“Please… Sylvie, you misunderstand.” As soon as she stepped in to intervene, Teselin knew that she was risking whatever relationship she had developed with Sylvie Canaveris. True to what the young woman said, Hadwin wasn’t hurting her. He wasn’t being violent in any way… but he was being reckless. And that was perhaps just as damaging, and just as dangerous. “I am not policing you--I haven’t even seen your uncle all evening, but believe me when I say that it is much better I saw you with Hadwin than him. Wouldn’t you agree? Can you even imagine what he would say or do--to you and Hadwin--if he had caught whom he considers the biggest scoundrel in the D’Marian settlement kissing his beloved niece?”
That was not the first thought on Sylvie’s mind. No, the Canaveris girl was more concerned with the fact that she felt betrayed by someone she had considered her friend, interrupting what she had interpreted to be the chance of a romantic escapade. And the young summoner wasn’t sure there was anything she could say to make the wayward young lady see reason.
“This is what Hadwin does, Sylvie. And that is precisely why… you should not become involved with him that way. It isn’t the romantic escapade you think it is…” Behind her mask, sympathy danced in her dark eyes. Sylvie meant no harm; neither did Hadwin. But that didn’t mean that harm wouldn’t come of the two of them being involved. “Sylvie--Sylvie, wait!”
She couldn’t be redirected, and before Teselin could make any further attempts to reason with her, the Canaveris girl took off, leaving the ballroom altogether. “Damnit all…” Of course, she had to follow, lest the girl find herself in even graver trouble with her emotions taking her away on other flights of fancy. Pushing past dancers and weaving her way through tables of wine and punch, the young summoner made her way through the ballroom, all the way to the other end, where she emerged at a koi pond. Predictably, Sylvie Canaveris stood, sulking nearby. But this time, Teselin did not have assuaging words of reassurance to offer. She was too spent, and she was… she was frustrated.
“Is this a typical Canaveris trait? To think that everything is only about you?” The youngest of the Kristeva’s demanded. She stood near the doors, but did not pursue Ari’s niece any further. “Has it even vaguely occurred to you, Sylvie, that this isn’t just about you? I’m not only looking out for your well-being, but Hadwin’s, too. Because he has been through hell, and he is barely recovered, and he never should have come tonight. But he played along with your game, and he got in over his head, and I know--I know that he is already beating himself up over getting too close to Lord Canaveris’s niece. Lord Canaveris, who has helped and housed him for weeks now while he has recovered, and for whom he actually has a lot of respect. To think that he just went and disrespected the man by initiating intimacy with his niece is only going to make him liable to give up on himself, and I have spent far too long making sure that he is holding himself together to have that shatter so easily. This isn’t one of your romance novels that you leave hidden in the guest rooms so that your uncle won’t chide you for it.” She could practically see Sylvie’s eye widen behind her beautifully-crafted mask. “Life is more complex than that. People are more complex than that, and people can get hurt. So think what you want, but in looking out for you and your safety, I was also looking out for his.”
It began to feel hot behind her mask. There was no reason to wear it outside, away from festivities, where her identity was already known. It wasn’t as though she had wanted to wear it in the first place. “But suppose this was all about you, for a moment. You resent your life so much, because your uncle has kept you sheltered and safe, but do you want to know what the alternative is? Being just… thrown out into the world, and forced to learn from deadly mistakes? Would you really have preferred that?” Teselin unfastened the mask at the back of her head and let it fall to the cool earth. “I used to be a lot like you, you know. Optimistic about everything. There was always a way, always a silver lining, always good in even the darkest of people… do you know where that led me? Right into the hands of Mollengard, where they tortured me to try and harvest my magic. Where they broke Lady Chara and stole her magic. Where I killed--intentionally, mind you--for the first time. That was the day I learned that as much as I wished otherwise, life is not a fairytale, and things are not always as they seem. And all I could think of was… was I wished I’d had someone looking out for me from the beginning. That I hadn’t had to venture near and far in search of someone I thought could help me… only to have him… let me down. Because, as it turns out, I couldn’t be helped.”
Thunder suddenly crashed overhead as Vitali crossed her mind, on an otherwise completely clear and mild night. Fortunately, thunder was as bad as it got… but Teselin couldn’t count on that being the case if she stayed. This is why you won’t ever find a place among normal people... “So you’ll have to forgive me if I can’t empathize with your plight. That you’re so stifled, because too many people look out for you and care for your safety, you’d give anything for some rogue to sweep you off your feet… if only life actually worked that way.”
Wiping her misty eyes on the back of her sleeve, heedless of the fine fabric and craftsmanship of the gown that had been made just for her, Teselin turned back and stepped through the doors opening onto the ballroom. For her, the night was over. She didn’t trust herself not to broach the safety of everyone in this villa if her emotions got too out of hand. “Hadwin!” Where had the faoladh run off to? She needed to find him, because if she was going to leave, it wouldn’t be without him. “Hadwin? Hadwin!”
And there he was: precisely where she thought he might be. Drowning himself in alcohol, so that he didn’t have to suffer his own sobriety. “Hadwin.” She placed a hand on his arm, lowering the goblet he was about to lift to his lips. “...I want to leave. To go back to the palace. Will you take me? Please?” Her heavy voice broke on the last word. There was no hiding that she, at least, felt her request was dire. “I… could use your company. I shouldn’t go alone.”
“I never claimed to be hiding my scent.” Elespeth lifted her chin indignantly as a flush crept across her partially-concealed face. “So perhaps I am Northern; and hail from Atvany, at that. Although I daresay, I have not in my lifetime witnessed anything beyond parlor tricks in Atvany. If magic isn’t rare, then I must have led quite a sheltered life, indeed.”
She was speaking her truth, though, despite the guise of hiding her identity. This news of Rigel Rigas originally hailing from Atvany was indeed new to her ears, and she couldn’t discern if Alster was telling the truth, or playing up their little improvisation act. “Rigas is not an Atvanian name. Certainly not to my knowledge. Not to question your credibility, Alster Rigas, but this is something I may well have to verify on my own. After all, you may be infamous… but you’re still a stranger. And I’ve been taught not to trust everything I am told without seeking further verification. Especially,” she arched a nicely groomed eyebrow in suspicion, “strangers who tell me I’m their thirteenth cousin several times removed.”
Elespeth was doing well playing her voy, yet vaguely interested persona, keeping Alster on the edge of wondering just how far she was willing to go. But the longer their charade endured, the more caught up she became in the forbidden atmosphere brewing between them. It made her wonder, that if they were strangers, would they spark a similar reaction? Would this chemistry have existed between them had they not already known one another under these circumstances?
Whatever the answer might have been (and she may never know), Alster was just as relentless in his charade, and with every inch she tried to put between them, he was just as quick to close it. “You’ve already deduced what you wanted to know,” she teased, half-lidded in her sultry gaze. “‘For science’, if I recall. If I kissed you again, now, wouldn’t that be a blatant betrayal to my husband? And to your wife? If I didn’t know better, Alster Rigas,” she blinked slowly, making a point to study his partially-concealed face, “I would think you are trying to cause yet another scandal. And what makes you think I want to be involved in yet another one of your controversies?”
“Mmm… really sweet of you to give me the opportunity to switch out costumes, but it was enough of an ordeal getting into this one. Maybe Isidor and Elespeth’s plan to have me put on weight is working a little too well…” She smiled wryly and, just as she had from the moment she set foot in the ballroom, resisted picking at the corset to allow a little more air into her lungs. And yet, this was, in and of itself, a blessing. That Ari could now hold her without feeling the jutting of her ribs and collarbone, that she could endure longer and more rigorous and longer bouts of exercise. Just as she had promised, she was coming through for everyone she was sworn to: Isidor, Elespeth, Alster… but especially Ari. So if anything, she wore that dress that might have been just a tad too small for her stature with pride.
“Aw, you’re too hard on yourself. The only reason you stand out has nothing to do with your dancing skills, and everything to do with the fact you look like a phoenix that has just risen from the ashes. But don’t worry--I honestly didn’t expect anything less. Not even for a second. If I can’t immediately pick you out in a crowd and then get eclipsed by your attire… then would you really be Aristide Canaveris?” Nia winked and took a breath, steadying her feet and slowly falling into sync with their swaying. “Honestly, as much as I’d love to get a little bit tipsy--or a lot--I won’t go against Isidor’s orders. I was kinda concerned as to whether I’d be able to hold back, you know, seeing everyone else having their fair share of libations, but… you know what I’d rather do?” The Master Alchemist pulled herself forward, only a hair’s breadth between their faces. “Be sober enough to remember every moment with you, tonight.”
There had been a time when she’d dreamed about this moment: dancing with Ari among well-dressed revelers, plunging head-first into a world of finery where she’d never thought she would belong. There had also been a time when she’d thought this dream had died, and nothing lay ahead but the darkness of the void. Now that reality was unfolding for her, and she was committed to a path that she wanted to pursue, the Ardane woman had been infinitely more mindful of her surroundings, the company she kept, and the second chances she had received, whether or not she felt she deserved them. But Nia was beginning to stop thinking about whether or not she deserved what was happening to her, and instead put her energy toward the outcome that she wanted: and that outcome was a future with Ari. One that, she hoped, he also was beginning to see was not simply possible, but probable.
“You are my future. I know this.” Nia murmured against his lips unabashedly, and heedless of whatever attention their public displays of affection attracted. “Tonight… this is just the beginning. You’ll see.”
When the second song ended, and she took a single step back to curtsey, Nia accidentally stepped into the path of a dark clad stranger in a raven mask, very nearly stumbling into them. “O-oh! I--” The apology died on the tip of her tongue before it could reach her lips, as soon as she caught the stranger’s hand to steady them. It didn’t seem to matter, as the person in the raven mask barely missed a beat and did not linger to hear an apology, but rather, almost seemed to flinch away from the Master Alchemist. Nia was rendered perplexed, and very, very concerned in the aftermath. “...Ari. Ah…” She sought the Canaveris lord’s hands as if to steady herself, suddenly very shaken. As if she had just come face to face with death itself. “Do you know… Is everyone here accounted for? As D’Marian or Galeynian? I-I just…” Drawing a shaky breath, she brought her lips to his ear so as not to be overheard. “Whoever that was… is not human.”
But as fate would have it, of course, when she turned to gesture to raven-masked reveller, they were nowhere to be seen.
Isidor almost immediately regretted the barrage of questions he lodged at Tivia as they all sprung to his mouth, completely unbidden. She had just reappeared and walked back into his life, quite literally moments ago… there would be time to talk and explain, wouldn’t there? No need to ask her to divulge now, when they stood conspicuously still among a crowd of dancing couples, some of whom surely wondered why they were at a standstill. But it was too late before he realized his grave mistake and backed away, much to his disappointment.
“You… you could come with me. To Nairit. If… you wanted…” The words were out before he could think better of them, and embarrassment immediately flooded his face. Fortunately, it was half-concealed beneath his mask, but there was nowhere to go but forward with such an assertion, so the socially-awkward Master Alchemist did his best to explain his way around the outburst. “Just… I know you seek solitude, and that you often find the world overstimulating. But Nairit is quiet. Nothing much ever happens, in the forest or even the villages beyond. I suppose some would call it boring, but it’s very… it’s soothing. Th-the world just lets you keep to yourself, if that is what you want. I know… that I’ve been vocal about wanting to return since the moment I arrived. But something has always held me back.” Be it Elespeth’s heart, or Alster’s friendship, Teselin’s plea for help, Queen Lilica’s request for aid in whatever ways he was able to provide it… and, of course, Tivia. During that short time they had been together, all thoughts of Nairit had dissolved to the back of his mind. Gone had been the days when he yearned to return to the safety of his tower, because none of it had appealed to him anymore. He’d have happily remained in Galeyn for Tivia, or even followed her all the way back to Stella D’Mare when the day came that the D’Marians decided to depart and reclaim their land.
But Tivia, like she had already asserted, would not ask him to stay. And whatever her future held, deep down, he knew that she was far too good and too ambitious for the sort of quiet life he’d resolved to live. Nonetheless… he couldn’t help but ask. Just in case, somehow, there was a chance that she might follow him the way he had so hopelessly followed her…
Of course, he should have known better than to allow wishful thinking to drive his hopes. “Tivia… wait.” When the star seer withdrew, he reached for her, but she was as ephemeral as the air. “Don’t leave yet…”
He didn’t expect her to change her mind, though, and made no effort to follow her when she disappeared into the crowd. “...I am through with surprises.” The plain black mask itched at his temples, and his eyes strained without his spectacles. The band suddenly felt too tight, and the Master Alchemist promptly untied it at the back of his head and allowed it to tumble to the ground like a discarded rag. “I never should have showed up tonight.”
Whatever surprises Tivia had in store, Isidor would have to find out later from secondhand sources. He’d had his fill of this ill-fated ball, had done his part to bring joy to the kingdom of Galeyn, and now the least he was owed was the right to call it a night and finally begin to pack up his belongings.
“You certain that’s a sound idea? Is it safe for the both of us to be spinning around, completely pissed-drunk?” Sigrid wondered aloud with a small frown, but had no choice but to be pulled along by Bronwyn as she found her way to the table that would (hopefully) take all of her worries away). As her inebriated mind slogged through what little logic it could comprehend in that moment, ultimately she knew the faoladh was right, and it was unfair that only one of them was inebriated enough to remember just how badly they didn’t want to be here.
“Wow--easy, there.” The blonde warrior’s eyes widened at the speed at which Bronwyn downed a glass of wine, and somehow still managed to look steady on her feet. “You know, there are times when I have trouble seeing the resemblance between you and Hadwin… but I guess dominating alcohol is a Kavanagh trait after all.It’s already taken me a half hour just to get through two glasses!” She resumed their positions when Bronwyn was finally ready, but her alcohol-induced confidence dampened ever so slightly when her dancing partner mentioned that friendly-competition between her and Haraldur. “And you think that practicing ballroom dance with Alster Rigas made either of us passable as dancers?” She smiled with one corner of her mouth. “Naimah made me try and try again until I got it right--much against my will. But, I guess she got what she wanted out of it: a passable dance partner. So… I can at least be as much to you, so long as you don’t go expecting perfection.”
Maybe it was the alcohol, but it was the first time she had managed to mention Naimah’s name without an air of melancholy or a catch in her voice. It was just a fact, a means of explanation for her passable ability to lead a novice in a dance. “I hated dancing for the longest time. A dancer once broke my heart for the very first time.” Sigrid confided--again, as a fact, and not as something causing her limitations. “I had an aversion to all types of similar celebrations for the longest time, too. But, the longer I’ve spent around Haraldur and his wife, and then with all of the experiences I shared with Naimah… it’s not so hard anymore. Even tonight isn’t as hard as I thought it would be. And for that… I believe I have you to thank.”
If Bronwyn had said something she considered embarrassing, Sigrid hardly noticed. “I mean… the wine has to receive some credit, but,” she chuckled, and guided the faoladh woman into a slow, practiced spin. “Wine or not, you wouldn’t find me dancing with anyone else here. And, for this being a first for you, you’re not nearly half bad, Bronwyn.”
Sylvie half-anticipated that Teselin wouldn’t be far behind, trailing after her in the garden. Despite her designation as a young, aristocratic woman who had come of age, she did not relish in drama or making a scene such as what had just occurred. Whatever reflected poorly on her family, she resolved never to do. As a Canaveris, she genuinely cared about emulating model behavior, both following and displaying the sacred tenets of hospitality, politesse, and gentility. To fall out of line, however slight, endangered her noble name, painting her as a pariah, an undisciplined and unmannered wild-child who couldn’t be entrusted to leave the nursery alongside her young brothers, and who might as well exist as background imagery; seen but never heard. Noblewomen could not afford such outbursts if they meant to improve their station and find a worthy partner in marriage. And yet, she took full advantage of her situation—the dissolution of Stella D’Mare, the diaspora, the indefinite halt on the societal pressures demanded and dictated by her upper stratum—to misbehave. After all, she was not the only member of the Canaveris family to buck convention. Uncle Ari’s appointment as Head and later, as Lord of Stella D’Mare heralded change, many nontraditional at best, controversial at worst. His relationship with Nia Ardane, for example. Sooner or later, all of Stella D’Mare and Galeyn would learn of their romance. And what then? The former nation was likely to excuse the controversy if Nia succeeded in lifting their leader’s curse, and the latter nation might follow suit, eventually, once her exploits became common knowledge. But what did Sylvie stand to gain from accepting Hadwin Kavanagh’s advances? Scandal. Scandals abound. She wasn’t ignorant to the dangers placed upon her good, pristine name, but if she couldn’t have any fun pretending to be a free woman, unbound and removed from harsh life consequences during a costumed ball, then where could she conceivably let loose for one blessed evening? Was this allowed only in her imagination, or in the escapist realms afforded to her in novels?
And why did Teselin, who she considered a friend, the first true female friend she acquired, seemingly resent her for accepting a little bit of trouble?
That resentment became clearer and clearer once the young summoner, who caught up to her in the garden, proceeded to lambaste her whims and fantasies with a tone so eviscerating, it was becoming increasingly more difficult to exercise patience and civility, especially when Teselin thought to insult her family name, thus implicating everyone else who had nothing to do with the conversation. Anger welled up inside her, a malformed thing, shamed into never mingling in mixed company, or in any company at all. Yes, she had lashed out before, and felt terribly enough to consider apologizing to the recipient of her frustration posthaste, but now that Teselin so mercilessly attacked her, it soon became impossible not to defend her pride, and the pride of her family.
“You forget yourself, Miss Kristeva,” she said, her tone clipped. Icy. So very much like her no-nonsense grandmother whenever facing her detractors. “I am not proud of violating my vows of hospitality, but you have gravely insulted not just me, but the whole of my family for no good reason. I thank you to leave them out of this. Furthermore, how dare you insinuate how I have made everything about myself while you have done a fine job of spinning the narrative in your favor? I suppose you do not realize how little I make anything about myself. It is never about me. It is about my uncle. My brothers. About Nia. About,” she swallowed a lump in her throat, “my father. About bolstering their stories, their legacies, and happily supporting them from the sidelines, absolutely asking for nothing in return. I do apologize for deciding to diverge from my preestablished path to indulge in a bit of frivolity for once. I also apologize that my very existence causes you so much pain. What do you want me to do? Force myself to become happy because I should be happy, considering my privilege and status? Is that what you think of me? A tool who is not allowed to mourn her station or desire anything different when I already have it all?”
She gripped her hand on the railing, trying to ignore the ease in which Teselin removed the mask she made expressly for her, but the sting of tears pricked her eyelids, nonetheless, as she watched her creation fall to the earth, discarded and unappreciated.
“Why is it necessary to live in a binary? Why must people believe that to reject or question certain elements of my upbringing means I must accept poverty, instability, vagrancy, and abject loneliness in return? Or that I do not love and appreciate who I am, where I am, and who loves me? Why is it so abhorrent to dream? Because terrible things have found you and you consider your misery ample ammunition to destroy someone else’s fleeting happiness? Why does every minute of every day require me to express nothing but gratitude and graciousness and absolutely no hint of resentment, or sorrow, or rage?!” Her voice pitched to an uncomfortable level, and would have continued to rise if not for the sudden clap of thunder that startled her into a few seconds of uneasy silence. Heat lightning was not uncommon in summer, and on a humid evening no less, but something about this thunder seemed…unnatural.
“My condolences, Miss Kristeva. I certainly cannot imagine all you and Mister Kavanagh have suffered,” she said, electing for a dram of diplomacy. “I find it admirable the levels of concern you express for your dear friend. I am not blind to his struggle—or to yours, either. Alas, I will not be made a fool of in my own home. Made to feel less for expressing just an ounce of selfishness and summarily withstanding a punishing diatribe about how I am not worthy of a listen because I do not know what it means to experience pain of any sort. Is that—is that how you view me? Did you ever see me as a friend? Or just a quaint curiosity you decided to humor in order to spare my feelings?” She caught the waver in her voice before it revealed too much of her vacillating state of mind. Canaverises didn’t break in public, especially not among guests. They must always present a strong front. Always.
“I see. I meant nothing to you, after all. I am nothing but my association to my uncle, merely tolerated so you might remain in his good graces. I am incapable of making my own decisions, my own mistakes, if doing so would prevent everyone from seeking his approval and his favor. I am nothing more.” She stared at the fallen mask, abandoned on the stones that framed the borders of the koi pond. “…Enjoy the party, Miss Kristeva.” Trying not to wilt visibly, she retreated from Teselin at the same time as she did, maintaining a stately bearing—up until she disappeared inside the residential wing of the Canaveris villa and made a mad dash down the empty corridor to her bedchambers. Blinded by tears, her peripheral vision obstructed by her mask, she didn’t see where she was going, such that when she opened her door to the pitch darkness within, she stumbled over the jutting leg of her chair and swerved into the vanity mirror, shattering a panel with the side of her head. The force of the blow sliced the bandit mask from her face, sending it to the floor like a black banner of surrender. It was not the only thing the broken mirror took from her.
Blood spurted from the point of contact, staining her temple red and leaving incriminating drip marks on the sleeve of her fine dress. The accident would have left a small gash on any normal face, but for Sylvie, the fresh wound bubbled over, expanding like freezing water turning to ice inside of a fissure, and began to crystallize. The crystal patterns spread inward, cracking the delicate injury like a geode as it continued its route upward, splitting her flesh violently apart.
Hadwin was hearing voices again, but this time, the voice that called his name sounded friendlier. Urgent, but not damning. So unlike what he was hearing over the beginnings of his marathon drinking binge. Fortunately, after his fourth drink, the malicious whispers dulled, consigning to a faint, background roar, and drowned by the swells of orchestral music. What called him now had to be coming from outside, in his immediate surroundings. Turning, he faced the source of those plaintive cries for his attention.
“Well hey, scamp. Just getting warmed up over here,” he threw her a flippant grin, underplaying, as always, his descent into madness. “Didn’t mean to worry you, before, but after this gulp I’ll have my wits about me, so I‘ll be ready to jump into the fray again, you’ll see!” But just as he was about to indulge in his fourth share of wine, and probably slug it down in a manner of seconds, resistance slowed his momentum, impelling him to pause the motions of his drinking arm and reroute his attention to the hand that halted him, and the person to whom it belonged.
He met Teselin’s frantic gaze, and what he saw in her tear-filled eyes bade him change his tune and listen with the urgency her request was due. So the thunder he heard earlier wasn’t due to his unreliable and out-of-whack senses. “Hey,” he placed a supportive arm on her shivering shoulder, his voice softening to a calming coo, “I’ve got you, Tes. You want out, I’ll get us out. We got a taste of a fancy Canaveris party, besides. I’m satisfied.” He lowered his hand to the small of her back and gently led her out of the crowded ballroom. “Let’s grab a taxi service.” In the not-so-far distance, he jerked his head at Briery, who was watching them—mostly him—like a vigilant mom watched her rowdy kids brutalizing each other with wooden swords; ready to step in at any moment to break them up. “You want out, too, Brie? We’ll have a quiet party at the palace. Sure we’ll have our run of the place, too, considering everyone in Galeyn’s packed tight in Fancypants’ ballroom.”
They weren’t two steps free of the libations table, however, when Hadwin sensed something…off. Peering over his shoulder, he pinpointed the sensation; it was radiating off an all-black figure in a raven mask—the unmistakable stench of death.
Death itself…had it come looking for him? An emissary sent by Rowen to drag him to the hell where he belonged? It stood to reason that if his dearly deceased sister haunted the place, other assorted wraiths and reapers were soon to follow.
Whatever the case, he wouldn’t let it anywhere near Teselin and Briery. Spinning to face the would-be threat, he set aside his (now empty) wine glass and stepped in front of the two women, spreading his arms in a protective, shield-like stance.
“So nice of you to join us, Death. Here to claim a soul?” He spoke to the raven-masked stranger, his grin straining the edges of his mouth with a plucked, manic energy. He bounced on the soles of his feet and his fingers curled in anticipation, ready to fight if necessary, heedless of the stacked odds. “No souls here, m’fraid. The devil’s gone and gambled them all away,” he gestured to the three among their group; Briery and Teselin, plus himself. “So move along. Nothing worth taking when nothing’s on the table.”
“Magic-user communities up north are secretive about their practices; they tend to remain underground. Not literally, but gifted people seldom go around advertising their abilities if doing so risks persecution. Granted, if you’re a mage from the north, you should already be knowledgeable about magic hiding in plain sight, among the secret-keeping populace. Seeing as you don’t, well,” Alster flipped a casual hand of dismissal at the subject, “I guess my assessment of you must be wrong, and you perhaps acquired your magic later in life—in Stella D’Mare, most likely. Oh, but here’s another tidbit for you.” He leaned over her shoulder, cupping a hand over his mouth to deliver a secret in an exaggerated format. “Rigel Rigas is a pseudonym. His real name, however, remains a mystery. There has been speculation, but nothing concrete. Besides, Atvany as we know it didn’t technically exist in Rigel’s heyday. A gentle reminder; Rigel walked this plane a little less than three thousand years ago. Whatever his name was then, don’t you think it might still differ from what is considered a traditional Atvanian name today, given how languages change, evolve, and shift around geographically?”
In truth, many of Alster’s factoids derived from the source, himself. As bearer of the Rigas Blood Seal, which housed Rigel’s spirit, Alster was privy to the Rigas founder’s presence, a variable entity that sometimes manifested as a sentient being eager to teach and dispel valuable knowledge to his chosen descendant, and sometimes as a concept, vast and widespread as the starry night sky. Lately, though, he existed as the latter; as Memory, but not Thought. A cache of stored nuts in a tree, but not its dispenser. Simply put, it was his fallow period, and he was in hibernation, waiting for the next major celestial event to activate and replenish his finite, dispersible energies.
“You’re right not to trust a stranger,” he concluded, pulling away from her ear in a tantalizing but hesitant show of restraint. “This specific stranger, in particular. My reputation precedes me, after all. I’d say I’m not fond of lying or spreading misinformation, but that’s exactly how a liar would frame his false honesty. I invite you to do your own research on the subject I’ve presented, but I daresay you won’t get very far without my assistance. I suppose that means I’ll be seeing you after tonight then, hmm?”
The orchestra started a new dance, but Alster’s attention was aimed elsewhere. Beyond the ballroom and the crowd, to some private sanctum somewhere nearby. Elespeth couldn’t expect him to do this all night! He didn’t have the mental stamina to survive their innuendo-laced badinage before he popped like an engorged tick and splattered on the floor. He suspected she was wearing thin, too. They needed to release all this agonizing tension before they suffered casualties!
“I have another science experience in mind. Would you care to accompany me in the garden,” his lips tightened into a wicked smile, “and I’ll explain it to you? Unless,” he induced a melodramatic yawn, a lowing sound of boredom, magnified by seismic degrees, “you’re concerned about your integrity if you’re further seen associating with me. Seeing as I don’t want you to suffer scandal on my account, perhaps it’s best you don’t come. I really can’t afford another black mark on my spotty, soot-stained ledger of sins. Excuse me and forgive me. Good evening to you—and I hope you successfully reunite with your husband.” Now it was his turn to withdraw and walk away. And walk away he did, teasingly grazing her arm before heading straight out of the ballroom and into the garden.
Ari never before needed to worry about the procedure pertaining to public displays of affection—until this evening. Considered impolite and disconcerting to some, the Canaveris Lord, who ruled over etiquette and public decency, should have established a few simple behavioral guidelines to avoid reducing his stately ballroom to a free-for-all bacchanal, but for one, he was not that much of a prude, and for another, guests would never adhere to the rule, scoffing at the very suggestion of a mouths-off event. On a more selfish note, Ari yearned to become part of the statistic. He wanted to flaunt his love within a venue that nary would dispute his desires, considering he was both the event’s facilitator and an anonymous face among the ranks. Perhaps not too anonymous a personage, true, given his well-known penchant for donning elaborate, over-the-top ensembles, but he felt a certain kind of thrill, nonetheless, in imagining voyeurs noticing a man who they identified, but could not verify, as Aristide Canaveris in a kiss-locked embrace with another woman. That Aristide Canaveris, who consigned himself to the walls and never accepted a dance that involved physical contact, was pursuing a romantic interest in the bare open? —they would likely remark. There would be speculation, and denial, and intrigue, but so long as he never unmasked himself to reveal the man beneath the winged, rainbow-colored coat, revelers could do nothing more but spread unsubstantiated rumors, which in turn added an extra layer of protection and mystique over his person of interest. No doubt the crowd would scramble their brains to discern the identity of the fairy woman who so boldly engaged the maybe Canaveris lord, but so long as Ari remained a maybe and not a definite, then Nia also fell into the ‘maybe interesting’ category, which was worlds more preferable than the ‘definitely notable’ designation.
As with all things, unfortunately, their moment of pure, unconcerned bliss had reached its terminus the moment Nia withdrew into a curtsy and collided with a passing reveler. A non-issue, as far as encounters went (unless the collision created a full-blown, on-the-floor incident, as was the case with him and Chara), Ari didn’t see much of a problem, until Nia returned to his proximity and whispered her findings.
“Nia.” He stabilized her trembling hands. “Are you well? It is as though you have glimpsed a ghost.” By her vague explanation, he didn’t quite grasp her sense of urgency or fear. Not human encompassed a lot of categories, and if one culture embraced non-human entities and characteristics, it was Stella D’Mare, a city ‘founded’ by a demi-god and briefly ruled by a Rigas who assimilated with a cosmic hell-beast. Even one of his dearest friends was a golem. He expressed as much whilst he looked in the direction where the raven-masked reveler once inhabited, but his confusion abated when Nia’s clarifying remarks had put the encounter into better perspective.
“Do you suspect that this stranger may mean us harm? If so…” he paused, lapsing into temporary, concentration-induced silence. “I passed your message to Laz. She will search for Raven-mask and inform Commander Sorde and the other incognito Forbanne on the premises about this potential threat. They will locate this individual and keep a close eye on their movements and whereabouts. Meanwhile, we shall circle the ballroom for the raven under the pretense of dancing and making merry. We mustn’t alert our guests or worry them needlessly. This is a discreet operation. Further, I would like to find Lord Rigas in this crowd; he too should be kept abreast of this potential disturbance.”
Amid flushing out Alster’s whereabouts, Ari and Nia stumbled across someone else entirely. Bereft of a mask and looking both lost and determined to locate the nearest exit, Isidor crossed their path, completely oblivious to everyone around him.
“Isidor,” he hailed the discombobulated and obviously distressed Master Alchemist, politely blocking his route before he sailed past them altogether. Was the reason for his upset also in relation to their persona non grata? It did not hurt to ask. “It’s Ari. Is everything…? Did you perchance encounter a reveler wearing a raven mask? We have reason to believe,” he closed their distance, dropping into a confidential whisper, “that this person may pose a danger to our guests. Any information or aid you might offer would be a godsend.”
“It’s more of a faoladh trait, if we’re being honest,” Bronwyn licked her lips to clear some of its clinging wine residue, but it did nothing to remove the leftover stains that darkened her mouth a reddish pink. “Hadwin can’t take all the credit for his ‘talent,’” she rolled her eyes. “Faoladh are exceptionally fast at healing from injuries or certain imbalances in the body; flesh wounds, broken bones, and poison, to cite some examples. Alcohol is a type of poison. That’s how the body treats it, anyway; as something to be filtered and flushed out of our systems, posthaste. So rest assured; I might have drunk two glasses at once, but I’ll be sober in a few minutes. Lucky for me I never started a drinking habit; for faoladh, it’s an expensive hobby to pursue, as you can imagine.” Her smile faded a little. Would her mother still be alive, she wondered, if she never turned to booze and herbal substances for relief? So constant was her necessity to never stay sober that she roped a young Hadwin into her get rich quick schemes and in so doing, passed along her ugly habits to a new generation. While Bronwyn generally avoided any mind-altering concoction out of principle, lately, the allure had become almost impossible to ignore, leading her to believe if Sigrid, well-meaning though her comment, was correct. Perhaps alcoholism did run in the Kavanagh family, and she would be claimed as its next casualty.
“So then,” she eased on her smile anew, focusing on the threads of Sigrid’s lighthearted conversation to steer her out of the gloom, “between you and your cousin, who would you say is the better dancer now? Y’know, if you decided to open back up that friendly competition and challenge him again…for whatever reason.” As they glided along the dance floor, she didn’t falter or stumble at the mention of Naimah, and probably had the alcohol to thank for cushioning the ever so grim reminder that…Rowen murdered Sigrid’s lover, and wasn’t it so messed up that she, the sister of Naimah’s murderer, should be dancing so carefree with Naimah’s partner? And yet, it didn’t feel wrong, somehow. On the contrary, it felt…comforting. A little awkward in places, but not objectionable, or inappropriate.
“I have little to no experience with celebrations. I guess I was like you in that regard; resistant, and for no reason other than I found them a monumental waste of time. Dancing, singing, making merry…I associated them as vices. Naturally, anything my brother liked, I hated. He was always my point of reference for what not to do. That’s sibling rivalry for you. Speaking of,” she winked conspiratorially at Sigrid, “we’re not going to tell Hadwin we’re having a good time, right? You just know he’s going to gloat at us and say we were just being a bunch of party poopers and all we needed was a little push and blah blah. I refuse to give him the victory he wants. But,” she cocked her head at Sigrid, amber eyes granting her an incredulous stare, “I’m to thank? I’ve barely arrived, Sigrid. The alcohol must really be getting to your head if you believe that five minutes in my company has made this night a transformative experience for you. But,” she stared at her feet, suddenly and inordinately concerned with pacing and proper foot technique, “I should thank you, too. For showing me something new and getting me to not hate it. If you say I’m not half bad, though, it’s,” she cleared her throat, self-consciousness returning as the wine’s potency in her system steadily waned, “it’s because I have an excellent teacher.”
