the tints and hues. “Hey, think of it as revenge. No one told me how rusty and barnacle-encrusted I looked—you included! I’m only now feeling slightly on the up and up.” He ran a hand through his freshly shorn locks. “It’s a wonder what a haircut does for your self-esteem.” He stared at the color-sapped quilt and the dulled mirror varnish, tsking at their condition, which, even through his muck-covered sense of sight, looked tampered with. “Messing with Ari’s shit, eh? Heh, no wonder why he’s so sore with you.”
It was a throwaway comment, but one that begged for elaboration. Hadwin, too invested in his invasive fear-scrying, couldn’t help but meddle—and he was trying to be good, too!
“Well, if you want a rousing game of rummy or poker, you’re gonna first have to play 52 pickup,” he said, as he indicated the scattered mess of flung cards. “Gather ‘em up and shuffle the deck…and meanwhile, I’ll fill you in on what’s eating Ari—since you don’t seem to have a clue.”
Obligingly, she scooped the cards from the floor (while he collected the ones littering his sheets). Owing to his depreciated dexterity, Hadwin settled for a basic back-and-forth shuffle, a painfully slow endeavor, before handing his pile to Nia, who nearly completed her task of recovering the outliers from the floor, also a gradual process, considering the limitations of her leg. “Your man’s a little insecure, and you kinda hit him where it hurts. Sure you didn’t mean it, but insinuating that Siggy’s a better fit for his very personalized fashion sense got to him, well, personally. So he’s worried you think he’s not worthy of his own art, and that makes him afraid that you don’t care for him other than as your project. As something to fix, and that’s it. You’ll discard him once you’re done, either by dying or by realizing you never really wanted him to begin with, that you just wanted the challenge, and he’ll be left heartbroken and all alone again. Not that he’ll admit any of this out loud; Canaverises have a tendency to box up their true feelings, I’m noticing. Sweet little Sylvie is no exception, either! She’s not as bubbly in her head as she comes off in person, but that’s all I’ll say. Anyway, fancypants is having a rough go of things. Like you, he’s overwhelmed, but his preferred method of dealing with it is…retreating.” He raised one bushy eyebrow. “Guess that’s what he’s doing now, eh?”
To break some of the tension behind his revelatory, yet hard-to-swallow insights regarding her lover, Hadwin threw them into the game without a drop of mercy. Eager for some wins, as the last few months for him had come up short of victories, he proceeded to eviscerate his competition, showing no shame for going hard, even on a friendly few rounds. However, once he got his jollies in, he eased up on the slaughter and introduced Nia to less cutthroat games, deciding she deserved a bone or two for putting up with him. After about two hours of play interspersed with light banter and animated chit-chat, a curt, polite knock on the door alerted them to some company. “Come in, Ari! She’s in here!” he shouted through the door frame. At his rippling holler, the latch clicked, and in walked the Canaveris lord, attired in nondescript, brown clothes, his hair gathered in a messy ponytail. How ironic for Nia to gussy up while he had gussied down.
“Mister Kavanagh, your keen canine senses are impressive, as always,” he gave the faoladh a polite bow. “Excuse my interruption. I did not want Nia to forget about our appointment.” His dark eyes met Nia’s, drinking in the shine of her hair, the rouge on her cheeks. “My, you look lovely. Such a brilliant shine to your hair and face. The light favors your beauty, for how you glow and blossom in it. I cannot say the same for myself, at present,” he raked away some loose, damp strands of hair from his forehead. “I am in the midst of a rather ambitious and very important sculpting project. Alas, I did not wish to keep you waiting, so I’ve postponed my work until the morning and hurried here in my artist’s rags to find you. Please forgive me for keeping you waiting.” He tilted his head, dislodging the hair he had just affixed behind his ear. “Are you ready to retire for the evening? If so,” he extended his arm for her to take, “let us away.”
