“Much as I say I’d rather be in your shoes… I can imagine bedrest gets hella boring after a while. Especially if you’re like me, and sleep isn’t your friend.” Something that Nia sorely missed those days that she could literally sleep away, in the aftermath of trying or difficult alchemy. She missed being able to really rest: to close her eyes and forget about the world. Nia eyed the herbs at Hadwin’s bedside warily, knowing full well she would have to take them tonight, like she had promised. She was not looking forward to the experiment. “But, hey, you’re already one step ahead of me if you can manage to fall asleep and not wake up debilitated by your nightmares. I hope that Forbanne guard doesn’t mind staying up all night, because if I don’t have someone to pull me out of a hellish nightmare, I don’t know how functional I’ll be tomorrow.”
Sleep was not a cure-all, however, as was evidenced by Hadwin and his reaction to his stir-crazy bedrest. The Master Alchemist’s stomach dropped, sensing his escalating emotions. This was how it had begun a few nights ago; when he had very nearly harmed her, in the worst possible way, however unintentional. Her first instinct was to flee, and remove herself from this potential danger, knowing that Bronwyn might not be around to save her this time. But… what about Hadwin? He needed someone to reassure him he wasn’t turning into some unpredictable fuck-up. So instead of running away, Nia reached out and touched his arm. “Hey; it’ll be fine. You’re almost out of the woods. Just a few more days, right?” She beamed her infectious smile, and to her relief, the faoladh managed to catch himself before he ventured into a place of no-return.
“Pfft, you wanna do the exercise for me instead? I am not looking forward to that. Alster insists his wife is the best candidate.” She pressed her lips into a thin line of uncertainty. “The woman only recently decided she doesn’t hate me, and I think she’s still struggling with that. Something tells me she won’t feel so bad if I completely drop from her regime. I could sure as hell use a friend for moral support. Anway,” Ignoring the twinge of her injured leg, the Ardane woman stooped to pick up the fallen cards on the floor. “Ari says he’s busy, but I’m not going to sleep alone. So until he’s ready, let’s kill time together, hm?”
It didn’t occur to Nia that Ari was in any way sore with her; he was bothered, yes, but she’d figured it had more to do with Isidor’s ill prognosis of the procedure to save the Canaveris lord’s life. So to hear Hadwin’s completely unsolicited account of what was going on threw her off a little. “I already know what’s ‘eating’ him. We weren’t being entirely honest with each other; lots of revelations that made us both upset. What do you think you know that I don’t?” Evidently, the answer was simply… ridiculously simple, to the point where Nia was almost apt to call it petty. “Wait--wait, this is about that coat? I was hardly being serious. Here I thought he had a good sense of when I’m joking around, by now…” She frowned down at her cards, and her brow furrowed with concern. Did I hurt him? All because I said the colour blue matches Sorenson’s eyes? “Yeah, I get that he’s sensitive, but it’s… clothing. He didn’t even make it. What would that have to do with his art? And how… how in the hell can he assume I wouldn’t really want to be with him?” The Master Alchemist altogether forgot the object of the card game, and dropped her hand, not caring that the numbers were all plainly visible to Hadwin; it was a shit hand, anyway.
“How can he think I’d go through this--all of this--for a project? No, projects are shit that you do at your own leisure for fun. You don’t restructure your whole fucking life around them, down to how often you sleep, what you eat, and whether or not you’ve adequately exercised. If he was only a project to me, does he really think I’d go through all of this horseshit just for credit? That’s… that’s abso-fucking-lutely absurd. I’m going out of my way not to die because I want a damn future, but who knows my outcome? I’ve got the worst fucking prognosis by far, even if we’re successful in lifting his curse. How can he not see that he’s the one holding all the damn cards?” Nia stared down at her shoddy hand of twos, fours, and fives. Even when gambling, fate dealt her the same. “He gets to live his life and experience all facets of it once that curse is lifted. There will be nothing holding him back. He’s not going to need me, and it’s just a matter of time… before he realizes he can do better than me.”
Nia lost the majority of games they played subsequently, not only because of her crappy cards, but because her mind wasn’t on it. It was on how the hell she was going to pull Ari out of this completely irrational rut so that they could actually move forward without holding back more and more demons. Hadn’t they both agreed to be honest with each other from this point on? It was blatantly obvious that Hadwin was finally going easy on her, too, but she still lost every game they played. She couldn’t concentrate, and didn’t snap out of her fugue until Ari stepped past the threshold, dressed in drab clothes caked with clay and dust, and with his hair tied back. “You mean you were struck with inspiration, and you pulled yourself away from it to make sure I get to bed on time? Well now I feel bad.”
Sweeping the cards off her lap, Nia gingerly stood and took Ari’s arm, after taking enough of Haraldur’s herb from the pouch to get her through the night. “You’ll have to allow me more opportunities to kick your ass at cards,” she said over her shoulder. “Unlike you, I’m not good at gambling; just really good at cheating.”
As she departed the room on Ari’s arm, she wasn’t exaggerating when she’d mentioned she felt bad for interrupting the man’s genius. “You know… if I end up suffering nightmares tonight, it’s not gonna make a difference whether or not you’re there to witness and lose sleep over it.” She mentioned gently, when they made it back to his room. “Whatever you’re working on, you can go back and finish it if it makes you happy. Isidor’s orders were for me; the both of us shouldn’t have to suffer for it.”
But Ari had already closed up his workshop that night, and assured her he was ready to retire. She decided there was no point in putting up an argument, and wandered over to his wardrobe, where she was also keeping her own meager collection of ill-fitting clothing. Right away, she noticed that among his well-kept finery, that blue coat was missing. Of course it’s missing… “...it’s all fake, you know. I don’t really look like this. I look like shit; you’ve just been too polite to tell me. Sorry for the mirror and quilt, by the way--you’ll understand when you see them.” Nia mentioned, as she lifted a lock of shiny hair to indicate what she meant. “You know, I think that’s the biggest difference between us. I need to put in a lot of effort to look passable, lately. My skin has no colour of its own; my hair has no shine. I’ll probably never get rid of the circles under my eyes, and I don’t fit into anything I used to own. With special alchemical enhancements, the real me isn’t that impressive. But you, on the other hand…” Turning away from the wardrobe, she sought Ari’s hands, noting the particles of clay still lodged beneath his well-groomed nails. “It doesn’t matter whether you’re wearing an exquisite blue coat, or rags that you intend to dirty with your art, because I don’t really notice any of that when I see you. Your clothes, no matter how fine or well made, don’t make you. You’re completely separate from them. Who cares if blue looks good on Sigrid Sorenson? The woman’s a walking raincloud; she needs a little colour to appear human, right about now, but you… you don’t need that. You’re not wearing anything fancy, right now, and honestly? You don’t look like there’s anything missing.”
Releasing his hands, Nia cupped his face and sought out his dark eyes. “Personally… I like you best when you’re not wearing anything at all. But I think that goes without saying.” She couldn’t help but grin broadly, completely unashamed at that assertion. “You know, I had a crush on you almost as soon as we met. And not because you met with me, looking like nothing less of a prince. I fell for you hard and fast because you were genuine. And… because you saw me. You knew I was working for your enemy, but you still gave me a chance when no one else would. You had a heart that I didn’t think I’d find; I almost thought it was too good to be true, for a while, but no. It’s just you--your kind, genuine, generous heart, that made me believe not everyone in this world is dangerous or insincere. That was the Aristide Canaveris I fell in love with, and it doesn’t matter what he’s wearing. But--”
Nia turned her head to glance back at his wardrobe again, which sported every possible jewel-tone imaginable, save for that shade of azure blue. “...I really do hope you didn’t get rid of that blue coat. Because if you did, then you’d better accompany your niece tomorrow to get that tailor to make you a new one. Just because it works for Sorenson’s eyes doesn’t mean it doesn’t complement you. I love the shade against your skin.” For effect, she jutted her lower lip forward and furrowed her eyebrows. “Don’t go throwing out your clothes every time a comment rubs you the wrong way. Especially if that comment comes from me.”
“Candle Mountain, huh…” Isidor ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. So it wasn’t just a dream… How could it be, when he had dreamed a place that he’d never visited before with such accuracy? “What does the ‘how’ really matter, Alster? Or even the ‘why’? It was a message, and the message was clear: that if someone had saved me from a life in that tower… I still never would have been happy. I’d just have suffered differently, watching so many people die, and feeling helpless to do anything to prevent it. And you want to know the most absurd part?” The Master Alchemist looked down at his feet as he accompanied Alster inside the palace. “I… or the ‘me’ in my dream, wanted to save Aristide Canaveris. In fact, that other me pursued ordinary alchemy in hopes that he could find a way to send the curse into remission. Somehow, even in my mind, it all came down to that same moment, that very task. Mind you, I may not be the one most responsible for saving his life in this world, but what Nia seeks to perform must absolutely be peer-reviewed and monitored by someone with her exact skill set if she means to carry it out with success. She could never do it alone; somehow, I am still a key player. And whatever the result, success or fail… we will all share a part in that, in the end. This particular destiny, it seems, requires all of us alive and well.”
Alster may have had a point: perhaps that dream did reveal how they, their destinies, were all connected. It certainly reaffirmed his role as a Master Alchemist, and justified the time he spent in that tower. “I don’t think I saw what I did as punishment; just a message. A view of another life, had life gone the way I’d once hoped it would. But I cannot misunderstand what I saw, Alster: I saw death. So much death, which I now realize was linked… to me. Because I was insufficient as just an ordinary human with extraordinary aspirations. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to see the future; I don’t know how it ends, or whether I was ever really happy after the fact. I don’t know… but I don’t imagine I was. I still lost someone important to me.”
They’d reached the point in the corridor where they had to part ways, and return to their respective rooms. Isidor didn’t want to leave Alster on another nihilistic note like he had before, and didn’t want his friend to worry for him; so he smiled. “You don’t need to worry for me, Alster. It was jarring, but… it was enlightening. I know more now than I did before; and I understand why it couldn’t have turned out differently. Besides, once Zenech died, I guess I can't say that life was so bad. It was peaceful, and safe. I made the tower a home of my own, and I didn’t have to hurt anyone, anymore. I did save lives, and I even fell in love, so… I was happy.” Was. Whatever the future held… Isidor wasn’t sure he would ever experience what he’d once had with Tivia, who knew well that he was broken and hopeless as a functional human being… and who had loved him, anyway.
When they parted ways, and Isidor turned the corner toward his room, he was startled to see someone at his door, knocking quietly. Even from behind, there was no mistaking who it was.
“...Lady Canaveris.” If ever he had felt unprepared in the presence of this intimidating woman… it was now. Especially after how he had left her, just the other day. “What do… I-is there something I can do for you…?”
“Oh--no one expects this to be painful, Sylvie. We just…” Teselin chose her words carefully, not wanting to hurt the enthusiastic girl’s feelings. She rather liked Ari’s niece; she was kind and friendly, and wasn’t put off by her awkwardness. “I don’t believe any of us are the type to typically sport the sort of clothes your uncle’s tailor makes. Bronwyn and I have lived nomadic lives and have always favoured practicality over flare; and Sigrid…”
The young summoner hesitated to speak for the former Dawn warrior, but Sigrid merely shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. “I’ve worn men’s hand-me-downs for as long as I can remember, aside from the Dawn garb.”
“So, you…” Teselin couldn’t help but ask, her curiosity piquing; Sigrid didn’t seem opposed to the topic. “You’ve never worn clothes specifically for women?”
“No. Why would I?” The tall blonde raised an eyebrow and folded her arms. “They’re impractical--no offense intended, Miss Canaveris. I only mean that clothes of your sort aren’t practical for me, in particular…”
But both Teselin and Sigrid didn’t realize just how uncomfortable they were until they all came face to face with the tailor, whose enthusiasm nearly matched Sylvie’s. And they were very relieved when Bronwyn offered to test the waters and go first. Sigrid in particular was so relieved that it took her a moment to register that the faoladh woman was disrobing in front of all of them. “Ah… Bronwyn…” She murmured softly and touched the she-wolf’s shoulder to get her attention. Understandably, she blushed with embarrassment… but it was nothing compared to the intense flush the crept all the way down Sigrid’s neck and disappeared into her neckline.
“Sigrid--are you alright?” Genuinely concerned, Teselin’s eyes widened at how quickly the blonde warrior had changed colour. “Do you need some water, or--”
“I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong with me. It’s hot in here--I’m going to stand outside until I’m needed.”
And that was precisely what she did, settling just outside the door before anyone could ask further questions.
“I’ve overheard ‘lil Sylvie tell Tes that her uncle designs his own coats, and it’s the tailor’s job to breathe ‘em into life. So, in a sense, it is his art.” Shrugging, Hadwin threw down his winning hand and scooped up the shredded pieces of paper they were using as ‘currency.’ “I mean, yeah, saying this shit out loud, it sounds ridiculous, but you can’t logic your way out of a feeling that strong. Insecurities are pretty damn irrational, and even if you’ve got the self-awareness to know your anxiety’s riding a little too high doesn’t mean it’ll just…go away. You gotta remember, Ari’s only point of reference comes from a pretty fucked up place. Lady Chara left him high and dry when he was at his most vulnerable, and now that he’s slowly sinking down to that very vulnerable low again, one he’s tried so hard to purge from existence, all the bad thoughts come with the territory. So now…he’s just an open pustule where anything, no matter how benign, is bound to set him off. I mean, above all, he’s worried about you, don’t get me wrong. That is one of his strongest fears. And it does slot in rather nicely with his nightmare scenario; that you’ll leave him. ‘Cuz you’ll be dead.”
Revealing Ari’s deep-seated insecurities apparently tied in with Nia’s own, for how uneasily she unloaded on Hadwin things he could already see in her head, clear as day. The principal difference was that she was disclosing her ripest troubles free of his probing, fear-seeking eyes, and he couldn’t take this offering of trust for granted. Already, she had risked possible disaster by staying with him, by laying a soothing hand on his arm and assuring that it would be alright, that he was better than the domineering scratch-scratch-scratching shredding apart his paper-thin defenses. He was a storm ready to descend, an emotional summoner in his own right, bearing fears devastating enough to unmake a person. Yet, the woman who would be most affected by his accidental leakage decided to stay. It was a small gesture, but a meaningful one, and he owed it to her to listen, and maybe to dispense a little hope.
“It might not amount to much, since there’s no telling what the future will hold, but I like to think I’ve got a pretty good read on people.” Hadwin revealed one of his face cards, the Knave of Hearts, greatest fool of them all, outside the Joker, whose entire job was to act the fool. “I’d have to, knowing what I know about their deepest, most revealing haunts. Fancypants is honorable as all get out, and loyal as a lovesick puppy. Somehow, I’d like to think he’ll never leave you. That’s why he’s got it in his head that you will. Once he’s better. Once you’re better, and you realize he might not be relying on you as much anymore. I’d scoff and say that the two of you are worrying too much, thinking too much, but it’s really not my place to say because damn it if I’ve been farting it away in bed doing the same exact thing.”
On Ari’s arrival, Hadwin actually brightened at the interruption, because playing against someone whose heart was not in the game was akin to assassinating a sleeping person—which was the very antithesis of fun. As a wolf, Hadwin enjoyed chasing his prey, not having it throw itself into his open mouth. “She’s all yours, Ari!” With an encouraging pat on her back, he sent Nia out of bed and on her away into her lover’s outstretched arm. “Hah! I look forward to the day you beat me!” He tilted his head and presented a devious wink. “You can’t cheat a cheater.”
As Ari and Nia departed together, the former smiled reassurances at the latter for her concerns regarding his disrupted creative process. “Nonsense, Nia. I do not defer on my word if I can at all help it. Besides, I have laid down the most essential foundations for tonight, having thus achieved my step one goal. I was at a wonderful stopping point. This is a multi-day process, besides, and sleep must come eventually. Neither will I be disturbed by rousing from slumber. Please understand it is a trifle of a price to pay for your invaluable, life-preserving services.” His eyes tightened around the edges a bit, regretful. “I only wish I could do more.” After stepping inside their shared rooms, Ari reluctantly released Nia to dip his hands in the water basin. Ironically, earth mages, who clambered around in all sorts of dusty and dirt-filled conditions, were among the cleanest in appearance, for they possessed a simple but useful ability. The moment Ari doused his hands in water, the embedded clay and detritus sloughed from his skin and sank to the basin like sediment settling on the river bottom. When he pulled his hands from the bath, they came away, fresh and grime-free. Drying off the clinging droplets of water with a clean cloth, he turned around to catch Nia searching for something in particular. Hopefully, not his blue coat. While Laz had hung it back up earlier, Ari promptly relocated it to his overflow wardrobe space in the undercity, a place where it, along with his other retired outfits, would ultimately await their fate.
“Nia, even when you look a little worse for wear, I am not bothered by your appearance. Nonetheless, I will never hesitate to applaud your efforts, however inconsequential or ‘fake’ they may seem to you,” he said, his fingertips sweeping over the shine of her burnished hair. “Master of facade that I am, I understand well the obsession with presenting your best face, even if it is a false face. You, to the contrary, Nia, are neither false nor fake—to me. I am happy to accept any iteration of you; whichever makes you most comfortable to display. That said,” the confidence in his statement slipped a tad, when focus shifted to him, “I…should accept your compliment with grace, as I would look rather hypocritical to use the same argument on you but reject its mirror-image. Yet…” his gaze wandered, flickering from Nia to the back wall, too ashamed to grant her an undisturbed level of eye contact. “This is embarrassing.” He retreated from her welcome touch, though aching to reconnect, to allow her free rein over any region of his body. “You noticed why I have been acting a little melancholy? And you have resolved not to laugh in my face? I certainly deserve your ridicule, so feel free to express it. The enormity of my vanity is surely an undesirable, and a laughable trait, indeed. I am…” he picked at his drab clothes, his self-consciousness mounting, “I am the very pinnacle of frivolity, to worry so deeply over how you perceive me. Even so, do you sincerely enjoy,” he indicated to himself, “this? The most stripped, uncertain…vulnerable aspects of me? You cannot…”
But she did. At least, she was convinced she did. “You…have had a crush on me? Since the beginning?” It was such an innocuous confession, and not uncommon, considering his eligibility status as the most desirable bachelor of Stella D’Mare, but those merits fixated mostly on his position of power, his influencing reach, and his impeccable sense of style. Always well-groomed, properly attired, gleaming and glistening like a flawless gem, Aristide Canaveris screamed perfection. There existed no cracks, no stone marring his glowing brown skin in grotesque patches. All flesh, all human, resplendent in his benevolent glory. Nia, on the other hand, cited far different reasons for fancying him than what was typically proclaimed. “Because of…my heart? This is what you saw, first?” He laid one hand over his chest; it beat serenely, showing no sign of tachycardia or erratic pulses. Nothing to indicate another trip petrified to unyielding stone. Nia truly was the guardian of his heart, when her very presence kept him stable.
“I have been unfair to you, Nia. To act so upset over a non-manner, a non-issue…how you must think of me after sharing your wonderful impressions of my kind, genuine generosity. I would argue that I am the antithesis of genuineness, hiding, as I do, behind my affectations. Even now…I do this. Alas, you thought of me as a bastion of warmth, even before I demonstrated more to you than my customary gestures of hospitality. Well, one confession deserves another, I suppose.” With a gentle smile, he extended out his arm anew and guided her to the bed. “I began having feelings for you…when you availed me of my flare-up for the first time.” He closed his eyes in fond remembrance of that terrifying moment when he decided to place his trust in her…and was not disappointed. “I will never forget the deliberate care in which you placed your hand upon my arm. How you took such great pains to ensure I remain calm, and comforted…and safe. I decided, then, that a being so invested in another’s welfare far beyond what necessity dictated was someone worth falling for.” And to think, if he had listened to Laz, who objected so strongly against involvement with Nia…if he had done as the Isidor Kristeva of his dream advised and avoided any contact with the Ardane Alchemist of questionable moral integrity, they wouldn’t have found each other. She would be dead, and he…
“Also, as a sign of my apology, I will disclose something that is very difficult for me to say.” He opened his eyes, this time, not avoiding her. Not avoiding eye contact, or physical contact. Nothing. He took her hands, reveling in how her fingers reached so eagerly for him like flower petals opening in the sun. “In truth, Nia…I am afraid. I am afraid of this procedure. Terrified. What it might do to you. What it might…take.” He swallowed, reluctant to go on. “To lose you would be so unbearable, that living on in your aftermath would be a chore. So please, Nia,” he nuzzled her cheek, trying to regulate the notes of his wavering desperation, “let me do whatever I can to ease your burden. Let me share in it. I want to share in it. Never hesitate to tell me what you need. Do you need me to wear that coat? I will. I have not yet discarded it. Do you need to see me unladen, as it were? I would be happy to comply.” To demonstrate, he pulled back, unbuttoning his tunic and stripping away the off-color undershirt in one fell swoop. Standing, he repeated the action for the lower half of his body, shedding his boots and trousers until he appeared before Nia, completely naked. “Tell me, Nia…how might we encourage you to sleep? Will this do?” Gently, he scooped the side of her neck and caught her lips into a deep, sensual kiss. As he did so, he slowly pushed against her shoulder, lying her flat on the bed before soon joining her, side by side. “I am here for you tonight,” he whispered into her ear, kissing her lobe. “I will not leave. In darkness and in light, you have me, always.”
While Alster hesitated in leaving Isidor for the night, Nadira hesitated in arriving. A full day had passed since her and the slightest Master Alchemist’s encounter, and she worried that not enough time had elapsed to justify re-emerging in range of his line of sight. After all, the more she bothered him, the more he might withdraw his offer to assist out of pure spite and disgust. Alas, she could not leave their last conversation on such a dour note, and given Ari’s latest—and surprising—update on the situation, Nadira was left little choice but to extend an olive branch in peace and cooperation.
So before she retired to her temporary chambers for the night, she knocked on Isidor’s door, receiving no response or any indication of life on the opposite side. Perhaps he had not yet returned from the Canaveris villa, but according to Ari, he and Alster had departed some time after he had made the call to her matching resonance stone.
It turned out, Isidor was making his approach that very instant. “Oh!” She whirled around to face him, clutching her chest in surprise. “Master Kristeva. Forgive my reaction. You gave me a small fright, that is all.” Regaining her foothold, she cleared her throat, resolving to restart the rehearsed speech she’d planned in her head and finding difficulties doing so, now that the man she sought was there, watching her with a guarded expression. “Ari has been keeping me abreast of the proceedings as they unfold. Apparently, he has confessed some alarming news to Nia, and she has reciprocated in kind. I take it that is why you and Lord Rigas paid an impromptu visit to the Canaveris villa?” She did not wait for a response. Her tired, sleepless eyes lowered, intending to inspect the cracks forming under her polished fingernails, but finding only balled-up fists bunching the sides of her work clothes. Why, wasn’t she a mess!? “I never have revealed the capstone to his age, so as not to place limiters upon his perceptions of a long-lived life and alarm him prematurely, but somehow, my son is aware of his body’s rapid deterioration, and understands the speedy approach of his mortality. How long he has known, I have not the foggiest, but what surprises me is his initiative. He could not have done this on his own, so I am left to wonder who gave him the idea to speak with Nia.” She tilted her head at a man who did not appear in her gaze as a man, but an overgrown boy, too lanky, too awkward, too out-of-place in his present form. How that would have changed if she handled his development and set him on a straight and narrow path? “Have I you to thank for this smooth transaction? For the willingness of Ari and Nia to ensure the other’s survival? If so—my, that is certainly no easy feat you have pulled. I thank you, Isidor Kristeva. And I apologize.”
Clasping together her worrying hands, she lowered into a supplicating curtsy, as before, only this time under the scrutinizing light of a public space. “I apologize for my last-spoken remarks. In attempting to explain my decisions, I fear I worsened an already delicate situation. I was neither eloquent in speech nor considerate of your particular brand of suffering under the hands of a cruel and stone-hearted instructor. I, too, apologize…for letting you down. For rejecting your cry for help. For not being the one to save you. I am a callous woman, for I would always choose my son above all else, but neither am I unaffected by your grief, nor unaffected by what I failed to do. That is all I wish to say. I will not waste a moment’s more of your time, and if you have no desire to see me again, I will not take offense. I only hope you find it more palatable to work alongside my son.” Rising from her unbalanced curtsy, Nadira woodenly headed in the direction whence she came. “I bid you a good night, Master Kristeva, and a good life. Truly. I wish it from the bottom of my heart.”
Bronwyn realized her mistake too late, when a gentle shoulder tap informed her of the current issue.
Sigrid. It was Sigrid who was near, her hand making contact, her neck all red and flushed, her body heat so close and so toasty, like a furnace about to explode, the salt of her sweat pooling, intensifying, smelling of distress, fear…something else?
Out of reflex, Bronwyn also retreated from the Dawn Warrior, her face an equal match in redness and mortification. “That wasn’t…I’m sorry. This…this is always how we did it at home, and then at the palace, Briery never cared if I…did I do this all wrong? I didn’t mean—“
But then, Sigrid ran out of the shop, and Bronwyn felt worse because she was responsible for chasing her away in the first place! She wanted to go after her and hand out a better apology, but a polite clearing of the throat reminded her about the tailor, who waited with a patient, albeit amused air.
Nobody else spoke of her faux pas, which she couldn’t determine was a courtesy to help her save face or a horrific taboo too scandalous to dare reference aloud. Either way, she had no choice but to follow suit with her commitment to the tailor. Still a little red in the face, she headed for the enclosed area behind the shop, where a lowered privacy curtain indicated where measurements were to take place. She also discovered that she needn’t disrobe for this part at all. Damn…running off into the woods and becoming a full-time wolf sounded ridiculously appealing right about now!
As soon as the tailor obtained what he acquired and called for his next client—Teselin—Bronwyn politely excused herself and went outside, not only because she needed a breather, as well, but to see how Sigrid was faring. The Dawn Warrior was sitting on the front steps, her back to the door.
“S-Sigrid?” Bronwyn called out, meekly. “You’re next, after Teselin. Thought I’d let you know. And…about before,” she crossed her arms over her chest, further covering herself from view, as if her fully clothed presence was an unforgivable sight, “if I offended you any, I’m sorry. That wasn’t…I wasn’t thinking. I guess…I’m pretty maladjusted to the outside world, aren’t I? Before coming to Galeyn, I wandered around for a year in search of…” she paused, still too sensitive to say the name of Sigrid’s lover’s killer out loud, “…you know who, but I mostly stuck to the patches of wilderness well outside any outposts of civilization. So, it’s not really accurate to say I’m nomadic, when I spent the majority of my life safe and sheltered within the borders of my clan, who were all faoladh and all…very immodest,” her face reddened, again. “Apparently…there’s a lot I need to learn. About…about everything.”
However much he insisted otherwise, Nia wasn’t convinced that her efforts to modify her appearance, stealing the gleam of life from the objects around her to use as make-up since her hands were otherwise incapable of applying such substances on herself, was worthy of applause, or even recognition. Unlike make-up, which didn’t hide its nature on the skin and came across as artificial as it was, the shine from the brass mirror and the rosy hue from the quilt did come across as natural on Nia’s skin. She was fake; everything that possibly looked good about her right now was fake. And she could have argued that with Ari ad nauseum, but likewise to his fear of coming across as hypocritical, she did not press the issue of his opinion of how she looked. “Why would I laugh in your face? Especially when something very clearly has you down?” she asked softly, and reached out to touch that face. If anyone should be ashamed, then it should be her, for blatantly failing to notice how her stupid, off-handed comment had, however, unintentionally, hurt him…
“Look, we’ve all got our triggers. All of us. And, honestly, it’s up to me to realize when I’ve hurt someone, no matter how petty they might think they’re being. So, on that note...” her smile twisted into a marginally guilty grin, and she cast her gaze downward. “I feel like it’s only fair that I say I wasn’t being entirely truthful when I said that coat looked better on Sorenson than it did on you. Yeah, I was right about the colour suiting her, but as much as the woman tries to pass as a goddamn man most days, she’ll never quite have the right figure. Your coat didn’t look terrible on her; she definitely passes. But did it look better? Mmm… I wasn’t gonna pressure her into trying it on and then tell her it was a mistake to her damn face.” While there was no possible way that Sigrid would’ve heard her confession, Nia lowered her voice to a whisper for those last words all the same. “She’s already dragging her depression around like lead attached to her heels. She’s not over her lover’s death, and that… I can’t help but take responsibility for that, too. I didn’t think that Rowen would have done it; but I should have known. Like everyone else, I was trying to distract her for just a second to get her mind off of everything making her gloomy. Thought a bunch of compliments might get her out of her rut. I… didn’t mean to shower her with compliments at the expense of your happiness, though.”
While she’d confessed her love at first sight with him, however, it did not at all rub her the wrong way that her feelings at the time hadn’t been mutual. She had been openly working for Locque; she had no reason to expect anyone to trust her. In fact, it hadn’t even occurred to her that Ari had returned her feelings at all, until he had blatantly confessed them to her, and kissed her on that springtime night, when he’d first gifted her the beautiful stone cherry blossom. That was when the awe had hit her: that someone could actually love her. That maybe, just maybe, she was even worthy of this love. This was real; Ari was real. She didn’t want to fuck this up.
“Ari, there really is no need to apologize. I’m not looking for an apology. You feel the way you feel, and if I hurt your feelings today, then that’s on me. Even if you think the reasons for your discomfort and dismay are petty, the fact that you felt hurt is very real. I’m not here trying to tell you not to feel hurt. I just want to reassure you that, to me… no matter what you’re wearing--or not wearing, for that matter--you’re the same. You’re always the same, and that’s the very consistency that’s helped me to feel safe. You’re the first person I’ve ever felt that I don’t have to run from after you’ve had your fill of me.”
But, pettiness aside, the Canaveris lord proceeded to confide in her something that was most definitely worth discussing. Embarrassment seeped out of his features, and was replaced by something bright and alarming in his eyes: fear. “...I know. I’m afraid, too.” Nia saw fit to confide. Not out of a sense of loss, or for lack of confidence, but out of a sense of solidarity through honesty. If Ari wasn’t going to pretend not to be afraid… then neither was she. “But, Ari…”
She could scarcely get a word in. He poured his heart out to her, he insisted on what he needed to feel even remotely comfortable with what was to come. He wanted to cater to her every whim, and while it made her heart swell with affection for his sincere loyalty and dedication, it also worried her that he was so willing to completely give himself away for the sake of another person. That he wanted to suffer how she suffered so that she would not be alone; how he was willing to strip naked just to make her happy, and he willingly demonstrated as much, shedding his clothes immediately like an unwanted skin, and pulled her close, kissing the side of her neck. However much she was afraid of what the procedure might do to either of them, successful or not, it frightened her just as much that she had put him in such a desperate state that he was willing to abandon all aspects of his own comfort just for her.
“Ari… listen. I’m scared, too. I won’t pretend like I don’t know the risks, perhaps better than you do.” Nia searched his face and tucked stray tresses of inky dark hair behind his ears that had escaped his ponytail. “I’m scared that I won’t be strong enough, or that I’ll hurt you. Beyond that, part of me is even afraid of success. You said yourself, you fell in love with me when I healed your flare-up for the very first time. When I proved to you that I could be useful to you. When you are no longer burdened with a curse that threatens your life and longevity… well, I’m just going to be another person, who likes to eat and drink far too much, and tries to make friends with people who can’t stand me.” She tried to crack a smile at her all too common self-deprecation, but her lips trembled, and she found herself unable to maintain it. “But, here’s the thing: I know, deep down, this is going to work. That’s why I’m doing everything that I can now to push the odds in our favour. I don’t go through with procedures I don’t feel well-equipped to tackle. I really believe you’re going to be okay, and for that matter, that I’m going to be okay. You’re finally going to get the chance to experience life the way you deserve to; I’m doing this for both of our futures. However…”
The Master Alchemist shifted on the bed such that she lay on her side facing him, and slid a hand down his arm. “I want you to be able to take advantage of that to its fullest. Chara was your only other romantic conquest because at the time, she was the only one you felt safe around. And then, I came around, and you felt the same for me. It hasn’t really left you much of a choice with exactly what kind of happily ever after you want. But what if you were to fall in love with someone with no relation to your curse? Someone you can love and adore for the sake of loving and adoring? Not someone you simply feel… indebted to, because they saved your life. To me, it still doesn’t sound like much of a choice.”
Nia had truly thought she could be honest and open with him without inciting tears. But turning herself inside out for him, it seemed, wasn’t an easy task. “Sorry; what I’m trying to say, is,” she dabbed her cheeks with the sleeve of her tunic. She hadn’t bothered to change into a gown appropriate for the evening. “When I lift your curse… I don’t want you to feel as though you need to stay with me out of some sense of obligation. Beyond my skills as a Master Alchemist, I’m just an ordinary person who also happens to be a disgrace to her family and wanted dead by her homeland. Promise me… then when I’m not useful to you anymore,” she gave his arm a gentle squeeze and inhaled, exhaling on a sigh. “Promise me that you won’t limit yourself. If you still see a future for us when you’ll no longer need to rely on me to keep you healthy and functional, then I want to be a part of that future. But if there’s something you want more… then I want you to let yourself pursue that. My feelings for you won’t change, either way. I’ll never stop loving the first person who wanted a piece of my heart without strings attached. So do you promise?” Her misty eyes sought his, imploring understanding. “I’m kind of a screw-up in a lot of ways; I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to successfully take on the upstanding persona of a Canaveris, with your etiquette and people skills. I’ll always be a bit of a screw up. So, knowing that… I just want you to be honest with yourself, about whether it isn’t a problem, or if it’s a deal-breaker. It won’t change how I feel about you; it won’t change that I want to, and am going to, help you.”