“A pseudonym, you say? So the entire basis of your bloodline, you’re telling me--you don’t even know the true origins of what you call yourself? Interesting.” Elespeth tapped her chin thoughtfully. If Alster wasn’t making this up, then it was a topic she wouldn’t have minded exploring… if, that is, she could ever find a way to gain access to Atvany. Where the kingdom still believed her dead, however, that was a pipe dream that might best be forgotten.
“Well, for your intriguing company, Alster Rigas, I’ll give you this much: I do happen to hail from Atvany. As to how I acquired my magic, well…” The former knight pressed her lips together thoughtfully, as if considering her answer. “I am not so sure it is safe for me to reveal as much to a stranger--one known for a nefarious magic of his own. Although I must say, you certainly are a wealth of knowledge and have excellent skills of observation. Perhaps that is exactly what makes you so dangerous.”
Completely to Elespeth’s surprise, her attempt to mercilessly tease her husband completely turned around on her. Alster took her very own ploy and used it against her--turning his back on her and walking out into the Canaveris gardens, with a half-hearted invitation for her to join him. He had just turned his back on her! To think, that he had the nerve to play hard-to-get when it had been her game first. So just to spite him, the former Atvanian waited. One minute--two. Would he come back to get her? Or just stand in the garden and squirm, wondering if walking away had been the wrong idea?
Lucky for him, Elespeth’s desire and the excitement of playing their little game won out over her obstinacy, and the golden reveler finally made her way, slowly but with purpose, out to the garden. Alster wasn’t immediately visible in the dim light that lit the garden from the windows, but neither was he too difficult to find. He appeared relaxed, leaning against one of Ari’s statues, but she knew that deep down, she must have made him squirm a little.
“I didn’t peg you as someone to invite a lady somewhere and then so rudely turn your back on her.” Elespeth stood before her husband, planted her hands on her hips, and pasted on her most convincing frown. “Here I thought you had more class than that. Well, I certainly hope that whatever ‘experiment’ you have in mind strikes my fancy… or else I may just walk away from tonight a little bit offended. So?” Removing her hands from her hips, she folded her arms stubbornly. “What did you have in mind?”
Unlike the majority of people she knew, including Bronwyn, Sigrid, and Isidor, Hadwin had actually been excited to attend this soiree. Teselin had seen it every step of the way, ever since the masquerade had been announced. The way he had trained with Nia and Elespeth to regain his strength such that he could enjoy a good dance. How he had been resting and eating healthy proteins for muscle and carbohydrates for energy. Hells, he was giddy as a schoolboy just getting ready, prepared to astound all in his devil’s mask and cause whatever light mischief he could among the revelers--and really, Teselin had no right to ask him to leave. Sure, he’d run into just a little bit of trouble, but he’d recovered quickly enough, and now was on his way to his typical drunken state of satisfaction. He showed not the slightest desire to remove himself from the situation, even after that slip-up… and yet, she still asked him to leave with her. Because she knew he would not refuse her. Perhaps he was the only person in this room who would see to it that she did not catch a ride back to the palace, and… she just couldn’t be here anymore.
“I shouldn’t be here… I’m losing control. I guess… this is too much for me, after all. I shouldn’t have come.” The tears collecting in her eyes trickled down her face. Where everyone else seemed to be making progress in their journeys, ever since her capture by Mollengard, the young summoner felt as though she was taking several steps back. The universe responded to her emotions and vibrations all too readily. What chance did she have at living an average life if she couldn’t even maintain a normal relationship with a girl close to her age? The truth was, in the wake of Locque’s demise, things hadn’t gotten better for her, unlike the rest of the kingdom. If anything… it left her in a worse mental condition than before they had unearthed Galeyn. “You deserve to have the time that you wanted. I know how badly you’ve wanted to experience this, but I… I don’t feel safe leaving alone. I don’t know who else to ask.”
Of course, the faoladh put up no argument, and no amount of inebriation would change his decision. His loyalty to her was steadfast--however much she didn’t deserve it. Nonetheless, she was eternally grateful as he led her out without another word. On the way, another familiar face (and costume) caught Hadwin’s eye, and he called Briery over to join them. Of course he acrobat had been keeping an eye on him this entire time, making sure he was alright. “Hadwin… Teselin?” The Missing Links’ ringleader furrowed her brow in concern at the sight of the young summoner’s tear-streaked face. “My dear, are you alright? Has something transpired?”
“I’m alright. I… I did not realize this would be too overwhelming for me.” Teselin wiped her damp face on her sleeve. The sleeve of the gine gown that Sylvie had organized to be made for her… Had it been necessary that she be so frank with Ari’s niece? Hadn’t she been trying to be her friend? The first friend close to her age (and female, at that) that she’d ever had the opportunity to make? Sure, Sylvie had made a poor error in judgment in pursuing Hadwin as some idle romantic goal, but as someone who had lacked a good deal of initiative in her life since she became her siblings’ primary caregiver… could she blame her? Maybe it really isn’t safe for me to have friends. “Hadwin… I don’t think I’m going to come back here. To the Canaveris villa. I’m going to stay at the palace from now on.”
“Whatever your reason, Teselin, I’m sure that won’t be a problem.” Briery reassured her with a comforting hand on her shoulder. “If Hadwin needs to remain here as the remainder of his recovery is overseen by Nia Ardane, then I am more than happy to stay behind and check in on him. For now--let’s all take a break from these festivities.”
As they moved toward the exit together, something--or rather, someone--caught Hadwin’s eye. Since the outcome of such a distraction had been poor (to say the least) last time, both Briery and Teselin stood alert with concern when the faoladh finally stepped forward to confront someone: a man in a dark cloak and a raven mask. The man that Teselin immediately recognized as the stranger who had silently asked for a dance, and who had ended up dancing with Sylvie, instead.
“Hadwin… it’s alright. I’ve seen this person once tonight already.” The young summoner gently squeezed his arm, and flashed the black-masked stranger an apologetic look. “He danced once with Sylvie. I doubt he’s set out to do anyone harm.” But as she said that, Teselin couldn’t quite decide whether or not she believed it. There was something decidedly off putting about this man and his foreboding costume that made him appear a little less than welcoming, in direct contrast to all of the other colourful and inviting costumes. Her words to Sylvie suddenly resonated in her mind: how the world was not so kind, and had since taught her how dangerous her naivete had been as a girl who had once seen good in everyone. And it did cross her mind, noting Hadwin’s visceral paranoia of this raven-masked reveler… that perhaps he was seeing pr sensing danger with more accuracy than she was giving him credit for.
“I don’t know. I… maybe I’m too high-strung.” Nia shook her head, trying in hindsight to process exactly what had been so alarming of the dark-clad stranger she’d accidentally collided with. Among two very magically-inclined populations, was it really so odd to find an individual who deviated from typical human origin? After all, both she and Isidor Kristeva themselves easily classified as other considering their status as Master Alchemists. Who was she to judge another being for the matter of which they were created? Wasn’t that just the cauldron calling the kettle black? And yet…
And yet--they’d seemed familiar. Nothing that she had ever detected before through her bare fingertips, but the individual was somehow far from foreign to her. And the feeling that familiarity elicited was not comforting. “It could be that I am overreacting. But I don’t… think that I am. It’s not like a magically inclined population is all going to be made of the same materials, but that stranger in the raven mask gives me bad feelings. Sorry I can’t be more specific. And… sorry I’ve ruined our chance at what may be our only opportunity to openly dance together for a while.” Nia frowned, disheartened enough that she wished she’d never collided with that stranger. Whatever danger they may or may not be… she’d have been happier not knowing anything about it at all. Sometimes, ignorance was bliss. Why oh why did the universe have to throw this at her now? Was it really dead-set against them stealing a few precious moments together?!
“I’m so sorry… I shouldn’t have said anything. I’d have been happier never knowing of any potential danger, but…” The Master Alchemist sighed and linked her arm through Ari’s. “Even if I’m wrong, it would be irresponsible to let this go. If I’ve learned anything over the years, it’s that paranoia is safer than ignorance, even if it’s not nearly as fun. Let’s make our rounds and keep our eyes open for Alster and--Isidor?”
They were nearing the entrance back into the foyer when both the Ardane woman and the Canaveris lord met with an unmasked friend. Isidor Kristeva, who looked startled (and perhaps a little disheartened) to see two costumed revellers with familiar voices both appeared to be making his way toward the exit. Wherever he was headed, he knew well that his plans had just been interrupted. Given Ari’s ostentatious costume, along with the woman who accompanied him, it did not take him long to discern their identities. “...Lord Canaveris. Nia. I, um… I appreciated the mask. I simply had to remove it so that I might retrieve my spectacles and have my eyes rest a little…”
Ari didn’t appear to hear a word he’d said when he finally voiced a strange request. A reveler in a raven mask? Why did this strike the Canaveris lord and his annoying consort with such concern. “Well… much earlier, this evening, an attendee of such a description asked my sister for a dance. She declined, and instead, they ended up dancing with your niece, Ari. But that is all that I can really speak to this matter…”
“They danced with Sylvie?” Nia’s eyes widened in alarm. “Isidor, is she alright? Where is Sylvie?”
“I-I don’t know; forgive me, I did not realize that it was my duty here to keep an eye out for the well-being of impressionable young women… with all respect, Lord Canaveris,” Isidor frowned and took a step forward. “What is this all about?”
“Well, for starters, they’re not human. And on top of that--they gave me a really, really bad feeling.” Nia answered instead. “And if they danced with Sylvie, and none of us has seen her since then, it’s all the more reason for concern. Ari,” she turned to her lover and cupped his face, her brown eyes pools of concern. “Tell Laz to keep an eye out for Sylvie as well. We don’t know…”
Nia trailed off, her hand dropping to her side as something beyond Ari caught her eye. “...there. Over there. It looks like… that man in a devil’s mask is already confronting them.”
Without another word, Nia hurried through the crowd toward where Hadwin, Teselin, and Briery essentially had the reveler in the raven mask cornered, with both Isidor and Ari following closely behind. Recognizing the unmasked Teselin instantly, it only took a moment for her to realize the the person standing before her so protectively must be Hadwin, and the other woman boasted the lithe yet strong form of Briery Frealy. “Hey, Tes--it’s Nia. Ari and Is are right behind me. Are you alright?” She rested a hand on the young summoner’s shoulder. Teselin, unmasked, looked to have just been crying. The Ardane alchemist’s gaze immediately went to the accused guest in the raven mask. “...hey, Hadwin. So you’re getting the same bad vibes from this one too? Glad it’s not just me. You.”
Nia took a bold step forward next to the faoladh, silently challenging the eerily quiet stranger. “If I’m wrong about this, call me the asshole, but there’s something about you that puts me off--and it’s not just the fact you aren’t human. And the fact that you were supposedly dancing with Sylvie Canaveris earlier, and that no one can find her now, is--sorry, but that’s a little suspicious.” Lifting her hand, she pointed an accusing finger at the raven-masked reveler. “Who exactly are you?”
“...my. And here I thought I was attending an event where masks were not so incriminating.” That voice… Anyone who had heard that voice before, could put a face to it, no longer needed the raven-masked stranger to remove his mask. Immediately, Teselin, Isidor, and even Nia all tensed, on edge, for they knew exactly what they would find when that mask came off…
And the lot of them found themselves in the presence of none other than the late medium and necromancer, Vitali Kristeva. Taller, that what most remembered, but only one person had that face… and those menacing dark eyes.
“...no. No… fucking way.” Nia, slack-jawed, could hardly find the words. Neither could anyone else, for that matter. “You’re dead. You were dead. I confirmed it. So how… no. What the hell are you doing back from the dead?!”
“I should have known. You wanted us to all think it was the last we’d see of you.” Isidor spoke up, quiet, yet unmistakably angry. Betrayed. “But you aren’t you anymore, are you? You’re something else. Couldn’t even come back true to your form.” The Master Alchemist scanned the necromancer from head to toe, silently remarking on his enhanced height. “I hope you realize you are obligated to explain yourself.”
Vitali smiled, sly yet otherwise unreadable. “Of course, it was always my intention. Though I must say--I had hoped to ease into this transition in a more subtle way that I thought this lovely masquerade would allow.” The infamous necromancer then turned to the one person who hadn’t spoken out or reacted to his true identity: the young summoner who, eyes wide, clearly could not believe what she was seeing. “Rather… I feel some deserve an explanation before others. Teselin.” Vitali spread his hands, palms up, as both a plea and a gesture of helplessness to his younger sister. “I’d hoped that, by the end of the evening, you could know the truth, if no one else.”
Teselin, still wide-eyed, remained silent for a beat as she searched her feelings to settle on the way she really felt in this moment that she hadn’t anticipated--and at a time when she was already emotionally exhausted. New tears escaped her eyes, and her words nearly got caught in her throat. “...how dare you.” They emerged in a whisper that likely wouldn’t have carried on the air, had everyone else around her gone completely silent. Her small hands were clenched into tight, trembling fists, barely containing whatever rogue emotions were pushing her to a breaking point. “How dare… you come back now… after you already made us suffer your loss!”
It wasn’t likely anyone heard her very last word, for it was on that note that every piece of glass in the room--windows, wine glasses, even the tiny crystals decorating some costumes--shattered. Fragments and shards scattered about the crowd, eliciting a cacophony of gasps and startled screams. Isidor was suddenly glad to not be wearing his spectacles; boht Nia and Briery, whose costumes has sported tiny glass decals of some sort, flinched at the fragments that scraped their skin. Briery, who had been sporting a dainty bracelet of glass beads, cradled her wrist which now sported superficial cuts and tears from the fragmented remains of her jewelry. Nia, fortunately, was luckier, and appeared unscathed. Before any of the revelers really had time to collect themselves, Teselin pushed past everyone, her two brothers included, and made her haste exit from the ballroom.
“Well… I certainly wish I had that faoladh ‘talent’. Weeks of recovery from fight-related injuries is infuriating. And you’re lucky you’ve never witnessed me struck with seasonal illness.” Sigrid’s mouth twisted into an amused grin. “I’m not quite so valiant when struck with a fever. But, well, at least in your case… you’re lucky there seems to be no real absence of alcohol here tonight.” The blonde warrior nodded to all of the tables of libations that lined the room. Every time a wine bottle emptied, it was replaced with two others. How Galeyn, of all places, seemed to have an endless supply of alcohol was well beyond her.
“Rest assured, though--neither me nor Haraldur has any interest in revisiting that competition. He learned to dance to fit in with Vega’s court; I learned to bug him.” Sigrid snorted. “But I suppose… while he’s had more practice than I have, I was brought up on a fighting style that relies on understanding and synthesizing all of the moves of my fellow fighters in the Dawn Guard. We won battles because we moved as a unit--which isn’t so different from a dance, I suppose. On the contrary, Haraldur has always fought as an individual. So if I take into account all of this alone… I guess I’d have to say I have a bit of an advantage over him where it comes to dancing.” She winked through the eyeholes of her mask and chuckled. “And--you are damn right, we breathe not a word of any enjoyment to your meddling brother. And if he protests, or happens to glimpse at us, the story is that it took a good deal of alcohol to find ourselves on the dance floor. Which… really isn’t a grand deviation from the truth, is it?”
Sigrid’s mouth stretched into a grin, contrasting the fluttery sense of unease that she felt from Bronwyn’s compliment. Not that it was unwanted, but rather… somehow, it struck her, in a way that it wouldn’t had anyone else paid her a compliment. Why did it happen to matter to her so much that the faoladh woman thought she was a good dancer, when she hardly gave a thought to dancing at all?
Her thoughts--among everyone else’s, it seemed--were interrupted by the sudden, piercing sound of equally piercing shards of broken glass, sailing through the air, landing on the floor, underfoot, and even grazing the skin or costumes of some unlucky revelers. Anyone holding a wine glass sported a bloody hand, anyone lingering too close to the tables might have had it even worse. But Sigrid didn’t stop to consider what was happening: as soon as she heard the sound, saw the first shard of glass sparkling in the air, she pulled Bronwyn forward in a sharp tug and temporarily covered the faoladh woman’s body with her own. A half a moment later, she straightened, and didn’t hesitate to take her dance partner’s face into her hands. “Are you alright?!” Her blue eyes scanned first Bronwyn’s face, then her arms, her body, for any blood or embedded shards. “What in all hells is going on…?!”
“Wait a moment…they danced with Sylvie?” The incredulity—and alarm— in Ari’s voice was unmistakable. He stiffened in Nia’s hold. Not into stone, thank goodness, although the news elicited a slight, human-proportioned shock from him. Silence cast over him, but not from a lack of anything to say. A light finger tap to his temple hinted at how he was spending those precious reactive seconds. “I have informed Laz to prioritize Sylvie in her search. We shall find her and subsequently, get to the bottom of this unwanted aberration.”
As happenstance would have it, they didn’t need to wander far before spotting the aberration in question. While there was no abundance of revelers sporting raven masks or a similar black-feathered aesthetic, this one in particular, locked in a confrontation with a devil-masked man, carried a presence, and not just owing to their impressive height. Earth mages weren’t as attuned to energy as their celestial counterparts, but even Ari could sense, albeit faintly, something sinister about their aura, like an imposter donning human skin to pass as normal, and doing an inadequate job of concealing their otherness.
Nia dashed on ahead before Ari could issue a warning, leaving him to scoop up the hems of his heavy, multi-layered robes and toddle after both Master Alchemists at a hurried but insufficient, awkward pace. Of all the evenings, ironically, to dress to the point of gross overextravagance! By the time he caught up to the fracas, Nia was already engaged in unmasking the stranger alongside the red devil—who she verified as Hadwin Kavanagh. The stranger, needing no further prompting, obliged, and proceeded to speak.
Vitali Kristeva—as identified by the people most familiar with his acquaintance. Ari met the notorious necromancer in person only once, at a meeting, but it was not a long enough encounter to internalize his cadence and manner of speech. That was not to say he was completely ignorant of the unmasked—literally—reveler; Ari knew him by his deeds, most notably those meant to trick and unseat Nia’s delicate wellbeing. In short, he did not have a high opinion of the man. His opinion, however, did little to dampen his surprise at seeing the confirmed dead necromancer not only alive, but at his masquerade, dancing gaily with his niece!
“Vitali Kristeva,” Ari approached the unsettling…man? Was 'man' the correct word for an inhuman being favored by the hands of death, allowed to walk the material plane as some semblance of an undead being? No, Vitali had shed his humanity long ago. Even standing in his direct proximity left Ari reevaluating his placement, lest death’s energies, sensing his fast-diminishing mortality, reach out and kill him on the spot. He grasped Nia’s hand, both as a comfort and as a rope leading her away from Vitali. “Let others ask the most pertinent questions of you, but allow me to ask you this; have you done anything untoward with my niece, and where has she gone?”
Of all the people present, Hadwin seemed the least rattled by Vitali’s dramatic unveiling, rising where others drooped, stewing in the tense, thick soup of uncertainty. “Was wondering when you’d show the hell up!” Dispensing his fighting stance, the red devil dropped his arms and straightened to a full, relaxed height. “Honestly thought you were here to kill me! You don’t smell a thing like how you used to. This a new body or what?”
Ari, desperate to focus on just a grain of reality, of sanity, latched on to the most comprehensible sentence he heard uttered so far. To Hadwin, he asked, “You knew he would return?”
The red devil shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. “Call it a hunch. Vitali’s no dealbreaker and we’ve got unfinished business. Your niece wasn’t with him, by the way,” he said, pulling back his mask so that it rested over his head. “She was with me.”
Ari wasn’t afforded the time to parse Hadwin’s meaning or even to register outrage before Teselin Kristeva’s tiny voice lulled everyone to an uneasy feeling of dread. Even the faoladh, animal instincts flaring, dropped his easygoing affectation and sidled close to the summoner, fingers fluttering featherlight over her clenched fist. But whatever small gifts of succor he tried to provide were not enough, nor were they ever enough.
He didn’t understand what was happening. Similar to his near-fatal experience on Darkest Day, the world exploded. And shattered. Broken glass from every direction erupted, raining down shards, some as sharp and big as knives and some launching as projectiles with killing intent. Screams peppered the air as guests sustained injuries of unknowable scope. Nicks and scratches, yes, but grievous wounds, lethal wounds, were all too possible.
An unmooring from overhead stayed Ari’s frantic thoughts. Three crystal chandeliers of impressive size disconnected from the ceiling and came crashing down in a torrent of impaling raindrops. He closed his eyes tight, and Nia’s hand tight, frozen by fear and frozen in place, both figuratively and literally. Limbs hardened and calcified, spreading like wildfire, anchoring his feet, his legs, his escape, and there were too many missiles for his magic to counter with a pulverizing spell when he couldn’t even move and…
The shards didn’t come.
Opening one flinching eye, he witnessed something truly mystifying, too mystifying to quantify, explain, or…believe. The shards still hung in the air, yes, but they were…reverting to their places of origin. Exploded glass flew, but in reverse, slotting into windows like puzzle pieces, reuniting broken wine glasses, and reforming the stately chandeliers to their original, untampered glory. Before his eyes, ruined jewelry reconstituted whole, the beads stitched upon gowns reappeared, unaltered, wounds undid themselves, blood and detritus disappeared, and the entire ballroom reconstructed to its former state, nothing out of place or out of joint, save for the disheveled and shaken state of its uninjured revelers.
To gauge if he was hallucinating, Ari turned his head to check the expressions of everyone in his vicinity. Nia, Briery, and Isidor appeared just as stunned. Vitali’s expression was unreadable, and Hadwin was…gone, a red devil mask discarded upon the spot he once inhabited. No one questioned his obvious whereabouts; he had gone to chase after Teselin.
“What…what in hell and creation just happened?!” Ari, dazed, sputtered the question doubtless on everyone’s minds. “First, it was raining shards, and now…” He checked the status of his limbs. Both legs succumbed to stone, from foot to femur, effectively rendering him as the ballroom’s newest stationary centerpiece. No petrified organs, as far as he could tell.
“You experienced time in retrograde. While you didn’t shift from your axial position in the universe, your surroundings did. Everything has been restored to as it was seconds prior to the event save for the event itself, which still happened. That is something I can’t influence. All I can do is invert the damage.” Another person joined their small party. A woman in a starry gown alighted beside Vitali, her hands glowing yellow from residual etherea. A mourning veil trailed behind her steel-spiked coronet, freeing her face from concealment and thus allowing her to become subject to scrutiny. Ari knew this woman—a Rigas, by her pointed ears and manifestation of magic—but she appeared older, from what he remembered. If he was recalling the same person, she would have been close in age to Sylvie, but this was no girl, no teenager. By the sharper lines in her one visible eye, the faint creases in her brow, and the subtle, but defined shape of her nose, mouth, and jawline, she was a young woman.
Another feature threatened to cast Ari’s suppositions into the realm of second-guessing: the left side of her face. Where it was once subject to severe burns, the scar tissue, of what he could discern from under her black eyepatch, was faint, a rosy coloration textured in places with shallow ripples.
“Forgive me if I am wrong, but,” he bowed, however much his compromised ability allowed, “are you Tivia Rigas?”
The suspected woman brushed a hank of loose, golden blonde hair from her forehead and tucked it into her elaborate braided bun, which was fast losing its form and threatened to unravel. From the sallowness appearing in her sun-toned cheeks and the perspiration soaking into her scalp, whatever spell she cast had left her fairly overheated. “I suppose I am,” she answered, her luminous gray eye trained on his mouth. For ease of reading his lips, he inferred, but from the way she had her head positioned, turned at such a severe angle it had to be hindering her ability to understand him, he wondered if her behavior bore any relation to Isidor, who was standing directly across from her line of sight. Shame seemed to ply at her brow, as if she didn’t want him to see her so changed, so inexplicably aged. While she was still ostensibly young, a significant age difference occurring within a matter of months posed even more questions, and Ari did not have the mental capacity to absorb the convoluted history of Tivia Rigas’s rampant misadventures.
So he accepted it without pressing for clarification. Accepted everything. Accepted dead men walking and the terrifying possibilities of yet another unstable summoner running amok. Accepted time-reversal magic and rapid aging. Perhaps he should accept his inevitable death, as well.
“Ari!” Laz rushed over to her rainbow-attired lord, but not without first casting suspicious side glances at Vitali and Tivia. “I don’t know what happened, but the entire ballroom is in a furor! You need to make an announcement and calm them down!”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Far from in impeccable condition, his petrified legs notwithstanding, Ari reluctantly released Nia’s hand (the last thing he needed was a scandal), fished a resonance stone from his pocket, and shakily brought it to his lips. “Honored guests,” his voice projected from every corner of the expansive ballroom, carrying its soundwaves both indoors and outdoors. The tumult of the crowd ceased. “Difficult as it is to properly express the enormity of this incident, and its bizarre aftermath, I will do my level best to explain the situation and our response to it. First of all, you are safe. The culprit is no longer on the premises and my guards are intent on keeping it that way. I understand the confusion and terror you must feel, but we mustn’t panic, and we mustn’t storm out of the ballroom in a frenzied mob lest we exacerbate matters further. I cannot guarantee your continued safety if you decide to create a writhing mass of humanity and stampede toward the nearest exits. Someone most certainly will get hurt. As it stands, we are in the presence of powerful warriors and casters who will ensure, and have ensured, your welfare. I am with one of them right now.” He gestured at Tivia. She went rigid as all eyes fell on her. Ari glanced askance at the flustered star-seer and mouthed, ‘Forgive me.’
“Tivia Rigas managed to reverse the effects of the glass explosion through unprecedented feats of magic before thought impossible. It is she we must thank for her forward-thinking and lightning-swift initiative. She has saved lives tonight, of that I am certain.” The person of honor fiddled with a pair of dangly earrings, trying to remain cool and aloof. To grant her a reprieve from the unwanted attention, Ari adjusted the angle of his speech.
“I must emphasize that this was not a malicious attack. Nothing of the sort. This was a magical mishap. Surely many budding magic-users can attest to the rogue rampaging of their powers at least once in their lives.” He lifted one silencing hand before the more outspoken revelers erupted in protest. “This is not to say I am belittling the incident, nor the injurious and triggering effects it has wrought. The damage was temporary, but the memory, fresh. Alas, this unfortunate misfiring was quickly dealt with, and no lasting harm has been done. Among elites of magic and sword, the Canaveris estate is one of the safest sanctums in Galeyn, at present, and the evening is young, yet, full of promise and jollity. However, if you continue to feel unsafe, you have my blessing to retire early and return to your homes. For those who are choosing to depart now: thank you for attending tonight’s masquerade. I deeply regret the turn this evening took, and I hope to assist any and all guests with whatever your needs. …Momentarily. Good evening.”
A mixed success at best. Some revelers, set off by upsetting flashbacks of the last several months, hastened out of the ballroom, while others, either too numb to care or desperate to salvage any vestiges of a good time, remained, slugging down wine and regaling others about their near-death experience with an errant glass shard. Ari, meanwhile, pocketed his resonance stone and faced, best as he could (rooted in place as he was), Vitali. His mouth dipped into a severe frown.
“Laz, please escort Vitali Kristeva from the villa. Your attendance is no longer necessary, Mister Kristeva. I hope you understand; the risk you provoke at this time is incalculable. I cannot allow you to endanger my guests.”
While the golem busied herself with the task at hand, Ari cast an apologetic look at Isidor. “I hate to ask this of you, but…I have been rendered entirely immobile from the waist down.” Nia, through physical contact, was well aware of Ari’s current predicament, but to clue in Isidor, he lifted the hems of his robes, revealing two legs encased in solid rock. “Nia should not risk using her skill in public. If you can only depetrify one leg at a time, that will be sufficient. I’ll need to make my rounds as soon as possible, to mitigate damage and soothe my patrons’ fractured states of mind, but I am able to do so on one operating leg. It is no major bother. Miss Tivia, you—“ but when Ari glanced up to address the star-seer, she was already gone.
Alster had no qualms about using Elespeth’s tactic against her. After all, in games of most any nature, didn’t the boldest, most cutthroat person win?
It wasn’t all planned on his end, to take their flirtations in this direction, but he wanted them out of the ballroom and, well, their improvisation required him to act as a lure, enticing her into the “dangerous” waters of their forbidden tryst. That was the story they agreed upon, anyway; two married strangers about to commit adultery. What then, would their hypothetical spouses think to see their husband and wife walking out to the garden together? Better to be sneaky, clandestine. He would go out first, scope out an appropriate, private location, and Elespeth would rendezvous with him shortly thereafter.
Except…his idea of “shortly” and her idea of “shortly” differed by a fair margin.
Was he impatient, or was she toying with him at this point? Perhaps a bit of both. He started to wonder, and worry, if she was unable to locate him, or if he angered her by overstepping the loosely established boundaries of their game. But then he saw her in the garden, a golden mirage crossing the small bridge that traversed the koi pond, and it took all his restraint not to meet her halfway.
“Call it rude, but I call it practical,” Alster pushed off from against the garden wall, his tone radiating glibness. “Much as your husband and my wife may be forgiving of our…promiscuity, isn’t it better not to get caught? We leave together and we make a statement to any who might glimpse us and recognize us. I thought you were concerned about your image, gold-dusted stranger. Am I not doing you a favor? You can’t be seen with Alster Rigas, am I right? So,” he closed the distance between them, his smile devious and calculating, “what if we were to…disappear?”
Sure enough, with an expert flick of his hand, a translucent bubble appeared over their heads, shielding them from view. “Now there’s nothing to worry about.” Unable to restrain himself a moment longer, he grabbed her waist and hooked her mouth into a long, lingering kiss, full of yearning, desire, desperation—all the things he stuffed down for the agonizing duration of their teasing roleplay. “Let’s fuck in the float,” he whispered breathily between kisses. “We’re invisible; no one will ever know.”
He knew they wouldn’t make it across the villa to the front lawn, where all the parade floats were parked and displayed. But if he cut through the air and traveled with her through the etherrealms…
An ear-splitting, shattering noise filled his ears. Drawing away from Elespeth, he winced as a mass of wayward, overwhelming energies hit him at once. Pained cries and screams of distress emerged from the epicenter of the shattering: the ballroom. Overhead, his barrier rippled like water, affected by the sobering change in atmosphere.
“Something is wrong.” He dispersed the barrier and stood ramrod straight, alert as a rabbit with its ears erect. “Something is very wrong. We have to go!” Much though it pained him to separate from Elespeth and quite possibly one of the most erotic moments of his life, Alster kicked into a run, heading for the ballroom. But when he and Elespeth got there…
“I heard shattering. Like glass. People look shaken and scared, but no one seems injured and…” He pointed to the intact floor-to-ceiling windows and the chandeliers, the crystal sculptures and the geode serving tables, the glowstones embedded in the walls, shining their ambient lights. Everything was so shatter-prone in Ari’s home—the man, like most earth mages, loved his crystals—and judging by the collective, explosive crashing, everything should have shattered. Instead, absolutely nothing had been touched. Nothing in the room bore responsibility for that piercing, cacophonous clatter.
Ari addressed the crowd just then, his resonant voice emitting from the amplifying rocks strewn about the ballroom. His account of the shocking event was left purposely vague, but Alster was able to fill in the blanks. It all made a tilted sort of sense.
Teselin caused the glass eruption…
And Tivia Rigas erased it.
A demure tap landed on his shoulder. Alster turned to find Sylvie Canaveris, shaking and pale, half her head tied haphazardly in a scarf. Whatever she had experienced left her almost too rattled to speak, but she managed.
“A-Alster,” she clutched onto his steel arm and gave it a polite tug. “I…I require your assistance. It’s,” she gave Elespeth an uncertain look before adding, “it’s extremely important. Please—do you have a moment?” Again, she cast another glance at Elespeth, but this time, with apology in her expression. “In private?”
Alster stepped forward, knowing precisely why she sought his services. “Of course. I,” he paused, and regarded his wife. No more secrets! she’d warned him, her tone stern and unmistakable. Or else we’re going to have a problem, the unspoken subtext implied. “Do you mind if Elespeth comes with us? Not to worry,” he smiled with gentle reassurance. “she won’t tell anyone. You have my word.”
“Are you kidding me? If he found out we were drunkenly dancing together, he’d be floored. He wouldn’t have it any other way—especially if alcohol is involved. Did you know,” Bronwyn’s loose lips widened into a drunken smile, “the whole reason he wanted you to attend this ball was so that we’d hit it off. And the thing is, since this morning, when I read his ‘good’ intentions with my Sight…I ended up becoming his accomplice by default. I lied to you before, Sigrid. He didn’t do it to make Sylvie happy. He did it because he wanted you to have a good time, with me, and I didn’t really object, or object hard enough, because…” She was glad for her feathered mask concealing the majority of her blush. Alcohol was supposed to make this easier to confess! It was wearing off; exiting her system. She would need a refill very soon. Or now. Definitely now. “Because,” she gathered her nerves and took the plunge, “because I liked the idea. To…to have an excuse to spend more time with you, in an easy, laidback setting that required nothing of us. No work, no need to redeem ourselves. I,” she felt her palms grow slick and clammy, “I’ve never done this before, and if you had no choice but to be here anyway…I guess it made me a little less guilty, to secretly be glad that you came. It’s stupid,” she laughed away her trepidations, not knowing how else to dispel the nervous energy that re-emerged with a vengeance. “I’m stupid. And inconsiderate. I’m sorry.”