“That’s…Candle Mountain. An original name, I know,” Alster released an exaggerated puff of air, partially for levity, but mostly to shake away his awe at Isidor describing a little-known landmark with such accuracy…as if he truly had been there. “It’s Stella D’Mare’s best-kept secret, because it can only be viewed on a secluded stretch of beach accessible by low tide, and even then you have to search for it deliberately. As it stands, the illusory effect only works during summer, when the setting sun’s path veers in a southwesterly heading. That’s…fascinating, Isidor. And you don’t want to uncover how this happened to you?” He frowned, but it was a better expression to wear than cold, scientific curiosity. More tonally considerate, at least. “The how is more likely to reveal the why, rather than your interpretation of the why. Because, if I’m being frank,” he gave Isidor an apologetic glance in advance for his borderline dismissive comment, “I don’t think you’ve reached the correct conclusion.”
“If that dream was meant to punish you into believing you can’t have what you want, then why would someone else experience the same dream, if we’re to speculate Ari had a similar encounter? If this dream is doling out alternate history scenarios, then for what reason was he invited? That’s why we must know if he dreamed the same life, the same circumstances. Depending on his answer, it can be assumed that your dream was meant for a different purpose.” As the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the palace entrance, Alster followed his companion out the door. “Perhaps it was trying to show how we are all connected, and how we can find within ourselves a hidden potential we never knew existed, because we never had the perspective to see any differently. Perhaps it’s not supposed to fill you with resignation for this life, but more a feeling of empowerment. Now that you’ve seen all the avenues of possibility, you can borrow what you enjoyed from that other world and make it a reality in this one.”
They continued down the corridors, side by side, en route to Isidor’s chambers. “Of course, you’re welcome to interpret the dream however you see fit, Isidor, but I hope you’ll think more about its implications beyond the lens of defeat and grim determination because…you’re allowed to have it both ways.” He stopped, mid-stride, to level the Master Alchemist with a meaningful, poignant gaze, as if determined to hypnotize the message into him. “You can have a happy life. For yourself. It might not have started out happy. It didn’t start out happy for a lot of our friends and allies. But it’s too early to give up yearning for what you desire. If that were the case…well, I’d be dead, I suspect. Or…adrift in some other plane, like in your dream. Before you say anything in reference to my alter-self,” he shot out a hand in case Isidor tried to argue that the other Alster Rigas wouldn’t have retreated into the ether realms if he had been there, abilities and all, to save Elespeth, “I’m sure there were other factors at play, Isidor. We don’t know the entire story behind my…disconnection. Besides, this one dream shows a single route in a sea of infinities. Nothing is so limited, so one-color for you. In fact, this should go on to prove that the universe is flexible, and we can bring into it whatever we’re looking for; whatever we long for and wish. We can’t necessarily alter the past, no, but we can alter our future, and work with what we have here in the present.” He stopped in front of the door to Isidor’s chambers, figuring it too late to invite himself in. “So let’s focus there, Isidor, alright?” He placed a companionable hand upon his much taller friend’s shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Sylvie Canaveris was done waiting for opportunities to waft in her direction. She had learned, through her uncle’s perseverance and ironclad will, that one had to push towards their goals, regardless of other people’s level of willingness and readiness. Not to say she disrespected boundaries, per se, or bristled at the word, ‘No,’ but rather, she took the inch that others gave her and stretched it into a mile. That was precisely what she did the following morning. Not satisfied with verbal agreements, because verbal agreements were the easiest to blow off, she decided to arrive in person as a friendly reminder of their commitments, and, as she observed from Ari, from Nadira, and from her father, it was harder for someone to deny your requests when you arrived to collect them in person. And if you smiled sweetly. And said, ‘Please.’
Thus, she had gathered Teselin and Bronwyn in this way before heading over to Sigrid’s door.
“Good morning, Miss Sigrid!” she said sunnily, hoping to erase any comparisons between her and a sadistic jailer who held the keys just shy of her prisoners’ hands. Surely, visiting the tailor for a fitting wasn’t so dreadful a prospect akin to a whipping or the torture rack, and her trio of diffident guests were just being dramatic in their lukewarm enthusiasm. “It gladdens me that you have not forgotten our little outing,” she said, but with a knowing gleam in her eyes that read, ‘Oh verily, you have forgotten.’