“My apologies, Lady Canaveris… it wasn’t wrong of you to think I’d be in there. I seldom leave.” Isidor nodded to the closed, locked door of his chambers. “This evening was simply a necessary exception.”
He had wondered if Ari would divulge to his mother, and if he did, what exactly he would say to her. So much had happened, since his last fateful encounter with the Canaveris matriarch… he no longer stood where he once had, when he had left her in that empty room, sobbing and broken. “Your son approached me this morning unexpectedly for some assistance. I figured it was as good an opportunity as any to speak with him on matters of his future health and longevity. It… it is only right that he be apprised of the risks that might take place. However, I did not divulge those risks. It isn’t for me to disclose: neither is it for you, despite what I said to you yesterday.” While it was far from an outward apology, there was apology in Isidor’s dark eyes. “Ari and Nia are adults. It is up to them to be forthright with one another about details that concern the both of them. And, it turns out… they came good on my suggestion. I told Ari not to make any hasty decisions in the aftermath until the two of them sat down and spoke with me and Alster. And… the decision is unanimous. That we go forward with this procedure, regardless of the risks it poses.”
He clasped his hands together in front of him and drew a long sigh into his lungs. “I was not lying to you when I showed you those numbers yesterday. The odds of nothing going wrong are not in our favour--certainly not in Nia’s favour. But that is not to say that we cannot work to mitigate the risk as much as possible. I just returned from your estate after giving the Ardane woman very explicit instructions on how to conduct her lifestyle from now until we all deem her healthy enough to shoulder this burden. She’s not in peak form, but if and when she achieves it, she will be better equipped to withstand all of the stress saving your son will put on her body. But… I don’t want you to thank me for it.” He raised a single hand in protest. “Because even with these details taken into consideration, there is still no guarantee that she will emerge from this procedure alive. It gives her a chance, but a chance is not a guarantee.”
Nadira had apologized before. He believed her when she expressed sympathy for what he had suffered, even if she didn’t quite express remorse. Before, her genuine sentiments didn’t mean anything to him, but now, after that dream… “...it was never your obligation to save me from that tower.” His words were barely a whisper, but they carried a heaviness that he otherwise could not express. “It was never anyone’s obligation. And while things did not turn out in my favour, at the time, I am not sure… that destiny really had an alternative for me that would have yielded better results.” Did he tell her about the dream? About that alternate reality, where she had taken his hand, rushed him to her carriage, and spirited him away to safety? No… no, she did not deserve the burden of that dream. It wasn’t real, and it wasn’t even worth considering, when in the end, she’d lost both her sons.
“I cannot resent you for what you did. You did not fail me, when it was never your role to be my saviour. No one is guaranteed a saviour… and, in the end, I survived. It could have ended a lot worse.” Isidor’s fumbling hands awkwardly sought the door handle with a key. Frankly, he couldn’t even remember if he’d locked it. “Goodnight, Lady Canaveris. You will be kept apprised of Nia’s status, along with planning for this procedure. If all goes accordingly, then I believe it will be possible to have it take place within the year, at the very latest.”
Teselin, who was painfully aware that neither Bronwyn nor Sigrid were at all uncomfortable with the events as they unfolded, hurried to interject as the tailor furrowed his brows in confusion. “All of us save for Sylvie is rather a fish out of water, here,” she smiled politely, craning her neck to see that Sigrid hadn’t ventured too far beyond the door. “We haven’t ever had fine clothes made to our measurements. I’m sure Sigrid is simply feeling a little overwhelmed…”
Overwhelmed was putting it lightly. Sigrid, to her word, stepped out only to get some air, and to feel the cool breeze on her heated face. What the hell is wrong with you? She berated herself quietly, kicking her boots into the dirt. The former Dawn warrior wanted to disappear behind her curtain of blonde hair, which she hadn’t had the time to braid this morning. Are you going to lose your composure every time a woman undresses for practical reasons? Get a hold of yourself! But this wasn’t just any woman, she realized, remembering that strange, tight feeling in her chest when she’d seen Bronwyn in that gown the other night. She had looked so good, and it made her want to look presentable, as well. And just now, when she’d been exposed to several inches of midriff, she was suddenly rendered speechless and completely out of commission. Barring her ill-fated flirting with that dancer back in Braighdath so many years ago, there was only one other woman who had ever scrambled her senses and composure to such an extent: Naimah. But Naimah was gone, and Bronwyn… Bronwyn was not.
Why now? I don’t understand these feelings, Naimah. I don’t understand why I’m feeling them… when you aren’t even here anymore!
Sigrid was torn from her thoughts when the very object of her thoughts stepped outside, to politely inform her that it was her turn to be measured. “Oh--thank you. I, um, I didn’t mean to run away. It was just such an enclosed space, and very hot, and I… Bronwyn, you don’t need to apologize.” The blonde warrior raked a hand through her unruly blonde hair and stared at the tips of her boots, afraid that if she looked the faoladh woman in the eye, she would turn red and speechless all over again. “You’re fine--I mean, what I mean to say is, you didn’t offend me in the slightest. I’m… I supposed I’m just not as alright as I thought I was.” Not a lie; not even close to one. In fact, she was realizing to her dismay that she still had so far to go on her own journey of recovery, and she stood nowhere near where she’d assumed in terms of being capable of functioning properly in society. “I promised Sylvie and Lord Canaveris that I would have something exquisite made for me, because I did not want to offend either of them, but the last time I dressed in anything that wasn’t practical for battle was when… it was for…” She couldn’t say Naimah name, for fear it would bring on tears and make this already awkward situation all the more uncomfortable; but Bronwyn knew. Everyone knew, and that was the worst part: that her suffering wasn’t even a secret.
“But what I am trying to say is, you’re not alone. I don’t know how to live separate from the Dawn Guard; my entire life has been dictated to me by various sets of rules and moral frameworks. And I’m struggling to understand what it means to stand… alone, let alone function without support.” Without Naimah, she meant. “So I’m figuring things out and making mistakes as I go on, just like you. We’re not so different;” Looking up, she finally managed to crack a smile. “We just happen to be oblivious to entirely different social expectations, I guess.”
“Well…now I feel the fool.” Nia’s attempts to bolster Sigrid’s confidence succeeded in peeling back the piteous layers of Ari’s delicate self-image, it seemed. How shameful, to so easily crumble at some announcement not even meant to be taken seriously, but now that he learned it was also a ploy to improve the Dawn Warrior’s own shaky self-esteem, Ari went from ashamed to downright mortified. As a man who prided himself as the perfect gentleman host, rueing someone else’s little joys, especially on his property, was horribly distasteful and disgraceful behavior, subject to reevaluating his entire fitness as a paragon of hospitality. Was it not his duty to go above and beyond to offer his honored guests the comforts and extravagances of his home, nevermind how they inconvenienced him or bruised his ego? What depravity, to fall to pieces, when the purpose of the exercise was to brighten Sigrid’s day. A noble endeavor to be sure, but he was so far involved with soothing the vices of his fickle vanity that he’d missed the point entirely, and ended up unwittingly casting the evil eye.
“In attempting to clear the rain clouds over Miss Sigrid’s head, I am afraid I commandeered those rain clouds for myself.” Although he was thoroughly scandalized, the only indication of his distress was a soft, exasperated sigh. A small puff of air. It was all he could afford. If he’d allowed a broader reaction, his reaction would trigger the flood of other deep-seated concerns he hadn’t the mental capacity to address without inducing flare-up after flare-up, and thereby complicating Nia’s delicate homeostasis. So instead, he opted to downplay the emotion behind his most recent and petulant social faux pas. His words, however, remained the same, conveying elements of the emotion without subjecting him to the core of the emotion any more than he’d already experienced. It was an oratory trick he’d long mastered over the years. Manipulation of his tone, timbre, pitch, and inflection could mimic any feeling he desired, without committing to the heft. The weight. Too much weight, and he would lose all control. “What a mess I made of a wholesome effort to cheer and encourage my guest. Thank you for bringing attention to my egregious oversight, Nia. Next time, I will better know how to respond. There is no excuse…but how kind of you, nonetheless, to grant me the benefit of the doubt. Alas, I should always aim higher. As it stands, I am terribly sorry for the inconvenience. This conversation could have been avoided if only I curbed my unwanted reactive reflex. Insecurities have no place in a professional setting, and acting as host is very much a profession I cannot shirk. So, in sum, real or not real,” he rolled back his shoulders, setting them straight, stately…lordly, “I must not waver. I was not hurt, Nia, so you needn’t worry.” A lie, but also the truth. He felt hurt, but he later identified the feeling as nothing more than a travesty undeserving of so dominant a place in his thoughts. It was his burden, not Nia’s, and if the burden belonged to him, then the hurt was caused and created by himself. No one else inflicted it upon him but an over-critical imagination.
However much he commanded his speech patterns and injected intention into every word, no amount of well-selected witticisms or poignant lectures could imitate the rawness of the statement he had opted to share: I am terrified. Within that phrase, there was no polish, no finesse. None of the Canaveris positivity that rejected any prognosis less than sparkling like a cut diamond. I am terrified. A rusty hinge on a rusty door. A long-forgotten quarry, overgrown and buried. A collection of needle-pricks that targeted his hands, his legs, his chest, all in an endeavor to freeze him solid. How dare he say such things?! Was he looking to over-stress his body, and over-stress Nia, as a result? He could not afford to offer so much honesty if the crux of his honesty might still the beating of his gradually quickening pulse. His heart, trapped again into stone.
But it was too late to rescind or dilute his statement, and too late to unhear what Nia had chosen to share, in kind. She…Nia thought… “I…Nia, that is not what I meant. Not at all.” His mouth pulled away from her neck, clearing some space in between so he could meet her gaze, beseeching—and trying not to register hurt. His hurt was what had started this entire debacle in the first place. “I did not fall in love with you because I found you useful. Had you and Master Kristeva swapped places, and he resolved my flare-up in your stead, I would not have started fancying him. And not out of distaste for men. I have admired a few from afar, from time to time, and Master Kristeva is not abhorrent.” Oh, how that comparison scraped too uncomfortably close to the inexplicably vivid dream he’d experienced. To think of Isidor as an object of desire felt…wrong. Like incest. In half-wonderings, he worried what would happen once slumber overtook him and carted him off into the realm of unconsciousness. Would the dream continue from where it left? Would he finish dying, and…die for good? In dream and in waking? Suddenly, it wasn’t only Nia who dreaded the night.
“Have I made myself unclear? I have a tendency to drown my intentions in poetical verse, so I have been told. Nia...” he rolled over on his side, propping himself on the bed by his elbow, an unmistakable gravity to his expression and tone, “it is not because you proved yourself as useful. Truthfully, I half-thought you would fail. It was because you were gentle. You were conscientious. You did not judge, you did not react in disgust. Though deliberate in your movements, you also did not treat me as if I would shatter. You treated me as a person. As a man, not an experiment, not a curiosity.” He reciprocated her stroking of his arm with a light knuckled touch over her jawline, soft and tickling like the flutter of dragonfly wings. “What’s more, you respected my touch-based boundaries, easing me into the procedure with the utmost care and professionalism, and having an innate sense for what I could handle. It is so rare for me to experience such all-encompassing feelings of warmth and safety. Admittedly, I feel no such thing among my family, with very few and rare exceptions. Even those who know of my curse will stand their distance, physically and emotionally. It was a new experience. Invigorating. I wanted more. For the first time in decades, I wanted to explore my options, not just in terms of managing my curse, but in terms of…yearning. Affection. Unfortunately, it was not until over a month later that I finally evaluated that feeling a little deeper, and defined it as…love. Not the love of possibility, the love of freedom, or the love of choice. Most of all, the love I wanted...was yours, curse or no curse.”
His hand lowered to her shoulder, its grip a little robust. A little heavy. Stony. “Do you not believe me, Nia? How am I to prove myself your most ardent devotee? What must I do to ensure you will not leave me!?” There it was, yet another insecurity, stated with so much rawness, so much rust, so much…despair. Ari’s mouth slackened, eyes wide, speechless, still, and silent. And cracking on the inside. “What I…what I mean to say is that I want no other, Nia,” he filled in the cracking, crackling space, desperate not to slip any further, not to lose tenuous purchase on his dignity, his pride, his wonderful restraint and composure. To sacrifice any of it was to sacrifice all of it. But how to invite calmness? How?! She wanted to leave him. No. No!
“But if you do,” he shook out a troubled breath and slid his hand from her shoulder, separating, disengaging, “I will accept it. If there is nothing for you to do here anymore, perhaps you may no longer find me desirable. If I can no longer grant you a sense of purpose, then I suppose you will want to seek it elsewhere. …Without me.” He closed his eyes, and his fist, hiding the inside of his palm and the gray-granite plate of stone eating away at the flesh. It was fruitless to hide it, but how would she feel, knowing her words had triggered a flare-up? She’d feel terribly, and then he’d feel terribly, and in his terrible feeling, the flare-up would only expand its territory, feeding on his fears…and on his heart. “I cannot promise you such a thing,” he said with difficulty, lowering his head to conceal the twists of effort contorting his brow. Loose tendrils of hair tumbled forward to shield away some of the evidence of strain, but it fast became obvious that he was battling against the onset of a flare-up. “I cannot promise you that, because I do not see you as a limitation. Quite the opposite.” He bit the inside of his cheek, calming his harried breathing. “You have done nothing…but expand my world. Why would I want to enjoy it without the one who has made it possible? I thought you wanted a future…together. If you have changed your mind, please do not hesitate to tell me. I shall respect your decision. If you are not happy here, then…please go where you will be happy. You have my blessing.” He drove the fingers of his good hand into his eyes, pressing back the tears that threatened to fall. “And always, my love.”
Nadira had intended on throwing the full force of her weighted fury on her son, sore at his withholding and of his strategy to inform her, after the fact, of everything that had transpired, without her knowledge or her input. This included his impromptu morning visit to Isidor, awareness of his compromised mortality, the decision to reveal said compromised mortality to Nia, and their request for Isidor and Alster to make a late evening appearance for the sake of talking logistics. All of these plans progressed forward independent of her, and she would have called Ari out on his offenses, seeing as the proper protocol included her involvement. Alas, she hadn’t doubled down on Ari’s protocol breach—and really, it was less a hard rule and more of a courtesy for Ari to share in the details with the former Canaveris Head. Nadira wouldn’t press the issue, because truthfully, she was too exhausted, too worn out, to rail her frustrations about having been ousted from the inner circle. Isidor wanted nothing to do with her, so she would remain out of sight. Nia was afraid of her, so she would keep her distance, for the other woman’s peace of mind. Ari wanted full control, so she would grant him full control. The illusion of it, anyhow—for she never disregarded her emergency failsafe. If, on the day of the procedure, everything was to go sour, and death, assured for Nia, for Ari, or both, Nadira was ready to do as necessary, and sacrifice her life in exchange for their survival. She did not believe Isidor when he stated the impracticality of a blood magic ritual. Of course, he would feel obligated to dissuade her from the act by condemning it as an element and chaotic component that would worsen the efficacy of the procedure, but if the procedure was already doomed to fail, then she had no qualms about implementing it as the ultimate last resort. She had already begun the process of creating talismans for Ari and Nia to wear—talismans that would guarantee them protection at the moment of her death once she made the move to perform the self-sacrificial ritual. Her faulty legacy had created this problem for her son. Her faulty legacy had contributed to the deaths of Roland and Casimiro, and had denied young Isidor Kristeva a sanctuary from his cruel and tyrannical oppressor. If her death would do some good, then she was secure in her next step forward. She accepted it—the pyre where she would finally answer to her sins that everyone else had paid, gravely, in her stead. Now, she would repay those people, with interest, and hope it would be enough. That she would finally be enough.
“Thank you for keeping me abreast of the proceedings, Master Kristeva,” she said, rising from her curtsy, her bearing exuding composure and a strange marriage of humility and nobility—for the nobility she displayed was not a title inherited at birth, but something earned by the strong, unswayable will of commitment and character. This was a nobility earned through experience, and which usually manifested towards the end of one’s life. “Do continue your indispensable, good works, and yes, inform me thusly of any updates or changes. You may correspond with me remotely, if that is your preference. I hold a temporary residency in this palace until construction on the observatory tower is complete. If it pleases you, you may pass along messages to an envoy, and I will be certain to receive them.”
She half-turned away from the man she failed, on so intrinsic a level, and who, somehow, withdrew his vitriol, his venom, and had chosen to respond to her with his own variation of nobility. Thinly-veiled surprise softened some of the wrinkles around her brow. What had changed since yesterday? Had all Isidor required was a platform and the appropriate audience for releasing the decades of his pent-up anger and rage? Perhaps so, and perhaps not—as evidenced by lack of an apology. An overt one, anyhow. Not that she needed nor deserved an apology from the boy she willingly abandoned.
“No. No one is guaranteed a savior. Yet, my son is privileged to have obtained a multitude of saviors, and his impressive roster includes the man who no one saved. I do not say this out of pity, Master Kristeva, but from a place of awe. That you would choose to save any soul from this unforgiving world shows the true shine of your character—and inside, it is not so dark. I do hope you cultivate that shine. And please, do not hesitate to ask for anything. Anything you need. We Canaverises are rife with resources, and obsessed with comfort, as you well know. Please do take care, Master Kristeva. There are people who genuinely wish you well.” With one last parting bow, Nadira left Isidor’s vicinity and headed down the hallway, no longer defeated, but determined. Nia’s percentage of survival was abysmal, but Ari did not fare too well, either. In the end, when all else failed, when all hope was gone…she would turn it all around. She promised to the new gods and the old; this would not end in ultimate tragedy.
“No, I get it.” Bronwyn waved one hand in front of her face to gesticulate the effect of feeling hot. “It is pretty stuffy in there.” Like Sigrid, she also kept her eyes averted, which wasn’t a normal designation for her on most days. Out of politeness, she didn’t make a habit of staring and thus, soaking in every aspect of a person’s goodness via her invasive and unreliable Sight. Thus, she had left it an extremely underdeveloped skill, and an underdeveloped skill it would remain, refusing to go the way of Hadwin, driven mad with forbidden knowledge. All that aside, if she did chance a glance, she would see that Sigrid wasn’t disgusted at her impropriety in the least. She had said as much, but people said things out of the intent not to offend all the time. But if she looked, she would confirm that Sigrid meant what she said, and then some. Then again, if she looked, that strange feeling from yesterday would return. The feeling that made her stomach drop and her head full of hot air, so feverish and light that if it ever detached from her body, it would float to the ceiling. She never felt a sensation like it before, and she didn’t know why! Sigrid was wearing the Canaveris lord’s coat. That was it. That was all. Nothing to elicit such an extreme and disproportionate reaction!
“I’m just going along with everything, myself. I wouldn’t know ‘exquisite’ if it came along and introduced itself,” she laughed, a half-formed thing too performative to be authentic. She immediately stopped at Sigrid’s almost mention of the woman Rowen killed. Naimah. Her lover. Bronwyn’s head dipped lower, already feeling like her mere presence was a reminder of something better off not remembered. Bronwyn wasn’t Rowen, no, but she—and Hadwin—were her closest living relatives, and that indisputable fact was enough to bother and disturb some people. Oh, how she wanted to break the taboo. To say Rowen’s name. To mention her. To miss her. But who, aside from Hadwin, who refused to talk about it, would sympathize? Who would accept it? As it stood, Bronwyn was barely tolerated in the kingdom of Galeyn. If she decided to be vocal about her loss, no doubt she would be ostracized.
“Without support…” she hadn’t realized she said that bit aloud. “People try to support, but no one can understand what’s gone. …I’m sorry,” she blurted, stepping closer to the doorway in fear of offense. “I’m bothering you, aren’t I? You want space. That’s why you’re outside. I really am oblivious. I’ll go. You have a few minutes before Teselin’s finished. Once the tailor’s done with you, he’s going to select a few things for us to wear and adapt to our measurements. But until then,” her eyes never wavered from their exploration of the ground, “don’t…don’t let me interrupt your moment of peace.” Before the blonde warrior could say another word, Bronwyn scrambled inside, assuming, as always, the worst. That she was in the way. Just like in clan Kavanagh, where people best appreciated her as the silent workhorse occupying the background, head to the ground, obedient and trouble averse.
For someone who had not been brought up to feel even remotely valued as a person, Nia had a hard time understanding the weight of her own worth beyond her unique skill set that made her useful to so many people--including Ari. For that reason, she hadn’t expected her words to elicit such a reaction in the Canaveris lord, and yet… they had. For all he felt the need to apologize for his insecurities, weren’t hers also getting in the way in the worst way possible? He only says he loves you because you’re the first to make a notable difference in his quality of life, one voice told her at the back of her mind. He is only attracted to you because you took his virginity, another voice sneered in unison. Yet according to Ari, that was not the case, and it was not the first time he had reassured her that she was worth more to him beyond her usefulness. Even back, way back before either of them had confessed their feelings to one another, the idea that the Master Alchemist was little more than a means to an end had offended Ari. So early on, he had tried to make it clear to her that he refused to see her as a mere instrument to be used to his benefit. But if he had never experienced what it meant to be in a mutually loving relationship… did he really know what love was? And would her feelings for him suffice, when he no longer needed to depend on her for his own longevity?
Apparently, he thought so, and didn’t seem willing to waver on his sentiments. “Hm… you and Isidor, huh? I dunno, I could see it. You two would have made a cute couple…” She made her attempt at a joke to lighten the atmosphere that had grown heavy as a result of her confession, but at the slightly horrified look on Ari’s face at the prospect of being in a relationship with the only other Master Alchemist available, she realized she was just making one mistake on top of another. “I’m sorry--this is a serious discussion, isn’t it? Ari, don’t worry. You’ve been more than clear; and I don’t doubt any of your words. Sure, I might have… reconsidered what I believed about you, when you turned me over to Galeynian authorities, but I wasn’t exactly in a good place, physically or mentally. I didn’t understand what was happening, or why… and I didn’t give you the chance to explain.” Guilt clouded the brightness of her warm, brown eyes. Despite that they had long since made up for that brief gap in their relationship, knowing how fiercely Ari and his mother had fought for her freedom and for her pardon, and how she had so coarsely and stubbornly pushed them away, she continued to feel far less than worthy of their attention. Less than worthy to be with the man she loved…
“And that wasn’t fair. I wasn’t fair. I shouldn’t have pushed you away when everything you were doing was to try to help me. I fucked up, Ari. I feel like a better person wouldn’t have fucked up so badly… If I’m being honest, deep down, I always knew. That you never stopped caring. I knew it then… and I know now.” How hurt must he have been, to grip her shoulder with such desperation? There was a catch in his voice, and all too suddenly, Nia realized that she had done the wrong thing by confessing what she had said and laying bare her own insecurities. Especially when they created all new insecurities of his own. “No… Ari, no. I don’t… I don’t ever want to leave you.”
She’d worded it all wrong; or perhaps now was just the wrong time, when Ari was already feeling like a throbbing open wound in his vulnerabilities. “That wasn’t what I meant. None of this… it isn’t at all about giving me purpose. That’s not why I’m here with you, now. I already know I’m plenty useful to a good number of people for various reasons. That’s not my reason for wanting to be with you. I just… when your curse is lifted, there will be nothing holding you back from anything. It just occurred to me that you won’t feel so confined to me, and I… mentally, I’ve been preparing for the day when you decide someone else is better suited to receive your love.”
It wasn’t what she wanted, and her voice as well as the sorrow in her eyes reflected the sorrow that she felt while so much as considering a future without Ari. But this was the same woman who still struggled to see her worth; who still looked at his painting of her and his sketches of her and wondered how he found her beautiful, anything but ordinary. Still struggled to grasp how he could possibly only have eyes for her, when he could easily have his choice of so many other women who desired him… What was clear, in that moment, was how much Nia truly did not want to leave him, voluntarily or otherwise. Because without him… without Ari, who had opened her up to a world of possibility, and a life led by so much more than touch-and-go day to day occurrences on the run, she didn’t know what her future looked like. And she didn’t know that she even wanted a future without him in the picture.
“I don’t… want to leave you.” The words passed her lips at last, but there was a catch in her voice, accompanied by hot tears that welled in her eyes. “And I don’t want you to leave me… which is why I have to save you. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I want to keep you forever, Ari. I don’t want to let you down. I want you to be alright, and when you are, I want you to still want me. And that’s pretty selfish, isn’t it? That I’m not just saving you for you. I’m also saving you for me, but I…”
Inhaling on a gasp, the Master Alchemist pressed her forehead to Ari’s bare shoulder and began to weep. “I don’t have the right… to tell you not to change your mind. There are better people than me, out there, and you’re finally going to have the freedom to meet them all. And I can’t stop you… I won’t stop you, if you find someone better. But it’s not what I want. That’s not what I want… at all. ‘Cause I don’t have family anymore, Ari--just you. You’re… you’re everything that I have. It’s not fair to you, but… it’s true. So…” She pulled her teary eyes away enough to see the blurred image of his face behind her tears. “You don’t have to worry about me walking away. I don’t have anywhere else to go… and no one else to see.”
Sliding her hand down his arm, she let it come to rest atop his hand. "And here I say I want to help you… yet I'm causing you so much stress your curse is reacting." Via sighed quietly and gently turned over his hand. Thankfully the stone did not encompass his entire palm, but that wasn't the point. "Let me fix my mistake; you can't go and haul Isidor out of bed for something like this. I'm not so fragile right now that I can't help you like I've always been helping you."
“I will keep you apprised of future proceedings and details to the best of my abilities, rest assured.” Isidor agreed to the Canaveris matriarch’s request with a curt nod. “I cannot guarantee how timely the messages will be; not only am I heavily involved in helping your son, but I’ve also made promises to craft a parade float with Alster Rigas for the festivities in the coming week. My hands are completely full until the end of Galeyn’s celebrations, I’m afraid. If you do hear from me again, then it may well be through an envoy, or perhaps even your son, for those reasons alone.”
Part of Isidor Kristeva still wanted to apologize. Not only for his earlier outburst, but for the effort he had put into making Nadira Canaveris feel that very same pain of despair that he had been forced to shoulder, all of those years beneath Zenech’s heavy hand. While confronting the woman might have had merit, even if she had deserved to hear those words, he had been needlessly harsh with her, and there was no excuse for how much effort he had invested in making the Canaveris matriarch crumble. Cruelty would not take away the pain from his past; nor would it guarantee ease in the future. Alas, the best that he could do was acknowledge his mistake, as apology enough. Perhaps his sentiment would change in the future, but… not now. The only remaining Kristeva brother might have been calm, but he was still angry. Not necessarily at Nadira, nor at himself, but at the cruel way the universe had chosen to unfold. It was no one’s fault; but that didn’t stop him from experiencing all the pain it had brought his way. A man who no one saved… no. He was a child who no one saved. From the beginning… the only thing that had ever mattered was not who, but what that child would become.
“Thank you for your kind offer. But I assure you, I am wanting for nothing.” Isidor told Nadira before she departed, and it wasn’t a lie. He wasn’t someone who had ever derived pleasure or comfort from luxury, because it wasn’t a priority for him. Good food, luxury clothes, jewelry and high-life experiences would not fill a gaping hole in his chest that should have housed a beating heart full of hope. That heart… it had been torn out so long ago. No wonder he had failed Tivia; he couldn’t even love her properly.
On the bright side, since he had settled his terms with Aristide, lashed out at Nadira, and effectively gotten his pent-up rage off his chest, Arisza and other ghosts from his past hadn’t been visiting his dreams (or waking hours) as frequently. He felt properly exhausted, but didn’t fear going to sleep, so that evening, instead of nodding off at his desk like he usually did, he cleared the remaining books and papers off of his bed and closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, daylight was pouring in from a familiar window as he sat up on a narrow bed. The Master Alchemist automatically slipped his feet into a soft pair of shoes next to his nightstand, put on his glasses, and rose to greet the day. After brewing a mug of hot tea, he ventured to the solarium, which was balmy and bright compared to the cool of his tower. Strawberries, peaches, and limes, among other fruits and vegetables, sprouted from seemingly impossible sources, growing on vines or straight up from the floor. Isidor picked a few peaches; he was at a loss as to how to bake with them, but as they were, they’d make an excellent snack later on.
After carrying the few chosen fruits to the kitchen, he paused. Something… wasn’t there something he should be remembering? But what could it possibly be? This morning was like any other: quiet, predictable, peaceful. He had a little bit of work to do, but nothing pressing. So then… what was that crawly feeling under his skin? Like something terrible was about to happen? Up the stairs. You need to go upstairs. He didn’t know why, but a weight in his gut urged him toward the spiral staircase, mug of hot tea still in hand. What was upstairs, besides one of his workshops and some storage he hadn’t touched in years? Why did he feel…
It hit him only when he cleared the last step--and his tower changed. It was as if shadows had descended and the temperature dropped significantly. The newly risen sun beyond the windows was smothered by a premature nightfall. These shadows were all painfully familiar to him. No… this was no longer his tower. This was Zenech’s tower; and his life was in danger.
That was when he saw him--the boy who made him drop his mug. Porcelain shattered on the floor into dozens of pieces. This boy, malnourished, sleepless, weak and in pain, clung to the wall and stared up at Isidor with wide, frightened dark eyes… his eyes. It all came rushing back to the Master Alchemist, then: everything from the moment Alster Rigas had convinced him to leave that tower. This… was this another glimpse into an alternate reality? No… not this time. This is a dream. I’m not him, anymore.
“What… are you doing?” The words passed Isidor’s lips in a whisper. This wasn’t a memory; he had no recollection of this moment, which very much appeared as though his younger self was taking his fate into his own hands, and taking a chance to find his own freedom.
“...get away.” The frightened child hissed, but his voice trembled too much to come across as threatening. “Get away. My friend’s waiting for me. I won’t… I won’t spend another moment here.”
“Your…” Wait. Wait. This was yet another moment that had never happened. Another opportunity he had never taken as a child. This Isidor, young and vulnerable and standing before him, was running away with Arisza. He was taking his life in his hands for a chance at freedom. And while this was only a dream with no bearing on reality, for it had never actually happened, the future Isidor felt panic grip his gut… and then he did the unthinkable.
“No--no. You can’t.” Reaching out, he put a hand on young Isidor’s shoulder. The boy flinched. “Think about what you’re doing. What will you even do, when you’re out there, miles and miles deep into the forest? How do you think you’ll survive? It is the middle of winter. You’re rushing to your death.”
“I…” Young Isidor’s already shaky resolve began to crumble. His face fell. “I promised Arisza… we’re leaving together. We’ll find her family and stay with them. She’s waiting for me… the longer I take, the more danger she might be in.”
Why am I doing this? Why am I saying this? It isn’t even real… but I can’t stop myself. “Admit it: you have no idea what you’re doing, running away with no plan. You’ll die out there. More importantly… a lot of other people are going to die if you leave now. You… need to stay here.”
The frail boy looked at him with a mixture of fear and sorrow, but also… a spark of hope. “How… do you know? Will Arisza be alright? Will I…” He paused, and blinked tears from his eyes. “If I don’t get out now… I don’t know that I ever will. I might die here. I don’t want to die here.”
“You won’t. You won’t die here, I promise. But… you have to stay.” The full-fledged Master Alchemist’s eyes mirrored that sorrow. No one will help you. No one will save you… because that is as it was meant to be.
“So…” Young Isidor looked to the staircase, where Arisza would be waiting for him somewhere on the lower floor. “Everything… it will be alright? Even if I stay?
No. I can’t promise that… because I myself don’t know. “...I’m sorry.” Was all he could utter to his younger self, which was more than his mother or Nadira had ever uttered to him as a child. Elespeth. Alster. Nia. Aristide… all of those people, at the very least, depended on him not leaving that tower. Not until Zenech was dead. He had no choice. “I’m sorry… that it has to be this way. Go--back to your room, quickly. Before he finds you.”
With his fragile resolve shattered, young Isidor nodded, then hurried around a corner. Back to his room, where he would continue to suffer, while Arisza would die waiting for him, at Zenech’s hands. “I’m sorry…” His older counterpart began to sob into his hand. What right did he have to blame Nadira Canaveris… when, knowing what he did now, he’d have done the exact same thing?
It was only the middle of the night when Isidor awoke from that dream, his face and pillow drenched in tears. He didn’t stir from that point on; but neither was he able to find a way back to peaceful slumber.
It hadn’t occurred to Sigrid that she might find herself in a position that she’d hint at the open wound in her heart as a result of Naimah’s loss. Just as it hadn’t occurred to her just how that would make Bronwyn feel… when it had been her sister who’d killed her. “Oh--it’s alright. I’ve had plenty of time to process… all of this. Most of it, at least. But I’m still adjusting. It isn’t just… it’s not just about Naimah. It’s about the fact that I gave up; I left Galeyn. I became Locque’s slave, and she made me stain my hands with innocent blood. She made me try to kill my cousin--and then, I tried to kill myself.” Without realizing it, the former Dawn warrior clutched her midriff. It still hurt, that almost fatal wound. The scar had mostly healed, but if she bent or moved the wrong way, pain reminded her of that colossal almost-mistake. She spoke to no one about the physical pain she felt in the aftermath because she was tired of them looking upon her with pity. It was her burden to bear, just like the death of D’Marians at her hands.