She sensed it moments before Sigrid did. The high-pitched, humming pressure hanging in the air, like something about to burst, to pop. It was a sensation with which Bronwyn had grown all too familiar. How many times did she relive that scene in her head, when the world broke, and chased her with persistent lightning, eager to pierce and strike its killing blow? Apelrade, Apelrade, Apelrade. She never forgot, and never could forget the roaring of sea and sky and earth—and she, a tiny, powerless thing, at the mercy of chaos.
“Get away from the windows!” She shouted at Sigrid, ready to push her away, but just as the ballroom spewed glass from every conceivable surface and angle, the blonde warrior instead crushed her body in a close, protective hug, shielding her from the brunt of the assault. When Sigrid pulled away, Bronwyn nodded wordlessly, her eyes surveying the damage. In front of them crouched a man bowled over in pain, a pane of broken glass as large as a dinner plate embedded in his stomach. Large gouts of blood pooled on the marble-tiled floor.
Before she was able to register her new reality, it was as if the current reality rejected itself and shifted backwards. She watched, dumbfounded, as the shard detached from the stricken man, curing, or perhaps undoing, his grave puncture wound in an instant. It floated upwards, returning to its placement on the window, and coalesced into a single, unbroken panel. Everywhere else, the strange phenomenon occurred. Wine leaped back into their untampered goblets like goldfish into a bowl, spilled blood unspilled, and the crystal-patterned tables unsmashed, returning to their rightful formation.
This wasn’t Teselin’s doing. She watched the incomprehensible proceedings, stupefied…and in awe.
“I…” her mouth trembled, struggling to find some component in this narrative that made a lick of sense. “It was…it was Teselin. She smashed the ballroom with her errant magic, but…I don’t know…I don’t know anything else. Or why, or…”
In a jolt, she shot out of Sigrid’s arms, horror opening her mouth agape. “If Teselin is responsible, then Hadwin’s close behind her. I have to—“ Run away! Her instincts screamed. Run. Run far. Run now!
She clenched her slack jaw, determination setting in. “I have to find him. Find them. I have to make sure nothing worse happens!”
Untying her mask, she handed it to Sigrid, and, not waiting around for her response, protest, or a voice of reason, she bolted out of the ballroom on flying autumnal skirts.
“Lord Aristide Canaveris. Of course, I am more than happy to answer any and all questions of whatever matter you see fit. I fully anticipated my… return would require as much.” The necromancer, with his dark, violet eyes, bent his upper body into a humble bow. “And while I realize you have little reason to trust me, or to believe a word I say, it is with the utmost honesty when I tell you that I have no idea as to the whereabouts of your charming, young niece. Indeed, she did grace me with a single, lovely dance, but it was fairly obvious that she had her eye set on another partner entirely.” He raised an eyebrow meaningfully at Hadwin. Truly, nothing surpassed the eldest Kristeva’s attention. “As soon as the song was over, Sylvie moved on. I wish I could tell you more, but I have not seen her in at least an hour.”
Hadwin Kavanagh was quick to corroborate Vitali’s claims, while the man’s own younger siblings appeared all but speechless to his untimely return, after he’d been assumed dead for months. But the quiet among the Kristevas was preferable to what happened next, when young Teselin finally spoke--and her energy shattered the room, in every iteration of the word.
Yet, astonishingly, just as quickly as the damage was done, it was reversed. Briery had felt the bite of glass shards in her skin, had seen her blood drop into the floor, yet…the spherical beads of her bracelet appeared to reassemble themselves. As did the windows, the chandeliers, dishes… anything that had shattered in the young summoner’s wake, unshattered and reversed the damage caused.
Having shielded their eyes, when Isidor, Briery, and Nia opened them again, they were short by two people: neither Teselin nor Hadwin were anywhere in sight. But the whereabouts of the faoladh and the unpredictable young summoner were not the mystery on everyone’s mind. “What…” Isidor mirrored Ari in his response, as his mind struggled to process what had happened to interrupt his sister’s destructive magic. They had their answer moments later.
“...Tivia.” Unlike before, the star seer had revealed her face, and for a moment, Isidor questioned his memory of the woman he loved. Hadn’t she been… younger? At least, in appearance? Yet she seemed to have aged in years, creeping closer to his earthly age, and the damage to her face caused by fire was significantly muted. Whatever had happened to her in her time away… the changes, at least physical, were significant. So, too, was her magic, or else she may not have been quite so transparent about her abilities before her disappearance; that, or Isidor was just that unobservant.
To placate the panicking crowd, Ari was quick to address the situation to his attendees, making it clear that the celebration didn’t have to be over as a result of this event (which, frankly, Isidor found preposterous), while also encouraging those who were too shaken to take their leave. About half of the room chose that option, slowly making their way out, but those who remained did not appear nearly as enthralled by the mystique of the masquerade.
And yet, Vitali still appeared completely unfazed; as if he had known Tivia was capable of reversing whatever chaos his younger sister was capable of causing. “Lord Canaveris, I must object to your assertion. I’ve done nothing more than enjoy your fine gala this evening, and then, reluctantly, remove my mask at everyone’s request.” The necromancer was willing to put up an argument, even at a time like this. Tivia might have changed, but he hadn’t; not even a little. “Believe what you will, this was not how I had intended to reveal myself. My hopes had been to speak with my younger sister in private, before she became so worked up by other people and circumstances. So while I am more than happy to oblige your request, given that I highly doubt I’d have been invited, were you aware of my return, I’m afraid the way events unfolded was far from my doing.”
“You have some gall washing your hands of responsibility, here.” Isidor was seething. Colour had crept into his pale cheeks, and if looks could kill, his brother would be returned to the grave. “What were you thinking? That we--that Teselin--would take your return in stride?! And where…” He narrowed his eyes at the necromancer’s visibly taller form. “Where did you get that?”
“I assume you’re referring to my body? I’m afraid that’s a story for another day, but I warn you, dear brother… you won’t like the answer. Well,” the eldest Kristeva spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness and his mouth twitched into a grin. “I do hope that we meet under far more favourable circumstances, next time. Rest assured--I can find my own way out.”
Vitali bowed with a flourish, before turning and making good on his word and leaving the room--and the villa. Isidor’s anger and paranoia did not fizzle, but their festering was put to the back of his mind when Ari made a desperate request for his aid. Turning away from the exit, he assessed the partially-petrified earth mage visually, before asking, “Your costume… are you able to shed any layers, Ari? I can’t help through fabrics, but the middle of this room… for obvious reasons, it isn’t the most practical place to disrobe.”
“We’ll figure this out and free up both of your legs, Ari. Give me five minutes.” Nia added, having assessed the situation herself. She smiled and winked at the man she loved, trying to break up a little bit of the tension in the air. “It might have taken me an hour to get into this costume, but you already know how fast I can get out of my clothes.”
“Nia,” Isidor huffed an uncomfortable sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Really? Now?!”“Hey, you’re the one with the dirty thoughts--this time. What I mean is, no one will bat an eyelash if they see me in my everyday get-up helping Ari in the best way they all know I can. You take one leg, I’ll take the other; make sense? Back before you know it!” Planting a kiss on Ari’s cheek, Nia hurried away to do exactly what she’d said, but even with her clarification of intent, Isidor was still quite red in the face.
Clearing his throat, he suggested, “Perhaps Tivia can go and fetch Alster? He has the ability to obscure one’s image using invisibility. Could you…” But at the same time that Ari discovered the star seer was no longer there, so too did Isidor. He didn’t think it was possible for his heart to sink any more than it had when she’d vanished, yet every time she re-emerged and left again, it felt like it sank just a little bit more.
Elespeth’s blood was on fire the moment she caught a glimpse of Alster in the garden, who appeared relieved to see her. Good; so she’d managed to make him squirm a little in anticipation (on top of all the rest of the sexual tension she’d stirred between them that evening). It was all finally coming to a head, and so, too, would their charade. For such a last-minute decision to play this silly little game with her husband, it had already lent to their excitement this evening exponentially. All the more that they were Rigases on Canaveris property: somehow, the risk of being discovered only made her want to pursue it further. Hopefully, Alster felt the same.
As it turned out, he did. “No… you’re right. My apologies for becoming so quickly incited and jumping to conclusions, Lord Rigas.” The former knight backpedaled on her resentful accusations and, humbled, nodded her head. “I hadn’t considered how obvious it might be if the both of us were seen exiting the ballroom in each other’s company… although, I must admit, for a moment I thought I’d somehow completely lost your interest, when you have so thoroughly obtained mine.”
Taking a bold step forward, her green eyes swimming with sultry desire, Elespeth walked directly into Alster’s arms and breathed, “And how might you propose we disappear?” Of course, she knew exactly what he meant and how he would go about it, for it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d concealed the both of them from the eyes of onlookers. And as soon as they were rendered invisible, the former Atvanian finally let go of every restraint she’d been practicing throughout this evening. She kissed Alster with wild abandon, her heart hammering against her ribcage, her breath completely caught in her throat. Grasping fingers gripped at her husband’s costume, yearning to completely disregard its careful and impressive craftsmanship and tear the cloth from his body, but Alster seemed to have a modicum more restraint that she did.
“In the float?” She grinned her eagerness against his mouth. “But which one?” Did he mean to create a brand new memory for his and Isidor’s beautiful, floral creation reminiscent of Stella D’Mare’s sea, or was he mischievous enough to decide to quietly get just a little bit of petty revenge on Aristide Canaveris by making love on the piece of art the earth mage had so obviously put a good deal of his heart into?
She never got her answer, as the piercing sound of what could have been glass shattering tore her and Alster apart. Just like that, the game was over, and their scandalous, romantic plans, foiled. “What’s going on?” Forgetting all about their previous intentions, the knight in Elespeth sprung fully to alert, and she was already heading back inside the villa before Alster made the same suggestion. She’d thought… surely, something akin to an explosion must have taken place to cause a disturbance of that magnitude. Not only had she heard the sound, she’d felt it in the ground.
And yet, when they set foot inside… everything appeared completely intact. The music had come to a halt, as had the dancing, and everyone appeared startled, but no one appeared to be hurt. Yet there was no possible way everyone had simply imagined it. “I know--I heard it too. I felt it, and by the looks on everyone’s faces, they all heard it as well…”
From somewhere in the crowd, Ari’s voice projected throughout the room, acknowledging the disturbance without explaining exactly what had happened (perhaps he himself was unsure of the details). But upon his mention of ‘magical mishaps’... well, how many practiced magic users present in this room would suffer their own powers to such a degree? Barring the tiny shock her own magic had emanated as a result of her excitement of secretly role-playing with her husband, was there really anyone else so unpracticed that they--
Teselin… where was the young summoner?
“Alster.” Elespeth put a hand on the Rigas lord’s arm. “We need to find…”
She trailed off when it became evident that someone else sought her husband’s attention. The she-warrior turned to find who appeared to be young Sylvie Canaveris, her head wrapped in a scarf, looking far worse for the wear compared to the rest of the guests. “Sylvie--are you alright?” Since the game had long since ended (as had the masquerade, it seemed), Elespeth removed her mask and laid a hand on the Canaveris girl’s shoulder. She didn’t appear to be wounds, and no blood had stained the scarf around her head, but sometimes the those wounds which were the least discerning to the naked eye proved to be the most dangerous, and there were a few telltale stains of dark burgundy on the sleeve of her fine gown. Frankly, she was more concerned with the girl’s well-being than being included in whatever she would have Alster do for her. But Sylvie, who appeared to already trust Alster implicitly, nodded her approval of the former knight’s involvement.
The Rigas couple led Sylvie back to her chambers, where Elespeth immediately took note of the shattered mirror, and wondered if Teselin’s magic had somehow carried all the way throughout the Canaveris villa. But if that had been the case, then they would have experienced it outside, as well, and none of the ornate glass ornaments that decked the gardens had been affected. But as soon as Sylvie removed the scarf from her head, speculating just what Teselin was or wasn’t responsible for became irrelevant.
“What… happened?” Similar to how her uncle was prone to succumbing to stone, it appeared as though crystalline geodes were… erupting from Sylvie’s skin, temple to cheek, like some artist’s strange rendition of a head wound. Not bleeding, which was perhaps a boon, but nonetheless, very concerning. And yet… Sylvie had sought out Alster, not Ari, for this crisis, which suggested two things: that this was not the first time Alster had lent his services to helping her deal with this anomaly… and that Ari was unaware of it.
“Sylvie…” Elespeth’s face fell and her heart dipped in her chest. “Does… anyone else know? Your family? Your uncle? I don’t know the details, or why you would keep it so close to your chest… but have you considered that maybe you should let the people who care for you in the know? Perhaps…” She couldn’t believe what she was about to say, but in the spirit of trying to counsel this distraught young woman… “Nia Ardane might even be able to help you. If this is something recurring, which… since Alster already appears to know, I assume it is. It’s a dangerous secret to keep when it affects your well-being. But even if you asked one of our Master Alchemists to swear to confidentiality, I cannot imagine either of them would refuse.”
“Teselin… the summoner.” Sigrid had to admit, it added up: aside from Alster, or Locque (who was no longer among them), the only person she could think of who could cause such damage was the young summoner. But why, or as to how that damage had suddenly reversed, were questions that the warrior would have to ponder later. Before she could as much as blink, Bronwyn took off, in search of her brother.
“Bron--wait!” Fortunately, the former Dawn Warrior’s long, muscular legs carried her in stride with the quick faoladh woman, and in seconds, they were out of the room and emerged in the foyer, but there was no sign of Hadwin. Fortunately, Bronwyn could smell her own brother from a mile away, and it was not long before they found the masked devil frantically running to and fro outside, beyond the villa, following Teselin’s scent. The young summoner was nowhere in sight, and according to the two wolf-kin, her scent trail ended at the nearby stables, where one of the night steeds appeared to be missing.
“Hadwin--hey, stop for a second! Listen!” Sigrid grabbed the frantic man by the shoulders. His strength had yet to return in full; he wasn’t able to fight her off. “Whatever happened, it appears clear to me that she wants to be left alone. See the hoofprints? They’re headed straight back to the palace; I’m willing to bet that’s exactly where she is. If you want to go after her, then we’ll go with you, but… after what just happened, don’t you think she deserves her privacy? I’m willing to bet she feels awful. The least we can do is give her the time and space she deserves.”
“Papa, must you leave?”
“I’m afraid so, briolette.” Casimiro handled her pet name with such care, like a fragile gemstone that would shatter upon making contact with the ground. “But that does not mean I will never see you again. I’ll be gone a while; not forever.”
“You say that, but,” Sylvie clutched her skirts close to her waist, “war is dangerous. There is no guarantee that you would—“
Casimiro playfully slapped one side of her cheek, a light tease of the fingertips. “Come now, none of that! You forget who I am. I crush boulders with a glance. I hurl rocks faster than a bolt of lightning. I create sinkholes no enemy can escape!
A reserved smile touched her face. “Is that a promise? You will make it home alive?”
In lieu of answering her question, Casimiro pulled out a small, wooden box and handed it to his daughter. Inside was a gold ring beset with a brilliant purple tourmaline, its triangular-cut facets laid out in geometrical perfection.
“Why papa, what a gorgeous ring, but,” she planted one reprimanding hand on her hip, “if you believe that bribing me with jewelry will—“
“—Listen,” he instructed, an edge of authority to his tone. Sylvie smartly shut her mouth. “This is not just a ring, but a resonance stone. I possess its match, see?” He held up his right hand. Sure enough, a similar but larger tourmaline ring sat around his middle finger. “As long as you wear that ring and I do the same, we shall always remain connected with one another. Should you ever feel lonely, and need to hear my voice, speak, and I shall endeavor to answer or, failing that, endeavor to listen. In addition,” he cupped one hand over the side of his mouth and deflated his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “I’ve seen to it that this object grants you an extra boon. Protection from bodily injury. Harm is less likely to befall you when in possession of your ring. And remember,” he positioned a finger over her lips in a shushing gesture, “this is our secret. You are to tell no one else—not your brothers, not your mother, your grandmother, and especially not your uncle—about what currently afflicts you. I will handle it upon my return,” the context underlying his tone was indisputable: ‘Disobey me and there will be consequences’. “Just be sure not to subject yourself to harrowing situations that may compromise your safety. Alas, if they are unavoidable, and you do succumb to a nasty flesh wound, despite all precautions, you go straight to my physician and no one else; do you understand?”
Sylvie nodded in mutual agreement. “Will we truly be able to cure Uncle Ari’s curse through this method?”
Displaying one of his most irrefutably charming grins, Casimiro scooped her shoulders in an encouraging squeeze. “Briolette, I know so. Endure your malediction for a mite longer, and all will reach a meaningful resolution. Can you be brave for me until then?”
Sylvie twisted the tourmaline ring around her finger in nervous revolutions as she led Alster and his wife into private chambers—the very same locale where her careless accident had occurred. Would her father writhe in the grave with disapproval to learn that not only had she managed to injure herself, twice, under his protective talisman, but that she invited three outsiders into their nondisclosure pact? Alster Rigas, at the very least, could reverse the damage (although Casimiro would sooner let the world end than permit a Rigas to assist any Canaveris), and presently, he was her only trusted contact. Her father’s physician, who he instructed her to seek exclusively for treatment, ceased becoming an option when he succumbed to an incurable disease last year, leaving her with two options: suffer in silence, risking death in the process, or swallow her pride and accept Alster’s help. If that meant Elespeth would learn her secret, too, then so be it.
I am trying to honor your wishes, papa. At night, she often spoke into the tourmaline gem linked to his, aware he would never respond, but finding it comforting, akin to writing in a diary, but superior, because she was addressing her father’s spirit and not just a book. Comfort became a habit, then a routine, a ritual. Every night, she would whisper the day’s proceedings into the tourmaline, primed for his ears only. No one else’s. I am trying to honor them, she had continued with her plea one evening, but you are not here, and I do not know what to do. Nia can heal Uncle Ari. Her confidence is so infectious, I cannot help but believe in her abilities, along with Isidor, and Alster. So does that render our pact irreverent? Especially when…you are dead, and cannot possibly resolve this?
Taking a seat on the bed (the chair by the vanity was littered with pieces of glass), Sylvie hesitated before unfurling the headscarf and exposing the crystallized wound for both parties to observe. It must have looked dreadful, when even Alster winced at the sight.
“Sylvie,” he said falteringly, as if he was afraid of receiving the answer, “were you in the ballroom when…everything shattered?”
She held her sides, feeling a sudden cramp, a terrible knot, form in her stomach. “When this,” a shaky hand indicated her facial injury, “first occurred, a clumsy accident on my part, I went into the ballroom looking for you, and then…I heard a grisly sound, like thousands of wind chimes crashing, and m-my head,” residual nausea and ache clung to the affected area, a cloying, persistent pain rampaging on her temple. A memento mori, never to fade. “All was twisting, splitting, unbearably loud. I felt a burst from inside me and then…nothing. Darkness.” A reflexive shiver assailed her body, prompting her to tighten her arms around her stomach. “Next I remember, I was back in the ballroom, my face undisturbed but for the peculiarity you are currently treating. I…” she closed her eyes, fighting back a welter of tears, “I am afraid this is my fault. If I had not sought Hadwin and upset Teselin, then…then…”
“It’s alright, Sylvie.” Taking off his mask and setting it aside on the bed, Alster edged forward to rub a soothing hand along her back. His other hand, the prosthesis, perched over the geode formation growing out of her face, preparing a spell to destabilize the crystallized blood by scrambling its atoms into motion through small, stimulating bursts of guided lightning, essentially melting it back into a liquid state. It was a process he implemented last time, to great success. “Whatever happened wasn’t permanent. You couldn’t have expected anything of this scope to take place tonight. This situation is complex and complicated. Too complicated for pointing fingers and selecting the best scapegoat to blame. But if I may ask,” he frowned gently, “because it might become imperative to trace what elements influenced Teselin’s frazzled state of mind, are you able to, or are you comfortable telling us what transpired between the three of you?”
“I…” Her gaze immediately darted to the floor, “It…it would look poorly on me and my family if any of this were to reach the public’s ears.”
“It’s a good thing I’m not the public, then,” Alster smiled disarmingly before handing Sylvie a clean rag to hold beneath the crystallized wound, in preparation for when the ruptured area would resume leaking blood. “Neither is Elespeth, for that matter. We’re part of Galeyn’s council, and we still hold significant rank and influence in D’Marian society. We’re here to ensure people and peoples’ interests are protected, and that no characters are besmirched along the way, including yours. There is no judgment here, I promise.”
Somewhat placated, the distraught young woman sighed out her confession. “I…aminlovewithHadwinKavanagh,” she blurted out so hurriedly, it all came out as one jumbled word. “So I sought him for a dance, and…and he kissed me. I kissed him back, but then Teselin appeared and forcefully separated us, saying something about how he was not in his right mind. Naturally, I was cross with her for interrupting a wonderful moment and openly expressed my distaste—which I should not have done. I know better than to cause a scene. I excused myself to cool my head before I subjected anyone else to my horrendous behavior, but she pursued me, and…I will admit, the words she selected for me, they,” a rogue tear escaped past her carefully constructed facade, “they were biting, and hurtful, and borderline cruel. I never realized how much she truly resented me when all I wanted was her friendship. I should have responded with poise and decorum. Deflect the conflict as I have been taught. Practice active listening, and offer my support when she was obviously hurting so very much.” She flinched when Alster’s little spark of lighting stung her cheek with a light shock. “No, I am fine,” she reassured the contrite Rigas lord. “Please, resume your treatment.” As he did so, she also resumed her account. “Yes, I should have been kinder, but I lashed out at her in turn, and then…I heard thunder rumble overhead. It startled me because I sensed it coming from her. Fortunately, it did not persist. She left, and I left, and in my clumsy flight to my chambers, I bumped into this mirror, and…” she laughed away her malaise, twirling the tourmaline ring around her finger, “I create my own problems, evidently.”
As promised, Alster remained impartial, neither exclaiming his surprise nor appearing fazed by the information. He didn’t answer right away, slipping into a state of deep concentration during the most mentally demanding section of the reversion process. Little by little, Sylvie could feel the crystals liquefy, a weird sensation she equated to hard crust softening and yielding to fountains of puss. It was a disgusting comparison, but she welcomed the sensation of bodily fluids dripping down her face, and not congealing into an unyielding mass of clusters. Simply, it felt good to bleed.
“There,” Stitching up the injury with threads of etherea, Alster leaned back on the bed, proud of his work. “All done. I’ve even managed to prevent scarring—so as not to alarm your uncle when he looks at you. Thank you, by the way,” he lowered his arms from Sylvie’s head. “For your honesty. This couldn’t have been easy for you to relay. I think you more than deserve a little rest. I’m sure there’ll be much to discuss in the morning, so I’d say we table this conversation for now and revisit it tomorrow. Does that sound good?”
Sylvie, checking out her unmarred complexion in the remnants of mirror still attached, stroked fingers up and down the side of her face, amazed by how her grisly injury seemed to vanish out of existence. “Thank you, Alster. I am endlessly grateful to you.” Standing, she lowered into a deep curtsy to demonstrate her boundless respect. “Lady Rigas,” she turned and presented a similar curtsy to Alster’s wife, as well. “I would appreciate it if you keep this a secret. Uncle Ari cannot know. It would devastate him. As it stands, he is already under an inordinate amount of stress at the moment. His frail constitution is in too dire a state to upset further. Miss Nia should not be apprised of my case, either, lest she lose her focus and surrender to distraction. Too much on her plate will divert her attention from more pressing matters. I refuse to endanger my uncle’s life.” Her vision blurred, fogging her vision. It is never about me...you are correct, Teselin. And that is fine. I know my place. “He is too important to lose.”
Only after confirming that Vitali had indeed vacated the premises did Laz double back and return, ready to assist Ari in whatever he required. And he had required plenty.
“Oh good, you have returned,” Ari said of Laz. “You are the sole personage among us capable of carrying me across the room. Lay me against that wall over there,” he gestured to an empty space opposite one of the grandiose windows that, just minutes ago, smashed to smithereens and injured so many innocents desperate for levity, but receiving nothing but carnage. On his grounds, no less! As a host, he failed the simple task of granting them sanctuary from the ongoing horrors of the latest year—or in the case of D’Marians, two years. This night would no doubt be remembered, but for all the wrong reasons, and his name, synonymous with the disaster that befell his meticulously-planned soiree. The one consolation, the saving grace that spared the evening from tipping into tragedy, lay in the machinations of the mysterious Tivia Rigas, who vanished like a mirage and left Isidor visibly shaken. It could have been worse. Much worse. Technically, it was, but Ari should be thankful, grateful, to deal with this alternative—and much preferred—aftermath. For that reason, he didn’t despair. He couldn’t afford the price, not when others required him to rise like the proverbial phoenix, exactly as his costume depicted, and move forward. His choices were limited, anyhow. Either he led, or he was dead–transformed into an effigy of stone.
Unable to negotiate against Nia’s involvement once her mind was settled on a purpose, he let her go, albeit reluctantly, and allowed Laz to scoop him off the floor. The golem took great care not to skew the weight distribution in favor of Ari’s leaden legs, and for extra support, instructed Isidor to secure his calves and feet. Together, they hauled the Canaveris lord to his desired wall space and gingerly set him on the tiles.
“Thank you kindly, both of you.” Adjusting to his new lateral (and uncomfortable) position, Ari proceeded to remove elements of his elaborate costume. First, his feathered mask. Then, his winged coat. Next, his slippers, which required a little finessing not to overstretch as he peeled them off his stone-swollen feet. Shedding one layer left him far from naked and vulnerable, however, as he also sported an undercoat, which, underneath, revealed a vest and white blouse combination and a short pair of breeches that, blessedly, he had the foresight of styling to rest inches above the knee, at the very line of delineation between stone and skin. No embarrassing, public stripping necessary. Even so, hiking his robes to expose nearly the whole length of his lower body was nothing short of indecent, and undignified.
“Laz,” clearing his throat to an unruffled tone, he addressed the towering golem, even more towering from his position on the floor, “while I am certain Nadira is taking charge as we speak, please accompany her and assist in directing our departing guests to their carriages. Assure any who might ask after me that I will see to their needs as soon as humanly possible, but omit any details concerning my health. Public knowledge or no, I am not keen on flaunting my weaknesses at every dark turn. Rendezvous with Commander Sorde and the Forbanne, if available, and if given the chance, resume your search for Sylvie. Add Lord Rigas to your list, as well. Thank you.”
After dismissing the golem, Ari signaled for Isidor to take from him the outer layer of his fine winged coat. “Would you drape this over my legs? I respectfully ask that you uncover only sections of what you deem necessary to administer at a time. Onlookers are wont to stare.” As though to prove his point, a small crowd began to mill about the vicinity, trying and failing to glimpse covert glances at the prone Lord of Stella D’Mare. “Forgive me for these less than ideal working conditions, Isidor. I do hope this procedure does not cause you too debilitating a case of eye strain, given you are without the use of your spectacles. I find I must also apologize for my carelessness; perhaps if I did not misplace your excellent tonic in a different coat, I would have had less averse a reaction to your, ah, your sister’s vigorous emotional response,” he said, delicate as always in his selection of words.
“All things considered,” he leaned back his head and gazed at the ceiling; the crystalline chandeliers hung serenely, exhibiting no indication of breaking apart and showering the ballroom with deadly rainfall, “the Solstice parade was a rousing success. I must give credit where it is due. Your and Alster’s float left me agape. The precision of your collective craft, of magic and alchemy combined to embody the pinnacle of engineering and artistry…it was doubtless a crowd-pleaser, and worthy of receiving first place. Alas, it is up to the people to decide the winner. Unfortunately, the results of the contest will have to be put on hold indefinitely—but I wanted you to know where I would cast my vote.”
While Ari didn’t want to distract Isidor from diligently working on freeing the restraints on his imprisoned legs, it was obvious to note the sources of the Kristeva alchemist’s distress. “Your brother is, excuse my language, a contemptuous, churlish sod,” he said, keeping his tone friendly and conversational, in an attempt to lighten the mood. “I am not so eager to do business with him in the future. Tivia Rigas, on the other hand,” he watched Isidor’s expression carefully, “has my respect, and cooperation. I can understand why she holds your heart. She is certainly as formidable as she is enigmatic. If my speculations are correct, I believe she harbors a high opinion of you, Isidor. She seemed patently concerned about her appearance, but only around you. Forgive me; I do not mean to pry,” he corrected, maintaining a neutral pleasantness in his speech, “but I firmly believe that is not the last of her you will ever see.”
It came as no great shock for Bronwyn to have acquired a second member for her impromptu search party. Sigrid was quick to gain speed and catch up with the faoladh’s breakneck pace, following at her heels as they emptied out of the Canaveris villa and swerved downhill into the D’Marian settlement proper, where she homed in on her brother’s scent trail.
They found Hadwin in the stables, dressed in devilish red but deprived of the red devil mask that characterized his outfit. He was about to mount a Night steed and gallop off in the direction where Teselin allegedly headed, until their cries gave him pause.
“Hadwin!” Bronwyn shouted in unison with Sigrid. “Wait!” She trotted to his side while Sigrid up and restrained him by the shoulders—which he didn’t take to very kindly.
“Lay off!” he jerked one arm, and his adrenaline, fueled with remnants of strengthening serum stubbornly integrated into his system, allowed him to slip out of Sigrid’s grasp, but he lacked the power to repeat the process with the other arm. “The hell you stopping me for?!”
“We’re not stopping you, Hadwin. We’re here to help!” Bronwyn sidled closer to the steed, securing the reins before he had a chance to grab them.
“Here to babysit, more like!” he barked in a retort. “Thanks but no thanks. I don’t need the entourage, and neither does she! The less folks, the better.”
“Well tough because you’re getting it!” She growled, and the level of her ferocity impelled even Hadwin to pay attention and listen. “Sigrid’s right. I think she wants to be alone. Interacting with other people too soon could,” there was no delicate way of putting it, “set her off again.”
“Then she can tell me to my face she doesn’t want to see me!” Taking advantage of Sigrid’s loosening hold, he shrugged away his other arm and, uninhibited, turned to the Night steed. He struggled to mount the saddle and throw his leg across the side farthest from him, but when Bronwyn offered a hand to assist, he shoved it away. “I’m not just ‘other people’ to her. I gotta make this right. I promised I’d always be there for her, so I’m upholding that promise! If it’s her mouth that says ‘no,’ I’ll respect it and leave her the hell alone before things get out of hand.” Releasing a ragged breath of exertion, he slid successfully into the saddle. “This is my fucking fault. Take me out of the equation and tonight wouldn’t’ve happened, because she wouldn’t’ve been at the damn ball. She’s always worse in my company. I’m po—“
Poison. He was about to say poison.
“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, squeezing his hand into a trembling fist. “Dammit! You all think so too, don’t you? That’s why you don’t want me to go and see her alone!”
“You’re being paranoid, Hadwin,” Bronwyn said, electing for a soft, deescalating voice. “But if you want the truth—you’re losing it. Someone has to rein you in if it gets bad. Wouldn’t you feel awful if you go to Teselin in the state you’re in, in the state she’s in, and you have an episode and it makes things worse? You mean well, but you’re…not well. She’s not well. So,” she folded a consoling hand over his arm, “let’s come along, and we’ll help you.”
A soft, choking laugh gurgled out of Hadwin’s throat, equal turns desperate, wounded…frightening. His pupils dilated until his eyes looked nearly black under the stable’s lantern lights. “Of course I’m not well! I thought that was bleeding obvious, Bron. In all the years you’ve known me, was I ever ‘well’?! But I’ve managed, haven’t I? Doesn’t matter, though.” A tone of numb finality undercut his faux joviality, deadening his inflection. “You can’t help me; I’m already dead.” He was done with negotiations, and Bronwyn knew it. So she released his reins, her hand—and let him go. Let him take the steed and click his heels and speed off into the night. Letting him go, however, did not amount to giving up on him.
“We’re following him,” she told Sigrid, almost not noticing that she used the inclusive ‘we,’ implying that her companion’s aid was a given. “Can’t help him, my foot! I did it before…arsehole.” Heading to the next stable and the next available steed, Bronwyn faltered for a pregnant moment. “I’m not…great at riding. Horses tend to dislike me. Would you take the reins, Sigrid? I’ll ride in back…if that’s ok.”
Elespeth wasn’t sure exactly what she’d expected Sylvie to say, considering this was the first that she was learning of the girl’s unique condition, which appeared eerily similar to that of her uncle’s. She had long since learned that anything was possible when it came to magical communities. But it never would have occurred to her, not even for a moment, that somehow, the girl’s interaction with Teselin of all people could have incited such disaster. Not to say the young summoner was not already known for her erratic and destructive magic, but for Sylvie of all people to incite it?
But then she mentioned Hadwin… and it all made perfect sense. “Oh… Sylvie, whatever Teselin said or did to you, I guarantee it was not with the intent to hurt you.” Feeling for Ari’s niece, whose intentions were in and of themselves never malicious, the former knight placed a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. “If I am being completely honest… had I been the one to witness you kissing Hadwin Kavanagh, of all people, I’m afraid I might have a similar reaction. Because Teselin is right: and that is that if he really sought to pursue you, which is something he would only do against his better judgment, then he truly isn’t in his right mind. He still hasn’t recovered from… well, his younger sister.” She didn’t bother to go into the details, since it was wholly unnecessary, and there wasn’t a single person in the kingdom of Galen who didn’t know that it was Hadwin himself who had finally taken down his tyrannical younger sister. But she didn’t fault Sylvie for her misjudgment, and she knew that Teselin was probably more understanding than she let on, as well. Sylvie didn’t know Hadwin the way the others did; she wasn’t aware that beyond his roguish facade, he was actually dealing with a lot of pain.