“This does not need to be painful, everyone,” she assured her hesitant entourage once they were all ready—more or less—to venture from the villa. “Our tailor is very respectful of boundaries. With Uncle Ari as his most valuable client, he understands how not everyone is receptive to touch, or invasiveness. He will not encroach on your private space needlessly, if that is what worries you. And oh!” She turned to the three lost little lambs she shepherded, (funny, seeing as one of them was a literal wolf), “Uncle Ari is going to finance our excursion! Isn’t that lovely? So do not feel as though you are limited by the coinage of your purses, as you are all covered under Canaveris credit.” You could not afford the cost, otherwise, she wanted to say, but it was rude for nobility to speak of their expenditures, especially to their guests, so she refrained from sharing her bluntness.
During their short trek to the tailor shop, on the outskirts of the business district, and incidentally, the closest building outside of the Canaveris villa grounds, Bronwyn slid between Teselin and Sigrid, having not said a word to either of them since they had begun the excursion. Same as Sylvie’s other two hapless victims, she looked uncomfortable, but not entirely in fear of enduring another round of dress-up. She really didn’t care what people gave her to wear because she didn’t know fashion from fur, and speaking of fur, if an emergency called for a hasty transformation, all her beautiful clothing would get torn to shreds in the transition to wolf. So why bother investing in fancy gowns and such, when the likelihood of ruining it was above sixty percent? If society deemed it acceptable, she’d walk around naked, for how little clothes had meant to her. She worried more about the fuss, the rigamarole, the ritual, the obsession with colors, fabrics, folds, ‘No, this is not how you wear it; were you raised by wolves?’ Well as a matter of fact…
Additionally, she had another worry. And her name was Sigrid Sorenson.
“Here we are!” Sylvie stopped before a quaint, white-washed establishment topped with a red clay roof, its facade covered with climbing ivy and a trellised awning bedecked in purple wisteria. The shop-front appeared so benign and inviting, that Bronwyn began feeling a mite calmer. “We’ve an appointment, so the shop is all ours for as long as we inhabit it!” Sylvie explained to the reluctant trio, as she approached the cerulean-blue door and gave it a sharp, loud knock.
Within moments, an olive-skinned man with graying hair at the temples answered the summons, his gruff expression immediately brightening upon seeing his visitor. “Why, if it isn’t Sylvie Canaveris—and company! Please,” he swung his door wide and waved everyone inside, “I’ve been expecting you! Call me Mal. Come, come, don’t be shy!” Once he successfully herded everyone inside, he clapped his hands together and looked hungrily from person to person. “Now, who might I be working with first, today? Oh, and might I have your names?”
For some ungodly reason, Bronwyn stepped forward first. “My name is Bronwyn…Kavanagh,” she mumbled the last bit, not too comfortable flashing her surname so carelessly when the majority of Galeyn was so affected by her family’s misdeeds. “If you don’t mind, you can take my measurements first. Also, I have no preferences over design or color, so I’m happy to accept whatever you have lining your walls that you want to get rid of,” she nodded towards the racks upon racks of colorful garbs ranging from silk brocade coats reminiscent of Aristide Canaveris’ distinct style, to ballroom gowns layered in chiffon, lace, and taffeta, their embroidered floral patterns elaborate as they were delicate as a bouquet. Without thinking much of it, she began to shrug out of her clothes, proceeding to shed off her tunic before stopping to register everyone’s gaping expressions. “Oh…I forget that’s generally…looked down upon around here,” she blushed, and lowered her arms to her sides, releasing the ends of her tunic. “Is there a dressing room where these things are done?”
The tailor named Mal gave a pointed, but nonetheless amused look at Sylvie. “Well, you certainly keep interesting company nowadays, Miss Canaveris. And who might your other two guests be?”