“Bronwyn,” she called, as the faoladh woman began to hurry inside. “Wait. Don’t… I know you feel responsible, because you were her sister. But you’re not to blame. And you do have a right to grieve. She wasn’t always the way she turned out; we’re allowed to grieve for those we lost. I think the difference is… you lost your sister a long time ago. But you had no idea… until recently.” Those words were probably untoward. It was none of her business to comment on someone else’s pain or struggles, but Bronwyn… perhaps she was the only other person who understood that sudden loss. She grieved the sweet sister that she wanted to remember; Sigrid grieved the lost future with Naimah. But no one paid them much heed, because those losses had all occurred among the maelstrom of Locque’s chaos. Everyone was so set on moving on and putting the past behind them, that they weren’t even trying to understand those who were struggling to follow suit.
“I don’t want space. I don’t know what I want. I sure as hell don’t want clothes, but apparently I agreed to this, so that’s what I’m getting.” Her lips twitched into the semblance of a smile. “None of us wants to be here, but we’d rather put in the time than break the young Canaveris girl’s heart. Right now, we’ve heaped that responsibility on young Teselin’s shoulders… so,” she shrugged and sidled up beside Hadwin’s sister. “Let’s go take our share of the humiliation. This man has probably never made anything but a gown for a woman; I might as well find out what this abysmal failure of formalwear is going to turn out like.”
Pathetic. You are revoltingly pathetic, Ari. Who would want to be with you?!
They were Chara’s words, but they lived in his head, as did many of her most cutting remarks and violent rebukes.
I am doing you a charity by remaining at your side. Best remember that. And now…the words twisted, morphed, reached into his present and plucked the scene between him and Nia out of the ground, cruelly analyzing every angle, she knows, for you have left nothing of your pathetic nature up to interpretation! Are you to beg Nia to stay in the same manner as you did me? What will she think of you now, reduced to a groveling wreck of a man? Surely, there is no question of if she will leave you; it is only a matter of when.
“No…no. How you reacted to a perceived betrayal is more than fair,” Ari said, focusing outward, on Nia, instead of inward, on Chara, on his doubts, on everything resolved to second guess his decisions, and on the unknowability of Nia’s long-term interest in him. “I fault you for nothing. We met with a triumph insofar as your survival was concerned—and that was my greatest concern, so I consider it a resounding victory. Nevermind how you responded to a deeply personal and traumatic ordeal, a response that varies from person to person and cannot be evaluated as more flawed or more faulty than compared to another individual you have deemed as ‘better.’ Better—how? Better suited to handle punishment, pain, humiliation, treachery, and imprisonment? Do give yourself a spot of credit, Nia. Few humans are suited for captivity. Besides…you are here, and I am here, and when dawn approaches to herald in a new beginning, if we both emerge from the darkness of uncertainty, alive and well, then I shall mark the occasion as worthy of celebration, regardless of where we go in the aftermath. Be it towards each other or…or away from each other.”
He was trying. Trying to mitigate the intensity of his previous outburst, trying to combat the inferiority of his pathetic nature and pitiful disposition, trying to approach imminent disaster as would a gentleman; with elegance, equanimity, and grace. But the proof of loss over his softheartedness was written all over his palm, stone-hard evidence of his failings, his weakness, his desperation not to have another person leave him, not as his father left him, and Chara, and Casimiro. Shouldn’t he have known the temporal nature of relationships—and of this one, in particular? Either way, someone was going to leave, be it wittingly or unwittingly. If he allowed his curse to take its course, then he would depart from the world, abandoning Nia to her fate. Here, they faced the inverse. Nia’s chances of departing prematurely fared much greater than he. The odds did not play well for them to remain together. So, if by some miracle, they both survived, Nia more than deserved to explore whatever life she wished for herself, with or without him. Having saved his life, her debts to Galeyn were likely to lessen, and freedom more than assured. Thus liberated, she could do what she liked. Why imprison her to his side? Why shackle her, smother her, throw her into another dungeon and swallow the key?
“I cannot, and will not refuse your freedoms, Nia. If you decide you want no part with me, or among this family, then—“ his words dropped into a chasm, a sudden, unplanned caesura. I don’t…want to leave you. Were her sentiments spoken with sincerity, or in an attempt to placate him? Ari lifted his misty eyes, searching Nia’s own. They were tear-filled, dull, lost, drowning, lovelorn…wanting. Was it true? Did she, indeed, want him? A future with him? To pursue the afterward, the continuation to their story, come what may?
In spite of everything—his petrified hand, the moisture clinging to their eyelashes, the shadows of death gripping each of their souls—Ari smiled. The smile was not one of joy or euphoria, but that of a crushing weight lifting. She did not want to leave him! “If you are selfish for wanting me, then I am selfish for the exact reasons, Nia.” His good hand transferred over to capture the fears from her overbright eyes. “While I would never keep you here against your will, neither am I ecstatic about the idea of releasing you. If I am to experience the full range of freedom, I could think of no other person I would rather spend it with than the one who freed me. Do you not think so?” He planted a kiss upon her moistened cheek, then repeated the gesture on the other side, sampling the salt of her tears as he did so. “Do you not believe you have earned that right? I have chosen you, Nia. Will you also choose me?”
He unfurled the fingers that poorly hid the plate of his gray slab of a palm, placing it into her hand as a sign of his unerring faith and trust in her. “Here I have done you a disservice, experiencing a flare-up under such untimely conditions. Will you forgive my impertinence? Surely, I shall repay your toils however you see fit. It is the least I can do, for inflicting upon you such a burden when we were to concentrate on a healthful sleep.” His face fell, looking genuinely saddened and regretful. “I truly am sorry, Nia. I managed to deter the flare-up from spreading any further; alas, I could not prevent its emergence altogether. My shortcomings…they are many,” he admitted with a little difficulty, a little reflexive twitch in his bare shoulders. “Much as I aspire towards greatness, it is neither attainable nor sustainable to achieve perfection. Always, I will bear flaws. So please never feel like you are unworthy of me. Rest assured, Nia,” he pressed his forehead against hers, smiling a more joyous and tender smile, “I love you as you are, my luminous firefly.”
Following Nia’s restoration of his hand, Ari, ever thankful, brought her a rejuvenating cup of water, an extra pillow and blanket, and his hands for massaging the places on her body that ached. Then, slowly guiding her to bed, he doused the lights, cuddled in close behind her, and, true to his word, provided her with whatever she needed—whether it was his soothing voice to recite a bedtime story, his solid form to clutch and hold, or even just the promise of his existence; the gentle in and out breathing to prove he was alive and that this living, breathing being loved her, however much his love showed its damage from its previous, careless recipient. I may be pathetic, but I am not mistaken. I love her. None other will do. However organically or inorganically it came about, what I feel now is real.
Oh fates, let us live. Please…let us live.
Frozen by the doorway, Bronwyn was too polite to up and leave when Sigrid not only admitted that she did not want to be left to her own devices, but when she also disclosed some difficult truths about her constant string of losses since the day Naimah met her violent and shocking end.
“It must have been painful,” she nodded at the former Dawn Warrior’s healing stomach wound, but she didn’t refer to the injury itself. Not entirely. More, she referred to everything that had led Sigrid to the pinnacle of her endless, torturous crucible, which culminated in the self-inflicted, almost loss of her very existence and left her with the scarring as an unwelcome reminder of a time she’d rather bleach from her memory. “But…you were allowed to give up, at the time. No one expected you to be alright after what happened. And…if things had turned out differently, if a sorceress bent on enslaving people against their will, paired with my…grossly misguided sister,” she swallowed, “were not in the picture, maybe time would have been kinder, and let you grieve and process in the normal way. You didn’t become anything, Sigrid, because ‘become’ suggests you had a say in the manner. But you didn’t. Your choice was removed. Replace ‘become’ with ‘forced.’ You were forced to do all those things. I can say that with confidence, as Locque influenced me, similarly.”
Bronwyn leaned against the frame of the door, unsure if she should continue. Just because Sigrid appeared stable and open towards discussions of the loved ones they collectively lost didn’t give her an invitation to liberally pick at an open wound by referencing something too triggering and traumatic for the other woman, leading her to second-guess if it really was alright to mention Rowen. Tentatively, Bronwyn continued, proceeding with caution and watching Sigrid from her periphery in case she crossed a delicate line and needed to abort the conversation immediately.
“Not in full; just enough to control me. I know this because I have a vague memory of living with my sister and that face-changer…and you.” Her shoulders shuffled against the doorframe, a little uncomfortable. “She kept me outside for the most part, and I always stayed a wolf, but whenever my mind strayed to any independent thoughts of my own, I felt gently coaxed back into complete obedience. She didn’t need to assert a lot of dominance over me, seeing as I was mostly there on my own free will, lured by my sister, but I was put into this trance-like state for…apparently, my own good. So I wouldn’t stir anything, or start anything, or get any ideas of rebellion. Ultimately, I was let go, because…I served no purpose. None at all.” Her mouth curled against her teeth, fighting the urge to raise her voice, to yell, to punch the wall—anything to ignore the lasting black mark stamped on her soul that branded her defective. Extraneous. Useless. “I was just bandied around like a plaything and discarded once my sister grew bored of me. I’m…” she clawed a hand through her hair, at the messy curls that escaped her ponytail, “I’m the biggest idiot in the world; really, you were right to call me out for it when we first met. I had no idea is right—because I intentionally blind myself until it’s too late to do anything. The truth is,” she shamefully—and ironically—closed her eyes, thereby blinding her sense of sight, “I knew about her, Sigrid. I knew she wasn’t screwed on just right. But I ignored it. For years, I ignored it. Maybe if I didn’t, and I reached out to her after Hadwin’s exile…maybe things would have been different. For the better. She’d be alive, and maybe Naimah would be alive, and…”
She stoppered her tongue. What was she doing? Talk about taking a mile from the inch Sigrid gave her! The blonde warrior couldn’t possibly be ok about speaking with the sister of her lover’s murderer, and of hearing how said sister was complicit by default. But dammit, she couldn’t stop! The moment, the very instant someone showed her the grace to break the taboo on Rowen, she ran with it, never knowing how desperately she yearned to discuss how she felt, how she wished for another chance to be more. To be more for her father, her clan, her sister, instead of the useless, uninspiring person she became, willingly. Hells, she couldn’t even be more for her brother, who so often told her to stop wasting her time and to get lost. Even when she used her Sight on him the other night, and it calmed him before he exploded into another destructive episode, he still didn’t think she mattered enough to hold an important position in his life. Sure, he was feigning his disinterest for the most part, an ill-executed attempt to protect her, but it hurt, nonetheless, to feel so inferior in Hadwin’s eyes that he never considered her an equal.
“You’re too kind to me. More than you have any right to be. And I’m sorry. Sorry for…no one ever wants to hear my speeches. They’re empty words,” she muttered, opening her eyes a slant and allowing some light to trickle in from Sigrid’s direction. The light itself reflected yellow-gold, and a clarifying blink revealed the vibrant halo of the warrior’s hair against the sun. “For how I talk about having the power to turn things around, I know that, in the end, I wouldn’t have done shit. I wouldn’t have been able to change shit. I’m giving myself too much clout. I follow orders. I obey. I’m not an independent thinker. I…was never going to be able to save my sister. Hadwin had it right all along. She was doomed from the start, and we let her run amuck despite it all.” She turned her guilt-stricken expression away from her, away from the sun. “That’s on us, Sigrid. We remaining Kavanaghs have to bear the responsibility of your loss. So please…you don’t have to hide your anger or disgust with me. You don’t have to be civil just because your cousin tolerates me. It’s fine.”
“There you are!” The sudden presence of a third voice caused Bronwyn, who had let her wolf-sharp awareness slacken, to gasp loudly and jump, causing her to collide into Sigrid. Sylvie, standing by the open doorway, quickly extended her apologies. “Oh no! Forgive my suddenness. I did not intend to startle either of you,” she clasped her hands and lowered into a placating bow. “I only wished to inform Miss Sigrid that Mal is ready to take your measurements. And Miss Bronwyn,” she cast her dark gaze on the faoladh, who also sputtered her flustered apologies to Sigrid for the brusque collision and righted herself, “you are free to peruse the racks for any ready-made gowns or fabrics that are pleasing to your sensibilities. Or, alternatively, if you require assistance,” she smiled sweetly, “I am more than happy to accompany you.”
Bronwyn, distressed as she felt mere moments ago, could not help but return Sylvie’s smile, already calmer under the teenage Canaveris’ infectious aura. Sigrid was right. It was difficult to deny the young, earnest woman anything, no matter how uncomfortable or potentially humiliating. In no universe would Rowen have ever turned out like Ari’s effervescent niece, and yet, Bronwyn couldn’t help but be reminded of her. Perhaps, if circumstances had differed just a tad, Rowen might have fared better. Might have found the beauty she so sought in the world, present in something as simple as a bolt of colorful fabric in a tailor’s shop, or in the generous smile of a friend. Yet…if she couldn’t find as much in the beauteous Night Garden, or with the continued support of Teselin, Breane, and even Hadwin…it was true. Some people were too far gone for redemption.
She didn’t realize she’d been staring into oblivion until Sylvie politely said her name and guided the two women back inside; Sigrid, for measurements, and Bronwyn, to the shelves. But she didn’t get far into her halfhearted explorations of the overwhelming stacks of colors, busts, trims, hems, and whatever else proliferated inside the dense jungle of fabrics when the bell above the door chimed, revealing an additional customer.
“Got room for one more in here?”
“Oh no,” Bronwyn heaved a moan of a sigh. “Who the hell let you out of your room?”
Hadwin Kavanagh, standing tall and on his own—albeit with the help of one of Ari’s canes—grinned from ear to ear and swept inside the shop. “I promised Syl I’d swing by if I was feeling up for it. And what do you know? My strength’s the best it’s been since before I got bedridden. So here I am!” His walk was more of an uncoordinated shuffle, and his legs hobbled as he moved, but he demonstrated his ability to be on his feet, at least. Not that it allayed Bronwyn’s concerns any. Or Teselin’s, for that matter.
“Not to worry, scamp,” he sidled up to the summoner, sending a playful wink in her direction. “I got Nia’s approval, and there’s a small team of Canaveris staff waiting outside with a chair for me in case I swoon. No one’s letting me march off completely on my own. I’ve got frequent rest breaks built-in. So before I drain all my newfound leg-power,” he clapped his hands, rubbing them together with excitement, “let’s find you some nice things ASAP so you can help stuff my skinny arse and get me as plump as a turkey in some fancy garb! Say,” he pulled a sleek ballroom gown from the rack and held it to his chest, “think I’d look fetching in a dress? Can't have Siggy showing everyone up in mens' clothes now, can we? I think a bit of crossdressing's in order."
Bronwyn wasn’t wrong; it did hurt, in more ways than one. Thanks to the Night Garden, her near fatal self-inflicted wound had not been fatal at all, and the internal damage had healed before she’d woken up from that coma. She’d kept the site bandaged, and her movement and mobility had been restricted for sometime after her awakening, but the Gardeners had been more concerned that she was a threat to herself than her previous wound was at this point. As a result, her freedoms had been restricted for some time after that, allowing her little to no privacy, but the blonde warrior had been so withdrawn into herself that she’d hardly noticed the inconvenience. Gradually, Haraldur had advocated for her freedoms, maintaining that she wouldn’t fully recover if she was kept on too short a leash, and avidly reminding anyone who objected to the favourable care that she was receiving that she was not on trial like the Ardane woman.
Sigrid wasn’t stupid; stubborn, but not stupid. She knew what it would take to get people off her back, so she played the game. She ate what they told her to eat, was quick to get back on her feet and regain the strength she had lost while stuck in her coma. She made the obvious steps toward recovery for no other reason than to get the Gardeners and healers off her back… but she never stopped hurting. Unlike the Ardane woman, whose meager pain tolerance was such that she had no means to effectively hide it, Sigrid hurt in silence and in privacy without anyone knowing (although some, like Haraldur, suspected). When she thought of Naimah, not only did her heart ache, but the abdominal wound began to sting and throb. Some nights, it hurt so badly she would have to check to ensure she hadn’t torn it open anew, but each and every time, the scar was completely undisturbed. Once, when she had been wandering the Night Garden after dark, in hopes that she would see Naimah’s ghost one more time, she did encounter a Gardener she didn’t recognize who had asked if she could help her. I’m looking for a man… his tunic has a green collar, she had initially said, asking if Sigrid had seen him. The former Dawn warrior had shaken her head no. Oh… well, perhaps I can help you, then? You look like you’re in pain.
She was in pain--but she was tired of people wanting to help, and had politely declined. Aside from that strange young Gardener, Bronwyn was the first to pick up on the fact that that not-so-old wound still hurt, and for multifaceted reasons. The former Dawn warrior wasn’t sure if it was due to the faoladh’s Sight, or if she did indeed have sharper intuition than she gave herself credit for. Nonetheless, it was a… relief. To have it acknowledged in an objective way, without the pressure to ‘get over it’ or ‘move on’. “No; I was wrong to declare that I was alone, even after I lost Naimah. Haraldur and his family reached out, as did Alster and Elespeth. I turned my back on everyone because I didn’t have the one person I wanted. There was no need to give up and leave, and yet… that’s precisely what I did.”
The faoladh woman did have a point, though. What had happened to her beyond leaving Galeyn had been completely wrested from her control. Losing Naimah had rendered her weak and more vulnerable than she could ever remember being; and Locque saw and took advantage of that. Nothing, beyond leaving Galeyn, had been her decision. It had been hard enough losing the woman she’d planned to spend the rest of her life with… How long did she plan on beating herself up for what had happened in the D’Marian community? Particularly when she was already actively making up for it?
If she had good reason to stop beating herself up… then so did Bronwyn. And something about that woman’s perpetually self-deprecating attitude made her want to say it. “Your Sight, Bronwyn: does it allow you to see the future? Could you possibly have seen what your sister was to become? And if so, do you really think you’d personally have had the power to prevent it?” Hadwin’s sister paused before answering, but Sigrid could have predicted the answer before she said it. “Life is more out of our hands than we would reasonably like to admit. I’ve asked myself the same thing over and over: if I could possibly have saved Naimah. If only I’d have thought to be in the right place at the right time, or if I’d thought to at least have her travel with stronger security throughout the kingdom. I had one person in my life that I needed to protect and… and I failed her. A part of me will always be angry for it, but as I’m emerging from my cloud of grief, I’m realizing just how irrational it is. The same goes for you.” Bronwyn successfully avoided her gaze for a good amount of time, but Sigrid stubbornly went silent until she had the faoladh woman’s attention. “I’m going to tell you the same thing I told Hadwin the day Naimah died: it’s not worth it. Not worth it for me to be angry at him, or angry at you, for something your sister is solely responsible for. Anger doesn’t heal, and it doesn’t bring back those we’ve lost. It doesn’t benefit me to be furious with you, anymore than it benefits you to be furious with yourself. The past is written and cannot be unwritten; the future is what you should concern yourself with. You didn’t fail the past because you were incompetent or didn’t see the future in time; it was never in your hands to begin with. Does… that make sense?”
The blonde warrior angled her head to shield her eyes from the bright morning sunlight. “I’m not disgusted with you. I’m not being civil because I have to. I’m finding… that it’s easier for me to be kinder with myself if I am kind with others. Yet, you’ve been showing kindness to others for far longer than I have…” Sigrid’s gaze softened. How was it that Bronwyn could hold herself in such contempt when she was and always had been the most virtuous of the Kavanagh siblings? “Why can’t you spare yourself any of the grace you’ve spared your brother? Or me, for that matter?”
Bronwyn wasn’t the only one startled by the sudden presence of the overly vibrant Sylvie Canaveris. Just as the faoladh woman threw herself at Sigrid completely on instinct, so too did the former Dawn warrior steady her securely at the waist. Just as she had whenever she and Naimah would come to an abrupt halt after a lively dance. The familiarity of the gesture made her heart skip a beat, but upon realizing it could be interpreted as more intimate than she’d intended, she released her arms so that Bronwyn might pull away. “Yes--of course. My apologies for keeping your tailor waiting, Miss Canaveris.” The blonde warrior bowed her head in apology, and allowed herself to be guided inside, alongside Bronwyn, to have her measurements taken for an outfit that she may well wear once and then never again.
While Sigrid disappeared with Mal to have her measurements taken, Teselin’s eyes widened at a familiar voice that casually made its way into the shop. It couldn’t be… “...Hadwin?” Alarm swam in her dark eyes, and the young summoner hurried over to the younger faoladh, taking his free arm to help steady him. “I’m really trusting you wouldn’t lie to me, and that Nia actually approved of this…” Just to see for herself, she peeked her head around the doorway, and to Hadwin’s credit, a couple of staff from the Canaveris villa were patiently waiting on standby should something befall him. “Well… if Nia sees fit to give you leave, then… I’m glad you’re on your feet again. But… you’re not really planning on wearing a gown, right?” She glanced sidelong at Sylvie, who was occupied with selecting some fetching, colourful fabrics for Bronwyn to consider, and lowered her voice. “Lord Canaveris might interpret it as… well, that you intend to make a mockery of this upcoming celebration. He is putting a lot of time and effort into it. Not to mention… you might hurt Sylvie’s feelings.”
Moments later, Sigrid emerged from another room following Mal, her tunic draped over one of her bare arms. If Bronwyn hadn’t thought it indecent to undress before a gathering of people, Sigrid didn’t seem to think it to be a great deal that she now sported only her trousers and belt, along with the white, sleeveless shift she wore beneath her tunic. The worst she had exposed were her arms, which had clearly regained their muscle tone in her biceps quickly throughout her recovery process. Looking at the blonde warrior, no one would have guessed she’d been in a coma just weeks ago. “...should you be out of bed?” Her azure gaze leveled--somewhat skeptically--on Hadwin.
“Apparently Nia approved his leave. He’s… telling the truth.” Teselin seemed as surprised to say it as Sigrid was to hear it. “And… I mean, if all of us are getting fitted for new clothes, why not have something made for him as well? We’ll all be celebrating in a little over a week.”
The explanation seemed to satisfy Sigrid. She merely shrugged her shoulders and folded her shapely arms. “Well, it’s about time you hauled yourself out of that bed. Just try not to use your newfound privileges to stress your sister out. Anyone here know a thing or two about colours and fabrics? I’m supposed to find something capable of being made into a suit. Seems like a waste for something I’ll seldom wear, but…” The warrior glanced at young Sylvie and sighed quietly. “A promise is a promise. I would be doing Lord Canaveris a great disservice by upsetting his eager young niece…”
Despite her reservations regarding the efficacy of Haraldur’s herbs, and the fear they’d failher and she’d wake up a complete, hysterical mess, Nia was exhausted. And she was going to fall asleep, one way or another, and since she didn’t trust her own mind not to torment her, it was safest to invest her trust in those herbs tonight. There was no getting around sleep after what she had promised both Isidor and Ari, so she accepted the glass of water after restoring his hand, swallowed the bitter herbs, and curled up on the bed next to him. The warmth and pressure of his body, along with his steady breathing, lulled her into a safe space. Before she knew what was happening, her eyes had closed… and then, several hours later, they opened again.
Sunlight streamed through the window. She was alone in bed--but not alone in the room. Ari had gently shaken her awake, imploring she accompany him to breakfast, just as she had promised. Ari’s cook had prepared her something based exclusively on her nutritional needs at this point in her recovery, and skipping a meal was strictly forbidden, according to Isidor’s plan, though he did admit that he wished he could’ve let her sleep for a little longer. “Hey--no big deal. We’ve got things to do, yeah?” The Master Alchemist threw her legs over the side of the bed. While she did feel rested, she wasn’t quite as refreshed as she’d hoped. But considering how much sleep she had shirked over the weeks, it was little wonder her body was eager to catch up.
“I promised you and Is I’d play by the rules. So, let me get dressed, and we’ll get the day started. Like I said before: whatever it takes to save you, you can count on me.”
After breakfast, they would return to Ari’s workshop to work on their float for the remainder of the day (breaking one for lunch, of course), and then after dinner, Alster was to return to heal her leg in full. Exercises with Elespeth would start the following day, when she no longer presented with a handicap to her physical health. It was a lot to take in and contend with, and to ensure she had adequate nutrition and got optimal rest, it looked like her days would be planned out almost down to the hour in the foreseeable future. At the very least, Ari had insisted that they leave the remaining hour of the day for relaxation, whether it was visiting the bathhouse, taking a stroll in the courtyard, or stealing a moment of intimacy. Nia was more than okay with this, considering spending quality time with Ari with no strings attached was what motivated her to come through with these daily challenges, however daunting they seemed.
While Nia’s infamous appetite had yet to be restored in full, she was appreciative that breakfast, though protein-heavy as it was with fish, eggs, and hearty grains and vegetables, it was not as overwhelming as she’d assumed. It was more than she wanted to eat, considering she was expected to clean her plate, but when she did pack all the food away in her stomach, it didn’t leave her feeling nauseated or uncomfortably full. Those symptoms were slowly lifting; it made her look forward to partaking in large meals again.
“Ready to make some headway on that float?” She asked triumphantly, as she finished a glass of juice freshly squeezed from Night Garden fruits. “It doesn’t matter what has changed or how controlled my life’s gotta be from this point forward. I still intend for us to kick Isidor and Alster’s asses at winning that competition.” Nia grinned ear to ear and pushed herself away from the table. “They don’t intend to hold back, so we can’t, either. It’s about time the Rigases lost their winning streak, don’t you think?”
It appeared Sylvie was absent that morning, when the two lovers arrived at Aristide’s workshop, with only Nico patiently waiting for his uncle’s guidance. Nia couldn’t help but feel disappointed; Ari’s niece was good at keeping her brother in check. “No Sylvie today?” She asked Ari, who then reminded her that his niece had made it her personal responsibility to have Sigrid, Bronwyn, and Teselin fitted for something exquisite to wear at the upcoming celebration’s formal events. Apparently, just like her uncle, the Canaveris girl took fashion very seriously. “Ah; well, they’re in good hands. And at least we’ve got Nico here, right?” Knowing full well the boy despised her presence, by means of projecting his own insecurities regarding his uncle onto her, she still gave his shoulder a friendly nudge. “For what it’s worth, Nico, you were right: I looked and felt like crap yesterday. But, today I’m well-rested, I had an excellent breakfast, and I’m ready to get on with this float. With Sylvie absent, we’re gonna need you more than ever today, so I hope you also brought your best to Ari’s workshop.”
For Hadwin’s part, it took a great deal of begging and cajoling to convince both Nia and Ari to grant him leave for a quick outing to the tailor’s. If he was honest with himself, his condition wasn’t…the greatest. While he was able to stand and walk, albeit with a support, such as a stabilizing arm or a cane, so much as traveling from one wall to another pressed all the breath from his tired lungs and sent him into spells of lightheadedness too pronounced for him to continue. Yet, today marked the first day of his re-emerging strength, a day when he could even remotely accomplish the simple and oft taken-for-granted act of manipulating one’s body weight into a standing and balanced position. It was too momentous an occasion not to celebrate, and neither could Nia ignore the exponential progress between this morning and last night, when lifting one leg at a time in simple aerobic stretches was the extent of his muscle manipulation and mobility.
“C’mon,” he slapped his hands together in supplication, looking hopefully to Nia, his savior, and Ari, the implementer. “Just a little jaunt. Hells, I won’t even walk to the shop. You can set me up with your attendants and they can carry me there. Or palanquin me there. Not sure how you noble types do it. The second I’m feeling out of sorts, I’ll hightail it back to bed.” He turned his hopeful eyes to Nia. “You want a fitness partner for when Elly comes in to routinely kick your arse on the regular, yeah? Consider this my trial run. If I can do this without fainting, then you’ve got yourself a buddy!”
And so it was arranged. A sedan was prepared for him (so not quite a palanquin), a chair made for lifting and resting against the shoulders of two particularly beefy Canaveris attendants. Which begged the question: where was the beefiest one of them all? He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Lazarus either today or yesterday. Strange, considering the golem loathed to leave Ari’s vicinity. Even if he chose not to make himself visible, Hadwin always smelled his distinct mix of wet earth and fired pottery. Though, lately, the scent seemed to shift into something distinctly more…feminine in odor.
Upon arrival, Hadwin made his grand entrance, never skimping on the opportunity to loudly and enthusiastically announce his presence. He found it set a good precedent, to always go for a bang over a whimper; also, to simultaneously shake the scene into a little bit of liveliness. Given how, sans Sylvie, the shopping party of three had tendencies towards moodiness, gloominess, glumness, and all the other ‘nesses’ out there he couldn’t scrounge up, he figured, a little bit of fun was in order.
“Psh, I wouldn’t dream of spitting in the faces of my gracious host and his adorable family,” Hadwin said in a bid to placate Teselin. “I may have gone mad, but I’ve still got a fairly reasonable head on my shoulders. ‘Least, I think so,” he knocked against his temple for good measure. “But tell me honest, scamp; ever wanted to put on something just for the pure hell of it? Case in point for me,” he waggled the dress. “Y’see, it’s considered a little more socially acceptable for women to sport men's clothes. Sure, Siggy gets some flack for it, but not a whole lot. Now, a man wearing a dress, on the other hand, well, you go out there with a puff skirt and you’re liable to get pummeled to a pulp—at least where I’m from. But I figure, well, this is a safe space, yeah? So if it’s just everyone in this room who’ll see, then why not play a little dress-up or whatever? That is,” he tilted his head to the tailor, who entered from the back room with Sigrid in tow, “if the boss man approves.”
“As long as no one goes tearing up or stretching out my pieces, you’re free to try on whatever you like,” Mal said, his professional mask too watertight to gauge his true feelings concerning folks wearing unconventional garb. Considering how the Canaveris family comprised an enormous part of his clientele, it made sense for him to silence his opinions. “Here, let’s get your measurements first, and then we’ll decide which rack is more size appropriate for you.”
“Hells yeah, I’m in!” Hadwin balanced the cane in his opposite hand, gesturing for Mal to lead the way. “After all, it was originally my idea to get myself something tailor-made to replace all my ratty clothes. Not saying Briery couldn’t do it, but I gotta give her a break from time to time, y’know? It’s a rough gig for her, being a seamstress for not one but two faoladh.”
“He always needs to make a bloody scene everywhere he goes,” Bronwyn said, rolling her eyes once Hadwin and the tailor were out of sight in the adjoining room. “So, too late on that front, but he’s already stressing me out.” She lifted her eyes to address Sigrid, but her gaze had ended up aiming a little lower, and instead, she caught the blonde woman’s well-toned arms, the definition of each muscle group not lost even to her casual observation. She half wondered that if she touched the warrior woman’s prominent bicep, would she feel solid muscle? The inappropriate thought scored heat across her cheeks. It was too inappropriate. Especially after Sigrid’s kind, understanding words, and the supportive way she held her aloft after crashing yet again into her, to think such things was tantamount to…to…well, she was sure Hadwin and his insatiable appetite had a word for it!
“I for one find it a grand idea!” Sylvie, enchanted by Hadwin’s suggestion of donning an outfit opposite her usual wardrobe, swept a mens’ frock coat from the rack, threw it over the shoulders of her current gown, and fastened herself shut using the golden buttons running up and down its length. Bunching her loose hair into a ponytail, she fluffed up the coat’s collar, then approached the others in a stately, loping walk. “How do I look?”
“I’d say, like your uncle,” Bronwyn supplied, unable to react without smiling.
Sylvie beamed her approval. “Why not you, next? You and Teselin? Oh, do not be shy,” she added, sensing their hesitation erring on the side of rejection. “Wear whatever strikes you. Whatever seems fun, or comfortable, or absolutely ridiculous. I am more than happy to assist, if you require my aesthetic eye!”
And so it was that Bronwyn obliged, too agreeable to reject an earnest request from such a sweet and excitable girl. It was just like last week at the town square all over again, she realized, but at least she wasn’t carrying scores of children around her back as a wolf.
By the time Hadwin and the tailor stepped out from the backroom, Bronwyn was wearing an interesting hodgepodge of styles. Underneath, she sported a white, button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up past her elbows, exposing the shapeliness of her lean build. The buttons were popped open deliberately towards the front collar, allowing some breathing room for her rather small, yet nonetheless visible, breasts to appear. Over the shirt, a cream-colored brocade vest flapped outward, undone and casually worn. Beneath, a pair of trousers were cinched tight around her waist with a complementary-toned sash, accentuating the curves of her hips. To top everything off, a brown, flat cap sat jauntily on her head, a plume of bold blue jutting out from the side.
“Well, won’t you look at that!” Hadwin tutted approvingly from his vantage point. “You’re gonna give Siggy a run for her money here, pulling off men’s wear the way you do.” He sidled close to Sigrid and nudged her elbow. “What say you, eh? Think you’ve got a contender?”