“But it’s more than even that; more than you would rightly know, since you’ve only been familiar with Hadwin as long as he’s been here. Don’t be too hard on yourself. It’s a situation that no one could have expected you to have insight into… for more reasons than you might realize.” Hadwin’s troubles aside, Sylvie didn’t know what Teselin had endured; in fact, many people didn’t. And those who did, herself included… well, with everything that had transpired since Locque’s reign, everyone had simply, quietly, expected the young summoner to push her troubles to the back of her mind and put on a strong front, because now wasn’t the time to crumble. Except, in Teselin’s unique case… there was never a good time to crumble. But no one could blame the young Kristeva girl when she’d been holding it in for so long, and everyone… well, everyone had otherwise been too preoccupied to notice.
“Remember, Teselin couldn’t even hold resentment for Locque--don’t be so sure that she resents you, Sylvie. This is a situation that, however unfortunate, I feel you shouldn’t take personally.” Elespeth meant what she said; Teselin hadn’t resented Rowen, either. In fact, there wasn’t a single soul she could think of, however evil they might have been, that Teselin had hated. If anything, the summoner tried to find every reason not to despise someone. She might not have been the naive thing who’d once wandered into Stella D’Mare one winter, in search of her brother, but some things about her hadn’t changed, and likely never would. “Whatever she said to you… to think that she’d hurt you in any way, I imagine, has her deep in regret. I would not be so quick to give up on her. I’ve been spending quite a bit of time around your villa, and to me it looks like, for the first time in Teselin’s life, she is able to experience what life for a more… ordinary girl would be like. Considering the life she has led, before and after she found her brothers and Hadwin, that opportunity is rare. She might not have been in the right mind to express it today, under these circumstances, but don’t give up. If you ask me,” she smiled gently, and with sympathy, “I think Teselin could do well to make more friends like you. I think even Hadwin would agree.”
Elespeth fell silent as her husband reversed the terrifying wound on Sylvie’s face, and by the time he had finished, it looked as though there had never been a wound to begin with. No one would ever know she’d been injured, and while she’d have to explain the broken mirror, her secret was still safe. And it would remain safe, even if the former Atvanian felt that the Canaveris girl should be reaching out to more people. “Elespeth is just fine, Sylvie,” she reassured her. “No need for formalities around me and Alster. And as for your request: your secret is not mine to tell. But I guarantee, what you mean to your uncle is precisely what he means to you. When Nia has successfully reversed his curse… I hope that you will open up to him. The last thing he would want would be for you to suffer the way he has.”
She stood up as Alster did, and retrieved a decanter of water across from Sylvie’s bed, filling an empty glass before handing it to the shaken Canaveris girl. “Alster and I will both be returning tomorrow; after all, we’ll need to find out just whose float won the competition.” Elespeth winked, for it wasn’t an untruth. Voting might have been delayed due to these unforeseen circumstances, too much work had been put into that parade for a winner not to be announced. “Rest well tonight, and don’t worry too much. All the chaos that occurred tonight… We’ll get it sorted out. And if you need someone to talk to, feel free to find us.”
For all Isidor did not condone the damage that resulted from his younger sister’s wild magic, neither did he fault the girl for her frustration, for he shared in it the moment he laid eyes upon Vitali. And he was far from done with the man who had returned from the dead… but right now, other matters prioritized giving Vitali a real piece of his mind. Ari needed his help, and assisting the Canaveris lord was far more dire than chewing out the necromancer for the gall he had to come back to life. So he carefully tucked his anger aside for the time being, forgot about how shaken he still was in the aftermath, and moved to oblige Ari’s request to cover his legs for some meager semblance of privacy as he reversed the flare-up that currently afflicted him.
“Didn’t I insist you keep that tonic on you at all times, Ari? Precisely to mitigate situations like this?” Isidor breathed a sigh of frustration, but he wasn’t angry with the Canaveris lord so much as he found the amalgamation of circumstances exhausting. Taking Ari’s coat, he draped the expanse of the brilliant fabric over the earth mage’s petrified legs. “Of course… you couldn’t have foreseen this disaster. Still, I hope this counts as a lesson to you in the future.” Remembering Ari’s request to avoid pricking his fingers, as they were integral to his art, he quietly asked permission to roll up Ari’s sleeve. Drawing a drop of blood from anywhere else on the body was typically less convenient, but where the earth mage’s life wasn’t in danger, a slower process wouldn’t cause any harm. “...damnit.” Upon realizing he didn’t have his tiny, sterile knife on his person, Isidor swore under his breath. “I’ve nothing on me with which to draw blood.”
“Good thing I’ve got you covered.” Nia hadn’t been kidding when she boasted shedding her clothes fast. The Ardane woman hadn’t been gone more than five minutes, surely, before she returned inh er plain garb. She hadn’t scrubbed her face clean of the make-up that Laz had applied, but otherwise, she no longer looked as though she’d ever been a part of this celebration. From inside her sleeve, she produced her own sharp tool which she’d used on
“His arm.” Isidor commented, relieved when Nia slid in to take up the task of drawing blood, but saw fit to speak up when the Ardane woman went for the typical spot where she’d acquire the blood she’d need to reverse this flare-up. “Not his hands. It affects his skills as an artist.”
This gave Nia pause to hesitate. “...huh. That’s thoughtful of you, Is. Ari--have I been hindering your ability to make art all this time? Because you’ve been too polite to ask me not to prick your fingers?” She flashed a pained look, but it didn’t last. She collected the blood she needed, as did Isidor, and each Master Alchemist took one leg to work as efficiently as they could so as to have Ari back on his feet quickly.
“No need to fret; my spectacles are primarily integral for hours upon hours of reading. I can easily get around without them in a day if I am not partaking in that task--and, rest assured, their presence or lack thereof have no bearing on my skills.” Isidor commented with a half-smile. He didn’t wish to make Ari feel as though he was a burden, or inconveniencing him in any way. “And, please, do not let go of your pride for the masterpiece you and Nia worked so hard on just to throw your vote at the float Alster and I designed. It was stunning. If anything… I should be thanking the both of you. For being such worthy opponents.”
He meant what he said; every word of it. Short of how awkward this ball made him feel, and all of the feelings seeing Tivia again had stirred up, Isidor had truly enjoyed the spirit of competition, and the parade was unlike anything he had ever seen. All in all, this evening… well, it hadn’t been so terrible. And Ari’s impression of his infamous brother was even enough to bring the semblance of a smile to his face. “If only those were the sole descriptors I would choose for my brother.” He mentioned, working meticulously to free the Canaveris lord’s leg from its stone prison. “And I beseech you do not do business with Vitali, ever, under any circumstances. His price is never worth it. I’m glad I needn’t convince you of this.” As he worked his way down to Ari’s ankle and foot, the earth mage’s mention of the star seer caused him to falter, if only for a beat where he did not respond. To her credit, Nia did not interrupt the silence with her own thoughts, instead leaving Isidor to respond when he saw fit.
“Tivia is indeed an invaluable ally. But, do not be misled, Lord Canaveris. Do you really think she has eyes for me, when her return was contingent upon that of my brother’s? It is no secret she has had an eye for Vitali for quite some time, long before we met. It is no coincidence that she and my brother planned their simultaneous return. There.” Isidor removed his hands from Ari’s fully restored leg. Somehow, he had managed to work even faster than Nia, whose skills in working with living materials exceeded his own. “One leg is good as new. Ari, I do insist you keep that tonic on you from now on, no matter the occasion. Nia has been doing well following my very specific guidelines; it should go without saying that I expect the same for you, as well.”
Isidor pulled himself to his feet and offered a grateful nod. “Regardless… I hope you can enjoy the rest of your evening. And the rest of the solstice activities. Vitali’s arrival will not dampen the spirits of this kingdom… I will make sure of it, myself. Ari. Nia.” Bidding them farewell, Isidor left Nia to finish the job, and disappeared into the dwindling crowd.
Nia, who’d simply kept to herself so that Ari and Isidor could have that wholesome moment between themselves, looked up upon Isidor’s departure. She was almost through with returning Ari’s other leg to normal. “Can I just say… whatever’s going on between you two, I love it. It’s almost like your brothers.” She couldn’t help but grin, and winked at the earth mage. “Heavens know, he could use a brother like you leaps and bounds over the asshole who just came back from the dead. I’m glad you two have found some grounds for camaraderie after having a bit of a shaky start. But--Is is right.” The Ardane woman removed her hands from Ari’s toes when they were at last returned to flesh, blood and bone, no remnants of stone in sight. “We can’t let that asshole necromancer put a damper on the rest of our plans. We’ve still got a couple of days of celebration in store--including what we’ve got planned for the Rigases. We’ve come too far planning for that to have Vitali Kristeva’s untimely return fuck it up.”
She pressed her lips together in a note of finality, and offered a hand for Ari to stand once he felt comfortable to do so. “Here.” The Master Alchemist picked up the layers he had shed and offered them to the earth mage, who had resembled a phoenix just moments ago, and now sadly had the air of a mere hatchling. She knew how he only felt true to himself when dressed in his finest, and how this couldn’t have been easy at all for him. “You do what you need to do to reassure your guests; I know that’s important to you. I’ll help Laz look for Sylvie. She might protest, but no one can deny one pair of eyes is still better than two.”
“Next time, I shall attach a chain to your tonic and wear it about my neck so that I may never lose it.” Ari placed a hand to his chest in an exaggerated flourish. “I so swear it.” Although he was making light of his blunder and its consequences in an attempt to lift Isidor’s mood, even to an incremental amount, he did not remove from his expression the serious air of responsibility and promise that Isidor’s chastisement aimed to generate. And when it seemed that the Kristeva alchemist also had misplaced something, namely, his knife, Ari was about to offer alternative suggestions until Nia swooped in, blade in hand, to save the day.
“It is certainly no exaggeration when you say, ‘Five minutes,’” Ari remarked, impressed as always by Nia’s quick change. His awe quickly turned to guilt, however, at mention of his preferences over where to draw his blood. “No, of course you have not hindered my progress,” he hurried, aiming to reassure and appease Nia before she seriously took affront and questioned his lack of honesty. “Not to brag, but the ever frequent and irksome effects of my condition have required me to adapt to the extent at which I am now ambidextrous, using whatever hand is currently available to me. In the event that both hands are rendered nonfunctional, I have learned to use my feet.” He extended one arm for Nia to prick as if he didn’t just admit to a very unorthodox, if not widely impressive, talent. “A tiny sting on a finger is a minor inconvenience, like a mosquito bite, and could not possibly impede my art from advancing, but it is nice to have, on occasion, both hands free of impediment, however minuscule that impediment. If it is at all feasible, I like to have my hands wholly uninhibited. Nothing you have done wrong, Nia; I was not forthright. For that, I apologize.”
Either Nia saw it as a non-issue, or preferred to concentrate on her share of the work for, after she extracted a few droplets of blood from his nicked arm, began depetrifying one leg in silence, leaving him and Isidor to discuss the most notable events of the day without contributing. “Oh, believe me, Isidor, I have done no such thing. My pride in our masterpiece is unparalleled. I am not, as you put it, ‘throwing my vote.’ What, do you expect me to cast it for the Canaveris float? It is rather dishonorable and ungentlemanly to vote for myself and my team, is it not?” He gave Isidor a look of mock incredulity. “My vote goes to who, aside from my team, deserves it most. Simple enough, no?” He left the subject at that, but not without first displaying a wink of approval.
“Not to worry; I’ve no desire to break bread with your nefarious brother,” he said, solemnly. Especially not after he danced with Sylvie, he thought, jaw tightening at the image. As for Hadwin Kavanagh and his loaded confession—he had words for the faoladh, as well, but only after the matter with Teselin had been settled. It was no secret that the rambunctious wolf shifter had a good deal of sway over the summoner’s tumultuous heart. “Canaverises, as a rule, do not associate with necromancers. Tampering with the dead unlawfully is a horrid practice, of which I do not condone.” Even if it were to save my life, came his unspoken conclusion.
As expected, broaching the subject of Tivia Rigas had a significant effect on Isidor, who paused in Ari’s leg reversal process just long enough to engender some concern for the heartbroken Master Alchemist. “I cannot say I am abundantly aware of their history, but I can only vouch for what I have observed, earlier. She hardly spared a glance for your brother, yet was struggling especially hard not to stare at you. Whatever the case may be, she is drawn to you. Feel free to either consider or discard my speculations, but were I you, I would keep an open mind and not discount anything just yet. In any case,” he rummaged an unruffled smile as Isidor, backing away from his leg, announced the task successful and complete, “I am most invested in salvaging what little remains of tonight’s festive spirit. If nothing else, I intend to shower the remainder of my guests with top-notch hospitality the likes of which they have never before known. That is a Canaveris guarantee.” He tested the mobility of his unplastered leg, nodding his approval at the fluidity of movement in his toes and knee joint. “While I would ask for you to stay, I realize these particular social functions are not your forte. Please do find yourself some well-deserved rest, Isidor. And be assured, I shall follow your directions to the letter this time around. Good night.”
Isidor had no sooner departed than Nia finally spoke up, revealing the reasons behind her uncharacteristic bout of silence. She had been…enjoying the camaraderie between them? “I have been coming across as brotherly in my interactions with Isidor?” Ari frowned, but not out of disagreement or disgust. Rather, he had grown thoughtful. “Do you suspect this behavioral adjustment stems from our shared dream? Heavens know I do not act this way with just anyone—with you being a rare exception, of course.”He whispered those last words, aware that they were not in a private setting, and eyes and ears were hovering close-by, readying the mouths to spout juicy gossip about Lord Canaveris cavorting with Master Alchemists.
“You…you honestly think there remains a solitary soul in the kingdom of Galeyn who desires another bout of celebrations after tonight’s disaster?” He shot her a questioning look, as if she’d gone mad. “In all honesty, I would cancel the festival and all other activities forthwith, but that is not my decision to make. It falls on Queen Lilica to decide our next steps, going forward. However, if she agrees to proceed, I cannot imagine there will be a flood of participation from eager Galeynians and D’Marians alike.” And if that were the case, if people opted for another celebration and it ended as a runaway success, what would that do to his pride? For, while his event would be remembered, it wouldn’t be remembered fondly, spoken not in approving tones of pleasure, but of fear. Through no fault of his own, he had failed, and he needed to take responsibility for that failure, as a leader well should.
“We shall discuss this later,” he told Nia as he politely declined her helping hand and, pulling on his beaded slippers, stood on his own merit. His footing, while wobbly, was otherwise stable. People were watching, after all, and he couldn’t be seen as too frail to require a hand up—and neither could he allow the rumor-mill to activate upon seeing him and Nia in close quarters, making physical contact easily misconstrued as intimate. Thanking her for collecting the layers to his elaborate costume, Ari accepted the coat and the cloak, and reoutfitted himself as the huma he wanted everyone to acknowledge, and not the plucked, flightless thing flailing on the grass, legs maimed and broken.
“Yes, I would appreciate your assistance in locating my niece. Laz will cooperate…after grumbling about it under her breath, first,” he buttoned the top layers of his outer coat and threw the tail-feathered cloak around his shoulders. “I shall be here, making my rounds from now until the evening’s end. I will see you later, Nia.” Waving his farewell, Ari plunged into the treacherous waters of the crowd, and hoping to settle the current.
Alster was glad for Elespeth’s input; it enabled him to keep silent and focus on reverting Sylvie’s ruby-red blood crystals into a liquid state without needing to respond to her elaborate confession straightaway. Addressing Ari’s niece in earnest required full, undivided concentration that he was unable to provide at the moment, but Elespeth’s thoughtful and non-judgemental reply was not only a refreshing departure from her usual rhetoric, but practically identical to how he was planning to respond. Perhaps he shouldn’t have felt so surprised; his wife had come a long way in unlearning her quick-to-condemn habits and replacing them with patience and understanding. Even from his limited observations, he watched Sylvie visibly relax her shoulders from his periphery, some of the tension expelled—though if it was out of calm or resignation, he had yet to decipher.
“Everyone so strongly believes that Hadwin wouldn’t dare kiss me under differing circumstances,” Sylvie said with a dejected sigh. Resignation it was. “Am I so hideous? So undesirable that a man would only choose to kiss me during a fit of madness?” Her almost defensive reaction seemed to rattle her, and she quickly railed off apologies for sounding so uncouth and indecorous. “I realize you are implying no such thing, Lady Rigas; forgive my outburst.” An outburst for a Canaveris, Alster noticed, was expressing their true feelings in even tones and maybe with a touch of an exclamative flourish. One would hardly categorize Sylvie’s words as volatile. A little rankled, perhaps, but nothing approaching hysterical or angry. “I suppose I do not know the man well enough, after all. During our interactions over the past several weeks, he has been nothing but pleasant and charming towards me, hardly exhibiting any episodes that would suggest an underlying problem. Of course, I knew him to be grieving, at least initially, but…I admit, he may have had me fooled.”
“He tends to do that,” Alster, completing his work on Sylvie’s face, withdrew his raised arms and joined the conversation. “He might not necessarily hide what’s eating him, but he also has the tendency to belittle his issues while acting like he’s not as badly affected as he actually is. In his parlance, he’d call that tactic ‘misdirection,’ and he excels at it, to the point where even those closest to him can fall victim to his tricks. So don’t feel bad if you couldn’t read the signs; he didn’t want you to. Relatedly,” he paused for a moment, trying to devise the most delicate way to phrase his next bit without causing offense or further compounding Sylvie’s fragile self-esteem, “Hadwin has a…type. In my time of knowing him, I’ve never seen him involved intimately with any young maidens such as yourself. This seems to be a deliberate restriction on his part, moreso after Teselin entered his life…and Rowen Kavanagh exited it. That said, I firmly believe he has no intention of becoming intimately involved with you, or with anyone who falls under a similar lens. But let’s say that, hypothetically, he does take a shine to you. It will never be out of love, only lust. He’ll never court you, or remain faithful to you alone. This isn’t a slam on his character; rather, I’m regurgitating what he himself has said many, many times. True or not, this is what he believes: he’s not capable of romantic love, and he’s not in any hurry to prove himself wrong. I know it might not sound ideal for you, but,” he smiled faintly, “I think you’ve earned something better from him: protection. Sometimes, that form of protection translates to protection from himself. He knows he can be dangerous, and I’m certain he doesn’t want to hurt you.”
“O-oh.” Her reply was like the cry from a mourning dove; low and long and pained. “So I never had a chance. I doubt he would even wish to associate with me anymore, seeing as I have placed his ward under enormous amounts of stress and upset her dearly, and irreversibly. Her magic, it ki—“ she bit her lip, “I would not be of this world anymore, and perhaps that was intended to be my price for interfering in the young summoner’s life and well-being.”
“What happened in the ballroom was not an act of vengeance or punishment, Sylvie,” Alster supplied, gentle but firm in his rejection of her glum suppositions. “Teselin has a very tenuous grip over her magic, and would never do something like this intentionally. I can’t begin to describe how horrible she must feel, even after the crisis was averted. I’m sure you can expect countless apologies from her whenever she’s ready to face the world again. It’s as Elespeth says; Teselin can’t carry resentment when she’s already carrying so much on her shoulders. I think the weight of it would completely break her.” He shuddered to imagine such a scenario unfold. The summoner, too world-weary and careworn of life, released her restraints and unapologetically unleashed the full extent of her apocalyptic magic. Forget Locque; a summoner unbound and out of control was far more terrifying than anything the witch could devise.
Alster took it as a sign to leave when Sylvie, eyes drained of their exuberance, their shine, and exhausted beyond belief, shakily nodded her cautious agreement of their assessment of Teselin. “I will take what you and La—excuse me, Elespeth,” she tried the name on her tongue, “have relayed into consideration. All of it. Even the part where I confess what ails me to my family. They…they should be made aware. One never knows when we might be separated from our loved ones…eternally. I learned as much, tonight.” At Elespeth’s mention of the parade float competition, she summoned the means to smile, albeit feebly. “The Canaveris float is a sure-win. But if you must have concrete proof of our landslide victory, I’ll be sure to remind my uncle to resume voting.”
With a parting curtsy, Sylvie led the Rigas couple to the door and saw them out personally. “Thank you. Alster. Elespeth. For all your help. I look forward to when we next meet. Good night, and safe travels.”
Upon departure, Alster and Elespeth weren’t even halfway down the hallway before they encountered two approaching figures, one familiar to him and the other, only so in passing, and not in her present form. “Nia, and…Laz, I believe?” The taciturn golem nodded, but did not further elaborate. “Are you looking for Sylvie? Rest assured, she’s retired to her bedchambers. We,” he motioned to Elespeth, “were just there. I was healing a small injury on her face she sustained when she unwittingly crashed into a mirror.” It was definitely the truth, but stripped of its essential details. “You’re free to check in on her, but I think she’s ready to retire.”
Laz, having been apprised of the situation, grunted her approval and was about to head in the direction of Sylvie’s chambers, but Alster’s next question halted both her and Nia.
“What else happened in the ballroom? I know who caused the incident and who reversed it, but,” his mouth turned into a frown, “Sylvie tells me an argument she had with Teselin triggered it, but I think there’s more to the story. If you’re able to shine any light on what you know, that would be helpful.”
It turned out, they did know just what, or who, had caused the summoner so much mental distress as to lash out with her wild magic.
“Vitali,” Alster’s expression curdled with distaste. “I should have known that cheeky bastard couldn’t stay dead. So I assume the shock of seeing him alive snapped Teselin’s last and final reserve? And he couldn’t have chosen a less inconvenient time to show his face?!”
Apparently not. The famed necromancer always liked to make a flashy, dramatic entrance. Well, he got his wish.
Wait, was that why…
Had he arrived with Tivia? And if so, did he, did she, know what was going to happen?
Alster massaged two fingers between his brow, his frustrations brewing. This entire situation was growing more complicated by the minute. “I imagine Lilica and Chara will want to discuss tonight’s proceedings in private.” He turned to Elespeth. “If there’s nothing else to be done here, we should return to the palace. I’m sure Ari has everything well in hand on his end, just as long as the necromancer doesn’t decide he wants to show his face here again, solely out of spite. I wouldn’t put that past him. Either way, he’s not our priority right now,” he waved a hand of dismissal. “We should also find Teselin and check to see if she’s alright.” There was unspoken context, a caution riding under his suggestion: We have to make sure she’s stabilized, else we experience an aftershock. If she wasn’t calm, however, and remained a risk to others and possibly to herself…
Would they need to sedate her, as before?
He knew they’d follow him, but he didn’t care, and it didn’t matter. As long as they tried not to stop him again, there wouldn’t be a problem. He might have been too weak and sluggish to catch Teselin in her retreat and redirect her, redirect them, out of Galeyn and as far as she wanted to go, but if anyone dared oppose him in reuniting with her, weakness be damned! He didn’t require physical strength to wreck someone’s mind and leave it bleeding and raw.
The swift ride through the countryside, the rush of air and the blur of darkness, cleared his head, cleared his thoughts, and sharpened his clarity. Not like there was much to sharpen when he understood all too well the situation. When nothing else made sense to him that evening, this did. Ironic as hell to struggle with the mundane but excel at the extraordinary when the majority of folks skewed in the opposite direction, but he was always ace at interpreting and navigating his way through pure, unremitting chaos. In a life full of uncertain and shifting realities, it felt real whenever all hell broke loose. Painfully real.
Hadwin arrived at the palace entrance and left his steed with an attendant, not bothering to wait for his equilibrium to reset before bounding down the hallway…with mixed results. He swerved and crashed against the walls like a drunken butterfly, even though the ride had sobered him up and he was far from wasted on swill. Two pairs of footsteps joined him on his flouncing excursion, and he didn’t need to look over his shoulder to ascertain their identities.
“Stay at a distance, yeah?” he warned Bronwyn and Sigrid as he trudged along, sticking his nose in the air to follow the summoner’s scent. “She’s in her room, so keep away. Think me mad or far gone all you like, but when it comes to her, everything’s crystal clear, so I’m good. No fucking need to worry I’m gonna lose it.”
The two tagalongs obliged, falling back as requested, while he came upon Teselin’s closed door and gave a gentle, conscientious series of knocks. It was weird that he should knock at all, considering his tendency to burst through a door uninvited, but he knew how to be delicate when it mattered—and the door was locked, besides.
“It’s me, kiddo,” he pressed against the door, moving his mouth over the keyhole for maximum audibility. “Don’t need to let me in or nothing if you wanna be left alone, but if you do want my company, then I ain’t going nowhere. Things didn’t go as planned, and hell, I made it all worse by being there and fucking up, as usual,” he chuckled but it sounded more like he was coughing up spittle. “Might be a little reassuring to note that everything that shattered and smashed…unwound and pieced back together somehow, and everyone’s fine now. You know, on the surface; I’m sure they’re right confused and disoriented. But whatever unhappened doesn’t account for how you’re feeling. I get it, chickadee. When you’re the arbiter of destruction, the destroyer, always the destroyer…it messes with you. Fucks you up. I do these things on purpose so I have what’s coming to me, but it ain’t fair to you, cuz you did absolutely bloody nothing wrong. And maybe that’s coming from the wrong person and it’s best heard from someone who has a sparkling reputation and no skeletons in the closet.” He leaned his forehead on the door. “Cuz I’m sure I’m not the only one who thinks so. You’ve got supporters and folks who wanna help. But we can focus on all that later. Right now, it’s fine just to be. To simmer and fizzle out and sit in your own smoke. That’s all good, Tes. Just tell me…if you want me here or not.”
Being responsible for a good portion of festivities carrying out throughout Galeyn, even if the masquerade this evening was being put together and coordinated by Lord Canaveris, Lilica ended up arriving after the parade had ended quite late into the throes of the ball. Admittedly, her own costume had been hurried compared to others, clad in white with decals that resembled the feathers of a whitr dove, but its lack of intricacy could easily have cast her in the light of a commoner. In a way, it worked in her favour, as no one recognized her, but her time spent at the costumed ball (admittedly, in search of Chara, who had not informed her as to how she might be dressed) was short-lived, before everything made of glass completely shattered before her very eyes. The Galeynian queen knelt and covered her face to protect her eyes, bracing herself for the shards that would inevitably bite into her skin, but… the bite never came.
The cacophony of startled gasps half a moment later was her signal that it was safe to finally take a look at what became of the carnage: and there was none. Plenty of startled guests, frantically looking over their hands, their feet, over their bodies for evidence of something very real that they had felt, but there was nothing to suggest that anything had gone array. “What in all hells…” The Tenebris daughter breathed, searching for an answer, which Aristide Canaveris then took the stand to explain. Immediately, the Galeynian Queen knew exactly to whom he was referring, for now that Locque had been removed, there was only one person whose magic was so innately wild that it would require the return of Tivia Rigas to reverse.
Teselin, Tivia Rigas… what in all hells was going on?
Lilica immediately set out to find Ari, or anyone who could explain what had happened, when someone caught her eye. The only thing that gave away the costumed guest’s identity was their styled, blonde hair, and the haughty and assured way in which they held themselves. The dark mage didn’t hesitate for a second to grab them by the wrist, bearing their irate look of confusion, until their own realization set in that she was not a stranger. “I was hoping to find you under better circumstances…” She admitted to Chara and unleashed a mournful sigh. “I don’t know what I just walked into… Do you have any idea what is going on? Where is Teselin? Did you know that Tivia Rigas has returned?”
But Chara had no further insight into the matter than she did, as it turned out, and also sought a clearer explanation. If Teselin had been responsible for essentially causing yet another devastating tragedy, what had been the reason behind it? Historically, the young summoner’s magic did not go completely haywire without a good reason. Nor did Tivia Rigas show up after months of hiding without any contact or correspondence. The timing of these events made little to no sense.
“I don’t imagine Aristide knows any more than we do.” Lilica commented as she spotted the Canaveris lord in the crowd, who appeared to be trying to placate some of his distressed attendees and keep the peace to try and avert panic. Of course he would want to salvage what remained of this ball, despite that nearly half of his guests were piling out of the venue, too shaken by what had just occurred to continue to want to celebrate. The Galeynian queen couldn’t blame him: she, too, felt the devastation that this may well be the beginning and the end of the festivities she had painstakingly invested in to raise the spirits of Galeynians and D’Marians alike. “We need to find Alster.” She said at last, and by the look of resolve on Chara’s face, she agreed. “If anyone has any insight into this… I feel it has to be him.”
But tracking someone down when they were among many other disguised patrons was no easy task. As they waded through the dwindling sea of people, Lilica could tell that Chara was losing her patience, and Lilica was losing heart that they would ever get to the bottom of this. What were the chances Alster was even still here, after all? Knowing him, he may have taken a crisis into his own hands and was already executing a solution.
When they had all but given up on finding someone in costume, the Rigas woman and the Galeynian queen ended up crossing paths with one of the few people in the crowd who did not don a mask. Isidor was patiently waiting for a handful of people to file through the doorway on his way out when Lilica purposely caught his eye (likely much to his displeasure). “Isidor--it’s Lilica. I realize you desperately wish to vacate this venue, and I won’t keep you long: have you seen Alster?”
The Master Alchemist slowly shook his head. “No. Not once, your Majesty, and you’ll have to excuse my crass remark, but with my brother’s untimely return… I’m afraid I have more urgent matters on my mind.”
“...what did you just say?” Before Isidor could turn away, Lilica grabbed his arm. “What do you mean your--our brother… Does this have to do with Vitali?”
Before Isidor could reply, the object of Lilica’s initial search materialized behind her. Alster and Elespeth (the former more recognizable than the latter, with his ocean-themed costume so reminiscent of his float giving him away) entered their space, and by the urgent looks on their faces, they already knew exactly what was going on. “Alster. Vitali…” Of course, he was already well aware, and ready and willing to spring into action and confront the necromancer for answers. “But what of Tivia Rigas? Is it really a coincidence that she should show up at the exact same time?”
Unfortunately, Alster had no insights into Tivia, why she had chosen to return, or her motivations and intentions, but he did not appear too concerned that she might be a threat. On the contrary, her magic had just spared an entire room of people from yet another tragedy that this kingdom just couldn’t handle. If Alster believed his cousin was doing what she was out of good, and that her presence was a boon, then Lilica had no reason not to believe him. “Did any of you happen to see the necromancer? Do we know where he is right now?” She asked at last, veering back to what should be everyone’s priority: finding out exactly how and why Vitali Kristeva had returned, and what this would mean for the kingdom as a whole.
“Last I checked, he was escorted outside. I wouldn’t worry that he wandered too far.” Isidor narrowed his eyes with displeasure. Whatever had happened that involved the necromancer, (and Lilica assumed it had something to do with Teselin’s magical outburst), it had left the Master Alchemist with little patience for any further nonsense. “Something tells me he wants an audience to ask him all of the questions they are just dying to know.”
Sure enough, when the five of them finally managed to exit the Canaveris villa, who stood toward the edge of the terrace but the smug necromancer, clad completely in black but now free of his raven mask. His smile was infuriating, and were it not for the diplomatic company he kept, Isidor might have felt inclined to punch his brother. “You waited for us.” The Master Alchemist stated as fact. Just as he’d suggested, Vitali had not reappeared just to fade back into the shadows.
The necromancer unfolded his arms and chuckled, taking a single bold step forward. “But of course. I imagine you all have questions, yes? What would that make of me, to return all of a sudden and refuse to elucidate all of the foggy details on your minds. Ah, Alster, Elespeth. And my dear sister and her scowling companion.” Vitali nodded to the others in a gesture of greeting that seemed anything but sincere. “News certainly travels fast. I never would have imagined in a million years that you would be so eager to see me.”
“In the carriage.” Lilica uttered the three words with such cloying ice in her voice that even Isidor was startled and would have obeyed. When she looked upon their shared brother, it was not with kindness. “We will continue this discussion at the palace.”
Just over an hour and two full carriages later, the Rigases, the Kristevas, and the Tenebris daughter arrived at the palace, well into the dark of night. Much of the palace (those who had attended Aristide’s masquerade) were gradually returning to retire for the evening after witnessing such a traumatizing event, with only Galeynian guards and Forbanne on duty to be seen at the entrance and in the hallways. Those Galeynian guards in particular, upon recognizing Vitali, sprung into action to escort the group from the front and to also bring up the rear, unsure of exactly what was happening but knowing well that if Vitali Kristeva was alive and involved, then it couldn’t be good.
They settled in the council chambers, Lilica at the head of the table with Chara next to her, Alster and Elespeth seated nearby, and Isidor standing next to his seat, while the necromancer sat across from all of them. “Please send envoys to inform Vega and Haraldur Sorde that Vitali Kristeva had returned from the dead.” Lilica instructed the two remaining guards who’d accompanied them inside the room. Two others had remained outside, prepared to spring into action should they be needed. “And also Sigrid Sorenson, if you happen to find her.”
The guards obliged with a nod and then left the others to privacy in the council chambers. A pregnant silence enveloped the room for a moment afterward, one where everyone had far too much to say, to ask, but nobody quite knew where to begin. Finally, it was Isidor who, uncharacteristically, opted to break the silence. “Why the change in height? Has death granted you the option to address physical insecurities?” He challenged his brother, arms clasped tightly across his chest, and his jaw set firm and unimpressed. “You certainly set out to make an impression upon your return. Not to mention, death has also been so kind as to restore your sense of sight.”
“Insecurities? Call it what you will, Isidor, but if you had the option to change anything about yourself--without lifting a finger, I must add, considering such a feat is within your hard-working capabilities--wouldn’t you?” Vitali lifted his shoulders in a shrug, relatively unfazed by his brother’s anger and accusations. “And the eyesight was a boone. When I returned, I had no way of knowing if my father’s curse was tied to my body or my essence. As it so turned out? Luckily, only my body.”