Bronwyn tucked a stray curl behind her ear, shyly half-nodding at her brother’s enthusiasm. “Uh, thanks—-“ her head shot up and her eyes widened, “what in the nine hells are you wearing, Hadwin?!”
Her brother’s desire to try on a dress wasn’t just lip service, it turned out. Sure enough, the piece of couture he modeled was similar to the type found in a ballroom, all folds and frills and a fountain flare to the skirt as it gushed outward and lapped around his ankles. Owing to his difficulties standing and breathing at the same time, the corset was left untied. Nonetheless, it still held its shape, a shape helped along by the fact that Hadwin had lost a lot of weight during his long months of convalescence. A worrying amount, if he could easily fit into a dress made for a young—albeit tall—maiden. Hadwin gave his best, coquettish smile. “Tell me straight up, everyone; do I look pretty?” He twirled the skirts for full effect. “Hells, go ahead and laugh. I know someone is dying to do it.”
That someone was, in fact, Bronwyn. Unable to help herself, she cocked back her head and laughed at the pure ridiculousness of the premise. It wasn’t so much the dress itself, but the fact that Hadwin deliberately chose the fanciest, most garish, most outrageous gown available, leaving her beside herself in a fit of uncontrollable hysterics, the likes of which she couldn’t remember ever experiencing before. “You look like…a chandelier. Or a sentient wedding cake. I can’t…” she gripped the wall, needing support to prevent herself from bowling over, “I can’t take you anywhere!”
In contrast to Nia, who had her first nightmare-free sleep in weeks, Ari was not so lucky. Just as he feared would happen, when his eyes slid closed for the night, what awaited him in dreams…was death.
“You are going to die,” a familiar voice whispered into the air, haunting and at once, decisive. Sagely, and knowing. In the Stygian black of his environs, Ari searched in vain for a landmark, a light, a flicker of something to prove that this darkness was not absolute, not pure and all-encompassing in its opacity. Fortunately, he found a fire in the distance, all hiss and hardly any substance, tiny wisps of yellow flame, but it was the hiss and pop that communicated its prognostications of doom. The achingly familiar voice continued, in its authoritarian thunderclap. “You will die, Ari. Nia’s efforts will be in vain. Do not proceed unless you wish to die faster. Unless you wish to join me.” In sudden gouts of super-intensive fire, Casimiro emerged, a charred husk reduced to black, stringy tar and ropey sinews. He shambled out of the inferno, out of the melting planks of wood that designated the mound as a funeral pyre, and grabbed for Ari’s arm, securing him in place. While his face was an indistinguishable stump of charcoal and slime, splitting open his unhinged snake’s maw revealed stalactites of obsidian-sharp teeth, needled and ready for tearing. “Burn with me, my brother. This is where you belong. Be grateful for the decades you received…and die with grace.” Casimiro’s molten breath reared closer, teeth ready to clamp and drag down, down, deep down, into a hellish hereafter…
But he shot awake before death took hold, for the second time in two days, and somehow managed not to have suffered a debilitating flare-up, or any flare-up, from the ordeal. Thus combatting a repeat offense, Ari took a page from Nia’s book and opted not to return to sleep, focusing, instead, on his lover’s steady, undisturbed breathing until sunrise slivered through the slats between the curtains. Affixing his most pleasant, untroubled face, Ari gently jostled Nia to full consciousness, greeting her morning with a flood of apologies for the premature wake-up call and for the reminder of the inexorable list of activities to come.
“It is refreshing to hear you slept well last night!” Ari exclaimed, genuinely happy for Nia after she claimed an unbothered and dreamless slumber. “Well, insofar as you suffered no nightmares. My, I suppose the Night Garden herb is a rather effective sleep remedy,” his gaze drifted to the pouch, half-contemplating whether he should sprinkle a pinch in his drink before bed that evening.
Wasting no time, the couple sprang from the bedroom to breakfast, and then to that day’s duties. Excepting a little detour to Hadwin’s chambers, they were on schedule to resume work on the float, only…
“Yes, I expect Sylvie will be preoccupied for the better part of the morning, but she promises to join us after lunch,” Ari informed Nia as they stepped inside the open-air cavern that functioned as their workshop. Not only was Nico waiting for them, but he’d already set up a station of his own at the base of the float: a medley of paints, brushes, rags, and other artistic implements were arranged neatly beside a cushioned floor-chair. “However,” he turned to Nia, frowning a little. “I have already informed Nico about this, but have failed to do the same for you—the impromptu project I’ve begun last night must be resumed. It should take the better part of today to complete, if I time myself appropriately, so rest assured, I shall be available to dine and to welcome Lord Rigas at the front entrance for his scheduled arrival tonight.” Ari stepped back, cocking his head at the base and structure of the float, which had already been built and refined the day before. “As it stands, we are at the stage where each member of the team is ready to branch out to begin independent work on their respective niches. As I’ve assigned myself the task of designing all of the sculpture work, I will have to create a few of those pieces in my own private workshop beforehand—which means you shall see less of me here, to begin with. As you can see,” he gestured to his nephew, “Nico has begun his diligent work in painting the wraparound murals for the float base. Sylvie will join us, later with the textiles she is acquiring at the tailors’. It seems you shall continue transfiguring the sheets of mica, and I, meanwhile, am certain to resume float preparations the moment I’ve concluded with my initial commitments.”
“On that note,” he waved Nico over, waiting for the boy to climb to his feet and accompany them in their shop talk, “I am entrusting you with this float, Nico, and with it, the responsibility it entails. This includes the importance of teamwork. Nia is your teammate. As such, you shall treat her as such, with decorum, respect, and fairness.” His brow lowered in an austere, firm downturn, amplifying the heft and import of his words. “Is this understood?”
Nico lowered his head in reverence, nodding. “Yes, Uncle Ari. I am honored to be chosen for this duty,” he bowed.
Satisfied by his nephew’s obeisance and deference, Ari cracked his stern carapace with a pleased smile. “Excellent. I know you will do well, Nico. I look forward to seeing what wonders you have created.” Bidding his farewells to Nia and to his nephew, Ari stepped out of the workshop, leaving the two of them in each other’s exclusive company for the better part of the morning. The second after his uncle’s departure, Nico’s expression went from radiating respect to mild annoyance in a flash.
“Miss Nia, in future, I thank you not to touch me,” he said, brushing the mark upon his shoulder as if she’d transferred on it an incriminating grease stain that no manner of scrubbing would clean. “And please, we are not familiar. Call me Nicodemo. Out of respect for my uncle, I will do as he commands. However, I am not interested in making conversation. I prefer silence while I work. I realize this may be a bother to you, but I am certain you will have the opportunity to play catch-up when my garrulous sister arrives.” Nico stared ahead, at the path where Ari retreated. “As it is, Uncle Ari has more matters of import, attending to someone with whom he is far more attuned and compatible. Yes,” a small, sly smirk appeared on his otherwise impassive face, “you are a cute distraction, Miss Nia, but make no mistake; his preoccupations lead him elsewhere, and to much preferred company.”
“I… well, I can’t think of a time I’ve ever had an opportunity to want to wear something out of curiosity.” Teselin explained, and furrowed her brows thoughtfully. “I’ve definitely admired clothing far more exquisite than my own, but I’ve never thought that any such attire belonged on me.” However, it came as no surprise that the flamboyant Hadwin would jump at the opportunity to put something pretty on to match his flashy personality. And considering this was the most lively she had seen her faoladh companion in quite a while… she couldn’t begrudge him a little bit of fun. “But, if it pleases you to try on something you’ve never had the opportunity to wear before, and the kind tailor takes no issue with it…”
She didn’t need to finish her sentence before Hadwin was deep-diving into his desire to play dress-up; and, curiously, Bronwyn didn’t seem opposed to a little bit of fun with fine attire she’d never have the opportunity to wear anywhere else. Well, if they thought it was a good time… “Hey, Sylvie… what do you think would fit me? I’ve never tried on anything beyond earth tones or faded blues.” The young summoner’s eyes roved the colours of textiles hanging from the walls and folded into neat piles. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to introduce a little bit more colour into my wardrobe…”
“If you ask me, you’re all taking clothes a little too seriously…” Sigrid, still guarded with her arms folded, raised a pale eyebrow, though her expression softened just a little when it appeared that Bronwyn was evidently more open to indulging Sylvie and Hadwin in this little game. She was quick to eat her words when Hadwin emerged wearing what must have been the most garish gown she’d ever seen. Perhaps Bronwyn’s infectious laughter wormed its way into her demeanor, or Hadwin did appear as ridiculous as his sister implied… but the blonde warrior couldn’t help but crack a smile. “You know, I’m not sure if sporting that style will make people hate you more, or less,” she commented, but however amusing it was to see Hadwin traipsing around in garb that had its very own personality, her eyes kept drifting to Bronwyn. Unlike the former Dawn warrior herself, who simply wore men’s clothing for practicality and stubborn refusal of feminine fashion, Bronwyn really owned the attire. It had clearly been tailored for a man, but the faoladh woman somehow managed to pull it off as if it were made exclusively for her, the way it sat just right on all areas of her body. When her face began to feel hot, she looked away.
“You know, I somehow didn’t get the impression that Lord Canaveris was pleased that I wore his coat well. I think he was just being polite. Maybe…” Sigrid crossed the room to the piles upon piles of fabric. “I should find an alternative colour.”
“What? But, Sigrid, Nia was right--the blue suits you perfectly.” With some help from Sylvie, Teselin emerged from a back room wearing a gauzy gown of pearlescent, duochrome vermillion fabric, which shifted to pink hues at the right angle. The cut of the neckline, which was lower than she was used to, but not too low, certainly offered her a more mature appearance. There really was a person beneath those baggy and oversized clothes. “There are similar suits at the back in variations of blue--go and try them on! I’m…” The Kristeva girl passed a mirror, and looked positively dumbfounded by her appearance. “I didn’t think that I would enjoy this as much as I do. It makes me feel… different. But, a good sort of different.”
Well, with both Bronwyn and Teselin suddenly finding pleasure in this little outing, Sigrid would have stood alone silently brooding about how it was a waste of time. She had yet to tell Haraldur, but secretly, the blonde warrior had no intent to take part in upcoming festivities. She wasn’t sure she was ready to attend them… without Naimah. There was literally no point in fashioning something for her that she would likely never wear. But, she wasn’t about to make that news public…Especially not here, in front of the overly-enthusiastic Sylvie Canaveris. “Well--you’re the expert. Rather, more of an expert than me, or anyone else here, save for the tailor.” She nodded to Sylvie and unfolded her arms in defeat. “Find something nice back there, and I’ll participate in this little game.”
Something about Ari was off, the next morning, and Nia wasn’t exactly sure what it was. It hadn’t anything to do with his behaviour: he treated her as he always did, with delicacy and respect to the point where she knew she didn’t deserve such special attention. Just like he’d promised, he ate exactly what she ate that morning, in solidarity for everything she was doing to build her strength to save him. His smile wasn’t artificial, and he wasn’t acting suspicious in any way. But something about the faint circles beneath his eyes, something that she was all too familiar with seeing in herself, led her to believe that while her sleep had been restful, his had not. Had he been up in the middle of the night, struck by inspiration, to work on the secret project that had kept him occupied the previous evening? Had he pried his eyes open to ensure that she did not pretend to sleep, then slip away in the middle of the night to find stimulating activities to put of sleep for even longer? Or, had Ari suffered unrest of his own in his dreams?
The signs of fatigue were such a minute detail, and likely a faux-pas among Canaverises when it came to pointing it out. It was practically an insult, a coy way of making someone aware that they looked like crap, as Nico Canaveris had so aptly done when pointing out that Nia looked as ill as she felt the other day. By contrast, Ari certainly didn’t look half as bad (for if he had, then he likely wouldn’t have deigned to show his face to anyone, her included), and the signs of a restless evening her minimal… but it couldn’t help but make her wonder. Was she the cause of his unrest? It certainly couldn’t be doing him any good to worry about her to the point of sleeplessness. But a single touch that morning, when she’d stolen a kiss prior to their departure for breakfast, revealed that he hadn’t suffered any flare-ups. Perhaps she was overthinking things…
“Something on your mind?” She asked at last, when they were en route to his workshop. His steps seemed a little more… hesitant than usual, and while he still walked his confidence overall, there was something distant about his gaze, like he was remembering something--good or bad, she couldn’t tell. “Hey, if there are other more pressing matters to attend to, then don’t worry about the float. I know what I’m doing, and your nephew seems to think he knows what he’s doing, too.”
As it turned out, she wasn’t far off the mark. No sooner did they arrive, with Nico ready and waiting for direction to begin, that Ari filled her in on a slight change of plans. Whatever he’d been working on the night before, it was more pressing (or at least more important to him) than a parade float. Could that have been what had kept him from sleep, as well? “Ah, your secret project, huh? Are you ever gonna tell us what it is, or will we just have to find out?”
But that wasn’t the end of it. Ari would not only be gone for the day--leaving her with only the company of his resentful young nephew--but in order to sculpt the animals, he’d have to make use of his private workshop, which housed all of the right tools he’d need. It made perfect sense, and of course, the Master Alchemist couldn’t fault him for it, though the idea of seeing less of him did put a bit of a damper on her spirit. Hadn’t this been something of an excuse for them to spend more time together, while she was still technically a prisoner of Galeyn? At this rate, their time together would be limited to mornings and evenings… but, Nia wasn’t exactly in a position to complain. She was still a prisoner, still someone atoning for her crimes, yet no longer confined to a cell or to a single room. The worst she had to put up with was the Forbanne guard as her shadow, but even he listened when Ari or even Alster reassured him that it was fine to give her privacy from time to time. Spending the next week and a half with Nico as company was far from ideal… but it was by far preferable to what she had been dealing with beforehand.
“Don’t worry; we’ll hold down the fort and get this job done.” She assured the Canaveris lord with her wide smile. “I’ve already said, we’ve as good as won this competition with the raw talent going into this. We won’t let you down.”
However well-behaved Nico seemed while in Ari’s presence, the young man was quick to change his tune when his uncle left the two of them alone. It wasn’t a surprise, but… she was rather hoping the kid would get over his attitude. “Ah, fair enough. Aversion to touch seems to be a real thing among Canaverises. Probably isn’t much better that I’m a Master Alchemist. I’m more than happy to respect your boundaries. Not everyone’s a chatterbox, and hey, isn’t silence golden or something?”
Well, while ignoring one another’s existence wasn’t her idea of fun, at least the young Canaveris wouldn’t be all up in her face, trying to strike the right chord in her to make her go off. Nia wasn’t easily upset--though, despite his distance at the other end of the workshop, that didn’t stop him from trying to grasp for a nerve to hit. Any other insult wouldn’t have bothered her, but somehow… somehow, it was as if he could see right through her, to her insecurities, taking what was weighing on her mind and flinging it into an ultimately darker direction. He’d found that nerve; but if she let on, she would never hear the end of it, and he would never stop targeting her. “Aw, Nicodemo--you think I’m cute?” She clung to that word and use it as an anchor, to prevent her from drowning in a sea of her own emotions at the possibility--however slim--that Nico was telling the truth. “Your uncle is a busy man; I know that well. In fact, I think I know him better than you’d hope.”
She left it at that, hoping to shut down whatever arguments the brat had prepared, but whether or not she let it show, Nico’s comment had wormed its way into her brain. A distraction? No, that was a lie. Ari didn’t waste time with distractions. And what company, exactly, would he prefer to hers? Certainly… not that of another woman’s? Not after he’d declared he wanted no other than her. She remembered his voice from the night before, the pain in his eyes when he’d assumed she planned to leave him after she’d removed his curse. Hells, she’d practically given him her wholehearted blessing to find and bond with someone better than her, of which there were many, and yet he had been adamant to assure her that was not what he wanted. There was no artifice to his words; and even if they were embellished, the sentiment wasn’t. He loved her, to such a degree that he was also willing to ‘suffer’ with her through the next handful of weeks, while her life was carefully managed down to the hour. Why in the world would he forsake her for someone else?
And yet… she couldn’t help but note that it still added up, at least as far as yesterday went. How Ari had excused himself so brusquely, not long after he’d taken offense to Sigrid wearing his frock coat, and then didn’t resurface for hours afterwards. Had he been meeting with better company at that time? No… he didn’t look the part. Nia shook the intrusive thoughts out of her head as she ran her careful fingers over the thin sheets of mica, rendering them ever thinner. Ari couldn’t have lied that he was working on a project, for he’d been dressed down in his work clothes, with clay beneath his fingernails before he’d washed it away. But then, what of that sleepless look in his eyes? He had already risen from bed by the time he’d woken her up that morning. Just how long had he been awake… and if awake, where had he been?
Well, Nico had officially succeeded in touching on Nia’s insecurities, and they sat with her for the entirety of the time she spent, manipulating sheets of mica. The only saving grace was the silence that had followed the young Canaveris’s emotional jab, until midway through the afternoon, when Sylvie finally joined them. The jubilant girl broke up the awkward silence, but the damage had already been done, and whatever conversation she attempted to strike up with the Master Alchemist often ended up one-sided. When at last the day came to an end, several hours later, and Ari returned to fetch Nia, he was dressed similarly to how he had been the night before: in drab clothes, his hair pulled back, and with the distinct scent of clay on his person. Why, then, should she have any reason to believe he hadn’t been doing what he’d said he was going to do? What possible company could he have been keeping in his workshop, where he’d clearly been working?
“Productive day? So… when are you gonna reveal your brand new project?” Nia wiped her hands on her skirt, but the majority of the glimmering mica powder still clung to her palms and fingertips. “If it’s something important to you, then I hope you plan on doing a grand unveiling.” Since he was already wearing clothes that were intended to be dirtied, she didn’t find any qualms in taking his arm. “But, that aside… what time is Alster supposed to be here this evening? Before or after supper? I need to mentally prepare myself if he plans on fixing my leg to optimal capacity.”
Despite the lightheadedness, the difficulty standing upright, the wobble in his legs (gratefully hidden by the sheer bulk and layering of dress skirts), and the claustrophobic feeling of limited air supply, the fact that Hadwin successfully got Bronwyn to laugh made his questionably advised venture well worth it. While Teselin and Sylvie were his actual targets, he didn’t mind collecting the hysterics from his eldest sister, just as long as she thought his attempts at levity charming and not too juvenile. For the most part, that had often been the case. Back in clan Kavanagh, uptight and serious Bronwyn scorned the very idea of relaxation and leisure, mainly out of fear that Chief would catch her slacking off. If she had time to goof around, then she had time to work, and seeing as delinquent Hadwin was propped up as the model of who not to emulate, his harebrained schemes to crack his sister’s dull exterior were never well-received, to the point where she reacted in anger and hostility towards him.
“Grow up. Some of us have actual jobs,” she’d hiss, and barrel him aside by the shoulder en route to whatever extremely important task chief set her out to do. He always remembered her carrying something in her hands, whether it was a load of laundry to lug to the stream for washing, baskets of wheat slung over her back, or piles of firewood stacked high over her shoulders. Always mundane shit—but she never questioned her assignments, never stopped for a moment to ask herself, ‘Why am I doing this?’ She never caught on, or perhaps she did, but never thought anything of it, that chief always selected her as the designated errand woman, responsible for the thankless chores no one else wanted to complete.
If you stopped for just a moment, Bron, you’d see that he’s playing you. It’s all one big blanket of wool over your eyes. But you never use your damn eyes—never enough to see the fibers, the stitches. The fucking lie. You’re all too happy to obey. Too damn dutiful to notice any better. He chomped at the bit to voice the truth, the truth revealed to him by his mother on one of her many drunken rants, but not only would Bronwyn not believe a word he said, but she’d actively react in aggression—perhaps even in murderous aggression. Simply, anything he did went against the grain of normalcy, of chief’s established rules, and therefore was labeled a menace to faoladh society—his humorous overtures included. Outwardly, she learned to despise whatever represented him while inwardly…envying his breezy, carefree interpretation of life. Never was this envy more apparent than whenever they occupied the same space together. For, unconsciously or not, Bronwyn would absorb some of his traits, chief among them, his potty mouth, and his propensity to solve problems using his fists.
Whether trait-absorption or not, it still amazed him to see her…actually laugh at some asinine thing he did on purpose, with the express point of making his audience amused by his tomfoolery. He expected to receive the giggles from Sylvie or Teselin, but never Bronwyn, whose laughter towards him was commonly triggered by his abject humiliation—because laughing at the clan’s biggest disappointment was an acceptable use of her laughter. But that was before…everything. Before his exile, before the fall of Collcreagh, and before Rowen’s…self-destruction. Too much had changed between them, too much that had gone unacknowledged and would likely remain unacknowledged. Bronwyn, finally unshackling from clan Kavanagh’s faraway influences, was starting to recognize new perspectives and reevaluate her priorities. In doing so, maybe she was learning how to lighten up a bit! Or at the very least, realizing that her insipid brother wasn’t all that bad—in moderate doses. And whenever he wasn’t going mad.
Of course, there was another explanation for Bronwyn’s uplifted mood. His eyes scanned between his sister and Sigrid, catching the coy dance between them. The passive admiration, the lingering looks, calculated to appear inconspicuous. A wandering eye; nothing suggestive! The heated cheeks and elevated heart rates. The over-fixation on something else, someone else. Like him, decorated like a Yule tree, colored bulbs, baubles, and all.
“Probably a bit of both,” Hadwin winked at Sigrid. “As per usual. ‘Cept this time, I’d be an eyesore too impossible to ignore. Now, if I were to do this right, and not just for the laughs,” he swished his skirts; an entire choral susurrus responded their collective of rustles, whispers, and brushing, “I’d go for what Tes over there is sporting.” His smile grew big in the summoner’s direction. “Is that the color I think it is? If only I still had my Missing Links get-up; then we’d be a match-set!”
“It does look well-suited for you, Teselin,” Bronwyn offered timidly. Not quite figuring out how to adjust her behavior around the young girl who swallowed a city under her feet, she opted for pleasantries in an effort to show an honest attempt at clemency.
“Wonderful,” Teselin’s affirmation gave Sylvie all the genuine validation she was striving to collect for the better part of the morning. “Then can it be assumed that this outing proved a resounding success?”
For everyone, it seemed…but one person.
“Psh,” Hadwin scoffed at Sigrid’s weak objections, “Fancypants doesn’t own the color blue. ‘Sides, it wasn’t the color itself he wasn’t all up in arms about. Just as long as you don’t choose that coat’s twin—and you won’t, cuz it’s one of a kind—you can shop to your heart’s content.”
“I never like uttering this phrase, but Hadwin’s right,” Bronwyn supplied, and the manner in which she asserted her statement impelled Hadwin to hold his tongue and the smart retort it was readying in a retaliatory volley out of curiosity. Since being given the freedom to wear whatever she wanted, Bronwyn’s spirit had buoyed a little, along with her confidence. She boldly stepped towards Sigrid. “I’ll go with you. Not that I’m a great eye for style or color, but it might be an interesting experiment, to have two clueless people select an outfit or two and see how close on the mark—ridiculously far off it—we are.”
“Hah—Bron’s got games!” Hadwin chortled, unable to keep the commentary to himself a moment longer. “Now, don’t tell her what she’s doing might be considered ‘fun,’ or she’ll reject the concept outright!”
“Hilarious,” Bronwyn rolled her eyes heavenward, but surprisingly, didn’t react to him in impulsive explosions of anger! What spurred on this sudden change? Clothes may make the person, but they didn’t alter a person this much! Hadwin’s side-eye remained trained on Sigrid.
“Please do not restrict yourselves to any one outfit, either!” Sylvie called after her guests, who had begun to disperse in their search for appropriate formal attire. “You are also free to select everyday wear or whatever else you may fancy. Those were my uncle’s instructions, by the way—in case you were second-guessing the appropriate level of restraint to maintain. You needn’t hold back!”
When all was said and done, each guest had exited the tailor shop after choosing two outfits apiece, which would be ready for pick-up as soon as Mal made the appropriate alterations on each ensemble. Having followed Sylvie’s advice, they chose formal garb and a second, more casual dress, although “casual” for the nobility often translated as finery for the common folk. Sure as his word, Hadwin had selected not a flashy gown but something practical: a red, silk-lined waistcoat as his formalwear and a shirt and vest combination for his everyday wear—brown and sensible, but nothing considered unfamiliar territory for the faoladh. Like Bronwyn, Hadwin didn’t place too much emphasis on fashion, at least in terms of color, his wardrobe, excepting his Missing Links two-piece, normally sporting earthy tones of brown, gray, or black. Unlike Bronwyn, however, he always directed his focus on what made him look good, homing in on form-fitting cuts and tunics that allowed him to pop the buttons all the way down. For a shape-changer, he preferred easy-to-shed clothing. As a man who liked to sleep around, he also preferred easy-to-shed clothing, but for different reasons entirely.
Bronwyn, too, came away from the shop, content in her shopping decisions. With the combined efforts of Sylvie and the tailor, as well as her aesthetic eye, (which wasn’t as undeveloped as she thought, considering how she helped Sigrid find a coat of a striking cerulean blue, different enough in length and style to not be mistaken as Ari’s own) she accepted two complementary outfits. The first was a gown with a long, flowing skirt, its tri-colored layers of yellow, vermillion, and glimmering gold floating around her waist like flower petals ready to bloom. For the second outfit, she kept a similar appearance to her masculine-oriented ensemble, keeping the top, only exchanging the trousers for a slip-on skirt, favoring the convenience and simplicity of hassle-free robing and disrobing. As she followed Sylvie and Teselin back to the nearby Canaveris villa, Hadwin, who would stay behind to receive aid from the attendants hired out to assist him, beckoned Sigrid over to him with a half-limp, floppy hand, and didn’t stop trying to recruit her attention until she broke from the group and arrived at his side. The day’s whirlwind of events had consigned him to the sedan chair outside the shop sooner than he wanted, reducing him to a sore, twitching, achy collection of nerves trying to function as one fluid and connected unit. He was failing in that endeavor. Miserably.
“Hey Siggy,” he shifted in his chair, pushing at his legs to haul himself upright. But instead of hiding his struggles, he played them up, figuring his pitiable state might aid in clinching his current goal. “So I’ll get straight to it. There isn’t an arsehole’s chance in hell I’m missing Lord Fancypants’ masquerade ball. I’m done missing out on shit. Thing is, I’m not gonna be in tip-top shape by that time; let’s be real. Gonna need an arm of support to get me through it. You’re not gonna be busy that night, yeah?” His eyebrows waggled knowingly, “I know you’re an extreme party pooper and would rather stare at the wall…or whatever constitutes a rousing good time for you nowadays, but I’d like to hire you as my bodyguard since we go way back and all. Now, you’re probably wondering why I couldn’t ask literally anyone else and that’s a fair question; Papa Sorde would outfit me with a personal guard if I asked real nicely, and Lord Fancypants is all about bending over backwards for his guests—case in point,” he gestured to the sedan chair and his waiting retinue. “It’s simple, really. If I’m lashing someone to my side for hours at a time, I wanna choose a person who can entertain me, y’know. Someone that others will trust leaving me alone with.” He watched Bronwyn and Teselin’s retreating forms, his expression turning a little wistful. “I can’t have them worrying about me the whole time I’m there. Not fair to them. But if it’s you, I think they’ll back off a bit. They trust you. Hells; don’t know what you said to Bron before but it seems you’ve earned that hard-won trust from her. So, if you agree to this proposal, I’ll be a good boy. I promise. No matchmaking or verbal fisticuffs.” Behind his back, he crossed his fingers. Oh, he was promising no such things; at least not when it came to matchmaking—for, that was the primary reason for recruiting Sigrid to a party he was positive she didn’t want to attend. He saw how Bronwyn chose her ballgown with care, periodically looking over her shoulder to gauge Sigrid’s interest. Whether consciously or unconsciously, she wanted to look good for this sourpuss of a woman. And it’d all go to waste if Sigrid decided not to show. As for Bronwyn…well, she never confirmed her attendance, either, but he’d work on her, too. It wouldn’t be hard, getting her to crack.
She refused to wear it on her face, but Nico just knew he’d succeeded in getting under her skin. Nia Ardane wasn’t so infallible in her mannerisms as she thought; her chasms were so apparent, in fact, that he slipped through them and expertly dislodged more rocks from her crumbling facade, sending them careening down into the abyss. He confirmed his suspicions to be true later, after lunch and upon Sylvie’s return from Mal’s shop. Even the likes of his sister’s bubbly attitude couldn’t shake that wretched Master Alchemist from her deep, dark thoughts. Inwardly, he smiled. He had done it! Good to see her knocked down a couple of more pegs. However much she claimed to provide her life-saving skills in service to Uncle Ari, he didn’t believe she could do such a thing at all. De-petrifying his heart was one matter, but reversing his curse in its entirety…she’d only succeed in killing him faster! And then what would Ari’s death do to their family? Their near undisputed rule over the D’Marian settlement? To…him?
Everyone was an idiot not to see Nia for the in-over-her-head fool that she truly was. If not for the cooperation of Isidor Kristeva and Alster Rigas, both of whom could not be trusted, would such an ill-conceived plot to “save” his uncle receive any serious attention? No; he didn’t think so. Why, then, was Uncle Ari banking on this imposter woman’s questionable skill-set? Why else? Because he fell indiscriminately in love with the witch, and love clouded his judgement, his ability to make sound decisions. But if he ruined their love, perhaps he’d finally wake up, and reject Nia’s ridiculous schemes. The enchantment cast upon his senses thus lifted, Ari would look at his nephew, really look at him, and…and…
Care. Like he used to, before his father died, before his bid for leadership, before the city imploded and forced them to abandon everything and leave.
What a stupid dream! A stupid thing to wish for! Casimiro loved none of his children, and Ari attended to them out of obligation. Not care. Not love. None of it… because love, did it even exist at all?
At the conclusion of their float-building session—as evidenced by the ring of the sixth bell outside—his uncle had returned, hair tossed in a ponytail and presenting in muddy brown coveralls. Nico rose from his cushioned seat on the ground and was about to greet and bade him come over to check on the progress of his mural thus far—but Ari immediately made a beeline for Nia, who wasted no time in hungrily sweeping his attention like a starved dog.
“Ah, yes, I would say so,” Ari responded to his lover’s question, all smiles for her. No one else existed. “I am making steady progress. In fact, I should be ready to ‘unveil’ my project, as it were, tomorrow evening, should all go according to schedule. However,” his smile furrowed into a frown, “I hesitate to use the term ‘unveil,’ in this context. This project differs from the standard, but I am not at liberty to discuss the details, out of respect for my commissioner, who has requested I commit myself to secrecy.”
Nico caught Nia’s eye from across the cavern, his eyes glinting with the knowledge she was denied from receiving. I have been made aware of these details…but you have not. His gloating, non-verbal message read itself clear.
“Are you hungry?” Ari secured Nia’s arm around his own, linking them secure. “My cook has prepared for us a delicious meal of lentil soup, carrot medallions, baked purple yams, fingerling potatoes, and a roast chicken. You will find the seasoning to your liking, I hope; we imported them from the Night Garden. Aside from their cleansing, piquant flavor, I heard tell they also have curative properties. I’ve even requested a special preparation for dessert,” his smile returned, eyes crinkling with fondness for a woman so profoundly annoying and undeserving of his kindness. “Lord Rigas will be joining us after we dine. He assures me that only minor mental preparation is necessary on your part. It should not pain you so, he promises.”
“Uncle Ari,” Nico stepped forward, entering the conversation and joining his uncle’s sphere of acknowledgment, “would you like to see what I have completed for the float, as of now? Do tell me if I should change or alter my mural; whatever you see fit to offer as guidance.”
But his uncle cast just a cursory glance over the work; over the swirls and splashes of vibrant colors depicting a lush and lively summer forest, and lovingly rendered for his approval. He scanned the mural, a mere few seconds of consideration before his attention winked back to Nia. “A handsome piece for certain, Nico. I cannot fault your direction, nor your wonderful usage of colors. It is a well-framed composition, and evokes a message of tranquility and peace. Alas, allow me the time to appreciate it better, when I am not otherwise occupied, and we shall review what you have painted together come morning, yes?”
Nico tried to hide his sinking disappointment. With a muttered, ‘Yes,’ he nodded, and sulked away from the couple, from his sister, all the while tempering the desire to throw paint over his piece and draw grotesques in its place; blood and disfiguring scratches and dead things and pain and the woman Ari loved, hanging from a tree, a tribunal of Galeynians celebrating her demise—with Nico himself among their gleeful number.
Perhaps it was out of her desperate need to want to believe Ari, in that he had simply removed himself to work on some special and confidential project, but Nia didn’t detect any lies in his response. After all, his appearance said it all: the dirtied coveralls, his dark hair tied away from his face with flecks of dust and dried clay clinging to a few errant whisps. He had obviously been working on something… so, then, why did she still feel so ill at ease? Was it because Nico knew--or at least, insinuated that he knew--more than Ari was willing to let on for her? And besides that… just because he had obviously been engaged in sculpting, his art of choice, that did not mean he had been entirely devoid of company. If Nico was right… who had been with him? Or, the more pressing question on her mind was… who had he been sculpting?
“Well, this new piece of art really has to be something, if it’s more important than kicking Alster Rigas and Isidor Kristeva’s butts in outshining their workmanship.” The Master Alchemist quipped light-heartedly, but her heart did not feel quite so light. What if… what if Nico was right? “It’s a good thing you plan on finishing tomorrow. We’re running out of time, and neither your nephew, niece, nor I are even remotely capable of sculpting anything that deserves to reside on top of this float.”
Truth be told, Nia wasn’t hungry; not even remotely. And for once, it had little to do with her recovery and everything she had endured since Osric’s son had injured her leg and she’d attempted to flee Galeyn, and had everything to do with the unease that Ari’s nephew had stirred in her gut. It didn’t matter that the vegetables came from the Night Garden, or that they had the rare opportunity to dine on roasted chicken (for few farmers kept animals to slaughter, and predominantly focused on crops). The Ardane Alchemist had to face it: she was insecure with herself and in her abilities. And it was finally taking root in her psyche to the point where she wasn’t sure that it was no longer obvious how it affected her.
For now, she hoped her composure wouldn’t let her down. “My stomach has been growling a little… It might not look like much,” she nodded over her shoulder at the sheets of now very malleable mica sitting at her work station, “but a day of tampering with ores and minerals is a lot of work. On the bright side--let me know otherwise, but I think we have all the mica we’ll need, at the very least! Probably for the better it worked me up an appetite; I can’t remember the last time I had roasted chicken.”
Just as they prepared to depart, Nico spoke up from behind them, seeking his uncle’s attention (and, very obviously, praise) for his own work well done. However much the kid gave her a headache, Nia had to admit that he was a talented artist like his uncle, and when he wasn’t wasting time trying to get under her skin in every possible way he could, she had to give him credit for doing the work that Ari had put him up to. His mural was coming together very well, and while it perhaps didn’t have quite the finesse that it would have had Ari painted it himself, Nia couldn’t argue the fact that it would be ideal for their float. When the Canaveris lord turned to take a look at his nephew’s hard work, however, his remarks encompassed acknowledgement, but… without really seeing what Nico had done. And it was obvious, by the way the young man’s face fell, that mere acknowledgement was not enough. Nico wanted comments about his workmanship, the fine details he put into the lighting and shading and his choice of vibrant colours, and Ari… well, Ari suggested deferring those comments for another time. Because he saw fit to spend his time in other ways, currently, and praising his nephew’s work wasn’t currently of importance. Come on, Ari--how would you feel someone reacted the same way to your own art? Nia almost made the comment, but quickly thought better of it. It wasn’t her place, and the last thing she wanted was to stir up even more drama within this already highly dramatic family.
Before following her lover out, however, the Master Alchemist did stop to take a good look at Nico’s mural, and even went so far as to offer a genuine smile. “I know you couldn’t care less what I think, and I sure as heck aren’t an art critic… but I really like what you’ve done. Ari made a good move in choosing you to help make this mural shine, kid.”
She knew her opinion meant nothing to him, no matter how positive it was, but a part of Nia couldn’t help but empathize with wanting the approval of a respected adult. How hard had she worked as a child, putting her body and mind at risk for those runes on her hands, if only to hear “good job” from her mother, even just once? It had never happened, and over the years, she’d learned that it was good enough just to be happy with herself, regardless of how others chose to view her, but at Nico’s age, adult opinion was everything. She made a mental note to remind the Canaveris lord to actually come good on his promise to talk to his nephew, but as they sat down to dinner, her mind wandered to other more pressing topics that occupied her attention… namely regarding whatever new “masterpiece” Ari was working on, that he had yet to reveal.
It was difficult to feign an appetite that evening when she was too busy recalling the first time he had sketched her in person; how she’d reclined, completely unclothed, on the settee in the Canaveris parlor, and that unmistakable flush that crept into Ari’s warm-toned face as he’d worked to replicate her image on paper. And the brief passion that had ensued and ignited the two of them as a compatible item… Just because he was true to his word that he had spent the day sculpting, as was evidenced by the attire out of which he’d changed before dinner, that didn’t mean that more couldn’t have happened between him and his subject. Get a hold of yourself; you’re letting the little brat get to you. It was probably true; if Nico hadn’t bothered to get under her skin and say anything at all… she wouldn’t be dwelling on these ludicrous thoughts. Yet here she was, so immersed in them, that she hadn’t realized Ari had been endeavouring to get her attention for several minutes.
“Oh--sorry. I got completely lost in my thoughts.” She apologized, before taking a bite of the food on her plate, which was quickly growing cold. What were the chances she could just move it around to make it appear as though she’d eaten something substantial? How insistent was Isidor that she had to clean her plate? “No, no, dinner is excellent! I guess I’m just preoccupied thinking about how to wrangle the magic of our float. Getting the little fireflies to turn to flowers on direct contact with skin is still a feat I’m trying to wrap my head around. Might take a bit of trial and error, so I’m hoping we have enough mica to compensate for that!” Not entirely a lie; the Master Alchemist had yet to figure out exactly how she was going to make that possible. But at present, she was far too preoccupied to tackle that problem, truthfully.
It was around that time that a servant came to announce that Alster Rigas had arrived to tend to Nia’s leg. Finally--something to distract her from her intrusive thoughts. The Ardane woman stood from her seat almost immediately. “Hey--don’t worry, I’ll have the rest later.” She indicated the remaining food on her plate, which was at least half. “If Alster’s here, then we shouldn’t keep him waiting.”
Given the condition of her leg, the Master Alchemist didn’t so much ‘jump’ out of her seat in response to Alster’s arrival, but she did make it clear she’d decided she was done pretending to be hungry for the time being. Ari didn’t really have time to argue, and had to follow suit to offer his arm to her as she made her way out of her dining room and into the parlor, where the Rigas mage was waiting.
“Alster! Good to see you again so soon. Thanks for coming all this way on my behalf. How’s the float coming? Well--I guess you probably shouldn’t tell me, since we’re competing, and all. Win or lose, I can’t imagine you and Isidor will put together anything short of amazing. Even if it does pale in comparison to Ari’s artistic genius.” Nia rambled, struggling to get out of one negative headspace while avoiding yet another one. However much both Alster and Ari had tried to reassure her that this wouldn’t hurt, she had too difficult a time really swallowing that possibility, considering her abysmal tolerance to pain. “Well this is certainly happening fast. You heal up my leg for good tonight, and tomorrow your wife will expect me to put it to good use and run me ragged. I’d say I can’t remember the last time I ran at all, but… unfortunately, that’s a memory I don’t think I’ll ever forget.”
Nia took a seat on an armchair near Alster while Ari couldn’t help but delve into host-mode and offer Lord Rigas something, anything, to make his visit more comfortable. Of course, Alster politely declined, opting to get right to work if Nia was ready. She wasn’t ready; but time wasn’t on her side, or Ari’s, for that matter. “Do whatever you need to do, Alster. I’ll try to be a big girl this time and not beg you to stop five minutes in.”
Every time before, it had been that searing burn deep in her calf muscle that had put Nia over her threshold enough to call it quits before Alster had finished, prolonging the process of her healing. This time, when he put his hands over the tender scar on her bare calf, familiar warmth heated her leg from the inside out, but the pain wasn’t nearly as intense. The burn simmered just below the point where it would cause her discomfort, and while Ari lovingly stood next to her and offered a hand for her to squeeze, she barely flinched as the deadened tissues that restricted her movement were siphoned away. Minutes passed to her astonishment, without feeling the need to ask Alster to stop, or even for a break. But the Rigas mage did appear as though he were concentrating more than last time, to the point where he appeared to be experiencing discomfort. Nia wanted to say something, but remained silent, for fear of interfering with his concentration.
Only when he removed his hand did she reach out with her concern. Alster looked pale; like somehow, this ordeal had hurt him as opposed to her. “You alright, Alster? Maybe you should stay a while. If we send you back to the palace now, you wife will give me an earful for sure. I dread what she’ll do to me if you don’t return looking as healthy as you did heading out.” Nia took it upon herself to stand up from her seat, cross the room, and pour a glass of water from a crystal decanter for the Rigas mage. On her way back, she paused, mid-step, upon a sudden realization. “... it doesn’t hurt. Not even remotely. Like it was never injured in the first place…” The Ardane woman handed Alster the glass of water with a grateful smile. “I can’t thank you enough, Al. I was starting to get used to having to hang on to Ari just to get to and from the workshop in a timely manner.”
Truth be told, Sigrid hadn’t anticipated actually coming away with a new outfit that day, or even having one in the works--because it was never her intention to attend that stupid ball. Sure, she would show up for the parade, or some brief spectacle for a few minutes, just to make a point that she had made an appearance, but a ball? The former Dawn warrior wasn’t sure she would be able to hold herself together for that. Too many memories surfaced, of Elespeth Rigas’s naming ceremony back in Stella D’Mare, and the festivities surrounding the birth of the Sorde twins… both instances where she had danced the night away with Naimah, without a care in the world. Days were getting better for her, now; she no longer isolated herself from others, drowning in the loss of someone who had been gone for almost a year, but whom she had never had the proper time to grieve. She was able to blend in with a crowd and make polite conversation. She was useful, to Lord Canaveris or whomever needed her skills, not a stunned deadweight in light of everything that had happened since Naimah’s death. But none of that meant she trusted herself not to crumble if she faced a triggering situation. Everyone would look on her with pity or confusion, and she would be forced back into seclusion until they all forgot about the tall, blonde she-warrior who couldn’t hold herself together among couples dancing. Naimah wouldn’t have stood for her falling apart on a ballroom floor…
Then again… neither would she have stood for her not dancing. But the lovely Kariji woman had been the only reason she’d danced, at all.
Happy that Bronwyn and Teselin at the very least didn’t seem appalled at the new additions to their wardrobe, Sigrid followed them back to the Canaveris villa, allowing Hadwin to be taken care of by the attendants that Lord Canaveris had generously provided. She didn’t really give the faoladh a second thought until he called her over, which she found rather odd. Did he still need help, even with the aid of his escorts? “You can’t seriously need my help when you’ve already got attendants at your beck and call,” she commented, but as it turned out, Hadwin did need her help--just not at this given moment. Sigrid’s lips dipped into a frown.
“I was your bodyguard once, upon a brief agreement. But I don’t see why we need to repeat that. You said it yourself--you want someone who can entertain you, and I’m a ‘party pooper’.” The blonde woman rolled her eyes skyward. “I couldn’t possibly entertain you. You know there are a good deal of other people you could ask, like…” She’d been about to mention Elespeth, but it occurred to her that the Rigas woman would likely want to partake in that ball with her husband. “Well, what about that acrobat? The one who puts up with all of your shit. Surely she’d be your escort.” But then it occurred to her that even if Briery Frealy showed up, the ringleader of the Missing Links was also nursing her own wounds with the loss of one of her troupe members. She wasn’t so sure she’d want to be there, either, even if it were for Hadwin’s sake. And considering he was much closer to her and that she’d have been his first thought, there was probably a reason why he declined to enlist her services.
Still… why did that mean she had to pick up the slack? “I’m not sure you can afford my help,” she arched a pale eyebrow and folded her arms. “And to be honest, I’m not sure I’d even trust you to pay me. Besides, I’m here in the D’Marian settlement because I’ve sworn myself to Lord Canaveris’s' service for the time being, to make up for the loss in this community that I am partially responsible for. I can’t defer my services elsewhere if he needs me. I’d say try to come up with another offer I can’t refuse, but I’m not sure that offer exists. You already know that celebrations just… don’t interest me.”
Sigrid let her arms drop and tucked her fingers into the belt loops of her trousers. “But I’m not completely unreasonable. You want someone to lean on so you don’t fall over? I’ll see what I can do. Hey--why not ask your sister?” Her azure eyes traveled to Bronwyn’s retreating form, and they remained fixed on her for a bit too long to seem casual. “You can’t tell me she doesn’t entertain you. Your banter really is a sight to see. If you’re really concerned about missing out on all the fun… I’ll see what I can do. But I can’t make any guarantees that I’ll be the one entertaining you.”
With a casual shrug of her shoulders, the blonde warrior resumed her pace toward the Canaveris villa, several paces behind Teselin, Sylvie, and Bronwyn--far enough that it wouldn’t be too obvious that she was purposely keeping the faoladh woman in her sights.
As both an artist and a patron of the arts, Ari had an eye for talent and for recognizing talent. On the surface, it looked as though he favored young Nico on the grounds of nepotism, humoring his nephew with an aspirational greatness he would nor could reach. But that was patently untrue. While polite and respectful of preserving the integrity of one’s feelings, Ari was not one to string someone along who didn’t possess the aptitude or at least the drive to pursue the creative arts. If that person proved their endeavors thoughtless, bereft of heart, or, frankly, terrible, the Canaveris Lord would simply not encourage them down that particular avenue. Nico, therefore, met his approval. Exceeded his approval, even. The boy commanded such a knack and control over the brush that it would be considered a crime not to help cultivate his latent skills. And help, Ari did. He took Nico under his wing and named him a protege, offering up his workshop and guidance whenever possible. Unfortunately, as responsibilities as Canaveris Head and D’Marian leader steadily grew, his schedule was fast devouring any semblance of free time he once enjoyed—including the time spent as Nico’s teacher.
As per the Canaveris credo, his nephew dealt with the cuts to their schedule with equanimity, putting on a brave face and smiling his understanding, despite Ari’s awareness of the cracks showing beneath the surface, telltale signs of disappointment…and anger.
To rectify the matter, and to ensure Nico always felt included, Ari invited him to contribute his artistry to the Solstice float, an honor to which he readily agreed. All seemed well, save for his off-color comments towards Nia and later, Nia’s report pertaining to his feelings of loneliness and abandonment. Ari had intended on taking his nephew aside and having a heart to heart, and as a matter of fact, planned on doing so the following day, delaying the attention and validation Nico craved at that moment to a later date, a date that meshed better with a schedule that had lately devolved into chaos. It was shameful to think so, and it guilted him to nurse such a stinging thought, but Ari simply had no time for his nephew, what with the need to monitor Nia’s condition, to remain on top and informed about his upcoming operation, to manage float and masquerade preparations, to oversee his regular leadership duties, and to craft a new body for Laz. On top of the physical and mental strain of handling too much at once came the oft-neglected emotional side of his day’s minutiae. The horrifying realizations, residing in the irregularity of his heartbeat, reminding him that he could lose everything. Nia. Himself. Why then, should it matter to dedicate his time mentoring Nico when the likelihood of his demise was far from zero? Weren’t his priorities clear, at this point? Ensuring Nia’s health topped the list—for, without her full and complete wellness, efforts to lift his curse would surely fall short, and fail. Someone would end up dead. Or…someones.
Forgive me, Nico, came his earnest thought as he exited the workshop cavern with Nia on his arm. Your art is exquisite and I wish for nothing more than to give it my due. Please receive my abbreviated comments as a consolation. May it be enough for now…
“Oh, no need to worry about my contributions to the float,” Ari waved off Nia’s concerns with the confident curl of a smile. “As it stands, the animal sculptures are completed. Look no further than the menagerie upon which we stand.” Entering the courtyard, Ari gestured to the collection of petrified creatures, frozen in mid-movement, as if their last moments had achieved immortalization through the ashes of a volcanic burial. “Why create an entirely new set when they will do just fine? Not that I am here to tout laziness as a regular virtue of mine. Rest assured, I am crafting several new additions to the float as we speak—as well as the hibiscus-flower centerpiece. And then, of course, there is the matter of producing thousands of delicately carved fireflies. You must show me your mica sheets on the morrow, for I am afraid I have not granted them an audience, nor you, recognition for your hard work.” Leaning forward, he stole a tender kiss on her cheek. “Nothing you do goes unappreciated, Nia, even if I do not always offer my praises aloud. That said, I do hope you become aware of your greatness someday.” As he pulled away, he lightly stroked the spot on her cheek he had kissed. “Thank you, by the way.” A filter of shame filled over his eyes. “For voicing to Nico what I failed to convey.”
After changing into more appropriate attire, Ari and Nia headed for the dining area to partake in their specialized meal. As per Isidor’s meticulous instructions, Ari kept an eye, albeit a noninvasive one, out on Nia’s eating habits, making sure she scooped enough food from her plate and into her mouth. However, at the midway point, he realized his preoccupations on Nia not only prevented him from eating his full, but that he was using her needs as an excuse not to dwell on the shades left behind from his grisly nightmare. They lurked in his periphery, demanding attention, but Ari ignored them in favor of seeking Nia’s attention. For her part, she tried to engage with him during dinner, but other matters weighed more heavily on her chest, and her fits of pensiveness walled him out of the conversation. No. Do not go where I cannot follow. Do not leave me alone with…with this. Something cold breathed on his neck, causing him to clasp his arms and shiver. The shadow was there. The shadow of death, whispering its promises to take him away. Soon. Soon…
It was fortunate that a servant interrupted their meal to announce Alster’s arrival. His statement alone revitalized Ari, to the point where he swept out of his chair, more than ready to follow his envoy—but Nia had already outpaced him, up and practically pulling on his arm. Before they exited the room, he glanced over his shoulder, at the plate of food she left almost untouched. Not that he fared much better, when his plate, across from her own, yielded two-thirds more of the meal he'd successfully eaten only a small fraction of. What a poor example he’d become, failing to live by his grandiose standards while expecting Nia to do the maximum effort. To reprimand her on lack of eating would amount to hypocrisy on his part, and it was never his intention to overstress her by belaboring her burdens. She understood what was required of her and hadn’t needed any reminding. And yet, he worried she would not reach her health peak before…before the end. Before his end. He would never speak so, especially not now, when every possible measure was being carried out in his favor, but Ari feared his death date was…
Soon. Soon. Soon.
Very soon.
“Lord Rigas.” Ari donned his dignified host's best moments before stepping inside the parlor where his guest awaited their audience. “Thank you for your patience. May I offer you a drink? Some supper, perhaps? We have just finished dining, and have plenty of leftovers. The food is still hot and fresh, I assure you.”
“That won’t be necessary—but thank you all the same,” Alster said, his refusal nothing but polite and respectful towards the host, so as not to incur any perceived insult or offense. “I dined well at the palace before my departure. As for the float,” he turned his secretive smile in Nia’s direction, “it’s a disaster and a half. No doubt about it; we’re doomed.” But despite his notes of finality, the mischief in his smile never faded. “I wish I could say that training under Elespeth will be easy, but there’s no use handing you a blatant lie. What I can say, though, is that I intend on healing your leg to the point where it can withstand my wife’s rigorous training methods. You don’t have to worry about regulating your pain threshold, either. I’ve honed my abilities such that they shouldn’t cause you much pain, if any.”
Regardless of Alster’s vote of confidence, Ari saw fit to offer Nia a handhold of support during her healing session. Pulling up a chair beside the settee where he instructed his patient to recline, Alster pulled up the sleeves of his tunic, took a seat, and closed his eyes to foster a calm, meditative environment. Once mentally prepared, he pressed both hands, curiously warm—even the cold steel of his prosthesis—upon Nia’s bare and exposed leg, and proceeded to suction out the dead cells and toxins piling upon her steadfast injury. All the while, he sent revitalizing electric pulses to the area, which contributed to loosening the tight, callus-hard muscles and encouraging the return of their springy, limber form. None of these methods were particularly demanding on his body, not when he’d performed them plenty of times on other people, but implementing an empathetic pain transfer? That was new, done only once with Nia, and on a partial, experimental capacity, and several times with Elespeth, but their bond made such efforts not only possible, but compatible: no blowback, no side effects, no lingering symptoms. For someone to whom he was not empathetically affiliated, it required Alster to take a few extra steps. First, he lowered some of his psychic shields, put in place to protect his mind from succumbing to everything and everyone. Now under a partial and temporary takedown, his disassembled shields allowed the loose energies of Nia’s feedback to trickle through and affect him, good and bad (mostly bad). Amidst experiencing all her most prominent emotions, her worries, fears, and distress, he gently coaxed out the pain, her physical reaction to it, and rerouted it to him. Come to me, he told it, his inner voice a hypnotic, resonant purr. Come where you are wanted. I’ll take you. I’ll take all of you.
Thus, he accepted her pain, the cacophony of clashes, pierces, bludgeoning, prodding, drumming, and red-hot sizzling. He took each instrument until he had an entire off-key sympathy playing roughshod in his body, offering little reprieve or release. The pain was immense, almost unbearable, because he was experiencing it not through his own filter of high tolerance, but through her low tolerance, hypersensitive response to the raw yanking and pulling and squeezing and agony. Alster grit his teeth and focused through the worst of it, for he certainly had fared worse, but the seconds dragged on like centuries and the screams, his screams, demanded he put an end to the torture. Stop. Stop. Please stop!!
No! He grit his teeth harder, their pestling sounds grounding into his battered, throbbing head. We’re not stopping until it’s over! Endure it until then. Endure it!
At last, the pain abated, drifting away like leaves on the wind—a hopeful sign. The sign he desired and begged for, with all his heart. With one final gasp of breath, Alster disengaged from his emotional as well as physical connection to Nia, reorienting his mental shields and releasing his hands from her leg.
“It’s…” he stopped again for another gasp of much-needed air. “It’s over. I extracted the lesions and softened the hard pack of tissue. How… do you feel?” Apparently, she was feeling better. Sprightly, as evidenced by her easy walk to the drink canteen to fetch him some water. “That’s…good. Great!” He offered a shaky smile, pressing down on his prosthetic arm, where his trembles and shivers appeared at their most prominent. While he had extracted the toxins from her body, and fed the excess chthonic energy to the Serpent’s always-hungry maw, he suffered a few lingering aftereffects, which manifested as unassailable chills and phantom inflammation ringing around the area of skin above his prosthesis. After grounding himself appropriately, such signs would vanish. Therefore, he gratefully accepted Nia’s proffered goblet of water.
“Thank you…but I’ll be fine after a little replenishment.” He brought the water to his lips and took a long, refreshing sip. “It won’t take long until I’m back to rights.”
“Nonsense.” Without any further prompting, Ari strode over to the door, a man driven to a purpose. “You will partake in some refreshments. I shall have it no other way. For your indispensable services to Nia, consider this the least I can do. Excuse me a moment.” Before Alster could protest, the Canaveris Lord escaped through the door, the dedication to his task too sacred to disrupt.
“I really am fine, but you’re right; Elespeth won’t be thrilled to see me return, a mess of shivers,” Alster laughed weakly, but it was true. The last time he utilized dangerous magic at the behest of someone else, he fainted in the Night Garden and was relegated to bedrest in the sanctuary, up until his supernatural chills subsided. Elespeth, naturally, chastised him for being so foolish, so reckless, and while she was not wrong, he didn’t look forward to being on the receiving end of her exasperated lectures about constantly putting himself in harm’s way. “For both of our sakes, I won’t leave until I have your approval and Ari’s. After all, I wouldn’t want my wife to take out her frustrations on you, and not for something I did. In fact…I’ll tell her to go easy on you for your first training day. She’ll listen to me if I say it’s a matter of your health not to place unnecessary strain on your leg so soon after it’s undergone so much magical healing,” he gave Nia a conspiratorial wink. “There’s no reason to overdo yourself on day one, anyhow. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea if I were present to oversee how your leg behaves during strenuous physical activity. Just for one day, at least. That way…it’ll give you and Ari a chance to play catch-up, with regards to your float. But you should have no trouble staying on schedule…seeing how things are going so horribly for myself and Isidor.” Again, he offered his secretive smile.
At that moment, Ari returned, carrying a small tray of various foods from dinner, including the lentil soup, fingerling potatoes, and color-assorted carrots, each separated into little, snack-sized bowls. “Please, do help yourself,” he lowered the tray upon the table closest to Alster’s chair. “I have more in the kitchen, if you so desire.”
“No, what you have prepared for me is more than fine, Ari. Thank you.” Alster reached forward and selected the bowl of soup from the tray, reveling in the warmth radiating against his chilled fingers. “But,” he chewed the inside of his lip, hesitating a moment, “perhaps there is something you can do for me, if it isn’t too much trouble.”
Ari grasped at the opportunity. “Ask and you shall receive, Lord Rigas. There is precious little I cannot provide you, considering all the help you have so freely and generously given.”
“It’s not a tangible I desire, and you’re free to decline, but it’s a question I want to ask you. Something that’s been needling away at me for a few days.” Alster spooned a few scoops of warm soup into his mouth before resuming. “It’s not a polite question, so again, feel free to remain silent on the matter, but…” he paused and looked at Nia apologetically. “This might not be appropriate to discuss in mixed company. Nia…would you mind leaving the room for a moment?”
Sensing the serious nature of Alster’s inquiry, Ari also glanced his apologies towards Nia. “Forgive me, Nia, but it shall be only for a moment. You may relocate to the dining room, if you are at all hungry. I shall fetch you when we are finished.”
“What, you think I can’t derive my entertainment from party poopers? When Elly was the biggest party pooper of them all, once upon a time? My sweet, sweet Siggy, it’s your kind I love to mess with the most. You’re my favorite form of entertainment,” Hadwin said, his mouth opening into a half-moon smile, with teeth. “Oh, you’re wondering about Brie? She’d do it if I begged, but like I said, I’m looking for an arm and a bodyguard. You’ve seen the rabble that’s after me here. Just because we’ll be masked and anonymous doesn’t mean we’ll remain masked and anonymous the whole time. Think I wanna put Brie in danger when she’s got enough on her plate? No, you’ll do swimmingly. And—“ he placed a hand over his chest, brow furrowing with mock affront, “I’m offended. Really, I am. I’m richer than I look; believe me. Name your price. But you think I wouldn’t pay up? Wow, haven’t you got a low, piss-poor opinion of me? Still, huh?” He hacked out a laugh, showing no signs of insult. “Well, I can’t blame you there. No matter, though, cuz you just reminded me of something.” He gripped his chin with thumb and forefinger. “You’re in the service of Lord Fancypants. What makes you think he won’t ask you to patrol around the ballroom, huh? Wouldn’t he want to seed his event with some incognito soldiers…enough to ensure the safety of his guests, but not enough to alarm anyone? Wouldn’t that be a perfect use of your talents…now that you’re sworn into his service and all? Just a thought,” he shrugged, at an angle too flippant to be interpreted as a particularly serious or noteworthy observation.
“Psh, you think Bron’s gonna wanna go to a masquerade? Not willingly, I can tell you that much right off the bat. First off, it’d be a shame to see her lovely gown go to waste, but it’s not like it’d be hard to guilt her into attending, between Sylvie and me. So let’s say I get her to bite, and she becomes my extra arm of support. Well, then I just doomed her to an entire evening of my insufferable company. Would you wish that fate on anyone? Especially my darling big sis? Even the people who tolerate me can only take me in small doses. Hah—not really selling why you should be my exclusive bodyguard, huh?” Since Sigrid was close enough to receive a playful elbow in the ribs, Hadwin did just that, ignoring the fact that continuously using his overworked muscles placed them under enough strain to induce spasms; little shocks of inactivity rocking and paralyzing sections of his body at a time. He lowered his arm, surrendering the nonverbal banter play. “But hey, if you’re alright subjecting Bron to my Iively presence for the whole event, it’s no skin off my back. Just thought I’d offer you an opportunity to make quick coin. Cuz…I mean, if you’re likely gonna be stationed there anyway, might as well get something out of the fact that you might freeze up in the middle of the ballroom, right? Like monetary incentive, for instance? Oh come now,” he tsked. “I’m not so callous as to put you through something like that in a regular setting, but this is a masquerade. Cover yourself from head to toe and you can have your little freakouts in peace, with none the wiser.”
“Well,” he sank into his chair and signaled to his attendants, “I’ll give you some time to think about it. Whether you agree to my proposal or not, I’ll probably see you there anyway. Good day to you, Siggy!” Oh yes, I’ll see you there, his scheming eyes narrowed as the attendants hauled the sedan chair over their shoulders and carried him back to the Canaveris villa. Cuz I know exactly how I can convince Ari to assign you to ballroom duty.
Over supper, Nia couldn’t help but notice that her plate was not the only plate that had yet to be cleaned of their contents. Almost like a mirror to her, Ari was picking at his food in the same way that she was, moving it around on his plate to make it appear as though he had consumed more than he actually had. Was it out of concern for her? Was her nervousness and psychological agitation over what Nico had insinuated contagious, such that the Canaveris lord was feeling it perhaps without knowing what it meant? She wanted to ask if everything was alright, but dreaded that Ari might turn the question back on her, and she was already doing her best not to think about the fact that there were things he’d rather be doing than spending time working on the float with her… or that someone else was more deserving of his attention.
Just like he seemed to be struggling to banish his own concerns, Nia chose to let hers slide as she moved to the parlor to meet with Alster Rigas. While there was a myriad of other things she’d have rather been doing than sitting through Alster’s chthonic magic sucking and burning away the remnants of what could have been a life-threatening injury, it did take her mind (and Ari’s, it seemed) off of whatever was plaguing them. But for all she experienced only the vaguest hint of discomfort, the same couldn’t be said for Alster, who appeared to be straining himself a great deal. Why was it suddenly so hard on him? Was it because he was tackling what remained of her injury, without stopping for a break? Or did this have something to do with the fact it wasn’t causing her agonizing pain, like the last time? At one point, Nia wanted to reach out and ask him to stop--not for her sake, but for his own, although she feared what might happen if she suddenly severed his careful concentration.
When he finally removed his hands from her leg, the Rigas mage looked so gastly that she feared he might faint, hence her hurried motivation to provide him with a glass of water. Ari must have had the same idea, as he insisted that Alster not leave the premises until he had something to eat. The celestial and chthonic caster did not refuse, which made her wonder if he was aware of just how much this feat had taken out of him. “No offense my friend, but I’m not gonna lie… Elespeth wouldn’t be my first choice for whipping me into shape. I feel like there’ll be less shape and more whipping.”
But really, whatever Elespeth Rigas planned to do for her (or to her) was the least of Nia’s concerns. On top of the guilt of already failing to not finish a meal (not off to a particularly good start… and she did wonder if Ari would really rat her out to Isidor), the sudden secrecy between Ari and Alster, one that requested she leave the room, made her stomach twist into even more uneasy knots. First the Canaveris lord saw fit to keep his most current artistic endeavour hidden… but not from everyone. Only her. Nico evidently knew what he was up to (at least, he insinuated as much), but now… for whatever reason, there was something that Alster wanted to talk about that required her to leave the room. But why? Did he still see her as untrustworthy? And Ari… Ari, who had promised no more secrecy, was in agreement that she comply with Alster’s request?
As much as it bothered her to her core, the Master Alchemist chose not to let on, and even flashed a bright smile to show she wasn’t a poor sport. “Ah, don’t worry about me, I get it. Can’t dish out the gossip around the person with the biggest mouth, right?” She chuckled in spite of herself, trying not to let on how sore she felt being left out of the loop. “I think I’ll hit the baths while they’re still relatively private and have the rest of supper as a nighttime snack. Don’t worry about me; no chance of me tripping or limping now, all thanks to you, Al!”
Bowing out, literally and figuratively, Nia stood with more ease than she had in at least a month, and left the parlor for Alster and Ari to chat about whatever it was her ears were not privy to hear. True to her word, she did forsake the dining hall in favour of the incomplete bathhouse below, and miraculously, even managed to descend the staircases (with ease!) and navigate the complex underground of the Canaveris villa successfully on her first try. Just as she’d hoped, the bathhouse, with its steamy atmosphere and witchlights, was completely devoid of any other signs of life. Good… so it hadn’t been announced to the general public, just yet. For what was very much a rare occasion, Nia Ardane was, for once, happy to be alone.
Foregoing oiling, or whatever it was Ari had suggested prior to dipping her toes in the warm water, Nia stripped bare of her clothes, left them in an unceremonious pile on the damp edge of the bath, and submerged up to her neck without another thought. The warm water was heavenly on the taught muscles of her shoulders and neck, which had been holding tension all day since Nico’s off-handed comment about how Ari was spending his time in another’s company. Yet, she had to take that into consideration--that Nico had been off-handed. That he had been trying to get under her skin, and there was no proof that anything he said was even remotely true. Sure, perhaps Ari was working on a new passion project, but that didn’t mean he thought any less of her to the extent that he thought more of someone else. He had no reason to entertain a relationship with her that he did not really want; and she had already given him an out, reassuring him that it was perfectly alright if he would rather be with someone else once he had the freedom to find someone he found more suitable to his liking. She had promised him that it would have no bearing on her desire to help him and rid him of his curse, and yet, he had begged her not to leave him, terrified that she would step out of his life the moment he was free to live as any ordinary Canaveris would. He had begged her… so, then, who could he possibly be seeking out a ‘better’ company?
You’re overthinking. You’re overthinking and it’s going to make you do or say something stupid. The Master Alchemist quietly cautioned herself, sinking even deeper into the steaming bathwaters. Why couldn’t she shake that nagging ‘what if’? What if Nico was right? What if Ari had only begged her not to leave him out of a fear that knowing he would leave her when he was cured would somehow cause her to fuck up the procedure to lift his curse? Or, what was even more probable, what if it had merely been a simple sense of guilt, that he had tried to convince himself he didn’t want to look for someone more suitable to share his life with? Would it be kinder for her to quietly leave so that he didn’t have to think he’d pushed her away or willingly left her, after everything she planned to do (and was already doing) on his behalf?