“And what of your body? You’re not human, Vitali. Or even less so than you were before. But you died--several people confirmed that. It was no ruse.” Isidor narrowed his eyes and unfolded his arms to lean on the table. “So we all deserve to know: how, Vitali? How is it that you are still walking among the living?”
“Ah… Isidor, don’t think it out of respect for secrecy that I’m not so forthcoming with those details. Rather, I wish only to spare your feelings. But if you require such a disclosure as an act of good faith…” The necromancer clasped his hands together on the table and sighed softly. “For all his less than favourable reputation… old man Zenech’s skills were by no means exaggerated. Little wonder as to why so many sought him out despite his despicable people skills.”
If it were possible for Isidor to grow any paler, he certainly did in that moment. Eyes wide, the Master Alchemist drew back and finally lowered himself into a chair. All of the fight was gone from his eyes. “That day… when I saw you at the tower, and you wouldn’t help me…”
“Surely you don’t take me for a fool, Isidor. You think I wasn’t well aware that taunting death as I so often do would one day land me at its mercy? Of course I would have a contingency plan, and I have to say…” Vitali stretched out an arm so as to inspect his left hand. “I can’t find any flaws with this body. The old curmudgeon certainly delivered on his promise.”
“... a lich. Your body is new, and inhuman, but you were not resurrected. Not without another necromancer.” Isidor stated such as fact without needing to ask. “Did you… even actually die?”
“In the technical sense, yes. But not completely. Please rest assured, everyone, I am the very same Vitali Kristeva that you’ve always known, even if my shell bears minor differences, and the context of my living existence has… changed, to say the least. But… forgive me for bringing this up, although I have to ask: is no one here willing to acknowledge the reason for my ‘death’ at all?” The necromancer raised his eyebrows and scanned the room’s questioning faces. “Surely you don’t think I’d throw my life away for no reason.”
“We’re all listening, Vitali. Here and now is your chance to explain.” Lilica, who had sat in cold silence up until now, finally spoke. “And considering you may be to blame for triggering your sister’s chaos back at the Canaveris villa… for your sake, it had better be good.”
The eldest Kristeva sibling didn’t look even vaguely concerned. He leaned back in his chair, the epitome of relaxation, and folded his arms. “Your Dawn warrior--well, former Dawn warrior’s object of affections was rather reluctant to pass on. Pestered me like a poltergeist for months, until I bent to her whim. She wanted to be close to her lover among the living, because she believed she had a way to free her from the witch’s thrall and thereby throw her off her game--and the most surefire way to achieve that was to transfer the remnants of her soul into that sword. Unfortunately… there was no way around touching it. And, well,” he spread his hands, “the rest is history.”
“You knew of Gaolithe’s curse; you knew you would die. And you went ahead with it anyway.” Elespeth pointed out, her sharp, verdant eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why?”
“What, did you really think I had completely bent to Locque’s win? Like I’ve said before, Elespeth… I always take the winning side.” Vitali winked, and a sly smile crept up his face. “I knew the cost of looking out for the team I’ve chosen. Think what you will, there was never a doubt in my mind that you all would emerge victorious.”
When Teselin fled the Canaveris villa, she didn’t think twice before taking a night steed to the palace where she sequestered herself in her room, and didn’t leave or open the door for everyone. She’d been the catalyst for disaster, yet again, and had watched misfortune unfold before her very eyes. There would, of course, be people jumping to her defense: Hadwin would reassure her that she’d already anticipated her loss of control of her wild magic, since she’d asked him to accompany her back to the palace. Isidor would undoubtedly blame Vitali, and that his sudden resurgence was the cause of her rampant emotions. Neither of them was inherently wrong… but that didn’t change the fact that she was still the unwilling weapon of destruction. If only Mollengard had used her correctly. They could’ve forced her to raze entire kingdoms in their quest to conquer; perhaps she had to count herself lucky that they’d settled on (unsuccessfully) trying to siphon her magic.
The young summoner positioned herself in a corner, knees pulled to her chest and tears leaking from her eyes. Why couldn’t she have kept her composure? Why was it becoming increasingly difficult to keep herself together, now that imminent danger was finally alleviated? Locque was gone. They had Sigrid back. Queen Lilica had since recovered from what it had taken to fell the witch threatening her kingdom. And Hadwin was finally recovering, despite that it was a slow process. Why should the return of her dead brother push her so off-kilter? Hadn’t she assumed, deep in her hopeful heart, that this would be the case? Hadn’t she actively awaited Vitali’s return, waited for that punchline that of course he hadn’t actually died, days and days after multiple people had confirmed his death? She should be ecstatic; she should be relieved. But she wasn’t; instead, she was just… angry.
Time felt like it had come to a standstill in the darkness of Teselin’s room, but the young summoner knew that there was no way she could trigger such an imminent disaster without someone calling on her at some point. It also didn’t come as any surprise that that person would be Hadwin. While she knew he was at the door, she was hesitant to respond, knowing he couldn’t possibly be alone in his recovering condition. She might not have had a faoladh sense of smell, but had a feeling that Hadwin’s sister was nearby to keep an eye on him, and looking out for her would be Sigrid. Frankly, she didn’t want to face any of them; didn’t want to hear their sympathies and fake understandings. Didn’t want anyone to tell her it ‘wasn’t her fault’ when it clearly had been, for so many reasons. It therefore came as a relief when Hadwin, who chose to speak up, didn’t take that approach. Didn’t tell her it wasn’t her fault, but confirmed her role as an arbiter of destruction. It wasn’t an exaggeration that Hadwin did understand where she was coming from… and she knew on every level that he partially blamed himself for putting her in the headspace that had led her to losing control. And that wouldn’t bode well for him. She didn’t want him to spiral into madness. She didn’t want to lose him again.
So, after a moment of weighing her options, the young summoner pulled herself up off of the floor and released the lock on her door, at which point she opened it on a crack. She couldn’t see much, but if anyone had accompanied Hadwin, they were respectfully keeping their distance. She pulled the door open wider and stepped back to allow him entry, and when he stepped inside, closed it quietly after him.
“...how much longer are we going to pretend that I am not a problem, Hadwin?” While she appeared to be asking him directly, the question was also an echo of her own mental reflection. “What am I even still doing here? I sought my brother in Stella D’Mare. And when I finally found him… I learned he could not help me. And when I found my other brother, I learned he cannot help me, either. I’ve met the most powerful people this world currently knows, and no one can… no one can help me. I just keep getting worse, for everyone, including myself. Including you.”
The young summoner wiped her swollen eyes and pressed her back to the door. “I got lucky, tonight. But I might not have been. It could have ended so much worse, and I… I can’t be good for you, Hadwin. I can’t be good for Sylvie Canaveris. I can’t be the friend that she needs, even if she’d ever give me another chance, after the way I treated her. Why should I bother entertaining the idea that I could ever lead a normal life? Maybe it’s time that… I just go. Away from anyone else that might get caught in my line of fire. But where? Where can I go where I won’t hurt anyone?” Her wide, dark eyes sought Hadwin’s silhouette in the darkness. “I don’t know what to do. But sooner or later… if I don’t do something, then I am going to become Galeyn’s next problem. The next perceived evil that Galeyn will seek to remove. I am not much different from Locque; we’re practically made of the same fabric. The same intentions. She never set out to hurt anyone, but look where her magic landed her, when she suffered a hurt from which she couldn’t recover… have you seen her, Hadwin? In the Night Garden?”
Teselin waited a beat for his reply, before she went on. “She’s still here. Not the Locque that everyone saw, but the person she was before. A Gardener; stuck in some endless time loop where she is desperately in search of someone she cared for. I’ve seen her a few times, late at night. She’s spoken to me, but the conversation is always the same, because she has no memory beyond that frozen moment in time. Harmless… and lost. And desperate to hope for an outcome that she will never see. So is it treacherous of me to say that she, another arbiter of destruction, didn’t deserve her misfortune, either?”
Hadwin was the only person to whom she would ever confess as much, but after seeing Locque’s apparition in the Night Garden, seeing the girl she once was, and seeing so much of herself in her… how could she not feel a shred of empathy? “If people had been hurt tonight… I would never be able to forgive myself. And I don’t know how that grief would manifest. Particularly if you had ended up a casualty. I just don’t know… how much longer I can pretend to fit in, without putting everyone I care about at risk. What…” Her head drooped, and she cradled it in the palms of her hands. “What am I supposed to do…”
Respecting Lilica’s decision to withhold the interrogation until they reached the palace, Alster and Chara obliged, not keen on making yet another scene on Canaveris territory for Ari to manage. With six people among them, the party was split in half between two carriages: Lilica, Chara, Vitali in one; Alster, Elespeth, Isidor in the other. During the tense return ride to central Galeyn, Alster placed a hand atop Elespeth’s, but otherwise said nothing. So much had happened over the course of a few short hours, which admittedly, wasn’t anything new for him, but the impact didn’t hit until sitting in the dark, calming silence of the carriage; how much he needed this break. How he looked forward to the festivities following the endless, months’ long march of stumbling from disaster to disaster. How he yearned for soothing rain to wash away the grime that still clung to his boots like a bad memory, because it was a bad memory. Several, in fact, congealing into a squelching lump and creeping up his legs like sentient black mold. During those last months, he’d summoned the Serpent, was almost obliterated into space dust and left to wander in a formless cluster, learned his wife had died to save him, lost himself, came back only to nearly lose himself again in the Unseen realm (where it was Tivia who saved him next), and was still nursing the slow-to-heal wound caused by—and simultaneously treated by—Locque.
He needed this evening, and the evenings to come. He needed the playful rendezvous with Elespeth and the incredible sex it would have provided. And Vitali ruined it. He ruined it all. Like Isidor across from him, he was sorely tempted to throw diplomacy to the winds and punch the smug necromancer square in the jaw. With his steel hand. Coursed through with electricity. Lucky for Vitali, then, to be riding alongside Lilica and Chara, though he doubted the latter would be pleasant company for him, either.
After the two carriages arrived at the palace and the six of them comfortably settled inside the council chambers, Alster inspected Vitali a little closer. Out in the dimly lit evening air, he couldn’t make out any finer details of the man aside from his height—which, he checked, was not artificially bolstered by platformed heels such as his own—and his hair-raising spikes of death-like energies. But now, under the well-lit chamber lights, he was able to catch the finer details of the necromancer who essentially returned from the dead. Not much had changed about his appearance, save for the miraculous return of his vision and the color of his eyes, which appeared more violet than onyx. Aside from the restoration of his sight and his other minor cosmetic changes, Vitali presented himself exactly as everyone remembered: as an unapologetic, irreparable bastard.
And as it turned out, he wasn’t only a bastard of a man, (bastardization of a man, rather, considering the flaunting of his newest acquisition), but a bastard of a brother, too, choosing a Master Alchemist’s services over assisting Isidor out of his living hell. “How long have you had that body on reserve? And how did you preserve it for this long? I take it to understand your commission, as it were, is nearly two decades old. So what, have you been keeping this homunculus body,” he gestured to all of Vitali, “in an undisclosed underground tomb somewhere for emergency situations such as this? How many of them do you have in storage?” He raised one eyebrow, not surprised to hear any answer, ranging from ‘Yes,’ ‘No,’ or ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ “And doesn’t this mean you’re technically not alive, either? You’re anchored to this body presently, but if it were destroyed, you wouldn’t die again. Haven’t you, in a sense, liberated yourself from the very concept of death insofar as it is defined as a permanent severance from one’s physical body and spirit? You’re not a restless spirit; nor are you alive. Your frequencies have changed too much to ever consider you among the living. Though you may fool some people, there will be a great deal more who will see through your facade.” Alster sighed and leaned back on his chair, remembering to whom he was speaking. “Not like you particularly care about appearances.”
“Well, that makes two of us.” Chara, who had long disposed of her blue morpho butterfly mask, shot Vitali an unamused and unimpressed stare from across the table. “Alive or dead, lich or leech or lindworm in disguise— I frankly do not give a fig about how you’ve chosen to present yourself. I’m more concerned about where your loyalties lie, necromancer. Do you come to us as a friend or as a foe? So yes, please tell us of the circumstances surrounding your death or however the hell you wish to define your existential experience.”
While Vitali’s hand in dismantling Gaolithe’s power from the inside out might have come as a shock to most of the people present, Alster was not among their ranks. Not only had he examined the necromancer’s body at the onset of his death, confirming purposeful contact with the smiting weapon, but he personally observed, through orchestrated run-ins with the thralled Sigrid, how the accursed blade seemed to deteriorate in grade, gradually, over the next few weeks. As though someone was personally tampering with its power source—the trapped spirits of its previous holders. Seeing as he had planted the idea into Naimah’s head, shortly before her tragic death, that infiltration of the blade needed to occur from within, Vitali’s explanation of his invaluable services did little but verify what Alster already knew, but hadn’t been able to reveall to anyone, lest their treachery was discovered.
“Never a doubt? Hah!” Chara’s scoff puffed a breath so robust, it created a flicker in the lantern closest to her. “You’re telling us that you planned this all along? Down to the sudden need to manage your curse for pain-free access to the palace, your hokey ‘wolf’ attack, and your fun little betrayal? More like your original plans fell to the wayside and you were looking for an easier escape route from the claws of an irate witch, who would have done much worse than kill you. Now you are spinning faulty tales to come out of this looking like an unsung hero who always has our best interests at heart. Just admit that you chose the wrong side instead of doling out false reassurances of your so-called loyalty.”
“No. He’s telling the truth.” A few pairs of eyes rerouted their attention from Vitali to Alster, in seeming disbelief that he would defend the slimy necromancer at all. “Naimah…she was just implementing my proposed strategy. I hypothesized that one needed inside access to Gaolithe in order to deactivate its enchantment. If we could somehow free the imprisoned souls of the Dawn warriors, who feed into the sword’s destructive power, then it was possible to render it useless. But as we couldn’t devise a way to penetrate its dense and hostile energy field without dying ourselves, it left us at an impasse, and we temporarily halted research until we could come up with an alternate plan. Little did I know that she would use her death to her advantage, and finish what we started. So,” he planted both hands on the table, “loath as I am to admit, Vitali played a central role in neutralizing Gaolithe. Now, it’s nothing more than a junk sword that anyone can handle.”
Before anyone else had the opportunity to admit the frankly outlandish and absurd idea that Vitali had sacrificed himself for purposes that did not come across as entirely self-serving, the council room doors swung open to welcome Haraldur, Vega, Sigrid, and Bronwyn. The latter trailed behind them, looking unsure if she should even be in attendance.
“No need to repeat yourself. We heard everything.” The Forbanne commander, still attired in his tawny brown masquerade outfit sans the mask, swept inside, cold, impassive eyes resting on Galeyn’s man of the hour. “So I suppose I have you to thank for saving my life…again? You’ll have to excuse me if I can’t muster the words to spout your praises. I’ll reserve them for Naimah, who is by and far the real savior we should be celebrating. The only thanks you’ll get from me is refraining from impaling your alchemically-grown dummy body with my sword and seeing if you’re still able to bleed and feel pain.”
“…Obviously, this is a very personal matter between everyone here and I’ll take my leave.” Bronwyn, too aware of the tension between Vitali versus everyone else, gave a parting look to Sigrid, who she seemed hesitant to leave behind in light of the troubling news. “I only wanted to inform you all that Teselin’s in her chambers and Hadwin’s inside with her. He’s very adamant about the fact that everyone, except for him, leaves her alone for now. In matters involving the summoner, I suppose I can trust his judgment. He has a pretty good track record in calming her down. Ah,” she took one comically large retreating step, “I believe that’s all I came here to say, and—“
“—Stay, Bronwyn,” Alster instructed, his eyes reading, ‘You're as much a part of this as everyone else.’ She apparently got his unspoken message and remained in proximity to Sigrid as a supportive presence, should the former Dawn warrior reach out and seek it. “This does remind me of another pertinent question I must ask of you, Vitali. About what happened in the ballroom. According to Isidor and Nia, who were primary eyewitnesses to the incident, you seemed patently unconcerned about Teselin’s explosive reaction, as if you knew the damage wouldn’t stick. Now here comes my question. Series of questions, rather. Did you have any foresight into this event prior to your arrival? Relatedly—did you attend the masquerade with Tivia?” To foster a more peaceful dialogue, he resolved to smooth out some of the building tensions with a level-headed tone. “If so, please tell us why. Why was she with you? Have you been in contact with her this entire time, and she, you? Where might we find her? If the two of you are colluding together for any reason, it’s imperative that you tell us what you know. Since you’re looking out for the ‘team’ and all.”
“And while you are at it, please tell us why deliberately choosing one of the biggest celebrations of the year to approach an emotionally-volatile summoner while she is among hundreds of loud, sloppy, drunken revelers is operating on the basis of sound reasoning,” Chara drawled, unable to hide her derision no matter what pace or inflection she spoke. “I am dying to know what possessed you to do so, when you could have, I don’t know, revealed yourself in a quieter setting, if your intentions to contact your sister were oh so pure. You cannot tell me you did not crave the drama your reentrance from oblivion would generate. And my, did it generate, above and beyond your wildest dreams. Bravo to you, necromancer,” she clapped her hands together in mock applause. “Take a bow, for your performance was nothing short of riveting.”
There existed a thirty-second timeframe where Hadwin thought that maybe, Teselin wouldn’t open the door for him. And it would have been fine, he told himself, assured himself. He wasn’t the clingy sort whose feelings got hurt if someone begged out of his life for a while. Usually, it was him who did the begging off, first, as Briery could attest. But when the door cracked open an inch, and then a little wider to allow him entry, palpable relief flooded through him. Somehow, he didn’t fuck it up so badly with Teselin that she would refuse his company, but one quick look at her doleful, joyless eyes and he understood.
…You’re afraid I’m gonna lose it, too, huh?
But didn’t he also fear the same for her? That she’d one day snap in a direction too sharp and severe to reroute, or reverse? Just like…Rowen?
“Scamp, no one’s pretending, but hells, it’s been a right mess at every conceivable angle for the last handful of months and it looks like you got overshadowed by the big bad summoner and all the debris she left behind when she kicked it. I sure as shit haven’t made things easy for you, either.” Even in the dark of the room, he saw her, unobscured by shadow and shade. No amount of it could influence how she appeared to him. A bastion of clarity, signifying clear skies and fair weather. Nothing hidden, or at least, nothing he couldn’t uncover or follow into the thick of clouds and wind and rain. Storms were his default, anyway, his brain a near-constant tempest too consistent and persistent to categorize as abnormal, so why did it bother him to chase after her storms and invite them into his life? Like her, living a normal life was never a possibility.
“Thing is, we’re both problems. You can’t pretend I’m not one either, especially for you. But if I’m honest,” he leaned against the wall and leaned the heel of his palm against his forehead, “you might be the only one keeping me sane right about now. The one thing that makes sense when all else is murky beyond sin and I can’t see past my fucking hand.” He balled that hand into a fist. “Believe me, you’re good for me.” About the only good and real thing still left for me to grasp. But there was no need to mention that last bit aloud when he already revealed way more about his state of mind than he cared for her to know. While he didn’t mean to manipulate her into sticking around on his account, at the same time, if she was planning to get lost somewhere on her own, he’d trail after her like an annoying tagalong she’d never be able to shake.
“Aw, kid, those folks couldn’t help you at that moment. Doesn’t mean they can’t develop a way to help you down the line. You said it yourself. You’ve probably met the most powerful people the world has known—and look how long it took ‘em to defeat Locque. But your case is different. Way different. Cuz there’s a lot of people who actually like you and don’t wanna see you struggle with this smothering weight all on your own.” He pushed off the wall and drew closer to the distraught summoner, arms spread wide. “Believe you me, I haven’t given up on you. Might’ve lost my focus for a bit there, but I’m back on track. Now,” his voice lowered, softening the impact of his next words, “I can’t lie and say you won’t hurt anyone else. No matter where you go or what you do, it’ll inevitably happen again. That’s just existence in a nutshell, isn’t it? The simple act of being part of this world means you’re gonna mess up a lot of peoples’ lives, inadvertently or not. More so when you’ve got a power like yours. There’s something I can promise you, though.” He alighted a hand over her shoulder, firm and unwavering and unafraid. “You’ll never hurt me. Maybe I’ll get clipped, sure, but that’s not the same thing. That’s just the body’s physical response to pain. Small potatoes for a masochist. No, the only way you can hurt me is if you give up on yourself. My wish is the same as yours, yeah?” Even though it was dark and her vision too limited to detect nuances in the room, he cocked a smile for her. “If you won’t let me waste away and die, then I’m gonna return the favor with interest. So forget Locque for a moment. It’s not the same. She lost her supporters and sure, that’s a damn shame on her end. But you haven’t. Far from it. You’re not doomed to follow her path. Hers is a cautionary tale, but it’s not a play-by-play on how it’s gonna go for you. So here’s what we’re gonna do.”
He closed his arms around Teselin’s small, shivering frame and held her in a warm embrace. “We’re gonna sit here, ok? Sit here until it passes, till you’re too numb and tired to stay awake a second longer. Then we’re gonna sleep. Sleep and sleep and sleep. And when you’ve had your fill, we’ll approach this problem of yours with fresh eyes and really go for it. Does this sound like a working plan? Take everything step by step?” With a gentle pressing on the soft spot between her shoulders, he led her to the bed and sat her down on its downy surface. As he’d done for her many times before, he shed his clothes and shook into his wolf skin, despite the difficulty in shifting so early into his recovery regimen. Still, he managed a successful transformation, and in his cuddlier, furrier form, curled around Teselin, tickled her nose with his tail, and rested his canine head upon her lap, listening to her erratic heartbeat until eventually, late into the night, it settled into a steady, sleepy rhythm. Somehow, he’d coaxed her into a slumber deep enough that she didn’t stir when he dislodged from her and jumped off the bed. She didn’t stir when he transformed back into his human form, an ugly chorus of grinding, resetting bones accompanying the physically demanding process. She didn’t stir when he threw on his clothes, opened the window, and tumbled into the bushes outside her room.
His middle-of-the-night sojourns led him to the Night Garden. Lucky he knew the ins and outs of central Galeyn, because his alternate route avoided guards or anyone else that might recognize him and nose along for the ride out of concern for his health or some bullshit.
He found the ghost of young Locque in quite possibly one of the worst places in the Night Garden; standing before Rowen’s unmarked grave. Was some part of her spirit drawn to paying respects to the faoladh who served her far older and much more corrupt self? If that were true, perhaps she could provide the insights he sought, in spite of her repetitious nature. He knew his way around ghosts, besides, and it was not their first meeting.
“That’s my sister in there,” he emerged from the brush to point at a spot the woman was staring upon so intently. “She sought help from the Night Garden, but it couldn’t save her. No one could. Not even me.”
“I hear you’re looking for someone,” he forced his gaze from the grave, and hence, the subject. “A gentleman thief, yeah? I’ll put out some feelers for him,” he stuffed his hands into his pockets, a casual enough gesture, which hid the clenching of his fingers. “Me and him probably run the same circles anyway. But before I go ahead and do that, maybe you could help me with something?”
Still avoiding that spot on the earth where Rowen’s body writhed (not rested; the path of her violent demise precluded any such luxury), he removed one hand from his pocket to pluck a leaf from a low-hanging branch, twirling it around in his fingers. “I hear you’re a summoner. I’ve got a friend who’s a summoner, too, and…it’s been hard on her. I mean, really hard. The magic’s tied to her emotions, so when she’s upset, the whole vicinity gets caught in the crossfire. She’s felled towns, cities, endangered rooms full of people, completely by accident. Seriously, the kid’s a sweetheart; wouldn’t hurt a fly if she could at all help it. But she can’t control when the magic floods out of her and when it floods out, it can get downright apocalyptic. Earthquakes and hurricanes, tidal waves…the works. So what I wanna know is,” he raised his eyes, appraising the sorrowed young woman who, dammit all, did remind him of Teselin—painfully so! “Tell me how it’s been for you. What’s your magic like? How do you get a handle on it? Hells, do you even know about your origins? Or what you are? I’ll take whatever you can tell me. Anything at all, however small or unimportant.” Unbidden, his too-heavy head fell, positioning his line of sight closer in level to the plot of land beneath which contained his sister’s decomposing corpse. “I don’t want her to end up there. In the ground. As someone else this hopeless bastard put there.”
It came as no surprise that Vitali seemed prepared for the deluge of questions that bombarded him after the group of wary acquaintances escorted him back to the palace and into the council chamber. The place hadn’t changed too much in Locque’s absence, but there was the distinct lack of a particularly dark aura that had permeated the walls when she had been alive. He wondered if his sudden presence now filled that void, but even if it did, he didn’t really care. It took more than a suspicious attitude on everyone else’s part to throw him off. “Do understand, Alster, that while I am more than happy to answer your questions, I’ll request that you refrain from asking anything a little too personal. Yes, this body has been lying in status for quite a while, kept in a safe place, unbeknownst to anyone but me and a dead man. Now, as to how many of ‘these’ there are, if any, for that matter… I’m sure you can understand that since this is a delicate matter of my survival, I am rather hesitant to reveal such details. After all, should I reveal the number and/or the location of any such hypothetical vessels I might have in reserve… what would stop any of you from seeking them out and destroying them? Remember,” He raised his eyebrows and casually leaned back, arms folded. “Trust does go both ways. Although, I will admit, you are right: I am neither alive nor dead. I’ve simply changed the parameters of my very existence, but to such a degree that I am at least able to feign a passable semblance of life. I commend your keen skills of observation, Rigas.”
Despite his honesty (barring every detail the necromancer purposely chose to leave out, that is), the majority of the lot still appeared distrustful of his explanation and his claimed role as someone integral to dampening Locque’s hold on this kingdom and its people. Again, it came as no surprise, and he did not appear to care either way as to whether or not they believed him, although he was rather curious as to how they would choose to process his role in dismantling Locque’s literal first layer of defense: enthralling Sigrid Sorenson, by way of ‘poisoning’ the enchanted sword Gaolithe with an active human soul, which happened to be that of the former Dawn warrior’s lover.
Unsurprisingly--no one believed him. But then, surprisingly… Alser Rigas came to his defense. Truly, the necromancer never thought he would see the day that someone who openly loathed his existence would defend his actions. And perhaps for that, he only had Naimah to thank, for it had been Alster who had initially put the idea into her head. “Alster, I say, you deserve a round of applause.” Vitali asserted with a smile, and straightened his posture in his seat. “You restore my faith in society, truly, as one who is both able to openly dislike me without discrediting me where credit is due. Really, a shame the D’Marians ousted you as a leader: if you ask me, they’ve lost out. Rest assured,” he put his hands up in a defensive gesture. “I would never ask you to call me a hero for my corporeal sacrifice for the greater good. That this respected gentleman acknowledges the part I played for your benefits, and for the benefit of everyone in this kingdom, is more than enough.”
“Hero?” It was Elespeth’s turn to voice her incredulity. She leaned on the table, hands clenched into tight fists. “You can’t seriously…”
The Rigas woman trailed off when four others entered the room. No one wore a pleasant (or particularly surprised) look on their face, but of all of them, Sigrid’s conveyed the most fire. The necromancer should have counted himself lucky that it was Haraldur Sorde who decided to convey his thoughts and feelings on the matter first. Nonetheless, Vitali remained unruffled by the Forbanne commander’s thinly veiled threats.
“Ah, well I’m afraid I truly cannot take credit for saving your life again, Commander Sorde. You are right to attribute that to Naimah; I assume she triggered the end of Gaolithe’s power over your cousin just in the nick of time?” The necromancer glanced at Sigrid for confirmation. “Like Alster said, the idea and conviction was all the Kariji woman’s. I merely implemented what needed to be done to fulfill her wishes. And to answer your question, Eyraillian prince,” he cocked his head to the side and grinned. “It just so happens that I do bleed. A proper homunculus body functions very much like any human shell. Though I’d refrain from running me through anytime soon: you never know when I might be of help to you again.”
“Personally, I would be willing to take that chance.” Sigrid’s azure eyes were like ice as they bore into the necromancer’s. It had been quite some time since the blonde warrior had looked so deadly.
But the threats all ended there, as Alster brought up some more important points of the evening which required clarification. To his credit, Vitali did not shroud his answers in ambiguity, as he was wont to do. “Ah, our dear Star seer. This answer warrants multiple facets of explanation. Did I attend the masquerade with Tivia? Not exactly; I had my reasons, and she had her own. However, she was able to seek me out prior to attending. Like you, it was the first I’d seen of her in quite some time. I did not go looking for her, but she seemed more comfortable attending Lord Canaveris’s grand ball so long as I was also attending. Which, ultimately, was a boon--for obvious reasons. As to where she might be at this very moment…” The eldest Kristeav brother spread his hands helplessly. “I’m afraid I know as much as you, which isn’t much at all. But if I have learned anything about dear Tivia, it is that she will be found when she so desires to be. I am confident that a little patience will do you all well in that regard.”
“So you do not deny, then, that your concerns as to how your younger sister might react to your sudden return from the dead were few and far between because you were confident that Tivia would mitigate the damage.” Vega finally accused, mirroring Chara’s diatribe. “You decided that it was worth it to take such a profound risk--for what, necromancer? More notoriety? A grand reveal to throw everyone in the room off guard? Was it really worth it, even at the expense of your sister, who--as Bronwyn has just mentioned--has locked herself in her room? It wasn’t enough to just ‘surprise’ her, was it?” The Eyraillian princess’s Sorde fire flared in her eyes, and it was clear that while Alster had validated Vitali’s role in systematically dismantling Locque’s grip on Galeyn, he still did not have a single friend in that room. “You had to get a reaction out of her--and react, she did. Was it all truly worth the guilt and horror she is feeling right now?”
For the first time since arriving at the palace, Vitali’s grin shrank and he appeared remorseful. As to how much he actually felt the sentiment his face was mirroring remained to be seen, but either way, the suggestion was there. “I’m not sure I can provide an explanation that anyone here will choose to accept, but I will repeat what I’ve already explained to Isidor.” The necromancer calmly folded his hands in front of him on the table, looking away from the accusing stares of his company of eight. “I’d been trying all evening, in vain, to quietly get Teselin’s attention--but not yours. You’ll all have to forgive me that not a single one of you crossed my mind, until Lord Canaveris so eloquently demanded I remove my mask. So, I was rendered without the option to decline, and at that point, it seemed as though poor Teselin had already been shaken by some prior event to which I was not privy. Think what you will, my ‘grand entrance’ was not my preference, and it did not play out at all the way that I had hoped. Indeed, I expected some reaction from my younger sister that would exceed that of typical ‘surprise’... but not the full extent of what happened.”
“Why Teselin, though? Of all people to whom you could have revealed your identity… people who could have buffered the impact of Teselin learning you’re not dead, but you chose to go straight to who was potentially the most volatile…” Isidor, who had begun making a strong point, trailed off out of his own sense of guilt for admitting that their younger sister was, indeed, volatile beyond her own willingness. To call her as much would do nothing to help her insecurity.
Vitali averted his gaze from his hands to his brother. When he answered, there was no hesitation. “Because I was never awarded the opportunity to tell her that it was never goodbye.” He said, in a tone that suggested Isidor should already know the answer. Like it was obvious that the necromancer would surely think of someone other than himself. “It had always been my intention to touch base with Teselin before I ultimately sacrificed my body to Gaolithe’s curse. Not to tell her exactly what was going to happen, per se--it was safer for everyone involved if nobody knew of my intentions, after all. But I had hoped to have the chance to reassure her that my presumed ‘passing’ would not be the end. Sadly, events did not unfold as I had hoped, and I had to take the single opportunity I could find to seize a moment alone with that cursed sword. Teselin… I am sure, every single one of you would agree, deserved better than to learn of my so-called ‘death’ the way she did. It had only been my intention to make it up to the person who deserved it the most.”
“Do you really expect anyone here to believe you did what you did out of guilt? On behalf of someone else?” Isidor scoffed. “What do you take us for? You hardly reacted when every piece of glass in that room exploded. And now, our younger sister who looked up to you for so long fears her own existence even more. Where is your guilt for that, Vitali?”
“You truly think me remorseless, Isidor? I’d be happy to speak with Teselin. Although I imagine that doing so prematurely would do more harm than good at this point in time… and even if I insisted, I have a feeling I would be met with some resistance.” His eyes spanned the room, to every face of every person who didn’t trust him. “You mentioned Hadwin is nearby? Then I do trust she is in good hands. Condemn me as you will, Isidor, but you’ve been as absent in her life as I have; albeit, with fewer excuses.”
Isidor had no rebuttal, because when it came down to facts, Vitali was right… and the Master Alchemist was spent. “Will you at least tell me…” He sighed, staring downward at his hands, clenched into fists on the table. “Why has Tivia finally returned?”
But he knew before Vitali ever ventured to answer that he did not have an answer. The necromancer slowly shook his head. “Allow me to clear the air of your assumptions. Tivia and I have not been in contact for long; and I cannot speak to her motivations or agenda. That is something you will have to ask her yourself, I’m afraid.”
“Of course. Nothing is so simple as a straight answer.” Isidor stood from his seat, and avoided eye contact with everyone as he made his way to the door, muttering a quiet, “I think I am done, here,” before taking his leave.