Baths were supposed to be relaxing, and now that her leg had healed, she should have been able to enjoy this, pain and misery free. The Master Alchemist had hoped it would set her mind straight and help her to cease ruminating on these farfetched possibilities. Instead, she just wanted to dissolve in the hot waters so that she didn’t have to continue the agonizing wondering of whether she was right or wrong about Ari really wanting to be with her now, and later on, when he would have the opportunity to find someone more suitable to his wants and needs.
Truthfully, she didn’t expect Ari to come find her later that evening, after he had finished speaking with Alster about whatever it was she was not privy to hearing. In fact, she’d convinced herself that she wouldn’t be seeing him again that evening, figuring that once he was through speaking with the Rigas mage, he would return to resume his current passion project in whatever company it was he was keeping in his workshop. It came as a surprise to the Master Alchemist when, a little while later, when the Canaveris lord entered the dimly lit and otherwise vacant bathing area, occupied only by Nia, sunk up to her neck in the water. “I couldn’t resist; your masons are making good work on this place. Had to get some time in before all the privacy is gone. Speaking of privacy… you’re welcome to join me. Sure, you’ve already cleaned up well after working on your art today, but who says the baths have to be all about cleaning up?”
While she was hoping he would opt to join her, Nia’s heart sank a little when he ventured to ask if she intended to finish the meal she’d left at dinner. There was no point in fibbing when she knew he would call her out on it. “I don’t think I can… not tonight. I know I’m not off to a great start, but I’m… trying, Ari. Don’t tell Isidor… I promise I’ll make more of an effort tomorrow. Hells, I’ll be training with Elespeth. If that doesn’t work up an appetite, I don’t know what will!”
As much as she tried to maintain her smile, it faltered at the edges. She let out a sigh as she let it go and lifted a hand out of the water. “Ari, I have to ask… what’s with all the secrecy today? Right after we promised, no more secrets? Stealing away to work on something secret, speaking with Alster on matters to which for some reason I’m not supposed to be privy… I just want to understand, Ari. Because otherwise, I keep drawing my own conclusions, and none of them are good. It’s driving me a little crazy.”
“You realize, that if I were your bodyguard, and I end up having to fight off angry D’Marians for your sake, that they’ll only hold a deeper resentment for me and I’ll never find my way out of this hole Locque shoved me into.” Sigrid, her toned arms folded, pressed her lips into a thin line. “And you do realize that is why I’m here, working my ass off, yes? Because I don’t want to be in this hole. I want to give Lord Canaveris and the D’Marians a reason to forgive me for the role I played in the tragedy that befell them. As much as I’d like to smooth over the wrinkles of our past, Hadwin, I’m not sure I’m in a position where it’s safe or even makes sense for me to sacrifice what little progress I have made, here, just to make sure that all of the people you’ve pissed off keep their distance. No offense to you, but I’m really trying to build something, here. Besides,” she tucked her long hair over her shoulder, wishing desperately that she’d had the time to actually tend to it that morning and throw it back in a braid. Why had she been so convinced that Sylvie Canaveris wouldn’t come knocking at her door, first thing? The blonde warrior also lowered her voice, despite that the others didn’t appear to be in hearing range. “I’m trying to go out of my way to quietly avoid the celebrations in the coming weeks. Fortunately, Vega Sorde doesn’t hold any ground, here, to force me to attend.” The Equinox festival back in Eyraille was an event forever branded into her mind in terms of peak discomfort, but fortunately, unless the Eyraillian princess held sway over Queen Lilica or Lord Canaveris, she would hopefully not be subjected to yet another forced attendance.
“So, you’re going to have to forgive me that I can’t help you out this time. Sure, you can accuse me of adhering to my comfort zone, but I’ve only been me again for less than a month, now, after spending countless months being the puppet of a witch. I need some time, Hadwin. And I cannot reconnect with who I was before or make strides to move past the person I was with Naimah if I’m too focused on just… holding myself together. Surely, even you can understand that.”
Letting her arms drop, the former Dawn warrior shrugged her shoulders and glanced at the retreating forms of Sylvie, Teselin, and Bronwyn. For some reason… she had the urge to catch up. “I’m sure you’ll find the means to stay safe long enough to enjoy yourself at the masquerade. I’ll keep an eye out for some potential bodyguard; Lord Canaveris does have a good deal of capable guards at his disposal.”
With a final nod, Sigrid turned to catch up with the others, and Teselin cast her a curious glance. “Is everything alright?” Her dark gaze was not on Sigrid, though; it trailed way back, to Hadwin.
“Everyone’s favourite trouble-maker? He’s fine. Just being ridiculous as always.” The blonde warrior attempted an easy smile to placate any rising sense of concern in the young summoner, before meeting Bronwyn’s curious eyes. “Apparently, he is hellbent on attending the masquerade, and wants a bodyguard to fend off any D’Marians that might be triggered into violence by his presence. He does have that effect on people, I suppose.”
Teselin angled her head. “And he asked you? I’d thought… well, I know you are on better terms than you have been in the past, but I didn’t think the two of you were particularly friendly.”
“Hey, I’ve been looking out for him lately, haven’t I? We aren’t enemies.” The blonde warrior shrugged her shoulders. “And considering how annoying he is while bedridden, it is in everyone’s best interest to play along and help him recover. Although I will be rather surprised if he is in any shape to dance at the masquerade.”
“Even if he isn’t, I think attending a party is just what he needs. To bring him out of his gloominess… thank you, Sigrid.” Teselin beamed a smile that was filled with relief. “I really appreciate that you’ll keep an eye on his safety at the masquerade. Of course, I am happy and willing to stay by his side as well, but I don’t think that I am capable of fending off anyone who means to cause him harm. Or, rather…” Her smile faltered and she looked away, nervously rubbing her arms. “I… shouldn’t be put in that situation. I don’t know what would happen.”
“Oh--I…” Sigrid faltered. She couldn’t well let it be known, in front of Sylvie Canaveris, that he had no intention to attend the ball… It might break the girl’s heart, with all the trouble she’d gone through getting the Canaveris’s personal tailor to put together an outfit for her. “Unfortunately, my time here is dedicated to being of help to Lord Canaveris. And I am sure he will need a good deal of help, during festivities. But, rest assured, I’ll be on the lookout for someone a little more available. That said,” The blonde warrior turned to Bronwyn, and flashed a half-smile. “Be aware that he might actually approach you next, Bronwyn. But take into consideration what you want to do. Personally, I think you deserve to enjoy yourself, with or without your brother’s company. Somehow, I feel like he will fare just fine, regardless.”
Perhaps as a result of plumbing the depths of Nia’s fears and insecurities, Alster caught the subtle notes of concern hiding beneath her half-joking comment, all too sensitive and attuned to her specific energies. Before she left, he quickly jumped in to clarify. “No, Nia—this has nothing to do with your perceived notions as a ‘blabbermouth.’ Please don’t take offense, but my question involves someone else, and out of concern and respect for their privacy as well, I wish to keep this conversation strictly between the parties involved, to start. I’m not trying to encourage secrets between you and Ari, but this can be rather sensitive subject matter. I hope you understand. If Ari chooses to share this information with you, that is his prerogative and I certainly won’t stop him.”
“Fear not, Nia,” out of reflex, Ari took her hand and walked her to the door, his smiles nothing but kind and reassuring. “Think of it in this context. Would I invite you to a meeting where the majority of my attendees are members of the D’Marian council? Would you consider your presence of paramount importance, regarding the longevity of our relationship, to learn every detail of my political career and my dealings with D’Marian policies? If your answer is, ‘No,’ then treat this little tête-à-tête between myself and Lord Rigas as the same. We are not withholding secrets from you in a deliberate or malignant manner; rather, we are discussing a subject that may not seem pertinent to an additional audience. The last thing I desire is to bore you with nonessential trivialities when you are on a strict and stringent schedule, yourself. Far be it from me to ruin the plans Master Kristeva has drafted for you. However—make no mistake.” At the doorway, Ari gripped both of Nia’s hands, a firm hold to convey his sincerity as he approached his next words, “if I find what Lord Rigas has divulged is, indeed, worthy of reviewing with another person, I will choose to confide in you first; you have my word. Now,” politely, he withdrew his touch and retreated towards the well-lit parlor, “do you require accompaniment to the bathhouse? I will have my attendants give you guidance; the undercity is a veritable maze for the uninitiated.”
Despite her assurances that she memorized the location, Ari would not take no for an answer, for to abandon his host’s duties was to forgo honor itself. Fetching an available attendant, he assigned him to Nia, instructing the man to abide by any and all requests made by his guest, whatever she desired. With the always-vigilant Forbanne guard at her side, Nia left with two in her entourage. But since it was an invasive number he worried might overwhelm the recovering woman, he ordered them both to keep their distance, and to of course remain outside the bathhouse for the duration of her session.
Upon concluding his affairs with Alster and sending him on his way, Ari was surprised to still find Nia in the bath, submerged to her neck and showing no signs of removing herself from fatigue or lightheadedness. When he approached the waterside, crouching down to equalize their disparate heights, he frowned at her suggestion that she join him, negating any concerns over her current health situation. “Bathing times in hot springs should not exceed twenty minutes. By my estimation, it has been longer than twenty minutes, factoring in your journey from topside to the underground, and the oiling preparation process—given that you have prepared yourself accordingly, and given that you have dined on the remains of tonight’s food before heading to the baths. Am I safe to assume you have done this much?” The sudden downcast of her eyes told him everything that he needed to know; namely, that she never finished her meal, and hadn’t intended to do so. Some of the judgement based on strict adherence to their agreed-upon schedule waned from his dark eyes when she emotionally explained her efforts were sincere, and not out of ill-will or stubborn rebellion. His features softened and his hand beckoned her to come closer. No, it would not benefit Nia to hear him say, ‘Try harder, lest I die.’ Even if the words were true, which they were, albeit interpreted with a more dramatic bent, their harshness and disregard for the suffering human being fighting so hard for him, for their future, would do nothing but cause her more aggravation and frustration, and directly impact her health for the worse. Not to mention, uttering such a phrase to his lover was unspeakably insensitive to the point where he’d rather die than bring her so much shame and distress. There was nothing else to be done, then, but to bury her greatest anxieties, not only to ensure her well-being, but to dispel some of her wildly out-of-proportion thoughts about his integrity—or lack thereof, if his ears had heard her correctly!
“Nia—first, let me say that you are performing admirably. No one expects you to have adapted to your strict eating and exercise regimen from day one. The road to recovery requires time and dedication, and the first days will be the most harrowing, the most challenging in terms of adjustment. I see that you are trying, and in your efforts, I see your heart, your dedication, and your passion to succeed. For that, I applaud you, for you’ve already demonstrated your motivation on multiple occasions. Now, we need only focus on your discipline,” he cooed, placing his gloved hands upon her wet shoulders, heedless of the quickly-soaking fabric, and gently hauled her towards the surface, bading her sit on the ledge at his side. “Alas, your current problem is focus-related, and regrettably, I am to blame for your racing state of mind. If it shall put you at ease, I will share with you what Lord Rigas and I have discussed, for it is not my intent to implant in you feelings of malaise and unease regarding our relationship.”
While he would rather not revisit what remained still fresh on his mind, as he was currently processing the nonsensical nature of it all, and hesitated to retread on the very tender territory of his death, a promise was a promise, and Ari had given Nia his word to share the details of his and Alster’s conversation if he found the information pertinent. He didn’t exactly believe it pertinent for Nia to know what apparently occurred between him and Isidor in some parallel universe delivered to them through a shared dream, but neither could he leave Nia feeling as though he were deliberately keeping secrets from her desperate reach.
“This may sound incongruous. A fever-dream, even. To be honest, I was keener on believing in its fanciful components, spawned by an overactive imagination or high levels of stress, than something bearing actual legitimacy in my waking world, but…here we are. Ah, I am getting ahead of myself.” He chuckled away the discomfiture, sliding a hand, a hand that had become sodden from interacting with the water, over some tendrils of hair that had tumbled over his brow, slicking them behind his ear with help from the bath-dampened glove he refused to shed. “A few nights ago, I dreamt a very strange and vivid dream. Too vivid to discount—or forsake—upon waking. In the dream…” he lowered his eyes, embarrassed to speak any element of it aloud in fear she’d dismiss his retelling as ridiculous or wasteful of her time, “ah…excuse me. It must sound so silly of me to speak aloud of dreams with so much clout and authority. But…” he took a resetting breath and pushed on, despite the difficulty in continuing, “in the dream, I died. I died because,” he placed a calming hand over her arm, “you had died before you could administer the emergency aid to unfreeze my petrified heart. I died because Lord Rigas’s wife could not be saved, and Lord Rigas disappeared from this material plane. I died because…Isidor was my brother, rescued by my mother from his tower, from Master Zenech, when he was a boy—resulting in our close and tight-knit fellowship. I loved him as my own, and he loved me, in turn. While he no longer pursued the mentally and physically taxing avenues of Master Alchemy, he embraced formal Alchemy as his discipline…in order to lift my curse, and save me from an abbreviated lifespan. Alas…it was not meant to be, precisely because of the aforementioned sequence of events. In this universe, we were not familiar, you and I. Not friends, not lovers. Strangers, who barely uttered five words to each other in passing.”
He decided to omit the part where the dream version of Isidor had emphatically requested that he avoid Nia’s presence at all costs, suspicious of attracting the involvement of any Master Alchemist, let alone the likes of Locque’s Master Alchemist. It was better not to add more reasons for Nia to feel inferior or left out, dream, alternative universe, or not. Besides, it was better not to dwell on the ‘not meant to be.’ In that world, he was not meant to love. Not meant to live. Although he received love here, in this earthen realm, what if…in all possible threads of his numerous and varied existences, he was meant to die in each and every one of them? Perhaps…
You are not meant to be saved, Ari, the demonic Casimiro of his nightmares hissed into his ear. Die. Die with me. Die, as you should…
“When…Locque unleashed her monsters on Galeyn,” Ari swallowed a lump in his throat, directing his gaze on the lambent purple and green glowstones lighting the water a duo-chrome, preternatural hue, “you remained at the palace, searching in vain for your Lady…and perished from the maws of the Unseen. Isidor, try as he might to restore my frozen heart to organic matter, did not succeed in his endeavor, and I…died in his arms. This…this is quite a morbid and sordid tale, is it not?”’ He again laughed to dispel the tension, shifting his legs from a crouching position to a sitting position when his ankles and calves screamed for release. A good sign, a favorable sign; pain and discomfort meant that he was still whole, not petrified. Not stone.
“When I awoke, my entire chest plate was rendered to stone, prompting my sudden appearance at Isidor’s door. It was a…strange encounter, to say the least—as if our personalities towards each other were entirely rewritten overnight. Between us reigned a spark of…familiarity, decades long, implanted with memories the two of us never experienced. Not in this realm, anyhow. It is difficult to explain, and I am afraid I am making a poor attempt at doing the phenomenon justice. Even so…I discarded the change between us as the telltale signs of overwork and sleep deprivation. Of course I was moved and affected by such an intricate and memorable dream, so much that I was envisioning bonds and relationships that simply did not exist. Nothing more, I thus concluded, than flights of fancy.”
“Until…” Until Alster Rigas pulled him aside and disclosed a truth too ludicrous to believe, if Ari himself hadn’t begun to suspect something askew about the nature of his dream, and of the oddities now surrounding his and Isidor’s awkwardly friendly interactions. “Lord Rigas claims that Is—that Master Kristeva has experienced the same dream as me. Why this occurred, he does not yet understand, but he is at least convinced that the two of us have interacted with alternative representations of each other, in a world parallel to this one.”
He checked Nia’s expression for understanding, worried she wouldn’t take his bizarre situation seriously and misinterpret it as making a mockery of her honest plea for truthfulness by spinning some yarn about alter realities, as if that would deflect responsibility for the present reality, and the problems residing within. “I apologize, Nia. You must think me mad, or gullible, to so readily accept Lord Rigas’s interpretation of my and Master Kristeva’s synchronized dreams. Normally, I would reserve judgement, but, in spite of our historical differences, I trust the counsel of Lord Rigas—at least when concerning the subject of magic specific to his vast expertise. As well, I can understand his initially wanting to pass this information to my ears alone. Not out of a lack of trust on your part, but because the matter is a delicate one, and so unfathomably complex that to explain it required a degree of confidentiality.”
“Even now, I…” he looked away, ashamed to admit, “I wonder if I should have revealed as much. In wishing to allay your concerns, I am afraid I may have exacerbated them. What’s more, there is little I can say regarding my prior engagement in my workshop. It is as you’ve postulated; a secret project, but perhaps not for the reasons you believe. By special request, my client asked that I not reveal the details of my work prematurely. As it stands, it is in alignment with my policies, to withhold speaking about my art until I am satisfied enough to unveil it. Call it superstition, but I believe that giving verbal form to my in-progress projects diverts and disperses my creative energies, sending them down the entirely wrong avenues and placing hindrances upon my inertia. I do hope you understand, Nia, but these are not secrets designed to wall you out, but to maximize my creative output, and prevent blockages from recurring.” In the ambient light of the bathhouse, his dark eyes shone with genuine regret. Even to his ears, he sounded like he was dispensing convenient excuses, true though the excuses were. Perhaps it was because no matter the words he said and how eloquently he expressed those words, he couldn’t help but feel that he was letting Nia down.
Surely, she can see my defeat. My exhaustion. My frantic need to create, and create, until my fingers stiffen, and crystallize, and crumble into detritus. Only then, could I die knowing full well that I never stopped moving, and never stopped in my pursuit to populate this world with beautiful things. If I cannot be saved, at least I will have left behind a beautiful legacy…
With a sudden, fluid swoop, Ari was on his feet, heedless of the damp patches that clung to his fine coat, and which had developed from sitting in shallow puddles of water. An equally damp hand shot out towards Nia, extended and waiting for her hand to take in reciprocation. “Nia—do you trust me?” His inquiry was heartfelt, and tinged with a little sadness. “There is no correct answer, and you are free to answer in the negative. I realize I have done much to ruffle your trust in me, and still continue to do so. Please, I…I am also trying, Nia. I am trying…” not to die. Not to leave you. Not to commit the most hurtful, insidious betrayal imaginable.
Alas, if the fates wish me dead, then how can I defy my destiny?
Bronwyn wasn’t entirely oblivious to the exchange between Hadwin and Sigrid. Although distance prevented her from homing in her keen ears to their discussion, the blonde warrior was quick to fill everyone in on the contents of their conversation. “How considerate of him to ask for a leg up instead of just barreling into the party, bow-legged and alone. Easier for him to make a scene when no one’s there to police his actions. But, it doesn’t mean you have to hand over what he wants, Sigrid. I’ll keep watch on him. We social pariahs have to stick together, I suppose,” she chuckled, an uncertain sound, not altogether joking. Without realizing it, she slid into step beside Sigrid, adjusting her pace so that they walked side by side. “It’s not like he’s asking you out of an attempt to solidify a friendship with you. He has an ulterior motive. He always does. Besides,” she nodded to Sylvie, “it’ll mean I’ll get to make good use of the gown I selected at the tailor. Balls aren’t really…well, I’ve never been to one, but it’s a masquerade, right? So I can conceal my identity the whole time I’m there. And as long as Hadwin can keep his big mouth shut, we can fly under everyone’s noses during this event. …Hah, who am I kidding?” she hefted a giant sigh. “He’ll give himself away, and anyone near him, in minutes.”
“Oh, it does not have to be unfortunate, Miss Sigrid!” Sylvie perked up at the Dawn Warrior’s faux disappointment. “If you would like to attend the masquerade, Uncle Ari will happily oblige your request! Leave it to me; I shall ask him!”
Taking a page from her brother’s book, Bronwyn allowed Sylvie and Teselin to go ahead before stopping Sigrid just shy of the villa’s entrance. “I know you don’t want to attend the ball,” she whispered in low, conspiratorial tones. “Neither do I. But this is a battle you might not win. Between my brother’s schemes, and Sylvie’s well-meaning, but short-sighted charity, bowing out isn’t possible….unless you, for some reason, happen to catch a terrible, terrible cold.”
“What--twenty minutes? That’s barely enough time for me to get out of my own head, Ari.” Nia sighed lazily, completely unapologetic as she remained submerged in the steaming water. “I figured it’d be good for my leg, now that Alster’s worked out everything left that was wrong with it. The muscles haven’t had any love since before I got injured. So… I take it you’re not interested in joining me?”
While she was certain he did not mean anything by it, and did not intend to come across in such a way, but the flicker of disappointment in Ari’s dark eyes when she confessed she hadn’t finished the rest of her dinner was unmistakable. Like she was already letting him down; like she wasn’t taking this seriously, or taking his life seriously. Isidor had been very firm and very clear with what he wanted and expected of her, and she’d promised to adhere to his regime completely and without complaint. Yet, she hadn’t gotten twenty-four hours into this plan of action to improve her health, and already, she was fucking up. But what was she supposed to do? What was she supposed to say, if they’d both agreed to honesty? Maybe I wouldn’t have lost my appetite if I understood why you were hiding things from me? Ari must have felt her discomfort and shame, for he was quick to turn his attitude around and lay on the reassurances despite that she’d had one real task today--to finish three simple meals like any goddamn human being--and she’d already failed.
But, did she really have anyone to blame but herself? And the way her resolve crumbled at the first sign of something seeming even a little bit ‘off’? “Aw, Ari--you really think I’m horribly undisciplined? Come on, that’s not the same as being a little distracted now and then.” The Master Alchemist, albeit reluctantly, hoisted herself out of the soothing hot waters to sit next to her fully-clothed lover at the edge. “But… yeah. I guess I can’t deny… I’ve had a few things weighing on my mind that have been crowding out more important endeavours. I’m not trying to pry; you’ve got every right not to tell me everything on your mind or everything you’re currently engaged in. Not your fault my mind tends to wander. It’s just that, with everything I don’t know… well, imagination tries to fill in the blanks, for better or worse. Most likely worse. Especially when I have no basis for what I’m supposed to expect.”
It hadn’t been Nia’s intention to guilt Ari into explaining something he might not be comfortable with sharing or revisiting. Whatever occurred between him and Alster, the Master Alchemist truly believed the two of them to be genuine enough people that when the Rigas mage had reached out to reassure her the confidentiality of their discussion had nothing to do with not trusting her, she had believed him. It was her own insecurity, in letting Nico get to her along with the fact that she herself had no secrets to keep from Ari, herself, that led to the paranoia that she would never be trusted enough to be in the know of other important matters, no matter how much she divulged. But Ari, in recognizing her discomfort and concern, decided anyway to divulge what he had spoken about with Alster Rigas. Nia wouldn’t in a million years have been able to guess what it had been all about.
The Ardane woman listened intently as the Canaveris lord went into great detail about a curious dream he’d had involving Isidor Kristeva… which, curiously, Isidor appeared to also have had. Right away, Nia knew better than to assume it had all been a coincidence. Shared dreams were anything but a coincidence, and evidently, Alster Rigas must have thought the same if he had come to bring it to Ari’s attention. So many small details over the past few days were elucidated and clarified by this revelation: the way Ari and Isidor suddenly seemed to be putting a good deal of effort into getting along. Isidor putting his foot down with regard to Nia’s health and what it would require of her to go about the procedure, and why he was suddenly so invested in someone he at first had never wanted to be involved in. Whatever the weird, cosmic reason for sharing this bizarre dream of a time and events that had never taken place, an alternate world where she and Ari had never had the opportunity to fall in love, it had brought the Kristeva alchemist and the Canaveris lord together as allies… or maybe something even more than allies.
But this went beyond simply mystifying Ari. Not only did he seem reasonably confused, and for good reason, but he was visibly distressed by what he had experienced in the dream--and even more disturbed that, given the fact Isidor had the same dream, it probably meant something. And Nia happened to have an idea as to what it could indicate. “Did you wake up feeling tired? Like you hadn’t rested at all?” The Master Alchemist asked, and furrowed her brows thoughtfully. “That was no coincidence. Listen: there are avenues of alchemy and magic that have yet to come to fruition, but the existence of worlds and realities parallel to our own… well, I personally believe it to all be fact. I looked into it once. Different instances and accounts people have had. At one point, I actually thought about getting serious about really looking into it. About accessing a world… or, I guess, another timeline when I had died, but Celene was still alive. So that I could find her again.” Nia’s mind seemed to drift for a moment, but quickly snapped back to the situation and the person next to her.
“But that’s neither here nor there. There have been endless accounts of people ‘dreaming’ that they’d lived another life, or lived their life differently, from beginning to end. Some just pass them off as dreams, but a lot of people who’ve investigated further believe it’s more than that. And the fact that you and Isidor had the exact same dream… well, it’s no wonder it’s left you so rattled.” The Master Alchemist’s gaze turned toward the water, glimmering a duochrome from the ethereal lights above. “It must have been a wonderful dream for Isidor. To experience a life where he didn’t have to experience all of that pain and trauma. At least… up until the point where he lost you. Must have been nice for him to have a brother for a while. A family. And what better family could he have found? I’ve seen how close-knit you Canaverises are. You really care for one another. A far from the dysfunctional shit-show that was my own upbringing.”
Nia’s hand found Ari’s damp glove and gave it a gentle squeeze. However pleasant that dream, that experience, had been to begin with, it was obvious to her that as it had unraveled, and the events gradually led up to the happenstances of present day, the outcome had not been so rosy as the beginning. And this bothered Ari; she could only imagine how it was affecting Isidor, who was likely stewing in the thought that if he had had a chance at his own best possible life… it would have been at the expense of not only his new brother, but a handful of other people. And while she was not well acquainted with the Kristeva alchemist, Nia had a feeling that that wouldn’t sit well with him. What was he doing right now? Had this led him to be haunted by all new demons? Poor Isidor didn’t need that in his life; she wasn’t convinced he could handle it. However, Ari was shaken for other reasons entirely, and she had a pretty good guess as to what those reasons could be.
“I’m not sure what spurred you and Isidor to have the same experience on the same night; really, that’s anyone’s guess. But you know what I think? Everything you saw was real. And you guys saw it through the eyes of another Ari and another Isidor of another time and place than this one. That Ari and Isidor really exist… or, existed, I guess, in some cases. It’s real; it happened. And if you ask me… that really sucks. No offense to Isidor, but a world where I die before we could fall in love isn’t my idea of a good time.”
But whatever Ari had seen, a world, a life that could have been for him and Isidor, it was not one she was privy to. And she could only imagine how he felt, not only in divulging all of this to her now, but in stewing in the remnants of its outcome. A world where he and Isidor had been brothers… a world that had given Isidor Kristeva a second chance, only to take that possibility away from Aristide Canaveris completely. When he suddenly stood, his hand shooting out for her to take as worry lined his face and creased his brow, Nia stared at that gloved hand and the way the damp atmosphere of the bathhouse gradually ate away at the seams in his coat that had been carefully pressed. It was like he was unravelling in front of her. Had she instigated this? With her prying and paranoia? This wasn’t what Nia wanted. The love of her life should be standing tall and proud and unflinching. It wasn’t her trust that he needed.
Pushing herself slowly to her feet, heedless of how she was beginning to grow cold out of the warm embrace of the water, Nia took his hand long enough to steady herself, then promptly released it to take Ari’s face in both of her damp hands, and capture his mouth in a long, slow kiss. The front of her soaked body transferred even more water to the front of his damp clothes, but if he’d cared about the state of his fine attire, he wouldn’t have sat in puddles. A long, lingering moment later, she pulled away, but her hands remained. “That isn’t the question you need to be asking.” She told him gently, searching his dark eyes for what worried him. “I never stopped trusting you. Even at my lowest… I could never convince myself that I was wrong about you. The real question is… do you trust me? No--do you believe in me? That I can save you?”
Nia dropped her hands to his shoulders and pressed her cheek against his chest. The steady thrum of his heart was soothing and reassuring. It continued to beat because of her… and, however indirectly, because of Isidor. Funny, how everything, everyone, was so connected, whether they realized it or not. “That life, the one that you saw in your dreams… That is not our timeline. That was a world where neither of us made it very far before death caught up. But here, both of us have actively defied death. And it doesn’t end here. This isn’t our end. In this world, in this life--or this iteration of it… we both live, until time alone takes us. I know this--and I know that skipping one meal isn’t going to be the butterfly effect that tosses everything askew. Everything has fallen into place to render the outcome that we want, and we’re going to have it. You don’t need to be afraid. Just believe in me, Ari. I know I haven’t given you much reason to… but you have to. Believe in me--in us.” Flashing her characteristic grin, she dropped her hands to find his, and wove her fingers through his gloved digits. “I’ve already committed to too much to let you go.”
As if in emphasis, the Ardane woman didn’t let go of him. She drew him into an embrace, dampening his clothes even further. His heart and mind must have been heavy with deep concern for him not to care about the clothes he so thoroughly felt defined him as a person. “I’m sorry I made you explain all that. I’ve had my own share of demons, and when there’s something I don’t know, my mind fills in the blanks. But I trust you; you have to know that. There is no one I trust more… just as you are trusting me with your life, I’m trusting you with mine. We’re gonna get through this, yeah? The both of us, together. We’ll come out of it, together. That dream you had, that glimpse into another world… that is not our world. And it is not how it will end for us. So don’t dwell on it. Right now, we have an even bigger conundrum. The water is hella warm--but now that you’ve coaxed me out of it, I’m getting cold. So, are you going to join me,” she cocked her head toward the steaming water, “or are we going to get cozy in bed?”
Nia knew the answer before Ari could say anything. Given how poorly he seemed to have slept the night before, the Canaveris lord needed rest. She also suspected he harboured concerns for her time in the hotspring having very well exceeded the recommended twenty minutes, so when he opted for the latter option, he found no resistance from her. The Master Alchemist obediently returned her own clothes (just as damp as his own) to her body, and the two of them departed the bathhouse. Nia’s Forbanne guard, ever her shadow, followed them as far as their room, but then politely took up his post outside the door. No sooner did she set foot in the room, door shut behind her, that she shed ehr damp clothes, leaving them in an unceremonious pile on the floor. She didn’t bother to don anything new or dry before climbing beneath the sheets and quilts. “Ditch the clothes--we’ll warm up faster. Trust me.” She advised Ari, who, after a moment, complied with the request which, at this point, given Nia’s nature, he probably shouldn’t find so strange.
No sooner did he join her beneath the sheets, dousing the candles and dimming the witchlights above that the Master Alchemist drew his bare body against her own. She reveled in the full contact, the reassurance by touch that everything was alright and he wasn’t suffering any flare-ups, but also in the heat emanating from his warm-toned skin. He chased away the cold better than any clothes or blankets could. “Think you’ll have trouble sleeping tonight?” She asked, her voice a breath against his skin as she tucked her head into the crook between his shoulder and neck. “Take some of the herbs Haraldur Sorde gave to me. They fended off my dreams; they should work for you, too. I’m not the only one in need of actual rest.”
Reluctantly disentangling herself from Ari’s arms, she reached for the pouch on the bedside table, along with a glass of water that remained half-full. “Fair warning, they taste awful. But they should do the trick. I’m supposed to get a full night’s rest; you said you’d proceed with me. So that I’m not going through this alone. So,” she held the ouch and glass of water out for the Canaveris lord to take, “let’s do this together.”
As if the topic weren’t strange and esoteric enough, Nia had weighed in by admitting her interest in accessing and escaping to a world similar to this one, wherein she could be reunited with her late sister without running the risk of encountering her alternate self. This concession stymied Ari into an uncharacteristic bout of silence. Was her existence sans her sister so dreadful that she could not fathom another day apart from her, to the point where she would risk tearing the delicate fabrics of reality for the chance of a reunion? If only he were so dedicated to bend dimensionality to recover his late brother from his violent demise, but if given the choice…Ari would not accept. It was a Canaveris taboo not to meddle in what was already dead, but hadn’t Nadira meddled in his own death by reviving him from his premature stone effigy? Even so, he would not accept, and for entirely selfish reasons. If Ari sought a world in which Casimiro survived, then he would abandon this one, turning his back on his mother, on Laz, on his niece and nephews, on D’Marians who relied on his leadership, on Nia, and strangely, on Isidor.
Alternatively, if given the choice to turn back time and prevent Casimiro’s death from happening…he would hesitate, and for entirely selfish reasons. If Casimiro survived, then Ari never would have campaigned to become Canaveris Head. He never would have later transitioned into D’Marian Head, and likely never would have formed a relationship with Nia. Hence, he would have spiraled into a literal dead end, with no hope for salvation for himself. However much he could accept the existence of alter realities, and the opportunities it bred for the less fortunate—namely, for Nia and for Isidor—he did not share in the appeal. Not when all other routes spelled certain death on his end. This route could very well end him, as well, and he seemed to believe so, not because he didn’t trust Nia, but because he feared the repercussions of defying his destiny.
There had to be a reason he was privy to a dream from another realm, had to be a reason he was made to experience his own death. And despite Nia’s reassurances, her infectious confidence in guaranteeing their favorable future together, he already felt like a traitor for inviting doubt into his heart, however well he hid it behind optimism and his can-do demeanor, which always remained well within his reach and control. Easily, he could manufacture the reaction she wanted to see in him. But, paradoxically, wouldn’t deceiving her to spare betraying her trust also amount to betraying her trust? Whatever he said, she could interpret it as a letdown. Better not to say anything. Better to smile and change the subject. Better to keep living whatever precious good days he was able to squeeze, before he had no choice but to welcome a more nebulous in-between state of life and death, where every day presented the question: how will it end? Will your heartbeat persist, or will it cease its life-giving beats?