“Well, then.” With Isidor gone, Vitali looked questioningly to the cynical faces of everyone who remained. “Anything else you’d like me to clarify? I don’t mind; this body requires shockingly little food and rest. Rest assured I am more than happy to stay here and chat all night, if you like. If not,” the necromancer fixed his curious violet gaze on his half-sister, who regarded him with as much distrust (if not more) as everyone else. “Would you prefer I return to that quaint little cottage in the farmlands? Don’t worry, I am no so fool as to think that I would actually be welcome here.”
Lilica took a moment to consider carefully, knowing the impact of her half-brother’s return, and that where he dwelled was no insignificant decision to make. Ultimately, much to the chagrin of Chara (and probably everybody else), she declared, “You will remain here, at the palace, where we can all keep a close eye on you. And you will adhere to the supervision of multiple guards at all times, until further notice. That is nothing less than Anetania Ardane has been dealt, due to her own associations with Locque. Say what you will about the reason for your allegiance to the witch for as long as it went on; as far as I am concerned, it is your actions from this point onward that will lead us to decide how much trust we are willing to invest in you. Otherwise, unless anyone else has pressing questions,” the Galeynian queen stood.
“Maybe there was a point when I could be helped. Maybe I missed that opportunity because I’ve gone too long without intervention. Ever since Mollengard…” Teselin trailed off. That was the turning point for her, when she had rapidly transformed from something light and naive to heavy and filled to the brim with all of the horrors of reality. She hadn’t talked much about that time since her rescue; even if she’d wanted to, she was never afforded the opportunity. Life kept on throwing curveball after curveball, crisis after crisis, and it was all she could do just to keep up. There was no time and she had no resources to sit and figure out how Mollengard’s treatment of her had caused her magic to go from bad to downright apocalyptic, but even if she did, there were no answers anyone could provide, because everything about her down to her very existence was some anomaly.
And she wouldn’t have minded; she’d have happily lived as some strange non-human, born without a father, if only it hadn’t somehow been tied to her magic’s seemingly sentient desire to destroy… There was just no way for her to escape herself.
Yet Hadwin, somehow, refused to see her as some bastion of destruction. Once, she might have believed that he was seeing her for what she truly was: something innocent, someone who only meant to do good, independent of her destructive magic. But now, she couldn’t help but wonder if what he saw in her was yet another symptom of his delusions.
As comforting as it was to have him nearby, and to have his support, Teselin didn’t believe him. That she wouldn’t--or couldn’t--hurt him. It was only a matter of time before her magic pushed her to a limit that could not be reversed, and where no one could save her. Tivia would not always be there to reverse the damage. She couldn’t trust herself around anyone… especially not around those she cared for.
“Hadwin… I know you want to help me. I wish you could help me. I wish it were as simple as just being there for me. That’s all any normal person would need.” She leaned her forehead against his chest. “If I can’t get my magic under control… then I need to leave. I need to stay as far from people as possible. I don’t have a chance at a normal life; every attempt so far has ended in disaster. You should be afraid of me. Everyone else is right to be. If we are talking about taking steps toward a solution…” The young summoner exhaled a shaky breath. “Then the first step is for me to leave Galeyn. And I don’t know… that it would be safe for you to follow.”
It wasn’t the solution that either of them wanted, and there was nothing to say that Hadwin wouldn’t endanger himself if they parted ways. And no amount of sleep would unveil some perfect solution that they hadn’t previously thought of. But hours later, exhaustion did set in, and her troubled mind succumbed to unconscious darkness.
Teselin hadn’t been wrong to compare herself to Locque. The two summoners did have a lot in common beyond their magical reach: a love for the world and the people in it, an innocence that could not be denied at their core, and the unmistakable desire to simply be of help. And for anyone who cared to search for the ghost of the once-beloved Gardener… she was not difficult to find, late at night, within the Garden. When Hadwin approached her that night, her dark eyes widened with a flicker of hope, but also of a deep-seated sadness. “The Night Garden… couldn’t save your sister? I don’t understand…” Her brows knit together, perplexed. “Anyone who accepts the Night Garden’s help into their heart receives the help they need. No one has ever died here in the Night Garden… I cannot comprehend what happened to your sister. But I am sorry you have lost her.” She directed her gaze toward the unmarked grave, which, as far as memorials went, wasn’t much. “I will gather brighter flora and plant it right here for you, to honour her memory. It is as much as anyone deserves when they pass.”
The pale spectre’s dark eyes widened upon the faoladh’s mention of the very person she was looking for. The man who she should not have helped… but whom she simply couldn’t leave behind. “You’ve… have you seen him? He was so badly wounded, but I cannot seem to find him. I need to make sure he’s alright… before someone else finds him. I know I wasn’t supposed to offer him help but I…” She guiltily cast her gaze down. “I can’t turn anyone away. I know… it isn’t what the Night Garden would want. Do… do you know where I can find him?”
Even if Hadwin hadn’t seen him, that he was willing to keep an eye out was enough to earn the summoner’s unadulterated gratitude. That said, she listened intently as he explained the plight of a friend of his who was in need of help. “Your friend… you say she is a summoner, but her magic is causing her grief? I find that very strange… because my experience has been far from distressing.” Locque cocked her head to the side thoughtfully. “I’ve only ever known the love of the Night Garden and the support of the Gardeners. But perhaps that simply comes with me being a Gardener, chosen by the Night Garden. My magic helps and heals… are you saying it is not the same for your friend?”
According to Hadwin, this magic destroyed instead of healed. And not only could this Gardener not relate, but she had no idea what to tell him, while he appeared so desperate for answers. “I’m sorry. This is… like nothing I have ever heard. I am the only one in my family whose magic manifested as it did; the only summoner. But, I suppose, I have never had a need for it to work beyond the boundaries of that of a Gardener. But surely, if her magic can impact the world in such destructive ways… Surely it is not beyond her capabilities to help instead of hinder. It may just be a matter of finding exactly what triggers her magic in the other direction. Unfortunately…” Her face fell a little in apology. “It’s all speculative unless I were to meet your friend. I have to see the person to know how I can help them. But what about you? You speak so casually about your fallen sister… but there’s sadness in your heart. One that I sense has been there for a very long time…”
Locque reached for Hadwin’s hand, taking one of them in her own. Her spirit was of such an essence that she was still able to manipulate the world around her, but the faoladh like couldn’t feel her hands at all, lacking substance as they were. “I need to find the thief that I helped… but before that, perhaps I can help you. And in turn, you may be able to help your friend, if she otherwise does not wish to seek the Night Garden for help.”
Vitali’s excessive praise came off as so over-the-top, that it was difficult for Alster to interpret it as a serious commendation of his impartial judgement. Surely, the temptation to rescind his favorable verdict grew more desirable by the second as Vitali continued to spew affirmations laureling his good name. Coming from someone who would sooner make snide comments than compliments, it made him a little uneasy to be on the receiving end of his grace, as if he were choosing Vitali over everyone else, inconsiderate to their hangups with the man of contention. Alas, Alster couldn’t deny the necromancer’s instrumental role in thwarting Gaolithe’s possessive energies, and he would give credit where it was due. However, it didn’t make admitting it aloud any easier, or indicative of his approval. There were by and large a multitude of infractions Vitali still had to answer for; not to mention, his motivations behind his ‘heroic sacrifice’ seemed to skew, as always, on the self-serving. And who else might serve the necromancer best than Alster Rigas the trustworthy, who had everyone’s ear and could sway a room into pardoning him—or at least, lessen the severity of his punishment?
Thankfully, it didn’t seem like he’d get even that, given the range of disagreeable faces honed in Vitali’s direction, ranging from distrust and disgust, to outright disdain and disquiet. No one was in any mood to entertain his careless, tone-deaf remarks, regardless of his compliance.
In no one did that acrimony show clearer than in the expressions of Sigrid and Haraldur, who both did not so much as attempt a reasonable dialogue, and for good reason. Bronwyn, who stood between the teeth-gnashing cousins, looked patently uncomfortable, torn between keeping the peace and going for the jugular, herself. But given her almost non-existent interactions with the famed necromancer, she awkwardly stood aside to watch the proceedings unfold.
It seemed that what Vitali said made Haraldur bristle, as a delicate nerve was not only hit, but hammered upon relentlessly. “That day will never come again, I assure you,” he said, his promise sputtered with an overcompensatory fire to mask the fact that Vitali had gotten into his head. “And remember, if you’ve been cursed by the Night Garden once, in your original body, it’s not a stretch to say it won’t happen a second time. It knows a tumor when it sees one.”
Short of flat-out requesting for a more civil discourse, as that was liable to place him as Vitali’s unofficial advocate, Alster instead elected to reroute the subject to a topic better swallowed by the majority of the chamber’s denizens—with the exception of Isidor, towards whom he quickly shot an apologetic glance. The information Vitali provided was expected, and none too surprising. Considering the inexplicable circumstances behind her disappearance, it stood to reason that her reappearance would be steeped in just as much mystery and confusion. What also merited acknowledgment was that the masquerade was far from her first in-person appearance in months. According to Sigrid, she had seen her at Cyprian’s hovel, confronting her would-be insurgent father, who’d kidnapped Bronwyn as a pawn for his corrupt political machinations. Strange, too, how he, like his daughter, disappeared without a trace. Not even Hadwin’s keen nose could locate a hint of his previous whereabouts, let alone his current ones.
There was just too much that demanded explanation, and it struck Alster as odd that even Vitali—if he were being truthful at all—had few insights to share concerning the star-seer, who, after tonight, had fast climbed to a position of notoriety. No individual who demonstrated her level of awe-inspiring and frightening, plane-manipulating power would escape the public consciousness for the foreseeable future, inviting many to speculate on her status. Friend, or foe? Alster, too, was not spared from Tivia’s mystique, but for entirely different reasons. Unlike Vitali, who he openly disliked, he actually cared about the troubled Rigas woman and wanted to know if she was safe, and, importantly, alright. Vitali, whose contended history with everyone in this room was well-documented, spared Tivia the heat of his reprehensible behavior as she, excepting Teselin, remained as few people he both tolerated and respected, to the point where one might argue love, of the pure, familial sort. And judging by how the necromancer’s cocksureness faded when accused of maliciously causing the poor summoner a great deal of distress and guilt as a result of her unwitting, but destructive, actions, and how he strove to explain his repeated attempts to reach her alone and in private so as not to trigger her emotionally-reactive magic, Alster believed he would also do the same to protect Tivia, if possible. As far as Vitali’s relationships went, Alster trusted, at the very least, that he did not mean to do either woman harm. By extension, that included not revealing anything about the elusive star-seer she did not wish for others to know, however much the secrecy upset Isidor, who was a great deal affected by her return, by both their returns, and could not abide remaining in the council chambers a moment longer. As the overwhelmed Master Alchemist took his leave, Alster almost wanted to follow, but understanding his need to process tonight’s happenings alone, saw him off with a supportive nod before he disappeared past the doors and down the hallway.
Despite Lilica’s divisive decision, which had Haraldur on edge and Chara on the verge of blurting her protest, likely saying something along the lines of housing Vitali directly in the dungeons, Alster agreed with the decree, seeing it as fair but firm. Vitali had done them all a boon, true, but one good deed did not free him from suspicion or from future scrutiny, given his seedy reputation and propensity for unethical practices. Not that Alster was squeaky clean, himself, given how he and others still sought the necromancer’s specialized skills. Much as everyone despised him, he was, unfortunately, an asset to their team, and better as an ally than as their enemy. Some would argue that no difference separated the two designations; Vitali was an ally only to himself, after all, but as he’d proven before, the undead lich demonstrated soft spots for Teselin, Tivia, and even Isidor. In that vein, Alster was willing to work with him.
“I have no further questions,” Alster answered, gesturing his approval at Lilica. “I’m in agreement with this plan of action. You might not have many friends in this room, Vitali, but there are some who can recognize the benefits of your ‘noble sacrifice’ and have agreed to withdraw their punishments on these grounds.” He acknowledged Haraldur as an example, who, in an impressive feat of restraint, resisted from wringing the necromancer’s neck, “I would only caution that for next time, should there be one, refrain from surprising your sister at a celebration where the majority of the kingdom is in attendance. However pure your intentions, they were massively short-sighted, and have undoubtedly plunged Teselin into a depression from which she might not climb out of any time soon. I hope you reflect upon what this careless transgression has caused her, if you purport, as you claim, to value her well-being.”
At the conclusion of their gathering, Vitali was escorted out of the room by several Forbanne guards of Haraldur’s personal request, and everyone else was dismissed to collect the remnants of their ruined evening. Alster and Elespeth, all playful momentum lost, retired to their rooms for the express purpose of readying for bed rather than continue where they left off from earlier.
“One of these days, we’ll have our moment,” Alster spoke his reassurances aloud, more for himself than for her, as he shed the netting over his oceanic tunic, followed by the tunic itself. “Though, it was nice while it lasted, wasn’t it?”
With his height-elevating boots removed, he shrank down to his normal, diminutive size several inches shorter than Elespeth, but the reversion also seemed to diminish his mood to pre-festival, pre-Gardener Locque lows. He slumped over the edge of the bed, hands clasped together. “We’ll have to see what can be done for Teselin. She might have written me off, but I have never discarded her case. Since Mollengard’s imprisonment, she’s suffered a severe imbalance of her magic, but it can be restored, of that I’m certain. If Mollengard’s void stones caused the imbalance to begin with, then it stands to reason that Mollengard’s stones can help correct that imbalance. I’ll ask Haraldur what he knows or remembers about magical extraction, and perhaps Ari might have a few insights on healing through the use of stones. We’ll get to the bottom of her case. But in the meantime,” he pulled up his legs from the floor to sit in a cross-legged position, “there’s something else that’s been gnawing at me. Something peripherally related. Back when Cyprian Rigas caused a minor stir by kidnapping Bronwyn, someone else was there to intercept him. Tivia. Both Sigrid and Hadwin witnessed her reemergence but chose to remain silent about this encounter—well, save for Sigrid, who told only me. Yet another secret I kept from you,” he heaved a sigh, which intensified the angle of his slump.
“I’m saying this now because Tivia’s return is no longer a secret, and also because we still haven’t ascertained Cyprian’s whereabouts. After Tivia confronted him, he vanished under mysterious circumstances, leaving no energy pattern or scent profile behind for anyone to track. I hesitated to do this before, because of how poorly it went for me when I tried to locate Tivia, but with my connection to the Rigas Blood Seal, I can, in theory, find him—-granted he hasn’t been shrouded by the stars. If so, then I can expect another scolding from the universe to ravage my brain. Stay with me if that happens,” he patted an empty spot on the bed for Elespeth to sit. “I know it’s best to ask Tivia directly about her father, but who’s to say when she’ll show up next? Perhaps tonight was it for her, and she’ll hunker back into obscurity from here on out. I can’t be sure what she’ll do, but if I can at least uncover some of this mystery, I’ll be better able to rest tonight. So,” he closed his eyes, “let’s find Cyprian.”
In the empty space of his meditative mind, Alster manifested the spell form of the Rigas Blood Seal, a massive array woven with Rigel’s highly conductive ichor connecting him to all descendants, dead or alive, and searched for where Cyprian would appear. As it turned out, he did appear. Like a drop of colored ink splattering upon a blank page, he dribbled out of the clean, blood-red lines of the array, staining its center with a messy, albeit unmissable splotch. Here was Cyprian, accounted for; now where was he? Alster traced Rigel’s blood to the man’s earthly presence and where it inhabited space, but there was a disconnect. The blood droplet belonging to Cyprian had relocated from one end of the array to the other. From top to bottom; and the archaic scratches scrawled on the bottom end represented a different state. A desiccated state, deep and buried and…dead.
Cyprian Rigas was dead. But how?! He commanded the Blood Seal. Show me!
A memory flickered in his mind. A memory not of his own, but belonging to Cyprian’s last moments. He was on the ground, begging, pleading for his life, but a cold stab of yellow etherea drove into his gut and twisted, both merciless and precise. And the face before him that did the driving, equally as cold and merciless, was…
Alster shot out of his meditation, gasping from the suddenness of the eviction. “Water,” he whispered to Elespeth, his throat too closed and clawed to release the words he wanted to say. But as he washed down the proffered drink from its tin and his contracting muscles loosened, he tried again, this time with success. “Cyprian…is dead. And Tivia was the one to kill him.”
Fat chance in hell you’re leaving without me. That was the clearest conclusion Hadwin reached on hearing Teselin’s plans to give up on herself. If she was so firm about going down the path of isolation, then he was coming along as a reminder that her predicament wouldn’t be permanent, because he would hold on to her fighting spirit and hand it over whenever she was good and ready to accept it. Except…
He parsed the fractured images of fear in her eyes, and glimpsed them through the pieces of shattered glass lodged there, forgotten by Tivia Rigas’s miraculous cleanup magic. She thought he was too deluded, too deranged, to be of service as a comfort, a motivator, or a help. It meant that she had to take everything he said with a grain of salt, including his opinions on her incorruptible personhood. And…damn, maybe she was right. When had he ever improved the lives of someone he took under his wing? Rowen sure as hell hadn’t benefited, as her unmarked grave indicated. Neither did Cwenha, who he’d long ago decided to aid. From afar. Both were consigned to mulch for the Night Garden to feast upon and grow. And Sylvie, his most recent acquisition? …Better that his fuck-up happened before she wandered too deep into his shit, at least, and ended as another casualty.
When would he fucking learn? He was too unhinged, too mad, too messed up in the head to offer her a dram of an absolution. In fact, all he ever did was make things worse, triggering her magic in the most twisted, destructive ways, as if he was acting through her as the true conduit of carnage and chaos. Who was to say? Maybe she had a point, and would be better off without him around to muck things up. Then, it wouldn’t matter if he kept his promise. It wouldn’t matter…if he died.
But before any of that glum shit came to pass, he was going to fight the impossible fight for her. Fight and fight and fight until something broke through, or caved in…or fell apart. Because apparently, he never did learn how to leave anyone alone.
It came as no surprise, absolutely no fucking surprise, that this barely pubescent version of Locque could do little for Teselin’s case. What else was new, really? However, the exchange wasn’t a complete lost cause. Then again, he was desperate to latch onto any detail that sounded the least bit plausible. “So you’d say being a Gardener helps tamp down that destructive magic?” Considering the nightmare this innocent little lamb of a Gardener turned out to be, it sounded like a reasonable conclusion to make. However, he was looking for the same trajectory but in reverse. “In theory, if the Night Garden, I don’t know, chose her, would it negate, or possibly shift whatever erratic energies are bouncing around in there? If so, think you could put in a good word for her with the Sentinel Tree or something? I mean, I don’t know how Gardeners are picked, but the NG must answer its humble servants’ requests from time to time. The kid’s a shoo-in for this kind of work. She’s always looking out for others, always striving to keep the peace. Damn impossible for her to see people as irredeemable or evil, even when she should.” Like you, he almost blurted out loud. She saw you, too. What you were, what this Garden immortalized you to be, and not as the terror that almost ripped apart a kingdom.
It could happen to her, too. The thought niggled inside his ear like a worm too embedded to pluck out and crush. Tes sure as hell seems to think so. She’ll go off the deep one day and…
Not when he was still around.
“I’d bring her in to see you, but she’s so convinced no one can help her that she’s done hoping, and hoping, and then getting her hopes up and crushed before they can even take flight. So it’s just me tonight, trying to figure out how—“
What about you? The sound died from his mouth when this lily-white Locque targeted him, and his rank, core-rotten soul. Hell no; the subject of his ‘sadness’ wasn’t up for discussion!
“You’re doing me a solid already. Helping her’s gonna help me, so there’s nothing else to be done. Besides, the fact that you wanna decorate my sister’s grave at all just tickles me pink. She caused a lot of people pain, but it doesn’t mean she can’t have a flower or two. Beautiful things…” he trailed off and glanced up at the sky, the farthest place from her gravesite he could look. I hope the world’s more beautiful from down there, Ro, but somehow, I doubt it. “So I’m good. Everyone gets sad. My mam was sadness incarnate; it’s all she ever saw. But it’s part of the human condition. You can’t banish it from existence, or from a screwed up heart like mine,” he lowered his head, about to show off a roguish grin to offset the bleak finality of her words, but paused when her incorporeal hands managed to suspend one of his own in mid-air. But that’s not what surprised him. Mam’s ghost and Rowen’s ghost were becoming increasingly more well-versed in navigating the physical plane with some flashy tricks of their own. It surprised him that a girl who barely knew him was so dedicated to helping someone of his ilk, a one hundred percent lost cause. Maybe she, like so many other innocently-minded girls, Sylvie included, had a thing for thieves and fellow ne'er-do-wells. Either way, his self-assessment held firm. The day his mam died signaled the end of ever reclaiming his sanity in full. No…he never had it to begin with. Never was normal. So how could anyone help him when derangement comprised his entire being, just as magic comprised Teselin’s?
And then it hit him. Teselin thought the same. That she couldn’t be helped, no matter how many people declared it a possibility. But if he proved it possible, using himself as the test subject, then she might be more receptive to following his lead, and believing in him once again, which in turn could help her believe in herself. Plus, if he was able to minimize his episodes, he’d be less responsible for agitating Teselin to the point of explosion.
“Not saying I’m on board, but,” Hadwin cocked his head, studying the solidly composed apparition under the moonlight, as if she’d dissolve and disperse the moment he posed the question, “what does this type of help entail? What do I have to do? If it failed my sister, why do you think it has a rat’s chance of working for me?”
At Alster’s conclusion, and with no one else demanding answers (they were probably eager to be out of the necromancer’s presence), Lilica stood from her seat and nodded to the two guards standing at the door. “If we are finished here for now, please escort the necromancer back to the room that was formerly his at this palace. Vitali…” The Galeynian queen narrowed her eyes at her half-brother, who nonplussed attitude only inspired further agitation and frustration throughout the room. “While we acknowledge the role you played in systematically dismantling the power Locque had over Sigrid, and over this kingdom… know that you have far, far to go before you will earn the trust, let alone the respect of anyone in this room. That much is clear.”
“Ah, of course. Heard and understood, dear sister.” Following suit, Vitali stood and made a show of bowing at the waist. “I do hope in future days, I can demonstrate to the lot of you, and to this kingdom, that I am not the villain you may think I am. I appreciate you awarding me the opportunity to do so.”
Without a word of protest, Vitali took his leave with one guard on either side of him. When the doors closed, the room fell silent for a full moment, before Elespeth spoke up. “Lilica…”
But the dark mage knew exactly what she was about to say, and raised her hand to interrupt. “What is the saying about friend and foes… Keep friends close, but enemies even closer? Regardless of what Vitali is, friend or enemy, it is imperative that he is kept within our direct line of vision for optimal surveillance. Even…” Lilica paused and sighed. The downturned corners of her mouth was evidence enough that she also wished Vitali would just go far, far away so as to remove him entirely as a factor in her life. “Even if it means we have to put up with running into him. We’ll see if he comes good on his promise to demonstrate his ‘goodwill’. I have my doubts… but at least, we can be quick to act on it if, or when, he slips up.”
The same understanding appeared to resonate throughout everyone in the room: that no one was happy with the necromancer’s sudden return… but that it was best to deal with it head on than ignore it and allow him to steal away into the shadows, where they would have no idea what he was up to. Slowly, the room emptied, and Elespeth was silent as she followed Alster back to their shared bedchambers. It was obvious that, despite finding a moment between just the two of them, that fiery spark they’d experienced earlier had all but entirely fizzled out. They were too tired for any residual friskiness to carry over from then until now. “We can hope. Here I thought we were in the clear of any more unpleasant surprises…” The former knight sighed, as she took a cloth from the washbasin at the other end of the room and began to scrub the golden pigment from her skin. “Really, though… the float? Now that’s a side of you I haven’t seen before…”
A ghost of a grin tugged at her lips, but her expression sobered at the topic of Teselin Kristeva. She hadn’t been there to witness the poor girl’s shock and riling emotions upon suddenly realizing her dead brother was alive, but there was no doubt the summoner was torn up with guilt and confusion. And she (among everyone who had gathered in the council chambers) was far more apt to blame Vitali for what had taken place that evening, even if the source had been Teselin’s wayward magic. “I can’t help but feel a little responsible, too, you know. When she first came to Stella D’Mare, the girl’s optimism was… infuriating. She was so naive and gullible, and so sure that Vitali, of all people, could help her. I… should have been more encouraging. I was one of the only people there for her, at the time. If I’d been a little more supportive…” The former knight sighed, replacing the now gold-stained cloth on the side of the wash basin. “Maybe she wouldn’t be so apt to give up, now.”
Elespeth took a seat next to her husband on the bed as he segued into a different, albeit related topic: that of Tivia Rigas. Something she hadn’t expected to hear. “Tivia… you knew she was here? How long has she been here? Did she arrive with Vitali, or before?” But it turned out Alster hadn’t withheld that much information from her, and knew little more than that Tivia had circumvented her father in his mistreatment of Bronwyn Kavanagh. And that Cyprian Rigas had, ever since, been missing.
Personally, she wouldn’t have given a second thought to the miserable man who had mistreated not only Tivia, but Chara, and then Bronwyn. His track record with mistreatment of women in general was atrocious, and frankly, if he’d run away to bury his head in the sand, then good riddance. But at the end of the day… well, he was still a Rigas, and still family to Alster. And if her husband saw fit to pinpoint his whereabouts and look into his well-being, then who was she to argue ‘why’?
“I can’t possibly talk you out of this, can I?” The former Atvanian sighed, laying a hand upon his. “Is finding Cyprian Rigas really worth another psychic attack from the stars?” She already knew the answer, but threw it out as a last ditch effort in hopes he would reconsider. He didn’t, of course. “If you make me worry again…” Elespeth huffed a sigh and then slowly drew in breath through her nose. “Just… be careful. And if it gets painful or dangerous, then stop.”
At the very least, he wasn’t alone this time in his attempt to locate ephemeral living being. Elespeth wasn’t sure exactly what she could do for Alster if he was struck unconscious again, but it wouldn’t be a stretch to call for help which was already readily nearby. She also wondered exactly how long she would be sitting there, given that he offered no estimate as to how long this would take. Hours? All night? He had to sleep at some point, and so did she…
Just moments later, her question was answered, as Alster gasped out of his meditative state, parched for water. His wife sprung into action and filled a glass from the decanter, and placed it in his hands. “Are you alright?” She wasn’t convinced he didn’t yet require help, given how shaken he was. “What happened? What did you see? Where’s--”
Dead--by Tivia’s hand. Elespeth very nearly dropped the decanter of water. “He’s… wait. But how? I…” Gingerly placing the decanter on the food, she slowly straightened up and curled her hands into her lap. “...if Tivia killed him… what do we do with this information? How… how do we proceed?” The Rigas woman swallowed and took a steadying breath, looking to the ceiling as if it would provide answers. “...nothing. We do nothing right now. It’s late, we’ve already suffered multiple shocks this evening. We need rest. Tomorrow… tomorrow, we can figure out how to approach this situation.”
“Well, I… I’m not really sure that I can say. After all, my magic as a summoner has never actually been destructive.” Locque furrowed her eyebrows thoughtfully, as if trying to recall any point in time that she had feared or mistrusted her magic, or that her powerful skills had gotten out of hand. But the Locque to whom Hadwin was speaking was still--in essence--very young. And, unlike Teselin, very sheltered. Unlike the young summoner with whom the faoladh had developed such a precious relationship, this young, innocent Gardener’s experiences as she had materialized were profoundly different. Teselin, as she’d traversed the world largely all alone for quite some time, had been forced to face every mishap and tragedy alone. There were too many variables for her to safely traverse life without innocent mishaps which ultimately turned deadly. Locque--this memory of the girl, at least--was not wandering, in search of someone. She did not fear her magic, nor did she believe herself broken or in need of help. She was surrounded by support and always had been; had grown up in a relatively normal family. Yet, along the same vein, neither had she developed the emotional stamina or the survival skills that kept Teselin going, and that had kept her from giving up so far. That said, it could be argued that it wasn’t necessarily her astoundingly larger-than-life magic, but rather, her own vulnerability as a person forced to face all of the hardships of life after one innocent decision to save as life that had sent her into that downward spiral that resulted in her becoming the witch that would one day terrorize this very kingdom.
After all, even at the heart of her tyranny, Locque had only ever wanted the comfort of her home back. The only place that had ever sheltered her from the otherwise harsh and unforgiving world… until the day it had pushed her into it, and turned its back on her entirely.
“I… honestly, I wish I could be of help and answer your questions with certainty, but the truth is, no one really knows or understand why the Night Garden chooses who it does to care for it and relay its messages.” The summoner’s youthful face fell with disappointment, and she dropped her eyes to her bare feet. It was obvious that it brought her a good deal of discomfort and cognitive dissonance that she wasn’t able to help, when she’d already offered to try and be of assistance. “The Night Garden chose me when I was relatively young; and when my magic was still underdeveloped. Of course, I am more than happy to try and reach out to the Garden on your friend’s behalf… although I cannot guarantee it will respond. I’m so sorry--I truly wish I could be of help to put an end to the turmoil that your friend is experiencing. However…”
Young Locque looked up, and the hope in her eyes returned when Hadwin expressed some interest in receiving help, himself. Perhaps not sold on it, but at the very least, interested. “You despair… because of what you see. Is that right? There is something uncanny about your eyes. I think I can help you. Not to clear your vision: what you are seeing isn’t untrue. But to… refine it. You despair because you find yourself drifting more and more from reality. What you need is simple: to be grounded.”
Dropping his hand, Locque closed the distance between herself and Rowen’s final resting place. She knelt, laying her hands upon the soil for a solid moment; when she withdrew, something astounding had happened. From the drab and mossy soil, the less than ideal resting place for his sister, a tiny sapling had sprouted. Barely a stem, just a tickle of something green, but it was there. “Your sister… I did not know her, but I imagine she needed the same: to be grounded again. Rooted in reality. And look--she’s finally figured it out.” The Gardener smiled knowingly at the little sapling, and then at Hadwin. “This is where it can begin for you. Take care of the little sprout; nurture it, help it grow tall and strong--at least to a point where it can carry on all on its own. One day, perhaps sooner than you think, your sister’s resting place will have boughs and leaves. Help it get there… and, gradually, what you see won’t bring you so much pain.”
The Gardener straightened and got to her feet. Then that familiar urgent, worried expression returned, like she’d remembered who and what she was searching for in the first place. It appeared her cyclical existence was about to reset once again; encounters with her ephemeral form might have been common, and not hard to come by, but what little freedoms the universe allowed her in terms of straying from that single moment in time which she was doomed to repeat forever and ever were short-lived before she inevitably returned to her forever task at hand. “I… should go. I need to find someone… I must find him before the other Gardener’s do. What was I to do? He needed help… I had to help him. Are you sure you haven’t seen him?”
She didn’t remain for long enough to hear his answer, and turned away, disappearing into obscurance like she had never been there to begin with. But the tiny sapling springing to life from Rowen’s grave was proof enough to insist otherwise.
When Hadwin returned to Teselin’s chambers that evening, without the answers he had hoped to find yet with more knowledge (and hope) than before, the young summoner was still deep asleep, and she did not stir until the next morning. The sun was just cresting the horizon when Teselin sat up, holding her head in her hands. Her temples ached from residual stress from the night before, but it was reassuring to find that Hadwin hadn’t left. “...how do I go back out there today? How do I face anyone after what happened at the D’Marian settlement?” It was a rhetorical question, one for which there was no good answer. Some would be understanding, certainly, but the majority would look upon her with fear as the next Locque. The next terror to threaten this peaceful kingdom…
And there was nothing she could do to convince them otherwise, because she didn’t blame them. And unlike Nia, who had the opportunity to make it up to the kingdom and earn their trust and forgiveness, such was not an option for someone who’s very being was a beacon of danger. There was no ‘making it up’ to people whom she had very nearly killed; she couldn’t promise it wouldn’t happen again, and apologies would get her nowhere.
Except… there was at least one person to whom she very much owed an apology. Someone who had genuinely tried to be her friend, and yet, she had been too caught up in the fray of all other forms of obligations to truly give her the time of day, or the chance she deserved.
“I need to go see my brother.” She announced, straightening up and running a hand through her hair. “Not… Vitali. I’m not ready to talk to him yet. I need to see Isidor.” At Hadwin’s quizzical expression (although he always appeared curious in his wolf form), she clarified. “I can’t go back out there… looking like I do now. People will fear me if they see me, and there is no telling what people will do if they react out of fear. I need to look different, for a little while.”
Teselin reached behind his ears and scratched the coarse, red fur at the nape of his neck. “I promise I’m not running away. I’ll be back in just a little bit. Will you please wait here for me?” Smiling softly at her unconditionally loyal companion, she withdrew her hand, opened the door on a crack, and when it appeared as though the corridor was clear, she stepped out and quietly closed the door behind her. Although she’d had some minor success in the past where it came to concealing her appearance by way of magic, she didn’t dare incite her summoner abilities after what had happened the night before. Instead, she used stealth to the best of her ability, and managed to make it to Isidor’s chamber without being seen. She knocked once, then again, and once more when her brother didn’t answer immediately. She had no right to ask anything of him right now, considering he had also been in danger of her wild abilities the night before… but maybe, just maybe, he’d hear her out.
Eventually, her persistence paid off, and the Master Alchemist answered the door with bleary eyes. While he was surprised to see her, to Teselin’s relief, he didn’t look upon her with fear. “Teselin…”
“I need your help, Isidor. With something I know you can do with ease. Will… will you help me?”
Isidor paused, both reluctant to get himself into yet something else that might come back to bite him, while also unable to turn away the desperate girl with the hopeful look in her eyes. You’ve been just as absent in her life as I have. Vitali’s words resonated a truth that he could not deny; and if he wanted to stand any differently than his wretched brother, then he needed to prove him wrong.
“...of course.” He nodded and pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. “Come in, Teselin.”
It was over an hour before Teselin returned to her room, and the girl that finally entered looked quite different from the one that had left. Where her hair once shone with the sheen of smooth obsidian, its shade and hue had lightened to that of burnt wheat; too dull to be blonde yet too light to pass as brunette. Additionally, her dark, soulful eyes mirrored the shades of an overcast sky, a sort of greyish-blue that looked, frankly, rather odd against her pale skin tone. But one thing was for certain; if her goal had been not to look like Teselin Kristeva, then she had certainly succeeded.
It was impossible not to notice the shock in Hadwin’s eyes when she stepped through the door. It was hard to look him in the eyes, but she’d already explained her reasoning. “I need to go to the D’Marian settlement, today. There are still festivities taking place, so I don’t want to be recognizable… especially not by Lord Canaveris.” Teselin self-consciously tucked a lock of light hair behind her ear. “I can’t undo what I did last night. But maybe… I can make it up to one person. I need to go see Sylvie.”
Crossing the room, Teselin opened her wardrobe and purposefully selected the most colourful article of clothing she could find: a simple summertime dress with billowy sleeves, all pastel shades of a sunset. Something secondhand that Briery had gifted her to make room for new clothes and costumes; she hadn’t had the heart to tell the ringleader that it wasn’t at all her style or taste. Then again, she didn’t have a sense of style or taste in attire, and figured there may come a day and time when it would come in handy. It just so happened that today would be that day.
Yanking it from its hanger, the young summoner pulled it over her thin shift and secured the ribbon at the back. With the lighter hair, the pale eyes, and the distinctively brighter attire than anything Teselin Kristeva preferred to wear, it was a solid a disguise as she could put together in the short time she had. It had to be today; the longer she let her mishaps stew, the far less genuine she may end up coming across.
“Will you be alright for a while? I doubt I’ll be long; I have a feeling Sylvie doesn’t want anything to do with me. I think… I’m going to need to come back to the only person willing to tolerate me, no matter how dangerous I am.” Teselin knelt and hugged Hadwin’s around the neck, comforted by the coarse albeit somehow soft fur. “I know you’ll never give up on me. I don’t think I can convince you otherwise.”
On her way out, the young summoner added a pendant with synthetic stones that she’d forgotten to wear with her gown to the masquerade, and slipped a plain-looking bracelet onto her forearm beneath her sleeve before quietly taking her leave. From the stables, it took longer to reach the D’Marian settlement than she would have liked; after all, there was too much daylight for the Night Steeds to be of use. The morning was hot, and the afternoon would only get hotter. Vendors and entertainers were already setting up throughout the streets, eager not to let the events of the night before dampen their zeal for celebration (although Teselin couldn’t help but wonder if there would be more of them, had it not been for her blunder.)
Putting her disguise to the test, Teselin stopped at one of the stalls which had finished setting up and were selling an array of favourite D’Marian sweets. Her purchase of a handful of these sweets went surprisingly smoothly; the kindly vendor didn’t seem to recognize her at all, accepted her coin and wrapped the colourful, delicate pastries in a cloth for her to take. Thank goodness, she thought as she walked away, having to resist the urge to sigh. Fortunately, having spent the past handful of weeks watching over Hadwin, she’d gained a keen enough knowledge of the Canaveris villa to avoid the most populated thoroughfares. She knew about the seldom-used entrances, knew how best not to be seen, and through basic stealth and awareness of her surroundings, she managed to slip in unseen, pastries in hand, and made her way to Sylvie’s room. The only obstacle was her uncertainty in knowing just whether or not Sylvie was even around. It was day two of celebrations… who was to say she was home at all?
This a bad idea. She wasn’t long standing outside of Sylvie’s chambers when Teselin began to get cold feet. What was she thinking? That the Canaveris girl would so readily forgive her after her cold demeanour and near catastrophic actions the night before?
It was too late to turn away, because just as she was beginning to doubt herself, the door opened, revealing an (understandably) startled Sylvie. There was no reconsidering her actions now. “...Sylvie. I…” The young summoner looked down at the handful of sweet-smelling pastries wrapped in cloth. “I saw a vendor selling these outside; they’re D’Marian, aren’t they? I thought… you might like them.” Realizing it was most likely her sudden change in appearance that sparked shock, she quickly explained, “I was afraid that if I showed up here looking like… me… that I might frighten off people hoping to continue on with celebrations. It’s just temporary, but it’ll do for now. Um, I…” Teselin let out a sigh, and her shoulders drooped. “I don’t know how else… to apologize. For last night. All of it. And you don’t have to forgive me, or accept these pastries, but if you don’t want them, perhaps your brothers might? Regardless… I won’t keep you. And I don’t know how long my disguise will last. I just wanted you to know that… I’m really, truly sorry. You were only trying to be a friend, and… I don’t know. I guess, somewhere between finding Stella D’Mare and ending up here… I forgot that I’d always wanted one. Or how much I needed one.”
“So you’re saying that taking up gardening is a surefire way to keep me grounded?” Locque’s advice merited a facetious response, but not from a lack of respect. It was worlds easier to riff on his misfortunes and make everything into one big joke. He didn’t wear a solemn expression well, even when discussing serious topics. Focusing too much on the wrongness wouldn’t clear his mind, but in fact plunge it deeper into muddy uncertainty. To stay sharp and quick-witted meant not to foray into the morasses of his undoing. To that end, he doubted quiet contemplation while watering a winnowy, underdeveloped waif of a plant would accomplish anything substantial, but he was willing to humor the little ghost girl. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’ve got the worst green thumb you’re likely to ever see. I’m more likely to trample the poor thing than to enrich it with my gentle, mindful touch. Anyway, this is the Night Garden, so my inattentiveness means squat, because it’ll thrive here whether or not I’m involved. Nice to see a spot of greenery here, though.” He quirked an appreciative grin in Locque’s direction. “It helps—though I can’t say this wee sprout is a result of my sister’s will bubbling through from beyond the grave. She’s…” he relaxed his brow, deliberate in maintaining his smooth glibness and allowing nothing too pained or profound to manifest, “not really the type to make plants grow, either. That’s all your doing. But who knows? Maybe having a sprig of greenery will do wonders to calm the tossing and turning of her soul.” But hells if I’m gonna make a lick of difference calming her restless spirit.
With her dying breath, Rowen had cursed him to fall into darkness and sink into the earth alongside her. She wasn’t one to renege on her promises. Like his mam’s vengeful ghost who promised him haunts, every day, for eight years, Rowen was upholding her end of her retributive punishment by appearing as both spectre and as a face among the living crowd, intent on driving home her methods to torture and torment him into permanent madness. He knew where she stood, regarding his existence. She wanted him snuffed out and silent. So why give her easy access to the threads of his fragile mortality by willingly hanging near her grave, several times a day, to water a flower? If he planned on surviving for longer than a fortnight, it stood as a piss-poor idea to crack open his vulnerabilities via proximity. Staying far, far away from Rowen was the only way to ensure he did not render his life forfeit.
When the sweet, innocent version of Locque reset her goldfish’s memory span and reverted to obsessing over the missing-in-action thief, he took it as a sign to also leave the area, having picked her brain best as he could…and still clueless on devising a solution for Teselin. If all it took was to reroute her magic towards more positive avenues, then that wasn’t much of a lead. Never had he witnessed manifestations arousing from joy or happiness, and not from lack of those emotions. Hells, earlier that evening, she was over the moon about the Solstice parade, brimming with all the joy and childlike wonder she probably thought was long lost or buried. Such a state didn’t make her glow or buoy up to the sky in magic-triggered bliss. After all that hustle to the Night Garden, he gained nothing but a flower and a longshot idea to attract her as a prospective Gardener. Sadly, not a very lucrative evening. There was no winning tonight. So, cutting his losses, he returned to the palace, climbed through the window to Teselin’s chambers, shook back into his wolf skin, and curled up with the summoner until daybreak. When she rose from her bed, she looked anything but well-rested, but that made two of them.
It came as no great mystery to deduce why Teselin sought Isidor’s help. Aside from her transparency, her fears alerted him to the main reason she wanted a disguise: to apologize to Sylvie, undetected. Even so, Isidor’s handiwork came across as jarring, and elicited a humorous snort from his nostrils. Not that she looked bad as a sandy-haired, gray-eyed girl, but the disguise was such a huge departure from Teselin Kristeva, he couldn’t help but find her whole get-up both odd and amusing. No doubt, it was effective, and piqued his intrigue. Why hadn’t he bothered to ask Nia (Isidor was out of the question) to tweak him beyond recognition? How much easier it would be to stalk around undetected! He made a mental note of that as the incognito Teselin left for the D’Marian village.
So now I’m supposed to sit here and wait? His incredulity quickly faded, however, in remembering the summoner’s affectionate strokes around his ruff and ears, and her affectionate words. Damn right he’d never give up on her! He only hoped she’d one day see the same in herself. But for now, he wasn’t going anywhere if it served as her constant reminder; that at least one person was gunning like hell for her success.
Fine. Just this once…I’ll stay put.
Despite Lord Canaveris’s reservations towards resuming celebrations after the previous evening’s averted disaster, festivities proceeded forth, albeit at a more cautious pace. People in the D’Marian village still milled about, purchasing their fill of pastries, watching the street performances, and visiting the vendors, which sold all manner of Solstice-exclusive baubles, but the streets weren’t brimming or even busy, and those in attendance communicated with a frenetic kind of boisterousness, steeped not in carefree cheer but in self-delusion. No one knew when the next disaster would hit, but as long as enough citizens operated under the illusion of jubilation, then perhaps they would chase the encroaching pall of bad luck to the outer fringes of the village, and banish its reemergence indefinitely. No one was the wiser when the bad luck they attempted to ward off rolled in regardless, circumventing their superstitious ministrations by donning a disguise.
Inside the Canaveris villa, Sylvie, who only yesterday was excited for the Solstice in its entirety and marked each day according to her most anticipated activities, wanted nothing to do with celebrations. In a surprising turn for anyone who knew her, she refused to leave her bedchambers, ignoring even the persistent cries of her youngest brothers, deafening their pleas and disappointed sighs. Luckily, Laz, who was tasked to keep watch over her, herded them away and assigned a Canaveris attendant to chaperone the boys around the main thoroughfare. While no one, save for Alster and Elespeth, understood the fullest extent of her ordeal from last night, they acknowledged that whatever she experienced had left her very shaken and unwell, and as a result gave her the space she requested, alone to her thoughts, her journals, and the tourmaline ring she spun around her finger so recurrently, it left a raw, pink-fleshed ring around the affected area.
At some point that morning, it occurred to Sylvie to make an appearance, however brief, just to demonstrate her well-being to her uncle, her mother, and her grandmother in case they believed she’d taken ill. Technically, she had been ill, of a sort, for over two years, but no one needed to learn of her own particular malady just yet, lest they worry to an inordinate extent. She refused to distract anyone from Uncle Ari’s near critical state. If doing so meant she would have to pop in and announce her presence from time to time, even when she’d rather sleep the day away, then she would lumber out of bed and put on a brave face, as usual.
In preparation to look as presentable as possible, she slipped on a bodice-hugging gown embroidered across the hem with a panoply of colorful flowers and braided her thick, dark hair into a crown while she styled the rest to hang loose and over her shoulders. Gripping hold of the door latch, she took a courageous intake of breath, hyping herself for the world outside her room. But when she opened the door, she beheld a curious sight. A young woman who she had never seen before was standing on the other side of the threshold, presenting her with a bouquet of pastries.
“May I help you?” She smiled politely, hiding her apprehension. Something about this girl screamed danger, though she could not quite place why she felt ready to jump out of her skin around this strange…
Teselin. She was speaking to Teselin.
“If you recall, the masquerade was yesterday, though I do admire your commitment to the art,” she gestured to the summoner’s ensemble, her mouth pitifully twitching upwards to demonstrate her pittance of a joke. Run away! Her feet demanded. You are not safe! If you cause this woman an ounce of upset, there is no telling what she might do!
Thus cornered both physically and mentally, she scrambled on her most pleasant, most inoffensive facade, and tried fawning her way out of a potential worst case scenario. “I spoke with Lord and Lady Rigas yesterday, and they vouched for your sincerity,” she said, aiming her eyes at the wall behind Teselin’s head to regulate her spiking fear. “They assured me you would issue a heartfelt apology at the soonest opportunity. Little did I know it would be this soon,” she laughed nervously, fiddling with the edges of her skirt. “I do appreciate your courage; surely, it must have taken all of your willpower to show up at my door. I suppose one good turn deserves another, so for your penitence, I shall respond with honesty. Last night, I,” she bit her lip, hesitating, “I died. I was in the ballroom when,” she gestured vaguely at Teselin, “and all I remember was my head…exploding, and then nothing.” She needn’t disclose the condition of her head at the time, and hoped the lack of explanation would be sufficient enough to drive home the horror she experienced and felt.
“I say this not to compound your guilt,” she hurried, splaying out one of her hands as though to stop her from a disproportionate emotional reaction. “Only so that you may understand why I…why I seem to be trembling in your presence.” Sure enough, her legs were knobbing together at the knees, struggling to hold her upright and not collapse into an unceremonious heap on the floor. “While it does relieve me to hear you harbor no resentment for me, and I would love nothing more than to revert to a time before our petty squabble, as I am also brimming with apologies and forgivenesses, I hope you do not fault me for requiring a…a little more time before we resume favorable relations. I,” she pressed out a hopeful smile, despite her rankling fears, “I have had no female friendships, myself and I daresay it would benefit the both of us to…to try again, once my nerves clear.”
“Why wait?” Another voice penetrated their private conversation and floated down the hallway, finding purchase in between the two women. “Seriously—why wait?”
Sylvie turned to see the smug grin of her brother, standing mere inches away with his hands clasped behind his back.
“Nico. Care to reason why you have chosen to cause an interruption?”
The eldest son of Casimiro gave a nonchalant shrug. “I smelled pastries and I happen to love the combination of cinnamon bread, butter, and honey.” His infuriating smile turned less infuriating when he appraised the disguised summoner, intrigue and curiosity replacing his obligatory younger brother sass. “You have selected a winning combination, Miss…” he frowned. “If you are incognito, what should we refer to you as? Speaking of, you may refer to me as Nico. It is my preferred moniker. Canaverises sure do enjoy shortening their lofty names into more palatable sobriquets. Makes one wonder why we bother with the extra syllables when we are so apt to toss them. Our youngest brother, for example?” He made a pitying face. “Athanasius. He goes by ‘Atha.’”
“I am still waiting for you to answer my previous question with all due seriousness.” As she assumed an all-too-familiar role as the responsible older sister, some of her latent jitters abated in favor of asserting her authority as the minder to her incorrigible siblings. Though, it confounded her to see Nico so…chatty.
“I merely inferred, and with no disrespect,” he said to Teselin, and meant it, “that we should enjoy what today has to offer. Yesterday was unfortunate, but it did not choose to stick. Call it providence or coincidence, but my sister was not summarily destroyed, and that is cause for celebration. We should not squander this opportunity as another chance for light, mindless frivolity in the streets. If you do not wish to engage, Sylvie,” he extended one arm out to Teselin, “would you do me the honor of your company—and of one of your delicious pastries? You are free to decline but at the very least, someone should escort you back to your carriage or steed.”
Vitali Kristeva’s reemergence from the dead stood as, and few would argue, one of the single worst things to happen during an otherwise pleasant evening—an evening the majority of the aggrieved kingdom desperately needed. Among those most affected, Bronwyn ranked as pretty far low on the list of people who despised the necromancer, and she wasn’t intending to jump at the opportunity to insult sling just because all her other comrades were on board with cursing the very air he breathed. She didn’t really know on which side to stand when Sigrid and Haraldur, her two closest companions, set the killing mood, but Hadwin, on the other hand, seemed to have a working relationship with the extremely sketchy man (of course he did). Split into two camps, she opted into remaining neutral, as it was the best (and only) course of action available to her. After everyone had their words and Queen Lilica dismissed everyone from the council chambers, Bronwyn emptied out in the hallway only to find that Sigrid had stormed off ahead of the group, presumably to recover from the indignity and the pain of that wreck of a meeting, alone. If there was anything to be sore at Vitali over, it was in ruining what almost ended up as one of the most enjoyable evenings Bronwyn had ever experienced. For the briefest of moments, she was able to forget her loss of a sister and the continuous loss of Hadwin’s mind in favor of a wonderful dance with company that she found herself yearning to keep. She wasn’t spouting lies when she (brazenly) admitted that she secretly wished for a carefree outing with Sigrid, removed from the unrelenting vortex of sorrows that obstinately kept dragging them back into the center…but she supposed it was too much to ask.
At least she experienced a sliver of something before all hell broke loose.
She did one last ear-to-the-door check on Hadwin and Teselin—they were sound asleep, thank the moon—before retiring to her chambers. Quickly shedding the autumnal layers of her wonderful and tragically short-lived gown, she flopped on her bed and was ready to call the entire evening a bust, and all those directly succeeding it, until a curious thought crossed her mind.
She wanted to do it again. To try again. This time, with no Hadwin schemes, she would hit straight and direct and to the point.
It was for that reason Bronwyn ended up knocking at Sigrid’s door later that morning.
“Ah, Sigrid, good morning! Did I wake you?” she greeted as the door swung open to reveal a rather disheveled and frumpy sight. Instead of viewing Sigrid’s bedhead and wrinkled clothes as nothing alarming, given the hour, her first reaction was alarm. But alarm of a different sort. A very odd and baffling sort. She took in the blonde warrior’s look, her un-put togetherness, and her heart raced.
She fake-coughed as an excuse to redirect her gaze, out of politeness, and to prevent from staring, which as a faoladh-set rule, she never did.
“Sorry,” she hurried, “I can come back when you’re decent. I just wanted to…to throw this out there. And it’s up to you if you want to decline, considering the mess of last night and learning what you, you learned,” she glazed over awkwardly, not wanting to so much as graze the topic of her lost love, “but I heard there’s still some ongoing Solstice activities, both at the D’Marian village and here in town. If you wanted to come along, it’s…well, it’s just me, if that’s alright? I didn’t ask anyone else. You’re the first one. I checked on Hadwin before and he’s doing ok. Stable—so I don’t have any other commitments at the moment. Unless you do. Or…well, I’d understand if you’re done with this festival. I don’t blame you; I’d normally think the same, but I’m willing to give it one more chance if you are. Or…no,” she blew out a shaky breath, “maybe I shouldn’t have bothered you. I’m sorry; I’ll leave now.” And before she embarrassed herself (or flustered herself) further, she slunk away before Sigrid could see the very visible red blotches appearing across her face.
It had crossed her mind that donning Briery’s hand-me-down would be vast overkill, and the young summoner had debated whether or not to dress herself in her usual attire before this bright-colored summer dress won out. But the acrobat had assured her at the time of gifting it to her that it wasn’t a costume, and given that Briery Frealy was far more attuned to fashion trends than she was, had figured that it might be better received among possibly the most fashion-conscious people she had ever known. Yet, apparently the colour scheme and the cut was yet too ostentatious for the Canaverises and how they perceived the remainder of festivities, given Sylvie’s comment that the masquerade had been the night before. Teselin looked down self-consciously at her glaringly out-of-character attire and emitted a small sigh. Perhaps you had to be born into the world of this social know-how to excel at it. “Ah… well, my everyday attire seemed too drab for celebrations, and between what I wear and my general appearance… I did not wish to alarm anyone of my presence. Anyway,” she tucked a tress of sandy hair behind her ear, her smile wavering. “In addition, I thought the lighter hair and eyes would be more appropriate for a summer celebration, anyway, disguise or not. Though in hindsight… I realize it must come across as a little bit ridiculous.”
Yet, despite her light-hearted joke, it was blatantly obvious in her fidgety body language and in the tone of her voice that just being in Teselin’s presence was making Sylvie uncomfortable. She chose her words so carefully, so desperate not to offend or upset, lest another tragedy befall this peaceful village. But that did not stop her from offering heartfelt honesty, which the young summoner wasn’t quite prepared for. “You…” Her face dropped and paled, and the decadent pastries very nearly tumbled from her arms in shock. “Died? But… you’re alive now. And look completely unharmed…” If Sylvie had succumbed to the tragedy born of the summer’s volatile magic… then who else, she wondered? Were it not for the miraculous magic after the fact that had restored not only the shattered glass, but the health and well-being of everyone affected, how many more lives lost would Teselin have been responsible for? And to think that one of those lives would have been Sylvie…
She could tell the manacle she’d slipped just above her elbow must be working, for where such a revelation would surely have stirred unrest with her wild magic, and the sky or her surroundings would have alerted her that chaos was not far away. Instead, all she felt was a slow burning around her bicep, and a dull throb in her temples and behind her eyes. The first sign that reassured her that all of this, Sylvie’s refusal to make amends right away, or to accept her company, was probably all for the better. In truth, she had no idea exactly how long she had, wearing that magic-stifling accessory, before it rendered her visibly ill. But even if she could have a little bit of time--even just an hour, to show Sylvie Canaveris that she wasn’t just the destructive force that everyone saw her as…
“I… I know it may be hard to believe, but…” Teselin spoke hurriedly, hoping to get this last word in before Sylvie closed her door and shut her out completely, both figuratively and literally. “I know what happened last night… and I won’t pretend that I was not the cause of it. But I want to assure you, today is… different. In that I am not a danger to anyone right now. My magic’s under control… I couldn’t even use a sliver of it if I tried. I promise you it’s the truth--I’d never have come back to see you, to apologize, if there was even a fraction of potential that I… that I might hurt you. Again. ” She even came close to rolling up her sleeve, to revealing her secret only to Sylvie. But it occurred to her that just seeing that manacle wouldn’t be enough to inspire truth, and that Ari’s niece would still have to take her word for it that she wasn’t dangerous. Teselin truly felt like a fool, then and there. What the hell had she been expecting? That Sylvie would be just as desperate to make amends? That all it would take was an apology, and then the two of them would go and two what two girls their age were wont to do, taking in the festivities beyond the Canaveris villa and snacking on rich, sweet foods without a care in the world?
In fact… the most heartbreaking part of all of this was that that was precisely what Teselin had hoped. That desire to remember what she had been like just a couple of years ago, far more naive and yet also far more full of hope that she might fit in and lead a ‘normal’ life one day. Somehow, she’d had her heart set on reclaiming that dream for even half a day, to selfishly forget about the turmoil that she had caused the night before. To really know what it felt like to have a friend, another girl, around her age with whom to explore some of the small, exciting joys a summer festival could offer. This is where being naive gets you.
“Of course--of course, I completely understand. I-I didn’t expect you to forgive me, Sylvie. Or to want my company. Not at all.” A blatant lie; or at least, she had somehow managed to hope otherwise. “I just wanted you to know I am sorry. About everything. And that I really appreciate everything you’ve done to try and be a friend to me, even if I wasn’t very receptive. I know sweets can’t change what happened or undo what I did, but…” She managed to smile through her own deflated disappointment, and stretched out her arms to offer the pastries once again. “I came down here by horse and can’t well carry these back to the palace with me. Maybe you and your brothers can enjoy these? I was the baker’s first customer, I think, so they are all very fresh. And since I really don’t know how long this ‘disguise’ is going to last… it’s probably best that I get back sooner than later. Before anyone else recognizes me… I don’t want to strike fear into the hearts of everyone trying to enjoy these festivities.”
Just as she turned away in defeat, a brand new presence alerted Teselin that she and Sylvie weren’t alone. How long had Nico been there, listening in? She’d only ever encountered the Canaveris boy in passing, exchanging few words; it frankly surprised her that he knew who she was at all (of course, after last night… everyone probably knew). “Nico…” While startled that someone had been listening to their clandestine conversation, what surprised Teselin even more was that, in sharp contrast to Sylvie’s reaction, her younger brother not only appeared not to be afraid of her, but… he was willing to spend time in her presence. Perhaps he’d heard her explain to Sylvie that she wasn’t dangerous today as her magic was kept under wraps. Yet, unlike Sylvie, perhaps he believed her.
“If you enjoy sweets, Nico, then feel free to help yourself.” At Sylvie’s hesitation to even so much as accept a gift from her, Teselin stretched out her arms to offer the girl’s brother a pastry, eager to lighten the load in her arms. “And you can just call me Teselin… or Tes, as Hadwin is wont to call me. I’m afraid I did not consider thinking of an alias before making my trek to the D’Marian settlement…” Which, in hindsight, was a terrible oversight… and all the more reason for her to high-tail it back home before she was discovered by anyone else. And that was precisely what the young summoner would have done, were it not for the startling offer on behalf of Nico. Had… had she heard correctly? In the shadow of Sylvie’s sad refusal, was Nico Canaveris picking up the slack and… and offering his company to take in the sights of today’s festivities?
His offer and proffered arm took Teselin completely off guard, such that she lost her tongue for a good moment afterwards. Finally, she managed to find the words to reach for clarification: “You… Nico, are you asking that I accompany you to take in today’s festivities?” You’re not scared out of your skin to be standing next to me? Was the question she wanted to ask, and felt it was heavily enough implied. Sylvie’s brother didn’t withdraw his arm, or his offer: he was serious. He knew what she’d done, what she was capable of… and yet, he was extending his hand to her. The young summoner hardly knew how to respond--but what would be worse? Turning Ari’s nephew down when she had just offered the same to his niece? Or risk being recognized as they traversed the village proper, taking in the sights and what the spirit of celebration had left to offer? You don’t know how long you have, a voice at the back of her mind cautioned. Before your hair and eyes revert to their natural colours. Before the manacle on your arm makes you too sick to stand. Yet on the other hand, another voice nagged: You’ve already alienated Sylvie. Nico is trying to be kind. Are you so eager to disappoint even more of Lord Canaveris’s family?
“Well… I’m sure I have at least a day’s grace period before my hair and eyes return to their normal colours.” The young summoner smiled. “If you don’t mind taking a risk that I might be discovered and being seen with me, then I’d be happy to go and really try to experience the festivities properly. And help yourself to the sweets.” Somehow paranoid that in accepting the young man’s offer for company that she might insult Sylvie, Teselin turned back to the girl standing in the doorway of her bedchambers. “Please take all the time you need, Sylvie, but if you change your mind today… I hope you know you’re welcome to join us. Come and find us if you’d like.”
With one arm full of the remaining sweets, Teselin put her free hand on Nico’s arm. “I’m not really sure what’s happening today, here in the D’Marian settlement or in the kingdom central,” she admitted sheepishly. “If there’s anything happening that interests you, let’s go and see what it’s all about.”
With the return of the near globally-hated necromancer, Sigrid had been helpless but to see red for the remainder of the evening--and, as such, she had ultimately retired to her chambers without telling Bronwyn goodnight. It had entirely been an oversight on her part--after all, prior to the entirety of Aristide Canaveris’s ballroom completely shattering, she had genuinely been enjoying the masquerade with the faoladh woman. Bronwyn wasn’t bad at dancing at all, and she’d looked lovely in the gown that Sylvie Canaveris had chosen for her. But as soon as she’d begun to feel the heat of her anger warm her blood, just short of taking it out on innocent bystanders, the former Dawn Warrior had confined herself to her bedroom as soon as Queen Lilica had dismissed the gathering, without bidding a single soul goodnight. But even after she stripped off her suit and crawled beneath the sheets in nothing more than an old tunic she pulled over her head, it was hours before the blonde warrior could successfully fall asleep.
Maybe it was wrong of her, but Sigrid had found some solace upon awakening from Locque’s spell that the people both directly and indirectly responsible for Naimah’s death were now dead themselves: namely Rowen, and Locque, but also Vitali, who had done nothing to help. It might have been irrational, but she couldn’t help but feel as though the Kairji woman had been mugged of some of her own justice. Vitali’s return was nothing less than a slap in the face for a lot of people, and she’d have been lying if the thought of running him through with her blade hadn’t crossed her mind. But the bastard had the protection of his half-assed effort in the step toward freeing her from Locque’s thrall, and subsequently giving Naimah the means to spiritually move on and reunite with her family. She couldn’t lay a hand on him; no one could, as it appeared he was innocent until proven guilty; or, rather, it was yet to be decided whether or not he was a friend, or a prisoner. She was forced to leave it in Queen Lilica’s hands… however much she’d have preferred otherwise. She’d seen the bloodlust in Haraldur’s eyes, too; she imagined what catharsis the two of them might experience to share a killing blow to the wretched necromancer’s current semblance of life.
Exhaustion eventually took her just before dawn, and she didn’t awaken until a rapping at her door startled her out of her otherwise light sleep. Who was it, at this time of morning? And what could they want? Sitting upright and glancing at the window, Sigrid quickly realized that ‘this time of morning’ was more likely veering into early afternoon, and if given the option, she might have slept the day away. Running a hand through her blonde hair, which tumbled in long, thick waves down her shoulders and back, she didn’t even consider her less than ideal attire before sliding out of bed in bare feet and opening the door.
…and finding Bronwyn, of course, standing there with a surprised look on her face, at the blonde warrior who did not look like someone who was in any mood or state to take visitors. “Bronwyn…” She noted the colour that crept into the faoladh woman’s face, and then looked down at her rumpled tunic that fell just a few inches above her knees, her bare, muscular legs, and her mess of hair that desperately needed to be pulled into a weave to tame it. “Sorry… after last night, I’m not sure I even have it in me to be embarrassed, right now.”
It appeared that despite the evening having ended quite poorly, Bronwyn was still interested in taking in whatever celebrations remained during this solstice--and that she didn’t want to take them in alone. So she’d come to the blonde warrior, of all people, to accompany her. Did that mean she’d enjoyed the masquerade? Enough that she wanted… more?
Sigrid didn’t know whether to be flattered or startled, but she did realize that if she spent the day moping angrily because of Vitali’s return, then that would be a defeat in and of itself. While Vitali was under close surveillance, the biggest ‘fuck you’ to the wretched lich would be to enjoy herself, enjoy life, in spite of him. Perhaps Bronwyn was on to something. “...I suppose it would be a grave insult to everyone who has organized this, not to partake in their hard work. Do you have a few minutes?” The corner of her mouth quirked a smile. “I won’t be donning that suit today, but I think I can find something a little more decent to be seen in.”
There was no argument that last night had ended in disaster--and perhaps no one else felt it quite so deeply as Ari. Shortly after the remainder of his guests had filed out that evening, the Canaveris lord had made his way to his bedchambers and quietly retired before even Nia put herself to bed that evening. Likewise, he wasn’t the first to rise the next morning, something the Master Alchemist found even stranger, considering how Ari was usually so early to rise to ensure that he was well prepared for the day and all it had to bring. And today, of all days, had more to bring than most. Festivities had not ended with the masquerade, regardless of the sour note on which it had concluded.
“Ari. Ari--let’s go. Get up.” She’d waited a good hour after rising, herself; she’d cleaned up, dressed, and gave the Canaveris lord ample time to wake up on his own. It soon became clear that this wasn’t an issue of Ari feeling exhausted; rather, he was feeling defeated.
Planting her hands on her hips, Nia pulled back the sheets and quilts. Just as he thought, his body twitched at the cool morning air; he wasn’t even asleep. “Yesterday… was chaos. Rather, it ended in chaos, and it was in no way your fault, Ari. In fact, half of the guests chose to remain until the very end of the night. People enjoyed themselves. We can’t give up on the rest of the solstice activities yet; take a look.” Striding from the bed over to the window, Nia drew the drapes of the window across from the bed, which overlooked one of the busier streets at the settlement’s centre. Stalls and tents had been erected; people were beginning to stir, to take in the sights and taste the wares of the vendors. “Hells--look at that. Your dear nephew even seems to have found a nice lady friend to entertain today. Seriously, look!” She could hardly believe her eyes. She’d seen enough of Nico to pick out the little brat from a distance, and he was unmistakably talking up a sandy-haired girl in a colourful summer gown. “Maybe she’ll rub off on him and reinforce some manners, you never know.
“Listen, Ari…” Nia turned away from the window, letting the curtains fall back into place. “I know yesterday was a blow to your pride, and even more. But it was a mishap that had nothing to do with negligence on your part, and it all worked out in the end. No one was harmed, Laz confirmed that Sylvie was safe in her bed, and Vitali was escorted to the palace where I am sure he is being kept under close watch. If we pass up this chance to be jovial, to celebrate… will we ever find another reason? Or won’t we just be reinforcing fear throughout the kingdom, and the notion that it’s never safe to let your guard down? To have fun?”
The Ardane woman took a seat on the side of the bed and touched the side of Ari’s face. “Besides--we’ve got a little ceremony to set up. For Alster and Elespeth--remember? We’ve got to touch base with Chara to coordinate it all. She and I will take care of getting Elespeth ready, but we were thinking you and Isidor could persuade Alster to put on a nice suit for an impromptu formal event. Frankly, you two will have the easier job, if you ask me. So?” Nia’s smile stretched wide and she leaned in so close that she touched her nose to Ari’s. “I’m not asking you to feel confident or good about today--or even happy, after what happened last night. But let’s try to make a couple of deserving friends who have been through utter hell and back happy, at least. An effort on behalf of D’Marians and Galeynians, with Queen Lilica’s approval. Those who want to be miserable will continue to be miserable… but what better way to share joy than a wedding, where everyone is invited? Come on, Ari. With Vitali kept under wraps, nothing is going to ruin this.”