“Ah, there is nothing to worry yourself over, Nia.” He slapped on his own characteristic smile, which widened at the feel of her hand in his own. “It is as you say. On our current trajectory, signs point to a very favorable outcome for us both, I daresay. In any case, my apologies for dampening the mood, in both a literal and figurative sense.” He frowned at his glove, and further directed the frown to his fine clothes, wet from his careless interactions around the bathhouse. However, he refused to implicate Nia in the temporary ruination of his ensemble, having done nothing but enable her into desiring his body warmth as her arms cozied around his middle—-and he was loath to remove those encircling, comforting arms. In fact, he leaned into them, memorizing the feel of her body against him, as well as the give of her skin and his skin, reveling in the unity of organic matter interwoven, no barriers of stone preventing them from enjoying the feel of human company. In this brief but significant moment, let us be human together, Nia. Let us allow ourselves to feel human.
“I trust you. I believe in you. Of that, you can be assured,” he whispered, tickling her ear. There was nothing false about his assertion. He trusted in her commitment to save him, and for similar reasons, he trusted in Isidor, and even in Alster. But could he trust in the universe, an unstoppable force he’d never before considered as the sole arbiter over his continued existence? All the pretty words in the world couldn’t bury the hole his dream had unearthed. But it was just as well, to remember the boundaries of his fragile mortality. For so long, he brushed aside his forthcoming doom in dogged pursuit of immortality, but it was an inertia impossible to maintain for long. Now that he was slowing down, it made sense for the promise of death to finally catch up with him. It wouldn’t change his resistance to the idea, his stubborn refusal to let go of this current life, but it was good to be aware of the odds of failure—for the both of them.
At his gentle demurral—he hadn’t much interest in the baths tonight—he fetched Nia a drying towel and when she was ready, led her on the long journey back to their shared chambers, their one-person Forbanne retinue in tow. Once inside, he obeyed Nia’s directive and pulled off his damp coat and accompanying accoutrements, draping all articles over the chair at the vanity to air-dry.
“How do you feel?” he was referring to her newly-treated leg. Now naked, he climbed into bed alongside Nia, tenderly placing a kiss on the leg in question. “Were you able to handle our perambulations over multiple staircases and sudden shifts in the terrain?” At her affirmative, he spread on a serene smile. “I am glad, Nia. Not only because it is imperative you find yourself in peak physical condition, but because it fills me with such relief, to witness your gradual return to normalcy after the innumerable difficulties which have befallen you. It brings me so much joy to see you doing better—not for my sake, but for your own.” Laying on the bed, side by side, he pressed closer, nuzzling her forehead affectionately. However, her question popped him upright from where he had lain, as he stared at the aforementioned pouch of herbs at his bedside table. While he didn’t want to draw attention to his troubled unconscious mind, to refuse her offer was also to renege on his promise of solidarity.
“I suppose it would not hurt to have a small sampling of Prince Sorde’s herbs,” he said noncommittally, taking the proffered glass of water and pouch from her hands. Sprinkling a pinch into his glass, he tilted his head and took a long, draining swig of the substance, leaving no residue at the bottom. When he finished, he made an exaggerated smacking sound against the roof of his mouth. “You are most certainly correct; this herb is quite foul in flavor. Odd, how the Night Garden can produce such miraculous flora, delectable fruits and all, and yet still cannot make medicine palatable to consume. Ah, well,” he refilled the water and transferred the glass and pouch back to her hands, “it is not my place to question the mysteries of life. Now,” he gave an encouraging nudge at the water glass she held, “it is your turn to proceed. And let us toast: to a blissful, dreamless night, enfolded in each other’s arms.”
No sooner did he speak his last words than he drifted off into sleep, tucked safely beside Nia and unplagued by nightmares of his own death.
The following day began in much the same way as the last. After awakening together (and reporting a decent night’s sleep), Ari and Nia dined on a nutritious breakfast together before immediately setting off to partake in their separate tasks; Nia, to the cavern for float duty, and Ari, to his workshop for the continuation of his secret project, which required only a few finishing touches before deeming it complete. Sure enough, by mid-afternoon, Ari stepped inside the cavern, a woman on his arm. But it was not just any woman; she was easily in the running for the most beautiful in all of creation. Standing taller than Ari, the woman possessed creamy-smooth skin of burnt umber, too rich to appreciate in the relatively dim light of the cavern. While she was also formed of carefully curated S-curves, so sinuous and classically aesthetic, those curves weren’t without a little hardness. Solid muscle could be seen forming her prominent biceps and a stack of fine abs rippled out from beneath her sheer, dainty gown, worn to complement her features as well as contrast them. The gown cut vertically at the hem, exposing a set of shapely legs that also looked fit to kick with all the power of a herd of irate horses.
Speaking of horses, her mane of white hair would easily rival that of the most luxuriant and prized of all equine-kind. Glistening like mica-infused marble, it hung loose and down her back, ending near the backs of her legs. But her hair was by far not the most mesmerizing feature about her. Two amethyst-purple eyes, beset beneath impossibly long, baby-fine white lashes, actually glowed, just like the glowstones lighting every major Canaveris venue. It was a subtle glow, enough to augment her next-tier features, but not enough to completely outshine the rest of her. They complemented, in a perfect, harmonious whole.
The woman’s plush, heart-shaped lips bent into a smile as she entered the cavern, as did Ari, whose smile radiated pride—until he saw Nia, and the look of surprise and shock written on her face, and he promptly adjusted his expression to something more conservative, and apologetic.
Nico and Sylvie were the first to approach their uncle and this mystery woman, only, to them, she was no mystery. They, too, smiled at her arrival, heaping her with congratulations and other appropriate accolades. During this exchange, Ari turned to Nia, again gauging her reaction, careful to tread with caution.
“Nia,” he slid his arm away from the woman, instead using it to make gesticulations of an introductory nature. “May I present—and reintroduce—Lazuli.”
The woman in question flicked her ambient purple eyes to Nia, a small furrow of distaste crinkling her smooth brow. “Laz is still fine.” Even her voice was beautiful, like the melody line of a popular song as rendered by the trees brushing together on a springtime breeze. “Because I have kept Ari away from his float project these past few days, I find it only fair to help you play catch-up. I may have a new body, but I’m just as strong and capable. I am also able to do a little finesse work.” She angled a calculated smile towards Nia. “I hear you are in need of crafting thousands of fireflies. While it’s understood that Ari will need to create them himself if he wishes to activate his golem magic, because I am an extension of his creation, anything that I build with these hands, he will be able to control.” She bowed to her master, dispensing from a curtsy, as she was still very much a bodyguard, and fierce; however feminine she appeared, none could deny her physical acumen. In a fight, she was not to be crossed, and as such, her actions translated as far from dainty and ladylike. “So leave it to me to craft those fireflies. Miss Nia, have you any mica that is ready to mold?”
Her explanation was corroborated by Ari, who nodded his approval. “It is true. Laz and I have always shared a special, almost inextricable bond throughout our time together. It may be because of my strange affinity to foster faux life from sculpted stone and clay that I, too, am able to summon to life something that a golem affiliated with me has created. I trust in Laz’s ability, wholeheartedly.” He observed Nia with a curious tilt of his head. “Tell me; how do you feel regarding this arrangement?”
“Oh, I’m sure she’ll agree to it,” Laz said, almost lazily. “Come now; there’s no time to delay. Let’s get started.”
Ari frowned, a little hesitant. “I shall be in and out of my workshop for the remainder of today, sculpting a few odds and ends for the float project. In the meantime, please do not hassle Nia.”
“Affirmative,” Laz swept her brow in an almost salute. “I wish nothing more than for our float to dominate the Rigases. Leave it to me.” She coughed, indicating Nia. “To us.”
Upon Ari’s eventual departure, and as soon as Nico and Sylvie returned to their work, Laz followed the Master Alchemist to her work station where she was directed to the finished sheets of mica, stacked aside on a separate stone table. From a pouch hanging at her side, she removed a few tools; the tiniest of ice picks, almost doll-sized in size and length, followed by similarly tiny chisels and gouges. “You may be wondering if my hands are equipped for precision work.” Feeling curious eyes on her, she lifted one hand, nearly twice as large as Nia’s. “Perhaps if my master was Lady Nadira, or Lord Casimiro, I wouldn’t have the skill—which is an echo of Ari’s own, I will add. Sometimes, I act as his assistant in the workshop, if he needs an extra set of hands. That is how Nico knows me well.” She chanced a glance over her shoulder at the boy, who was stooped over a particularly involved section of forest, his features deep in thought. “He is also a frequenter of Ari’s workshop.”
“I don’t know if you are aware of this story,” Laz held one sheet of mica upward, checking for imperfections, if any, “but I am not bound to Ari by his command. I refer to him as my master because I dutifully serve him, as I do all the Canaverises, but before he set me free, I was hardly more than a doll, passed along from Canaveris Head to Canaveris Head, stuck in the same uninspired, impersonal body, existing without an original thought or will of my own. My loyalty was manufactured, not earned. I was made, created, for the sole purpose of obeying the Canaveris Head. Ari,” she lowered the sheet of mica atop a cutting mat, aligning the edges with the measurements painted across the surface, “was a boy at the time. A boy who regularly breathed transitory life into his creations. They moved, they jerked, they listened to his instruction, but doing what they were told didn’t make him happy. They possessed no mind of their own, and couldn’t understand his instruction beyond, ‘move how I tell you to move.’ One day, he dearly wished for a friend, someone who wouldn’t play how he wanted them to play. Someone who was free from the boundaries of mindless servitude. I was in the vicinity when he made his wish, and…felt something in me change just then. I would never be able to explain the sensation properly to a human, but,” she placed one hand over her artificial heart, “the closest approximation would be to a puppet having their strings cut, and being able to walk off the stage. Since then, we’ve always shared a psychic bond, deep enough to overwrite my woven-in directives to obey only the Canaveris Head. Over Nadira, over Casimiro, I obeyed him. I lied for him, I turned a blind eye for him. I let him make questionable decisions…for him.”
“Some would say that his magical affinity to golems was stronger, and outclassed the commands my progenitors carved into me,” she continued, staring at her station as she arranged the carving tools into neat, categorizable rows. “Some would say that I’m not free, and I am playing exactly into his desires. He wanted a friend, so he unconsciously recalibrated my functions, my personality, to fit his mold. I don’t doubt this suspicion, but I also can’t deny that I’ve never felt more…alive since he awakened me. I've enjoyed this iteration of myself more than I can express. But, if he should die…then I fear he’ll take with him the magic that ‘freed’ me, and I’ll once again revert into some mindless puppet, and lose all sense of self.” She lifted her glowing purple eyes, boring them into Nia’s own gaze. “This is one reason why I asked him to change my body now, even when my spirit has been a woman for some time. If he dies, then it’s possible his creation will live on in me, and I won’t revert…and maybe I’ll preserve some aspect of himself, as well. In here.”
The hand slowly slid off her chest and dangled uselessly at her side. “You are a crude woman. Uncouth and careless and flighty. You don’t watch your words around him, unaware of how you crush him at every turn. You fit into his type—to a T. He loves destructive people.” Her eyes narrowed, glittering like the amethysts they imitated. “If it were up to me, I’d have tossed you out of this villa from the first time you made an appearance. I don’t like you. But you know this already. And yet,” her lips pursed into a thin, furious line, “you are his best hope for survival, so…you will find no resistance from me. I only want you to understand that you are not the sole person who gets to keep him, who gets to fight for him. Neither are you the sole person who will take credit for saving his life, when so many others would gladly take your place and rip out their hearts for him. Know this, Nia Ardane," her musical voice took on a solemn, almost discordant clang. "Aristide Canaveris is not yours and yours alone, no matter what he promises you. He belongs to his people. And he belongs to his family.”
Mercifully, Haraldur Sorde’s herbs continued not to disappoint. Nia slept soundly that evening, barely stirring from a solid, dreamless slumber, and awoke only when daylight began to perforate the cracks in the curtains. Similarly, Air appeared to have slept just as well this time; there were no circles around his eyes or a pallor that suggested he’d gotten any less than a good eight hours of sleep. She could only assume that he, like her, had not been plagued with dreams or dark thoughts keeping him awake, and that was all the reassurance she needed to start the day off on a good foot. Maybe her words of reassurance had made an imprint on his troubled mind; or maybe he was just getting better at hiding his anxieties from her. Either way, he appeared determined to continue to progress as they had been, with the float and the secret piece of art that he had yet to reveal to her.
After finishing her breakfast, which consisted of a good deal of protein (a requirement for her upcoming training with Elespeth, which was scheduled for that very evening), the Master Alchemist reluctantly parted ways with her lover to make for the cavern, while he finished up whatever project had been eating up all of his time and attention. He did, however, mention to her in passing that he expected this would be the last day he would need to spend time on that project, before returning his full attention to their parade float. As to how much she believed that… well, she knew Ari to be a perfectionist, and there was no way he would step away from that project until he was entirely certain it was ready to be revealed.
The day progressed rather uneventfully; she worked on the remaining sheets of mica, while Sylvie kept her brother at bay. The three of them worked diligently until at last, later that afternoon, Ari interrupted them as he waltzed into a cavern with a curious guest on his arm. And it was at that moment that Nia realized just how out of the loop she was; both Nico and Sylvie rushed forward to greet this new guest, seemingly recognizing this strange woman who Nia had most certainly never laid eyes upon (and she was sure she’d have remembered this giant of a woman had she ever encountered her). The confusion must have been etched as clearly into her face as words on a page, as Ari was very quick to explain who, or what--or was it who?--this person was. “So, this is… was--is?--the same giant bodyguard that has always been your shadow?” She asked, less for clarification, and more for affirmation, but truly, it was not the heaviest questions weighing on her mind. Moreover, she wanted to know why. Why this sudden, very drastic change for his trusted bodyguard? What had precipitated this change? And why now, of all times, when his attention should have been on the float?
Ultimately, Nia chose not to ask those questions. Not only would it come across as impolite in front of Ari’s niece and nephew, but she was afraid it might come across the wrong way to the Canaveris lord, calling into question why he had prioritized this over their parade float. So she simply listened with a nod of understanding, and offered her own uncertain smile. “So this is your work of art, huh? Gotta say, Ari, you really outdid yourself! No wonder it took you so long.” It wasn’t a lie, but damn… was it ever unsettling just how beautiful he had made the golem. It wasn’t enough just to turn Lazarus--er, Lazuli--into a woman, but one so beautiful it would make even the fairest woman in all Galeyn and the D’Marian settlement envious and doubt themselves. “Well, since we’re a little behind schedule, we can’t well be turning down any extra help. Have at it, Lazuli; there should be more than enough mica by now.” She gestured to her work corner, which was distinguishable by the sheer amount of glitter that disted the table, chair, and ground. “Just bear in mind when you’ve finished the fireflies, I’ll need ‘em back to tamper with a little further. We’re not gonna ‘wow’ the crowd if they don’t turn into little flowers at the first touch of human contact. You both take care of the cake; let me take care of the icing, yeah? Go on and do what you need to do, Ari.” Reaching out, she gave his shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “You can count on all four of us to hold down the fort. I’ll see you again in time for dinner.”
Standing on her toes to place a quick peck on Ari’s cheek, Nia reluctantly watched him walk away, disliking the situation he had handed her more and more by the minute; particularly when Lazuli started talking. “If I’m being honest, Laz--Lazuli… whoever you’ve decided you are, I’m not really wondering anything. Wild transformation aside,” she lifted her shoulders in a shrug, “I don’t really find you all that interesting. I’ve got better things to wonder about.”
But that did not stop the golem from deciding to lean into a story that Nia didn’t particularly care to hear. Sure, she’d been well aware of the uncanny bond between Laz and Ari for quite some time; the fact that the Canaveris lord’s trusted bodyguard seemed to show up at his beck and call every time he seemed every slightly upset or disturbed was telling enough. And while the details might have filled in the blanks, and certainly made sense given Ari’s rather isolated and lonely childhood, the golem said nothing that Nia hadn’t already been aware of (or had suspected). “You say it all like you’re the first person to ever tell me as much.” Nia snorted as she concentrated on altering a few final sheets of mica (there weren’t many left at this point, and as such, not much more work for her to do until the fireflies had been crafted.) “Don’t worry, Laz, no hard feelings. I spent too much time focusing on survival as opposed to focusing on finesse. I’m probably as uncouth as they come. Ari’s known that from the moment he met me; I’m not one for pretenses. He knows it… and he accepts me. The way I am. Sure, I could change a lot for him, attitude aside. I could make my hair, my eyes, my skin all more desirable colours, and if I’m being honest… I’d do it at the drop of a hat for him. But he doesn’t want that. He wouldn’t ask me to change anything about myself, and like it or not, that’s what makes our love real.”
Finishing with the sheet of mica, Nia wiped her hands on her hips, spreading the glitter even further over her clothes. “But I’m not the problem, here. You are; you, and your insecurity. Not so unlike someone else.” Her eyes briefly traveled in Nico’s direction, but he hadn’t heard, and didn’t look up from his work. Just like Ari, when he was engrossed in a task, there was no distracting him from it. “And I really don’t understand. I don’t understand how my presence here is so threatening to you. I don’t know where you got the impression I’d have Ari ‘all to myself’--if you ask me, you’re projecting. Maybe I’m not the caliber of person you want ending up with your beloved master, but know that I gave him the choice. I told him that he was in no way obligated to stick it through with me, after I rid him of his curse. Not when he’d be free to live the life he wants to live and would no longer have a reason for my skills. But it turns out, he doesn’t want us to part ways, and in fact, was hurt that I’d suggested it at all. If he asked me to leave, at any point, then I would… but that isn’t what he wants. So I’m here to stay. You know,” she tucked her hair behind her ears, taking care not to smear mica powder on her face. “Considering I am the person who will primarily be conducting the procedure to give your master a normal life, you’d think you’d care to be nice to me, now and then. First you hated me because I worked for Loque--and, okay, fair enough. But it doesn’t seem to matter what I do or don’t do. You’ve made up your mind, and I honestly don’t feel the need or the desire to change it. I’ve got way more important things to do than to appeal to you--regardless of how you might choose to look.
“But, anyway--looks like my word here is done for now. Think that’ll be enough mica to keep you occupied for a while?” She nodded at the vast pile of mica sheets that she had rendered light and soft near her workstation. “I’m supposed to be training with Elespeth Rigas before supper, so not long from now. Maybe you should try taking a page out of her book; she used to hate my guts once, too, then learned it’s way more beneficial to just be nice. Good luck with your firefly crafting! I’ll put the finishing touches on those when you’re done.”
It wasn’t a lie; Elespeth would be expecting her in a few hours, and if Nia wanted to be in any shape (physical or mental) to undergo training run by yet another person who had once loathed her, then spending any more time in the presence of someone who currently abhorred the ground she walked upon wouldn’t exactly put her in the right frame of mind to endure whatever the Rigas woman had in store. Since her conversation with Ari the other night, where he had divulged his dream to her (and now that he had revealed his secret project, which had nothing to do with ‘another woman’... so to speak), the Master Alchemist’s own insecurities were largely allayed. There was little Lazarus, Nico, or any other protesting member of Ari’s family could do to make her feel lesser when she was determined to grow stronger and more capable every day, for Ari’s sake. She wouldn’t let his dream, or his nightmare, come to pass: in this reality, both of them would survive. Notwithstanding those who they had already lost, everyone would survive, if she had anything to say about it.
“Elespeth! Long time, no see. Hope I didn’t keep you waiting.” Not long after leaving Lazarus and the young Canaverises to continue with their work on the float, Nia met with Alster’s wife in the courtyard behind the villa. Elespeth sported leggings and a practical tunic, appropriate for the physical activity that was going to take place--and immediately, Nia realized just how unprepared she was. “Huh… well, I came to tell you I’m ready to get going, but…” She looked down at her leggings and mica-covered tunic, the latter which was too big for her frame.
The Rigas woman shrugged it off, however, not seeing it as a concern. “Your clothes are fine, Nia. You’ll be sweating in them anyway--just change later. Alster said he managed to fix your leg up completely.” She nodded to Nia’s lower body and folded her arms thoughtfully. “How do you think you’ll fare with a little bit of light running?”
“Light running? Is that it? Hell, count me in, El! IT doesn’t hurt to walk or stand anymore. So,” She grinned with a triumphant sort of confidence. “Run me as ragged as you see fit.”
Nia would end up eating those words later on. While the Master Alchemist had always maintained a general level of physical fitness in the past, as a result of her need to run and be on the run, she had never undergone any form of real physical training to target select muscle groups and enhance her overall strength, endurance, and stamina. She’d honestly had no idea what Elespeth had in store for her, but ultimately underestimated what the Rigas woman was capable of when she’d assumed ‘light running’ would comprise the gist of her exercise. What began as light running soon turned into sprinting, in careful, measured steps. Then, weights were added as she was instructed to clutch moderately heavy blocks of stone in each hand to make it increasingly more difficult. It was supposed to last an hour, no more, no less, but at about the fifty-minute mark, Nia dropped the slabs of stone altogether, fell to her knees, and vomited into the bushes of a meadow not far from the Canaveris villa.
“Nia!” Elespeth’s alarm was palpable as she rushed to the woman’s side. Certainly, she had gradually pushed her limits more and more to gauge what she was capable of, but the she-warrior hadn’t taken her eyes off of Nia for even a second, careful to take into account her breathing, her sweating, and whether she slowed or gained speed. And, to her surprise, the Master Alchemist had been performing far better than she’d expected, for someone who’s entire body had undergone such physical, mental, and emotional trauma. If she had somehow managed to push Nia to her limits, then just like a wounded animal of prey, the Ardane woman had done a fine job hiding just how quickly she was falling apart. “Alright… this is fine for today. You need to go get hydrated.”
“I’m fine--I’m fine. Let’s… keep going.” Wiping her mouth on her sleeve, Nia straightened and slowly made her way back to her feet. Her skin was flushed, and her arms and legs trembled. “You said an hour, yeah? It hasn’t been an hour…”
Elespeth shook her head, taking Nia by the arm to steady her. “It doesn’t matter; you’re done. You’re beyond done, and I’m… sorry I didn’t make you stop sooner. I am honestly impressed how far you got without complaining even once.”
“Okay… okay, fine, but don’t… tell Ari? And don’t tell Isidor. Don’t tell anyone I threw my guts up from a little running.” Concern--no, panic shimmered in the overbright sheen of Nia’s eyes. “Please don’t tell anyone… that I couldn’t handle it. I’m trying. I’ll be better tomorrow, I swear…”
“Your training is between me and you; no one else needs to know. Isidor’s only concern is that you’re exercising at all. Come on,” Elespeth offered a friendly smile to the woman who had once gotten on her nerves beyond all else. She’d been wrong about Nia; she didn’t have it easy. Her happy ending was never handed to her. She was still striving for it. She only wanted what every other being on the planet wanted: to find happiness.
The Canaveris villa luckily wasn’t far, and it wasn’t yet time for dinner--which came as reassuring, since it would give Nia time to change and maybe put a little bit of ‘healthy’ colour into her face before meeting with Ari. The last thing she wanted was to make him worry, and she knew that was exactly what would happen if he saw her looking pale and shaky. To Elespeth’s credit, she didn’t leave right away; not until she’d helped the Master Alchemist clean up, replace her sweat-drenched clothes, and even ran a brush through her hair to remove the tangles. The selfless act came as such a surprise to Nia that she had to ask, “...why are you helping me, El? I mean, beyond kicking my butt with your training regime…”
“I was once in a far sorrier state than you. And I only had myself to blame.” The former Atvanian shrugged, and poured Nia a glass of water from a tin at the other end of the room she shared with Ari. “I had friends that tried to help me look and feel stronger during that time. It helped a great deal. If I deserved that help… then I’d say, you certainly do as well.”
Just as Nia was getting to her feet after several moments’ rest sitting at the edge of the bed, Ari came upon the two women, having been informed that Nia was through with her physical activity obligations for the day. She beamed at the Canaveris lord, who was obviously wondering how she’d fared. “Still in one piece, Ari--see? I’m not as breakable as I look.”
“Just be sure to eat well and drink plenty of water until bed. Don’t be surprised if you’re a little sore tomorrow; nothing a good, hot bath won’t fix. Well,” Elespeth clasped her hands in front of her, “I’ll leave the two of you to your evening. Same time tomorrow, Nia, weather permitting.”
After Elespeth took her leave, Nia reached out to take one of Ari’s hands. “Well? How’s it going in your workshop? I left your bodyguard to do her magic with the sheets of mica, so I left early. There should be more than enough to craft the fireflies, now. I’ll tamper with them a bit more when she’s through with ‘em. Just over a week left until festivities; think we can get it altogether in time? Oh,” she snapped her fingers as another thought occurred to her. “We should also check in with Chara with regards to the… you know what. For Al and El.” She lowered her voice, in case the Rigas woman was still nearby; not to mention, she knew just how loud she could be. “It’s still the least we can do for the both of ‘em, considering how much they’ve helped us.”
Despite his desperate wish for a friend and despite their psychic bond, there always existed a disconnect between Ari and Laz, one that Ari himself had established. Ever conscious of another’s feelings, even those of a clay-based construct, the Canaveris Lord never conveyed his beliefs aloud, but Laz understood why their friendship kept a good length of distance. Ari wasn’t sure if Laz was acting out of sincerity or just obeying his orders. For a golem created to serve, the distinction between independent thought and absolute compliance was difficult to detect, and also reliant on the other to function, because if one ordered a golem into free-thinking, and their all-encompassing psychic bond with said golem generated in it human-like qualities, could anyone call the golem anything more than an extension of its master? Therein lay a classic, existential conundrum. Am I sentient? Am I sapient? Or am I just a tool, a simulacrum, meant to imitate life? And will I die with my master, my single-most important tie to humanity?
Speaking of humanity, Ari feared he lost a bit of his each time he focused more on his golems than on people, a sentiment he never expressed to Laz, either, but it floated around in his subconscious on many occasions. So pronounced was this fear of losing connections to his ‘human’ aspect that he hesitated to consider Laz as little more than a trusted companion. Not a brother, not a lover, and certainly not of the same mold as he—for, regardless of his hybrid status, Ari was real, not fabricated, not a collection of inorganic components breathed into being by generations of incubating ancestral magic.
Laz didn’t know how this knowledge made her feel, but the closest emotion she could attribute to the sensation was…loneliness. Her only deep connection to this world would rather seek deeper connections elsewhere. And the person he chose…was this wreck of a woman.
“It’s not a high bar to achieve. If you’re a severely flawed human, you will attract Ari’s attention. Congratulations on your runaway victory. I suppose you were the most pathetic one of the bunch he could find,” she said, her tongue stabbing with sarcasm. “I developed human traits through my psychic bond with Ari. Whatever insecurities I have developed, whatever my methods of projection, they stem and originate from him. You could even say I am where his most undesirable emotions come home to roost. In me, I hold his anger. I hold his resentment, his ill-will, his spite, and his suspicion. I am the guardian of the unpleasant. Therefore, when I say that I dislike you, then there must be one small aspect of Ari who thinks the same as me. One part of him who finds you invasive, a time and energy sink, exhausting…embarrassing. Perhaps I can’t be nice to you because bodyguards are meant to question the motives of everyone not possessing Canaveris blood, and the pain you’ve caused far outmatches the good.” Undaunted by the prospect of getting mica flecks on her face, she brushed glittering hands through glittering hair, enjoying the extra sparkle on her silken strands. “Who’s to say if the ‘spirit’ that is inside of me is female, or if it was Ari himself who wanted me to change? Who wanted me to transform into someone gentler, less intimidating—a kinder, softer feminine face to help you feel more at ease around me? If my thoughts, emotions, and wishes aren’t independently my own, then it’s possible. And if that’s true…maybe you should care about appealing to me. That is to say,” her amethyst eyes narrowed into pointed crystals, “if I really am a representative of Ari’s shadow self.”
Although she had lapsed into silence and concentrated on the work ahead of her, Laz was not yet done with Nia. After finishing her quota of fireflies for the day, she headed for the courtyard where Nia had scheduled to train with Elespeth Rigas and, with her ability to seamlessly blend in anywhere that contained stone walls and earth, she watched the Master Alchemist toil and struggle and later, vomit into the bushes, all the while keeping her expression completely impassive. Laz was not without some compassion, however, considering how little she cared for the obnoxious woman. It didn’t escape her attention at how hard Nia slaved during training, pushing her beleaguered body to the limits of what it was willing to handle. The determination to proceed despite agonizing drills, a heart to near-bursting, and violent sickness was, admittedly, admirable, and showed, at the very least, Nia’s willingness to improve her health and ergo, improve her chances to save Ari. If nothing else, Laz decided to like that aspect of Nia; her dedication to eliminating his fatal curse, come what may. Even more telling was her entreaty for Elespeth not to reveal to Ari her bout of workout-induced nausea, or the fact that in her enthusiasm to do well, she overreached, and missed the mark entirely. Well…wouldn’t now be a perfect moment to make an appearance? Just to keep her on her toes…
Emerging from her coverage against the wall, Laz walked, from one side of the courtyard to the other, sleek white hair shining silver under the moonlight, floating behind like a celestial veil. Hers was a very obvious strut that, while acknowledging no one, signaled her flashy presence, like a poisonous creature displaying their bright colors via aposematism to ward off predators. Bite me, and die. To draw attention to them, she tucked wisps of hair behind her ears, which heard every word—and which could report her findings to Ari if she felt so inclined. Perhaps she would do Nia a favor and remain silent, but the Ardane Alchemist didn’t need to know about her charitable deed, and could sweat it out for the remainder of the evening.
Like the glow of the moon transiting behind a storm of clouds, she was gone again, a flicker of ephemeral brightness swallowed by the dark. But soon to replace her was the master of the villa himself. Ari later rendezvoused with Elespeth and Nia, politely knocking on the door to his and her shared bedchambers before entering at the verbal go-ahead.
“Good evening, Lady Rigas. Lovely to see you again,” Ari greeted Elespeth with a polite bow as he sidled further inside, turning his smile towards Nia, buffing away any fret lines or worry. “How goes the training? If I may be so bold as to state, you are looking a tad flushed. Alas, if it is the result of normal, albeit arduous physical activity, then I suppose it stands to reason that I should congratulate you for surviving your very first day. Indeed, you are not breakable.” For her congratulatory reward, Ari pressed a quick kiss upon her forehead, heedless of the perspiration miring it into slick and sweaty. “I do believe a hot meal is in order. Would you like that?”
At Elespeth’s verbal self-dismissal, Ari turned to her, brow furrowing slightly. “Thank you, Lady Rigas, for your assistance, but are you certain I cannot interest you in a beverage? Or a late dinner, perhaps? At the very least, allow me the honor of walking you to your carriage.” Undeterred by the warrior woman’s protests, Ari accompanied her outside the front entrance, as promised, and returned promptly back to his and Nia’s bedchambers, carrying a tray of chilled spring water and a slice of strawberry pie.
“Yes, I am aware of the strict diet Master Kristeva has instructed you follow to the letter, but I see little error in allowing you a sliver of decadence on occasion. It shall be our little secret.” Setting the tray upon the bedside table, he held a conspiratorial finger to his lips. “It would be a shame to miss strawberry season, after all.”
Sitting at Nia’s side, Ari mopped at her brow with a clean cloth while she ate and chatted, happy just to enjoy her company, to bask in the little moments they shared, forgetting the past or even the future when the present most deserved his attention. “Ah yes, it is going rather well in my workshop. Nico has almost completed the bottom portion of his mural, Sylvie has begun attaching her fabric arrangements to the summer scene, I have half-completed my hibiscus flower sculpture, and Laz reports creating over five hundred fireflies in one session alone, which I hope will be enough to keep you sufficiently busy for tomorrow—without tilting over into the overwhelmed category, of course.” Dipping the cloth into a cool water basin, he wrung out the excess water and returned it to her forehead, providing her with a little relief…and also giving him an excuse to fuss over her needs and wants.
“Regarding Lord and Lady Rigas…yes, I will speak with Chara,” he smacked his tongue against his mouth distastefully, a not-so-subtle signal to express his preference to eating live guppies over engaging Chara Rigas in conversation. “Better me than you, I daresay. I will have to return to the palace in the next few days, as it stands; to inspect the construction of the observation tower thus far. While I am there, the two of us shall discuss our plans for the Rigas matrimonial celebration, which will be scheduled at the palace, three days following the Solstice parade and masquerade ball. Chara and I shall provide the decor, and surely neither of us would mind providing the centerpiece dessert for the married couple to share, but,” Ari chewed on the inside of his lip, “Hadwin Kavanagh is adamant about creating that confection on his own, as he has expressed to me multiple times already. While I have heard of his ableness as a baker, a rather surprising talent coming from someone of his, ah, notoriety,” he supplied, euphemistically, “I am concerned for the strength, or lack thereof, of his hands, among other things.”
Having since changed into a fresh and presentable set of clothes, his hands were safely tucked into a clean pair of white gloves, concealing the hard calluses of his fingerpads, the unsightly bumps and gnarled skin a clear indicator of his primary vocation. Not that he aimed to bury his laborer’s hands as though ashamed to display the very antithesis of a well-bred aristocrat; smooth and pristine skin, no blemishes or a hint of toil. Earth mages, even earth mages of nobility, were proud to flaunt their worn and rugged hands, a detail the rival Rigases often liked to deride as awfully quaint, backwards, and primitive, equating terrestrial magic as something debase, unclean, and lower than dirt. The Canaverises as a whole never rose to Rigas bait, instead spinning the unflattering appellations in their favor and thus clinching popularity among the artisans, field-workers, and farmers of Stella D’Mare, who understood and rallied behind a ruling class not afraid to—literally—get their hands dirty. The Rigases had inadvertently given their competition a leg up and contributed to their own downfall by severely misreading the values of the common people.
Ergo, Ari didn’t hide his hands out of a misplaced sense of propriety or self-loathing against his own kind, but as a force of habit. So accustomed to wearing them to blanket from view any recurrences of his curse, he was loath to dispose of them even in the company of someone with whom he felt safest, and for a simple reason. The coolness of fabric against his rough-hewn skin provided a salve, a whispering caress of comfort in moments of uncertainty. Akin to a mask, or a suit of armor, it was easy to parade out into the unknown when one’s most vulnerable parts were shielded and protected. Nowadays, however, there arose a greater, more pressing reason to hide his hands from inspection.
Returning Nia’s damp cloth to the washbasin, Ari collected both hands together, brushing absently at the silken material of his gloves. “He has not utilized them properly in months, and baking requires a fair amount of kneading and dexterity, just as clay-work and molding requires the same. Should I lose but several days’ practice due to involuntary petrifaction, it can affect my work to a significant degree, and this is factoring in my body’s natural resistances and speedy recovery from flare-up aftereffects. Perhaps you can speak with him on this matter, as you are his friend and seem to have a fair handle on his…robust personality.” Another euphemism. He was beginning to run out of pleasant ways to skirt around saying, point blank, ‘pain-in-the-ass.’ “Already, he plans on joining you and Lady Rigas on your daily training protocol. Not to mention, he has taken an invested interest in ensuring Sigrid Sorenson attends the masquerade.” It was a strange conversation, as were most interactions with the cracked faoladh, but Hadwin broached a point even Ari couldn’t dispute. “C’mon, your sweet niece worked so hard to get Siggy some dashing clothes with the expectation that she’d wear ‘em to the masquerade. You mean to tell me it wouldn’t be a punch to the gut for poor Sylvie to learn that all her hard work amounted to nothing, after everything she’s done to keep her optimism afloat?”
Hadwin certainly knew how to say the right combination of words, because Ari had ended up begrudgingly supporting his argument. For Sylvie, there was little he would deny her. In addition, entertaining her own coterie of guests at the masquerade was precisely the type of distraction he sought in her name. Finite focus on her uncle meant she was less likely to perceive the truth about his waning mortality, which was for the better, as he was not yet prepared to break her heart so soon after Casimiro’s death. Keep her happy, keep her distracted, and mayhaps, those eyes so equipped at uncovering buried secrets would not turn to him in hurt and betrayal. With apologies to Sigrid, he would make it mandatory for her to attend.
Suddenly growing contemplative, Ari stood from the bed and wandered to the window, sliding aside a velvet curtain to pry open the latch. As he eased the glass, a welcome breeze filtered inside the room, playfully swirling the ends of his hair. “Out of lack of finessing myself into this topic, I suppose I shall state outright what I mean to discuss with you—and offer my clarifications regarding what you have seen today. About Laz,” he turned his head from the window and looked over his shoulder at Nia, still resting on the bed, “you might be wondering why I paused my work on the float in favor of remodeling Laz into her desired form. It must translate as rather unprofessional, to suddenly pivot from one commitment to another with hardly any warning or explanation. For that, I apologize for any inconvenience I’ve doubtless caused you. In truth, if I must choose to prioritize building a float or helping a longtime friend and loyal retainer fulfill her wish, I will always choose the latter. She has been uncomfortable in that body for some time, but has been too ashamed to say so aloud, worried about inconveniencing me and my schedule. Over the decades of our companionship, I have made modifications to her form, modeled to resemble a brawny, intimidating mountain of a man. In accordance with the rules posed by every sitting Canaveris Head before me, I could only modify her within the parameters of her original mold. Now that I am Canaveris Head, however, I am free to model her into any appearance I deem suitable. Earlier this year, I told her to approach me whenever she wanted a change and I would happily deliver any request, no matter the chaos of my schedule. A few days ago, she finally found her voice to ask me thence—so I set aside everything and obliged, without hesitation. I realize how difficult it must have been to ask me for such a radical shift in appearance, so I agreed not to say a word to anyone about how I was suddenly spending my time. Nico and Sylvie found out, of course.” He let out a gentle sigh. “While I could have postponed her resculpting for a later date, ideally after the events of this kingdom-wide celebration have passed, I may not have the luxury to do so if—“ he paused, cutting off his final words. —If I begin to lose mobility in my hands. …Or if I die.
No, Ari did not have the luxury of waiting—and Laz must have noticed it, too, which explained her out-of-the-blue request for the change, a mostly external process, considering the golem possessed only a heart and no other internal organs to shift around and restructure. A surgeon, Ari was not. He didn’t report the sensation to Nia, but the Canaveris lord was experiencing a sluggishness form in his nimble and proud artisan’s hands—a stiffening of the joints, and sometimes an alarming calcification crusting over the surface, hardening and tightening the skin, but too thin and filmy to petrify into stone. Nothing too dire; oftentimes, he picked off or exfoliated the crust, delicate sheets that came off in small flakes, like mica, and went about his work unimpeded. Presently, his hands were not having a reaction; they remained as human hands, free from adverse effects. They fared best, it seemed, when at rest—a near impossibility in the coming days, dependent as everyone was on his art, on his wonderful sculptures, for snagging a long-awaited win for the Canaveris family, and for everyone who believed in him to succeed. Ceasing his work when he was at the precipice of victory…wasn’t going to happen. He would be careful, for certain, and watch his hands for the strange phenomena to re-emerge, but he wouldn’t stop.
“This may be an unpopular request, but if it is possible, I would like for you to try and get along with Laz,” he said, turning completely away from the window to rejoin Nia on the bed. His gloved hands took her gently by the shoulders as he pressed his forehead to her forehead, an affectionate expression akin to a kiss, in place of interrupting her mouth from consuming the dessert he bade her enjoy. “I realize she has no reason to fancy any soul outside of the Canaveris family, but I would like for that to change. Once Galeyn has liberated you of your duties, I would like for you to join this family. …I am, ah, not speaking of marriage at this stage,” he hurried, not wanting her to get the wrong idea. “Not that this is a preposterous proposition, but it is best we not get ahead of ourselves so soon.” If only she knew…how easily he would marry her. “More, I am looking to employ you, indefinitely, but to an elevated and vaunted position enjoyed by our more senior and devoted officials. We are not so driven by nepotism that we appoint only within the family bloodline; there are quite a few non-Canaveris among our ranks. If you are imbued with this honor, Nia, Laz is bound to respect you—and perhaps Nico will follow, as well. What’s more…I would like to encourage Laz’s growth, as I firmly believe in her potential to live on, untethered to a master or a predetermined purpose, despite her artificial and unorthodox birth. Simply...I would like to set her free of me.” He tilted his head, helpfully rubbing off a stray crumb of pie crust clinging to her bottom lip. “To help this along, she could really use a friend outside of the inner Canaveris sanctum. Will you try?”
“Ah, I knew I could count on you! I mean, I’d talk to Chara myself, buuuut… somehow, I think she’d be more inclined to talk to you. Or, rather, anyone but me.” Like practically everyone else in Galeyn, Nia did not take Chara’s tendency to turn a cold shoulder personally (even if she should); but she also knew better than to piss off the lover of Galeyn’s queen, who had the power to lift her sentence when at last she saw fit. And the fewer opportunities Nia had to fuck that up, the better! Though her stomach was still unsettled with the aftereffects of pushing her body a little too hard during exercise, the slice of strawberry pie was precisely what a healthy Nia would die for, and so she took a bite so as to not worry Ari. “And make sure husband and wife both have something nice to wear! Elespeth especially, since her first “wedding gown” didn’t fit her. She deserves to look good. As much as Chara is a headache, she does have a damn good sense of style. As for Hadwin…”
Of course the stubborn faoladh would want to contribute in his own way, regardless of the current state of his health. But, she couldn’t blame the bloke for wanting to return to a sense of normalcy. After all, it had been longer for him than it had been for her since he’d completely felt like himself. “Eh, don’t worry about that guy. I checked him this morning and he’s definitely getting stronger. I’ll check again this evening before I go to bed--but, just like I’m currently under Isidor’s strict rule, Hadwin’s gotta answer to me before he pushes himself, as the overseer of his recovery in Is’s place. You have my word I won’t be giving him a pass to do whatever the hell he wants, just because he wants to, but… baking? Eh, with some supervision, I’d give him that.” Nia took another bite of pie and shrugged her shoulders. “He said something about having once been a baker; I’m gonna say he probably knows what he’s doing. Of all the things you should be worrying about, Ari, Hadwin isn’t one of them.”
If only that was the only thing on Ari’s mind… but, alas, it was far from it, and merely the tip of the iceberg. When the Canaveris lord ripped off the proverbial bandage and delved into his targeted topic of conversation--his remodeled golem friend--Nia had to force herself to swallow that last piece of sweet, strawberry pie, nearly choking on it and coughing into her hand a couple of times to dislodge the crumbs from her throat. “Hey, Ari, you don’t have to apologize at all. Laz has served you well, hasn’t h--er, she? It makes sense that you’d drop everything you’re doing to lend a hand. That’s just like you: selfless to the bone. Honestly,” she wiped crumbs from the corners of her lips with her fingertips, “I’m just happy for the clarification. To know what you were doing and why you were doing it really puts my mind at ease, because let me tell you, it ventures to dark places when it tries to fill in the blanks regarding things I just don’t know. But, ah…” Was he really asking what she thought he was asking? The answer was yes: yes he was. And, as was very uncommon with the likes of Nia Ardane, his request left her temporarily speechless.
“You want… Ari, he--er, she… I mean, Laz is…” When she finally found her voice, she was still at a loss for words. Considering that this never happened was an attest to how rattled she was by the request. How could she put this delicately? Was that even possible? So your now she-golem hates my guts and nothing I do will change that, and she’s projecting her own obsession with you onto me because she is convinced that our relationship will mean you won’t have time for anyone else, ever. Oh, and she thinks I’m a failure as a human being and thinks you are royally fucking up by having anything to do with me.
As much as the Master Alchemist truly yearned to get that off her chest, she wasn’t so crass as not to know better. Those words would eviscerate Ari: here he was, begging her to try and get along with someone else who meant a good deal to him. Who would she be to throw the request back in his face? Tell him it was all impossible? She couldn’t break his heart: she refused to. Even if what he wanted was fucking impossible… well, if it didn’t happen the way he hoped, then she would be sure the failure had nothing to do with a lack of effort on her part, at least.
Quickly changing her tune, Nia shook her head and put on a smile. “You sure you want me here as a permanent fixture in the future? Word has it I really have a way of getting under peoples’ skin.” She chuckled and tossed her hair over her shoulder in a gesture that suggested she wasn’t too concerned about being pegged as annoying. “I haven’t had anyone to call ‘family’ in a really long time… if the Canaverises really don’t mind being associated with an Ardane, then I’m happy to find a home with you. After all, what’s the point of striving for a future together if we didn’t plan to be together?” While she did find it odd that he specifically made it clear he did not intend to marry her, Nia cast the comment to the back of her mind before she could feel hurt by it. Perhaps it wasn’t his choice to make, considering he was head of the Canaverises and D’Marians. Perhaps he simply wasn’t interested in being ‘married’. There was no point in dwelling on what was otherwise a non-issue.
“I’m not sure your golem friend will want to see eye to eye, if I’m being honest. She seems to think I’m bad for you and all-around just a bad idea to be in your company. But if it makes you feel better--I’ll try to reach out. Try being the operative word. Somehow, I think Laz is more stubborn as a woman than she was as a man.” Her mouth curled into a lopsided grin; it was about as much humour as she was able to muster. “I’ll still make an effort. After all, that golem has taken good care of the person I love for a really long time. I guess I do owe her. Let me see what I can do.”
Her agreement to what she still believed to be an impossible task was enough to bring a hopeful smile to Ari’s face--and that was enough to bring warmth to her heart. Nia realized, then, that it wasn’t just about saving his life or securing their future together. After all, what would their future mean if he was always left standing as an in-between, with Nia on one side and his family members on the other? That wasn’t fair to him, and it wasn’t the future she wanted for him--for them. One way or another, Laz was going to have to bury this hatchet. Up yours, Laz--you can’t say I won’t do absolutely anything for love!
The rest of the night resumed without event; they partook in dinner together, and through careful breathing and concentration, Nia managed to actually finish her meal without suffering a sore stomach. Shortly after, she and Ari both took a dose of Haraldur’s herbs, and soundly slept, without the disturbance of dreams. When Nia awoke at dawn the next morning, she did indeed feel rested, but oh, did her body ache. Elespeth’s training really was no joke, and her legs felt like jelly upon rising from bed. Slowly and carefully, she managed to dress herself and tie her hair half-back away from her face, before she met Ari for breakfast. “None of that; wipe the worry off your face,” she gently chided as she eased herself into her chair. “It’s been a while since I worked most of these muscles; I’m bound to be a little sore, yeah? Anyway,” feeling curiously optimistic, on top of having the kindling of a real appetite, she took a bite of the eggs on her plate without feeling the need to force it down. “I’m going to check in on Hadwin, then I’ll head over to see if I can tamper with those fireflies Laz crafted. I’ll be honest, I’m not confident I can make them transform into flowers; it’s just kind of a wild idea. But, I’m damn well gonna try. And if that doesn’t kill me, well, I’m sure Elespeth will when I meet with her afterwards--I’m joking, joking! Honestly, I’ve gotta give her credit, she’s not out to get me or pushing me too hard. Al was right to recommend her. This means I probably won’t see you until dinner again. Think you’ll survive without me?”
She wasn’t sure what it was, partaking in nutritious meals, the beginnings of feeling more in shape or no longer walking with pain every time she took a step, but there was no doubt the Master Alchemist was actually beginning to feel like herself again. Like the person she had been before shit had hit the fan. Like the person she had been when she’d first met Ari--and her rambling was evidence enough of it.
“Alright. Well there’s a lot to do today, and hardly any time to do it all. As fun as it is to be getting on with this float, I’ll be happy when that responsibility is all done with. So we can just walk away with our victory and bask in it.” Nia grinned, scooping up the last bite of food on her plate before standing from the table on tired legs. “I’ll check in with you later. I think we’ll soon be at the stage where we’ll need to assemble this masterpiece; maybe we’ll be seeing more of each other then.”
Planting a kiss on Ari’s cheek, with the promise she’d dine with him again come dinnertime, Nia made for Hadwin’s chambers, with her Forbanne guard in tow, but not on her heels. At this point, it must have been obvious enough to everyone involved in her ‘incarceration’ that she was no longer a flight risk, and high-security measures were not necessary for her to continue to carry out her sentence. Knocking once on Hadwin’s door, she entered with a flippant smile. “Good morning, sunshine. How are things going for you this morning? Hey, got some questions for you about the secret post-marriage wedding ceremony we’re planning for a certain Rigas couple.”
Reaching for one of the last syringes of Isidor’s serum from a drawer near Hadwin’s bed. Not many more to administer before he’d be through with them. “Ari tells me you’re planning on banking something delicious. He’s a bit concerned that you’re not up for the task because, y’know, your body’s been through hell and back and all, but I recall you saying something about doing a lot of baking as a kid? I’ve got faith in you, so long as you continue to take care of yourself and follow Isidor’s instructions.”
The Master Alchemist expertly administered the dose of serum and then tucked the empty vial and syringe away to be sanitized or disposed of. “I know you showed some interest in joining me for Elespeth’s work-outs, and let me tell you, she’s brutal in the kindest of ways. Give yourself a few more days of getting your strength up, and you might be able to keep up. Sound like a plan? Oh--and wish me luck today.” She screwed up her smile into something of a grimace, and then lowered her voice, as if afraid Ari was listening somewhere nearby (while knowing full well he was far too busy a man to be eavesdropping). “Apparently it’s now my job to try and make friends with Ari’s out-of-this-world golem friend… who now happens to be a woman, and is somehow even more off-putting than before. Not sure this is even gonna be possible, considering she’s already told me in so many words that I am absolute garbage and not worth Ari’s time, but what can I do? He wants us to be friends. Least I can do is try. So… fingers crossed that I don’t end up fucking things up even more than they already are. Somehow, I’m really, really good at that.”
Bidding her faoladh friend a farewell, Nia had no voice but to follow through with Ari’s less than ideal request. It wasn’t as if she could avoid Lazuli, anyway; not when she had to share the same space with the insufferable golem. Sylvie, Nico, and Laz were already present by the time Nia arrived, to which she expected some off-handed comment by one or the other of the latter two about her tardiness. To her surprise, the comment never came; perhaps Ari had said something to them beforehand. Or, they could have simply been too engrossed in their work to think of it at the time.
“Alright. So time to transform these fireflies--or, figure out how I’m going to make that happen. Hope you’re not tired of crafting the little bugs out of mica, Lazuli, ‘cause we’re not gonna get to the ideal finished product without a few failures on my part. No one’s ever seen success without a little bit of trial and error.”
Taking a seat at her station (and more than a little relieved to be off her tired feet), the Ardane woman gingerly took one of the finished fireflies and set it in the palm of her hand. Toying further with the fabric of these already fragile creations would be challenging; she didn’t want to admit it, but it was possible it would take her the remainder of the time they had to prepare for this festival just to work out the kinks. “Nice job on the details, by the way. The little wings look adorable! I shouldn’t have much of a problem turning those into petals; it’s just the rest that could prove challenging. Hey, I’ve never done this before--I never claimed it would be perfect from the get-go. But anyway…” The Master Alchemist pushed a sigh from her lungs. “Might as well get this off my chest sooner than later. All this bullshit animosity you’re harbouring toward me? Ari wants it all to be done with. And he specifically asked me to be friendly with you. No, I’m not misconstruing this; that is exactly his desire. He told me so last night.” Taking a steadying breath, Nia ran a finger around over one of the firefly’s wings. It shimmered with an odd, inner light for a moment, but otherwise didn’t change.
“He’s really just trying to look out for you, y’know. He wants you to act and live independently of him as possible. Like a real human being, regardless of the fact you’re not made of flesh and blood. And he doesn’t want to end up your only friend. Somehow, he sees the two of us as compatible--or, at least, he wants us to be. I didn’t know what else to tell him, other than I’d try my damndest to grant his wish. What else could I do? Say no? The man hardly asks anything of me. And this would make him happy. Which is something that the both of us, despite our differences, have in common. We want Ari to be happy. So, what do you say? Can we at least try to make this work? I’ll say one thing, I’m not willing to let this fall through because of lack of effort on my part. So, what do you say?”
Nia turned her attention from the tiny, delicate firefly in her hand and raised her eyebrows at Laz, who regarded her skeptically as ever. “Wanna give it a shot--for Ari’s sake? I mean, let’s be honest, here: it’s not hard to stop throwing shade, yeah? It’s not hard for people to find all of the bad in me. But if you care to actually get to know me, I think you’ll find I do have a fair bit of good as well. Same goes for you. You can’t convince me you’re just a stubborn hunk of clay with sentience. Ari might’ve crafted your body, but your personality? That’s all you. So let’s give one another a chance.”
As the last few days had proven true, scheming was the only way to keep Hadwin sane. At least, this was true as long as he remained bedridden and unable to go anywhere without begging and also involving an entire team of people for assistance. When no one was looking, he threw himself out of bed and gritted his teeth through easy exercises, sit-ups and push-ups and lunges primarily, made intense from inactivity and wonky equilibrium, which always produced a lightheadedness too acute to ignore—unless he wanted to puke out his guts on the floor and alert everyone else to one of the things he was banned from doing without supervision. If he didn’t behave how they wanted him to behave, he’d be stuck in recovery for much longer than his sanity would allow, so if he wanted out of his predicament, it was important to play the part…and also not to get caught whenever he decided to bend the rules just a little.
In the long-run, scheming won out during the wide periods of time between his self-imposed sprints of frenzied activity, and considering how little he was able to accomplish during those sprints, most of his waking hours were spent planning out exactly how he could influence everyone else around him without even having to wiggle free out of bed. While it was more rewarding to play a direct and involved role, namely one where he roamed around, free to flit about like the bloodsucking mosquito he was, inactive, passive scheming was his next best maneuver. And so, he didn’t hesitate to buzz close into peoples’ ears and whisper the ideas he hoped would germinate in the garden of their thoughts and sprout like weeds.
Already, one of his plots was churning nicely into motion. Sensing that Bronwyn was up to something (a blind person could read her motivations like a book, they were so bloody obvious), Hadwin jumped Ari at the soonest opportunity—not literally, but he wouldn’t mind going for his bones—and made his bid for Sigrid to attend the ball. Knowing Fancypants as an obligate family man, dropping Sylvie’s name was all it took for the Canaveris lord to announce the blonde warrior’s mandatory attendance. Hah—think you could outfox me, Bron? Go ahead and make your next move; I guarantee I’ve got you cornered.
As he was riding high on his little victory, a knock on the door turned his head to greet his guest, all grins and nothing sinister to report on his countenance—though, to be fair, every smile that split his face always looked like he was up to no good.
“Hah, whatever ‘things’ I’ve been doing can be summed up in a very short and boring list,” he said, placing a hand over his mouth in a mock yawn. “I wake up, eat, sleep, wake up, eat, sleep—you get the idea. Oh yeah, can’t forget the highlight of my day; needle pricking time!” Obediently, he rolled up the sleeve of his nightshirt and exposed his upper arm, unfazed by the pump of the syringe emptying its bilious liquid into his bloodstream. “Psh, I can bake in my sleep,” he cracked one of his knuckles by pressing his thumb down hard on his forefinger, satisfied by the loud crack it produced. “I ran a shop back in my youth. Granted, I used it as a front for some pretty shady shit when the head baker wasn’t around—got that place shut down real quick,” he chuckled, unapologetic of the memory that showcased yet another example of his bottomless delinquency. “But the stuff we made and sold was solid. I baked the two lovebirds a sweet bread before and they enjoyed it, so they know I’m capable of punching their tastebuds full of flavor. Anyway, leave it to me,” he waved a dismissive hand forward. “Fancypants has nothing to fret over. ‘Sides, I’ve been spending pretty much every waking moment practicing my hand dexterity. See?” Raising a pad of paper from under his pillow, he showed Nia a very crude drawing of Ari, his eyes exaggerated circles, hair a mess of dark scribbles, and smile a little line with a squiggle going up. “Think Ari will proudly hang this up in his workshop? C’mon; I’m sure the bloke gets plenty of fanart; ask him which drawer he keeps his shit and add this one to the bunch, yeah?” Ripping off the sheet from his pad, he handed it to Nia with a wink.
“Yeah, I’m no stranger to the brutality of Elly’s workouts; I’ve had the displeasure of joining her in a few. I know what I’m in for and here I am, still clamoring for the chance. But I’ll compromise.” He slapped both hands over his lap. “Check on me in two days from now and see how I do prancing around this room. If I can pass whatever physical fitness tests you have for me, I come along with you and Elly. Deal?”
But the subject shifted to a topic infinitely more intriguing. So Ari’s golem friend, the one who smelled distinctly feminine, had changed forms to suit her aesthetic, and now her outside resembled her inside. Speaking of insides…did a golem even possess genitalia? And if so…was it purely decorative? Or could a person…if they wanted to, could they have physical relations with one? “Huh. Now that’s something interesting. Gotta see it to believe it, myself. I take it Fancypants sculpted her a new frame? But eh,” he shrugged, “don’t sweat it. It only has to look like you’re trying, right? Some folks will never catch you a break, no matter what you do to change their minds. Case in point; Elly hated my guts since the moment we met and for months afterward. Later on, she started to change her tune about me, not because I did anything different, not really, but because she had a good, hard look at herself and realized some pretty harsh truths about what she saw there. I’m sure she had another soul-searching moment before she was able to accept you, too. And,” he lounged back against his pillows, arms behind his head, “just a stab in the dark here, but it could be that Laz has to figure out what she’s all about before she’s ready to take a crack at the whole friendship thing. I mean, she changed her fucking gender in what, a few days? So there’s gotta be a lot she’s still working out as she moves towards becoming what she wants to be. But…take my guess at face value. Could be simpler than that. Sometimes, people hate you, and there’s jack shit you can do about it. Either way, I’ll root for ya! And hells,” he sat up in bed, looking over at Nia, eyes glinting, “if you need a little help, send her my way, hmm? I guarantee I can get her to hate me more than you. Take the heat off you a bit. I’m used to folks despising the ever-loving shit out of me.”
Waving goodbye and good luck to Nia’s upcoming endeavor, it wasn’t long before Hadwin welcomed both Teselin and Sylvie to his room. The two had been spending a good bit of time together in the mornings before the latter’s commitments brought her to float construction duty, and he couldn’t be happier for the summoner to make a friend around her age (after factoring in Canaveris longevity, which placed Sylvie at roughly 38 years old). And now that he had her attention…
“Hey, Syl!” He called the exuberant teen to his bedside. “Think you could do me a favor?”
Hadwin’s love of schemes never ended, it seemed.
By the time Nia and the others arrived at the cavern, Laz, who had no need of sleep, was already hard at work crafting fireflies. As testament to her tireless labors, two big buckets brimming with the delicate, mica-winged critters sat alongside one of the walls, ready for Nia’s experimental tampering. She was prepared to say little, if anything at all, to the garrulous woman as she entered and settled into her station for the day, but of course, she opened her maw and polluted the air with chatter that no matter of blatant ignoring would resolve.
“Ah, I see. So I’m not allowed to hate you or it’s considered ‘bullshit;’ is this right?” Lazuli put down her miniature razor and looked at Nia with a level gaze, luminous notes of purple highlighting her eyes in an almost menacing glow. “But it doesn’t matter how I feel, anyway. If it is Ari’s desire that we get along, who am I to defy his order?” Except…it wasn’t an order. Ari hadn’t approached Laz at all with this request, as if doing so would set a precedent, and compel her to obey. This meant that Laz was free to reject Nia’s offer of friendship, but at risk of dissatisfying Ari. And if Ari was dissatisfied with Laz, then she had overstepped. Disobeyed. Thus, she was trapped into an agreement, unable to cast Nia aside or risk insubordination. First created to serve the Canaveris Head and later rewired to follow Ari and Ari alone, Laz wasn’t sure what would happen if she acted counter to her master’s wishes. His…happiness. Would the magnetite core residing in her chest, behaving as her brain and nucleus deactivate, lose its magnetism and reduce her to an unkineticized hunk of clay on the ground, stripped of her autonomy and ability to move and function and live? Once again, Ari, I am driven to accept your questionable and harmful romantic matches. My will is, after all, tied to yours. Forever and always…no matter how much either you or I believe that I have the free will to make my own decisions. In the end, I answer to you. This, you must realize.
“Impossible,” she said, flicking back a long tuft of white hair that came free of her bound tail. “I am a golem; I cannot be independent. My personality stems from his. As I’ve told you before, I act as his extension. His shadow, and his shadow self. It stands to reason why I feel more suited to serve him in a female form; because we are better balanced, better matched, as a male and female pair. Like night to his day, like black to his white, like hate to his love, I’m meant to be his opposite and his complement. Therefore,” the menace in her eyes died, mellowing into a staid and lambent shine, free of its spunk or combative edge and filling with unquestionable subservience towards the Master Alchemist, “you have my cooperation.” Sweeping an arm over her metallic, whirring core of a chest, she lowered her head into a bow. “I am your humble and obedient servant.”
“Oh Laz, that is simply not true.” A dissenting voice perked up behind them. Sylvie approached their twin workstations, hands fiddling together, almost bashful to be speaking her mind so bluntly. “You are meant to be you, Laz. Uncle Ari may have acted as the catalyst, but you are free to explore how you wish to express yourself, independent of Uncle Ari’s happiness. That said,” she lowered her eyes to the ground, “I do hope you consider Miss Nia’s proposal, and of your own volition. She has been nothing but kind, sweet, and so very generous to this family. Anyone who strives towards availing Uncle Ari of his curse, asking nothing in return, deserves our respect and bottomless gratitude—do you not agree?” She raised her head and tilted it to the side, a genuine flicker of confusion appearing in her dark eyes. “If you disagree, but feel inclined to agree out of respect for Uncle Ari, then I daresay you’ve already demonstrated the ability to think and react without his influence guiding your actions. If you were truly his complement, his shadow…well, a shadow’s existence is reliant upon the preservation of the one who casts it; ergo, you would not feel such hostility towards a loved one whose goal is to aid in both light and shadow. The operative question is: why would you aim to destroy yourself after going through such lengths to reinvent yourself? Does this not prove that you are not bound by Uncle Ari’s strings of fate and are responding to Miss Nia’s presence irrationally? Perhaps out of jealousy or…fear?”
Fear? Laz crossed her arms over her chest, frowning at the teenaged Canaveris’s odd phrasing. What a word to ascribe to a golem, a being created to be above fear, and above other petty human emotions! And yet…she had been compromised long ago, imbued with emotions that made no sense for her to possess in concert with Ari, who often felt and expressed the exact opposite. No wonder the most logical conclusion to make was to declare herself his shadow, but curiously, perhaps Laz was simply reacting to her master’s always upbeat attitude, and had developed her current personality through such naysaying reactions that, over the years, solidified into her chief emotions of suspicion, guardedness, and pessimism. They operated as Ari’s counter, but hadn’t they developed organically across the span of decades, and were not implanted by Ari’s unconsciousness, or by his forceful hand? The answer was not entirely clear, and Laz couldn’t understand her purpose beyond her primary function, the entire reason she was created, let alone understand why others had such high expectations for her to act like a human being and not just a hunk of clay with silly ideations of becoming something more. Then again…was that not the real reason she altered her body into one she chose for herself? To grow beyond the stagnant moniker of golem and graduate into a self-governing entity, capable of making decisions based on what she wanted? And if so, had she wanted Nia to leave, to stay far, far away from Ari, or was it as Sylvie claimed—fear-based? Much as Laz seemingly strove towards independence, so too did she despise the separation between her and Ari because…it was all she had, from the very start of her sapient life. Ari was her only constant, and if his goal was to free her of his control, she would be alone, and the thought of existing without the reassuring pulse of his lifeforce, alive in her mind, felt empty. Maddening. Suicidal.
After all, there was no such thing as a golem unbound. Not in full.
But…was this not why Ari wanted Laz and Nia to befriend each other? So that Laz could acquire independence and still remain entrenched and connected to her master? Through bonds, not of compulsory service, but of fondness and fellowship? Knowing Ari and his idealistic tendencies, this was exactly what he intended: change the methods of engagement, but not the source. Bonds would not be severed, but reconfigured in hopes of reaching peak optimization. In the end, Ari wanted everyone to benefit—Laz included. Under his ambitious guidance, she would never be cast aside, or abandoned. But wasn’t it also up to Laz to help realize Ari’s harmonious coexistence by trying?
“So how does this work, huh?” Uncrossing her arms, her relaxed stance shifted from Sylvie to Nia, her expression cool and flippant but less…heavy, accusatory, and casually cruel. “What does friendship entail? It was a simultaneous thing between Ari and me. I can’t say I know how to replicate the experience.”
Grinning from ear to ear, Sylvie clapped her hands together, expression alight with her own, less calculating brand of scheming than Hadwin, who had urged and encouraged her to involve herself with Nia and Laz’s dynamic in the first place, thus enabling her to monitor the process from start to finish. “Oh, this is wonderful news! Shall I schedule a playdate? If we can brainstorm some mutual interests, then we will have an easier go at generating some natural synergy between you two.”
Laz raised an eyebrow. “Interests?” She pointed a thumb over at the twin workstations containing the sheets of mica and completed fireflies. “Is this not an interest?”
Sylvie clicked her tongue, considering. “It can be, yes, but this is more of a work environment and not the best venue for friendly exploration. Best we save such things for the end of the day.”
“Ah,” Laz nodded, as if in understanding—but she didn’t understand. “Well, I have the same interests as Ari, so,” she shrugged, “I suppose it should not be so difficult to find common ground.”
“Yes, that’s the spirit! And I’ll tell you what,” Sylvie shielded a hand over her face and leaned into a whisper, “the two of you can leave earlier than scheduled. Do not fret over Nico; I shall handle him. Uncle Ari will sanction this, I’m sure,” she winked, “considering it was his idea.”
“I’ll accompany you to your training grounds,” Laz offered, a bit of an awkward shuffle in her feet as she addressed Nia. “I was there last night. Almost for the entire time. You have a long way to go before you’re any good at all,” she said, either unfazed or unaware of her blunt and borderline rude statement. Ari’s counter, indeed.