While it was not Sylvie’s intention to cut Teselin out of her life for good, she was understandably rattled by yesterday’s experience and wanted nothing more than to let the event simmer before she reevaluated her relationship with the summoner. In truth, she found precious little to reevaluate, aside from the obvious, magic-related elephant in the room. As a whole, Teselin Kristeva was a perfectly pleasant person—on the surface. On the surface, she demonstrated agreeable and helpful behavior, showed receptiveness to their impromptu outings in and around the villa, and embodied strong, active listening. They hadn’t much in common—as was made quite clear during their verbal scuffle, no doubt a contributing factor to her fractured state-of-mind, which in turn fractured the ballroom and certain denizens within her blast radius—but at the time, it didn’t much matter to Sylvie. Surrounded by six brothers the majority of her life, when had she the opportunity to seek female friendship? Yet, instead of focusing on something she didn’t realize she wanted, she turned most of her attention on Hadwin Kavanagh, fawning over him in fantasies where they featured as the lover protagonists. If she had paid more attention, however, she would have noticed how often he redirected her moony-eyed advances…by sending her in Teselin’s path. Was this the wolf’s plan all along? Finding a friend for his young charge? It really made her love-foolish decisions all the more cringeworthy, in hindsight. If only she chose not to pursue Hadwin, then she would still be living in blissful ignorance, spending time in the company of a friend. But now that she had died from Teselin’s untethered and unparalleled power, however temporal the status, what was to prevent her from unleashing at her again? On the surface, she presented as harmless as a lamb; innocent and mild. But under the surface…
All this time, Sylvie thought herself daring for associating with the dangerous, misunderstood misfits of society: Alster, Nia, Hadwin, Teselin. From an outsider’s perspective, their misdeeds lacked definition, remaining conceptual, intangible pockets of space that didn’t interact with the world, but existed as stories, hyperbolic and larger-than-life, biased, skewed, or uninformed accounts that surrounded their auras and added to the mystery of their allure. But to watch as those floating concepts hardened into very real edges, with very real consequences on a very real world, suddenly, Sylvie wasn’t so certain about her associations, anymore. As it were, she would have to walk on eggshells around Teselin, going forward. If one other disagreement elicited just the slightest spark of panic or anger, then—
Her mouth opened in a horrified ‘O.’ She misspoke. Gravely! Oh, why did she confess that Teselin’s magic had killed her?! Now the summoner would surely have an adverse reaction to the news and her magic…
Nothing happened.
Removing her arms from their protective cradle around her head, a stance she didn’t even know she adopted, she strove to restoke Canaveris levels of calm, poise, and politesse. It is your shield against the unpleasant, her mother once informed her. Use it well.
“I fear you are mistaken,” she said, arranging herself in a pose best able to recover her dignity in the aftermath of her heinous overreaction. “I never said I did not forgive you. I do, if only you also forgive my embarrassing demonstration of behavior last night. I, too, let emotions get the better of me, and for that, you have my earnest apologies.” Blessedly, my wayward emotions are not likely to cause structural and bodily damage, she thought, rather shamefully. “I have merely expressed that I need time before we are to resume our proximate camaraderie. If I have caused you any hurt or insult, that has never been my intention.” Her dark eyes scanned Teselin’s colorful gown, taking in the neat stitching and beautiful patterning. “Your dress is lovely. Forgive my juvenile attempts at a lighthearted jibe, but I was referring to your current facial features. Do you not agree that you are donning a masquerade mask of a different sort? Be that as it may, worry not for the brevity of my ‘condition.’ If we are to be honest, you were far from its singular cause.”
But any elaboration she may or may not have given was interrupted by the approach of her nosy brother. Really, could he have wormed himself in at a worse time?
“Eavesdropping on a private conversation is beneath you, Nico,” she said, coolly.
“It is hardly private when spoken in the middle of a publically-traversed hallway,” he bit back, smug and enervating as ever.
She was in no mood to perpetuate an argument, and did not dispute his right to barge into personal matters uninvited, but then what he said next almost rendered her slack-jawed in disbelief. He could not be serious! Did he not realize the risk in which he put himself by flirting with an overheated, cracked tea kettle, about to explode? To her credit, even Teselin weighed the soundness of his proposal. Sylvie, adopting the role of protective big sister, nearly voiced a (demure) protest, knowing where associations with the destructive summoner might lead, but stopped when she realized the futility of her concerned and well-meaning input. Whether or not Teselin stifled her magic effectively, it stood to reason not to repeat past mistakes and play the role as her aggressor, her inciting catalyst, and potentially create another incident that, unless blessed with omniscience, even Tivia Rigas could not resolve. With a resigned nod, she rooted her feet, and solidified her stance.
“Do have a wonderful time!” She effused, her smile a practiced, gleaming picture of inoffensiveness. “Perhaps I will make an appearance a little later on, but that does depend on my health. I am dreadfully tired, and the sun today is unforgivably hot, but we shall see!” And, bidding her farewell, Sylvie stepped inside the welcome shadows of her dark bedchambers and clinked it innocuously shut behind her.
Nico, meanwhile, floored at Teselin’s reciprocation, tried not to boggle at the ease in which he secured her (literal) hand for an outing. Half-expecting her to reject his offer, considering last evening’s unwitting spectacle and her anguished, remorse-driven psyche, he was temporarily knocked off guard, regarding what to do next. Honestly…he never believed he would make it this far!
“You honor me,” he said, producing a charming, genteel smile. When in doubt, emulate a Canaveris! “If fear of discovery is what worries you, then I might have just the accessory to aid in your clandestine operations. Come with me.”
Arm in arm, he escorted the disguised summoner outside the Canaveris villa and down the road to the settlement’s main thoroughfare. On this particular day, the sun was overbearing, beating atop everyone’s heads as though to boil them alive like hard-boiled eggs. Unsurprisingly, the majority of passing festival-goers were seen shielding the early summer heat with hats, scarves, and bonnets, prompting Teselin to infer exactly where Nico planned on going.
Several minutes later, they arrived at a stall that resembled a closet pulled inside-out. Embroidered scarves waved and waggled in the stiff breeze, hanging like impromptu privacy curtains to surround many assorted wares and accoutrements displayed on makeshift shelves and hanging racks: tunics, trousers, skirts and dresses, but more importantly, hats of every seeming shape, design, and color.
Half-eaten pastry still in hand, Nico temporarily disengaged from Teselin to hail the milliner behind the stall. “Happy solstice, good sir! I am in want of a fetching hat for my companion,” he swept an arm out to indicate the young woman at his side. “May we peruse your wares?”
The milliner, upon noticing the caliber of young man he attracted to his stall, clambered straight out of his seat, eyes gleaming greedily. “For a Canaveris? Please, have at it! We’ve plenty of gorgeous sunhats that’ll be a perfect fit for a pretty young thing such as yourself.” He smiled at Teselin, not recognizing a hint of the destructive summoner behind her alchemical makeover. “I am more than happy to assist—“
“No need, thank you.” Nico held up a broad-brimmed hat from a stack in the corner, plain and nondescript in design save for the band of ribbon around the brim, which complemented Teselin’s gown, and swooped it over her head. “What do you think? Is it your size?” He guided her to a mirror and allowed her a moment to deliberate.
“It is lovely, but perhaps my Lady might be interested in one of these indigo models? They are the latest in D’Marian fashion.” He held up a hat containing a deep blue swirled in white, flower-shaped designs, a truly impressive—and expensive—headpiece.
“This hat will do our Lady nicely, if you please.” At the verbal go-ahead from Teselin, Nico fished out his changepurse and handed the milliner a generous—but not indigo dye levels of obscene—amount of coin, far above the asking price of an ordinary, woven hat. And before the milliner could scrounge up any last-ditch attempts to upsell, Nico politely bid him a good day and exited the stall alongside a newly behatted Teselin.
“The moment others smell ‘Canaveris’ on me, they scramble to sell me their finest products at a premium,” he explained to his companion, in case she questioned his brusque exchange with the milliner. “Forgive me if I incorrectly assumed your general disinterest in parading the trendiest of sunhats around the village. If you would like something more sophisticated, I assure you, money is no issue, but if it is utilized only for the purposes of better enshrouding your identity, then I am convinced this will exceed your expectations in that endeavor. The wideness of your hat’s brim is large enough to cast a shadow upon your features and will prevent people from sidling too close. Oh; here, let me unburden you of those.” Noticing she still carried a bushel of pastries in one hand, he transferred the sweets onto his person, whilst he continued to nibble away at his cinnamon-sugar confection. “I will have to pass these along to my brothers, wherever they are. However, that does remind me.” He directed their attention to the lawn outside the Canaveris villa, to where grand floats parked in even, numbered spaces like installations at an exhibition. “They are to announce the winners of the float competition in the next hour. I do not know if art interests you any, but,” a very faint russet stain burnished his face a glowing bronze, “have you the opportunity to observe the Canaveris float, close-up? If not, I would be happy to show you my contribution. It is best appreciated as a stationary piece. Quite easy to overlook amid the bustle of the parade, and the distracting glare of hundreds of garish firefly lights.” His expression soured before he was able to correct it, or his minor outburst. Leave it to that dratted Ardane woman to burrow into his brain and attempt to sabotage his day from a distance.
Despite Sigrid’s affirmative response, Bronwyn already had it in her head that she had been denied.
“Pretty stupid of me to ask, huh? It’s perfectly fine if you’re not feeling up for it and want to rest. I’ll respect that: I’m not pushy like—“
Wait. Did Sigrid just agree to attend the festivities with the likes of her?
The blonde warrior must have been feeling very charitable, or desperate for a distraction, as seemed the more obvious explanation. But Bronwyn wasn’t going to nitpick at the reason behind selecting her as the primary company, when really, any tolerable person banging on her door would have sufficed.
Have more faith in yourself! A rare, encouraging voice found a perch on which to sit, for access to her ear. It tweeted and trilled its opinions, impossible to tune out and ignore. She obviously wouldn’t have bothered to go with just anyone. If that were the case, why wasn’t she hanging out with her cousin at the masquerade last night? Or whoever else she’s on friendly terms with? And if you’re about to say that she was forced to be there in the first place and wanted to be alone, why did she perk up so much when you showed up?
Bronwyn did have an answer to that question. It’s amazing what booze can do to your inhibitions.
She’s not drunk now! The tweeting countered. In fact, she looks downright miserable, and yet she still wants to go—with you!
Thus conceding to the aggressively positive perch-sitter, she gave Sigrid the space to prepare by waiting against the wall beside her door. She wasn’t waiting long before her companion emerged, looking clean, refreshed, neat, and importantly, decent. I wonder if I’ll ever see her look the way she did, earlier, came another, more primal, hungry, startling thought.
So as not to dwell on it too long, she whirled on Sigrid, smiling guiltily. “I’m hungry. Are you hungry? If this is a festival, they must have specialty foods they don’t ordinarily serve, right? I’m willing to scour the place for good eats if you are. Or,” she tilted her head, again resuming the faoladh custom of no or unlimited eye contact, despite the urge to look and scour and learn if Sigrid did genuinely enjoy her company with her cheater’s Sight, “if you have any ideas, I’m all ears. Navigating festivals is all new territory for me. But if last night is any indication,” if she could avert her eyes even more, surely they’d be sinking into the floor, “I think I’d like to see more of what I’ve been missing. Don’t tell my brother,” she hurried, casting furtive glances in fear of him lurking nearby. “What I really need right now is to hear him gloat about how he’s right and that I’m a stick in the mud, and then he’ll throw me into situations I never asked for. Though I don’t think even he was anticipating how,” she clutched her arm in remembrance, “how everything ended. I know it’s not fair to her, but Teselin…just when I think I can spend time around her and be secure in her company, something disastrous happens and…plunges me back to that evening. In,” she swallowed hard, “in Apelrade, the world truly ended. And these miniature apocalypses keep happening, bouncing from summoner to summoner, and…” she dampened some of her intense apprehensions with an unconvincing laugh, “I don’t know how much more of it I can withstand. Does that make me a coward? To want to run away and be done with magic, for good? Hells,” she nervously adjusted the band on her ponytail, busying fingers that threatened to cramp up and tighten into fists, “if it wasn’t for Hadwin, I would have left after Ro,” she caught her tongue, “after my sister…Now I can’t leave because my brother isn’t well and he’s all I have; I doubt my clan would even want me back, and…dammit.” Realizing she went off on a tangent, her eyes widened in apology. “I did not mean to unload on you like that. I’m so sorry; I must be hungrier than I thought!”
Rare was a morning in which Ari didn’t rise up and greet. No matter how tired or stiff or stony, to refuse an early start set a mood for the rest of the day, rife with sluggishness and unproductivity. Yet, considering the events of last evening, he had every right to quietly lament the utter failure of his latest magnum opus. All the designing, the arranging, the painstaking detailing of every decoration, however small or incidental, the renovating and palate selecting—all of it was for naught. Of those fifty percent who stayed behind, the majority were Canaverises and members from the branch families, whose pride was also dependent on the success or failure of the masquerade. Despite his best efforts to oversee the mass exodus of his startled and fear-wracked guests, in the end, he understood the grave loss he incurred. No Canaveris function would recover its former glory. Not for a long, long while. How ambitious he had become, to think of replicating the past! To revive for his citizens, and share with Galeynians, the glamour of old Stella D’Mare, back when it was whole, vivid, and untouched by hopeless, restless, homeless defeat. People like Nia, though well-meaning, could not understand the scope of what he accomplished, and the subsequent heartbreak endured. All he wanted was to bring his people a semblance of normalcy, lighthearted nostalgia, and the forging of new, complementary memories. Instead…well, the only comfort he could find centered on the life-saving interference of Tivia Rigas, without which the aftermath would have racked a death toll. And who was to be the responsible party for any deaths and injuries inflicted on his property? The Lord of Stella D’Mare himself, Aristide Canaveris.
“Yes, yes, I know what I must do,” he sighed at Nia, devoid of pep or energy. Lumbering out of bed, he shuffled towards the vanity where rested his water basin and stared at his unsightly visage in the mirror. Unwashed makeup streaked under his eyes like blue and black tears, and clumps of hair stuck to his perspiring forehead. In his current state, he resembled a tragic clown more than a polished, put-together, stable leader of his people.
About to prepare his ‘face’ for the day, he was interrupted when Nia pulled him aside to point out a curious sight outside his window. Squinting against the glaring light of a morning he thus far had shunned, he caught a glimpse of his nephew, and indeed, his arm was linked with a fair-skinned young woman. “Well I’ll be,” he raised both eyebrows, the first deliberate expression he made since Nia forced him out of bed. “Nico tends to keep to himself, nowadays. It is heartening to see him explore today’s festivities with a lady friend in tow.” If only I could recover as easily…
“Then I shall live by his example, and aim to ‘enjoy’ the remainder of the solstice. Though, I must admit, it will only be for show.” Happy for the closing of the curtains, and the return of the muffled darkness, Ari turned from Nia in favor of fussing with his appearance in front of the mirror. “I shall play my part, if it should ease the apprehensions of my citizens. However, let last night be a lesson; that we should remain ever vigilant, ever prepared for imminent disaster. I may not be guilty of negligence, but I am ultimately responsible for what befalls my people under my watch, and within the boundaries of my territory, including any profound emotional damage that has occurred.” With a splash of cool, inviting water from the basin, he began scrubbing his face vigorously with a clean cloth, a feat made easier with the activation of his earth magic, which sloughed and extracted the paint straight from his skin and onto the cloth. He spent the next few minutes in silence, concentrating his efforts on an effortless rote task in a failed attempt to silence some of the heavy-hitting questions that floated around his mind. How am I to handle the matter of Teselin Kristeva? She has technically violated the rules of Canaveris hospitality; should I have her banned forthwith from the villa? From the D’Marian settlement? There are people who will want to see her answer for her horrific mishap, but will I stand to alienate essential allies if I choose to take a stricter approach?
There were far too many pertinent issues for him to consider. How, then, could he possibly pretend to care about committing to wedding arrangements?
“I have already given my word, and I do not plan on reneging it. The Rigases shall have their surprise wedding.” Newly bare-faced, he dabbed his cheeks of residual patches of water and swept his hair off his forehead. “As you’ve stated, it will be no real chore to outfit Alster for the occasion.” For Nia’s sake, he displayed the tiniest effort of a smile before striding over and laying a small kiss on her forehead. “Canaverises do have an uncanny way of guilting others into accepting their lavish gifts.”
Oh, how he wanted to believe in Nia’s contagious optimism. On an ordinary day, it would have reached him, surely as the morning sun always coaxed him out of bed. However, her last words gave him pause. With Vitali kept under wraps, nothing is going to ruin this.
If only Vitali was their biggest problem. Maybe then, he wouldn’t feel so conflicted about his sweet, summoner sister.
She really wanted to believe Sylvie. Really wanted to believe that her forgiveness was there for the taking, and that she still wanted to pursue a friendship with the young summoner, despite the devastating scene her errant magic had caused. Prior to seeing her face again, Teselin’s mind couldn’t help but devise an ideal scenario that played out in her head: one where the Canaveris girl was all smiles and exuberance, as was characteristic to her personality, and where she’d accept the Kristeva girl’s invitation without hesitation. One where she presented an attitude where Teselin realized her concerns were all in her head, and that people did not think of her so harshly as she’d assumed. One where she could enjoy a normal day like a completely ordinary girl, fearing not for yet another magical outburst, but enjoying the frivolities of a summer festival without a care in the world, among other people her age.
That was her wish--but there was a reason that wishes were wishes, and seldom reality. Because so often they were unattainable and unrealistic. And despite Sylvie’s politesse and her assurance that she did forgive Teselin for her tone (and destructive magic), and her promise to try and resume their friendship at a later date when she’d had ample time to mentally recover from what had occurred at the masquerade, Teselin knew too well that Canaverises were masters of social propriety, and that it was a faux-pas to leave any guest (even ones who had snuck in, uninvited) feeling disappointed or inadequate. After all, why would Sylvie be forthright with her, and detail every single reason why they could not be friends, at this point? Ari’s niece was far from stupid; she knew it had been a spike in Teselin’s tumultuous emotions that had shattered every piece of glass in that ballroom. Certainly, she wasn’t about to risk it again. Teselin couldn’t blame her.
“I know that this may sound absurd, considering how I reacted last night, but… you can be real with me, Sylvie. You don’t need to be afraid of hurting my feelings.” While she tried so hard to speak with conviction, her voice had grown pitifully quiet. “You were real with me before, weren’t you? All the other times we were together? You can tell me you’re afraid, and… and that you’d rather keep friends who don’t scare you. I understand; surely you must suspect it isn’t anything I haven’t heard before.” She smiled sadly, suddenly feeling completely foolish that she’d ever thought a couple of sweets as a peace offering could possibly offset all of the damage she’d caused the night before. “I don’t know if it would have made much of a difference--my magic was destructive long before Mollengard got their hands on me, but… I wish we’d met before that had happened. At the very least, I think I’d have had the capacity to be a better friend to you.”
With Sylvie’s rejection, the young summon was nothing less than completely taken aback when Nico--who she could only assume had heard the majority of their conversation--did not appear to be afraid at all. It was no secret that she was responsible for what had happened during the Masquerade, last night; surely every Canaveris knew of it, at the very least. So what was Nico doing, inviting her to peruse the Solstice festivities, when for all anyone knew, she could come unhinged yet again and wipe out yet another population of yet another village? Perhaps, unlike Sylvie, he believed her when she’d said she had her magic under control. But whatever his reason… Teselin desperately wanted to accept. Wanted to have one day, where she didn’t have to focus on holding herself together, and could just focus on enjoying… life. And enjoying like company. Hadwin was the only person who, on some level, was not afraid of her. Was it possible Nico felt similarly? Somehow saw her potential as a person, beyond being characterized by her wild magic?
“If you’re feeling better… I hope you’ll come find us.” Teselin said to Sylvie, and meant every word, all the while knowing there wasn’t a chance she would see Ari’s niece again that day (or, perhaps, ever again). When the girl’s door clicked shut, she sighed her small defeat, but at least the day (and these sweets) wouldn’t be wasted. She knew very little about Nico, but that he was willing to give her a chance to prove she could be just like any other ordinary, magicless human… it meant so much to her, that her efforts to redeem herself in a small way hadn’t entirely been for nought. Whatever he wanted to do, however he cared to spend the day, she was more than happy to oblige.
What heartened her even more was that before rushing into taking in the day’s events, Nico insisted they find her further means of concealing her identity to assuage her concerns. Considering she had already changed the colour of her hair and eyes, and had donned attire that she typically would never wear, she wasn’t exactly sure what Ari’s eldest nephew had in mind, before leading her to a stall boasting a huge array of garments and accessories. Of course… a hat would further conceal her otherwise recognizable features (after all, it wasn’t as though she had interfered with her facial structure). Why this hadn’t occurred to her before, she had no idea.
“This is lovely.” The young summoner smiled, trying not to appear too startled by her foreign appearance in the mirror. The light hair and light eyes… certainly afforded her an ‘odd’ appearance. It didn’t quite suit her facial structure, the shape of her eyes, and she feared that upon looking too closely, it would appear as artificial as it actually was. She hadn’t realized just how much she needed this hat until she had it. “Really--this will do. It’s exactly what I need to keep the sun off of my face.” She responded in kind to the merchant, and proceeded to walk away with Nico as soon as it was paid for.
“You really didn’t have to buy it for me--I could have used my own coin. Please don’t feel as though you have to spend your wares.” Having gained a sense of the Canaverises and their generosity, Teselin had known better than to outright refuse his act of kindness. But neither did she want to feel as though she needed to be ‘bought’. If only he knew just how much it meant to her that he wasn’t afraid of her… “At the very least, I hope you’ll let me repay you somehow, before the day is out. Now, where do you propose we go next?”
Frankly, his suggestion to go and take a look at the float that he had painstakingly worked on alongside his uncle, his sister, and Nia did happen to pique her interest. Teselin had really been looking forward to the parade and the float competition, and hadn’t had the best vantage point when they’d watched it all pass. The opportunity to see the finer details was an opportunity she didn’t want to turn down, so she followed Ari’s nephew all the way to the lawn before his villa, where the floats were parked for all to see. “These are much bigger in person… I can only imagine the amount of time put into this. What part did you contribute, Nico?”
He gestured to the landscape mural backing the stone animals. For someone so young, there was no doubt that he was talented, and that artistic integrity certainly ran throughout the Canaveris bloodline. “I rather enjoyed the fireflies; they were quite crowd pleasing. Although…” She couldn’t help but notice how his face fell when she commented on Nia’s little contribution. That wasn’t why he’d brought her to see the float; he wanted her to see what he had done. And, understandably, it was easy to feel overshadowed when your work was focused on the background.
“But… you know, I really don’t have a right to comment on ‘art’, but to me, the fireflies didn’t resonate as ‘art’ so much as a special effect.” Her mouth curled into a genuine smile and she angled her head to take a closer look at his mural. “Your light and shadows make it look as though I could reach out and touch those trees, and I’d actually feel leaves. I know it may be taboo for me to speak against a float that my own brother worked on, but…” She turned her head to face Nico and lowered her voice, as if somehow afraid Isidor would hear her treason from this distance. “Isidor and Alster put a lot of work into their float, and it was beautiful, but their drive was sheer competition. You and your uncle are artists: you take great pride in what you do, and it shows. Thanks for letting me see it up close, Nico.”
Teselin didn’t regret quietly confessing her favourite of the two floats for the look of delight on Nico’s face, and how much it meant to him to receive a genuine compliment. She imagined that, growing up in the shadow of his already incredibly accomplished and talented uncle, not to mention being one among many siblings, his own talent might sometimes be overlooked. “Can you paint anything at all? Or are you partial to landscapes? I’d love to see your other works. Seeing everything you and your uncle have done almost makes me feel bad for lacking talent.” Razing entire cities in wind, rain and fire, and shattering entire rooms full of glass, she felt, didn’t exactly qualify.
“Obviously, I haven’t eaten yet; I could go for something.” Sigrid reemerged moments later, having donned a pair of form-fitting black leggings and a billowy white tunic, tucked in at the waist. On this hot summer morning, it was the lightest outfit she could find, and didn’t appear to care that it was the sort intended for a more masculine form. “I imagine you’re hoping for something a little more filling than typical Galeynian fare? Well, now that people are free to come and go from Galeyn as they please with Locque’s threat annihilated, maybe the hunters have brought something back from the lands beyond. If I’m being candid, I could go for protein aside from fish, lentils, and beans.”
After last night, and all of the effort it had taken just to fall asleep simmering in her own anger at Vitali’s return, the blonde warrior would honestly have agreed to anything. Were it not for Bronwyn knocking on her door, she’d still be simmering in bed, too spent to make any decisions, and so she wouldn’t have made any. To this day, festivals and festivities in general were still something of a tender spot; no longer because of the dancer many years ago who had humiliated her after she’d confessed her love, but because it all reminded her of Naimah. Perhaps exhaustion was a blessing: not only was she too spent to fear she might break down, but having Naimah nearby felt like something of a buffer. The faoladh woman was yet another layer of protection against her own feelings, because she somehow managed to remind her of everything that she would otherwise be missing if she hid away. And the masquerade… well, until the end of it, had been quite enjoyable.
“I’m not well versed in celebrations, to be honest… maybe we can explore it together? I’m afraid I might be too sober for any more dancing at the moment, but…” When it became obvious that Brownyn had a lot to get off her chest, Sigrid lapsed into silence and just listened. This was preferable, too; not having to make small talk. She’d always fancied herself a better listener than she was speaker, and if she didn’t want to turn to her brother, then evidently she felt as though she had no one else to open up to. To Sigrid’s knowledge, Bronwyn and Elespeth had resolved their rocky relationship as soon as Bronwyn realized that the Rigas woman wasn’t a bringer of destruction. But with every tragedy or near-tragedy that resulted from magic, it seemed the faoladh woman found herself right back at where she started: feeling afraid and paranoid, and not knowing quite what to do.
Which… Sigrid could empathize with, to an extent. Hadn’t it just been one thing after another for her, these past couple of years? First being chosen by Gaolithe and learning of her own dark fate; and then losing someone she loved who also managed to free her of that fate. Nevermind waking up to learn that she’d had a hand in manslaughter. When it came down to details, she and Bronwyn felt similar things for different reasons, and were handling it in different ways.
“Brownyn… you’ve been through some real shit. No one’s going to blame you for being on edge.” She said at last, as they neared one of the palace exits. “Hungry or not, you’re going to feel like shit for a while. And anyone who judges you for feeling that way, after what you’ve seen and experienced, can go eat shit.” Her lips curled into a grin, and there was no judgement to be found in her cerulean eyes. “But just because last night ended in shit doesn’t mean we’re going to step in any today. Just take it a moment at a time and enjoy what you can. I imagine Teselin feels awful, but you’re under no obligation to spend time with her, now or ever. So,” reaching the door, Sigrid pushed it open, and held it with her body for Bronwyn to pass over the threshold. “Let’s go find a reason not to feel like shit today. I’m sure there’s one out there, in the form of food or otherwise.”
It hurt Nia to see her flamboyant phoenix of a lover suddenly so… deflated. This wasn’t the Aristide Canaveris she knew at all; this was a ghost of Stella D’Mare’s leader. And all because Teselin Kristeva had shattered his spirit along with every piece of glass in that ballroom. Of course, she couldn’t blame the poor summoner for her intent; the girl had a guilty conscience, and had likely hidden herself away for the remainder of the solstice festivities. It wasn’t a matter of blame at all (although if someone had to be found culpable, she was happy to lay the blame to Vitali), but rather, a matter of figuring out how the hell to ignite Ari’s spark again.
“I know that regardless of what I say, you’re going to feel the weight of last night on your shoulders like you’re responsible for it.” The Master Alchemist sighed and reached out to tuck his neck-length hair behind his ears. “So I’m not going to waste time, trying to convince you not to feel guilty. Not that I feel like you should feel guilty, but I realize I can’t convince you otherwise. So,” Nia rested her hands on his shoulders and looked him in the eye. “Let’s execute something else to be proud of. The parade already went off without a hitch; most of the masquerade was exquisite, and a night I’ll never forget, for good reasons along with the bad. Let’s tie it all together with an event to bring people today. Even if you don’t feel the part now… maybe you will when it’s all done. You can… be present in the aftermath. After seeing what we’ve done for two very deserving friends.”
It didn’t feel odd or contrived to call Alster and Elespeth friends, anymore. And while Canaverises were always wont to put on a show, only once had she ever doubted Ari’s intentions and output as being anything but genuine (and still very much regretted the one time she had ever doubted him). Even if he pasted on a smile now, it would be real knowing how happy he’d made the Rigas couple.
“I’m going to the palace to conspire with Chara about how to get Elespeth to don a gown befitting of a wedding; contact Isidor via the resonance stone to have him bring Alster here if you have trouble convincing him otherwise. Chara assured me she had the venue under control, so all we need are the two people meant to be there.” Planting a kiss on his cheek, Nia reluctantly pulled away from her paramor to see to her own part in this matter. As much as she wished she could spend the day simply trying to lift his spirits, they couldn’t give up on this event just to feel sorry for themselves.
“I’ll be back in time for the winner of the parade float to be declared--you didn’t think I would miss our victory, do you?” Nia winked, and her smile softened around the edges. “Ari… be kind to yourself, today. You’re too hard on yourself on the best of days.”
Blowing him a kiss through the air, Nia departed for the horse that was awaiting her in the stables, but not without running into Laz along the way. “Keep an eye on him today? He’s really beating himself up over… well, last night. I don’t know what to do except make sure our next grand event goes off without a hitch.”
The Master Alchemist at least knew she was leaving Ari in good hands while she dealt with affairs at the palace. Perhaps Laz would even succeed where she had failed to make him feel better. All the same, Nia carried those concerns with her all the way to the palace, where she was scheduled to meet with Chara. Of course, she wasn’t expecting a warm welcome, even if her arrival was expected. Just because she’d smoothed over terms with Elespeth did not mean that either Lilica or Chara had decided she was worthy of friendship (or respect, for that matter). This temporary truce was for the benefit of a common cause; at least she had the reassurance that the Queen’s haughty advisor would cooperate for today.
“Chara Rigas! Fear not, I’ve come to assure you of my forgiveness of stealing the first dance with my beau last night.” Nia couldn’t help but enter with a joke when the Rigas woman met her in the vast palace corridors. “I jest, I jest; I was too nervous to dance with him at that point, anyway. Perhaps I should be thanking you for sparing me from making a complete fool of myself too soon. So,” she lowered her voice and drew in closer. “Let’s get to this. Might as well start early since we have no idea how long it’ll take your cousin and his wife to buy in to dressing up and looking their best again, so soon.”
When it came to his sister’s affairs, Nico typically couldn’t care less. That sort of flagrant dismissal seemed to suit Sylvie just fine, who yearned for the day when her brothers would age and relieve her from part-time guardianship duties. As Nico was the first to ‘break away,’ so to speak, he and Sylvie typically shared an unspoken understanding, which they’ve employed for years: You stay on your end of the villa, and I’ll stay on mine. More broadly, this translated to: Mind your own business. On matters where they had no choice but to work together, such as collaborating on the Canaveris float, their truce held firm, if a little wobbly during moments when Sylvie degraded his role as an equal to scold him for his behavior, all while cozying up to the Ardane woman as though she was the big sister she always wanted. Disgusting, but Nico withstood these interactions because at least she never enforced any rule requiring him to behave, and he tended to phase out their background chatter when he painted, anyway. Still, the two siblings generally respected each other’s space, and Nico continued to honor their agreement…from afar.
He didn’t remember exactly when he took a shine to Teselin Kristeva, nor could he pinpoint why. Perhaps he enjoyed her effortless geniality, one not built and sculpted to conform to the grueling Canaveris strictures of propriety, which demanded pleasantness above all. He abhorred never saying what he meant, equivocating in place of articulating, spinning circuitous routes because a straight line evoked harsh, blunt, combative connotations and degraded the elegance of evasion. Yes, his entire blasted family would rather artfully evade than leave behind a splotchy, unsightly mess. It so happened that Nico liked messes, and painting them, railing in rebellion against the standards of beauty and aesthetics that had been inculcated into him at birth. It was ugliness and imperfection he championed. Oh, to dissect a Canaveris, to peel off their fragrant rinds and expose the flesh, the bloody, raw pulp. Deconstruct the ego, deconstruct pride, responsibility, and decency, and one would assuredly find little more but sameness in everyone, highborn or commoner. Stink and rot and spoilage, that’s what lurked in every soul.
Aside from her geniality, the desperate-to-please summoner who for the past week attracted Sylvie’s attention had also appeared…lost. Was she, too, stuck? Forced to play a role out of fear of the alternative? More than anyone he’d ever passively observed, she seemed the most justified in fearing to look inward and see her squelching, writhing, malodorous insides. She wasn’t erecting a facade to mask her unpleasantness as would a Canaveris, no, but her desperate, ongoing battle to suppress the enormity of her existence seemed levels more damaging than wearing a mask all one’s life. All at once, he pitied her. All at once, he wanted to validate her right to be.
His desires didn’t change, but rather, evolved during the masquerade. When the world around him split and shattered, the cacophony and the chaos and the pain…called at him, pulled with complimentary energies. In the midst of destruction, he never felt more beauty. When a fierce summer storm ripped through the land, destroying crops and collapsing houses, was the storm to blame? Many would argue yes, but it was a flawed argument, dependent upon assigning human-like traits to its short, but intensely-lived life. She. Always a ‘she.’ Named, sometimes. And given damaging monikers: furious, raging, wrathful, moody, fickle; never: necessary, replenishing, impressive, culling. No one could truly condemn nature just as one could not eliminate chaos. In that vein, it was impossible for Nico to condemn or to fear Teselin for her nature. On the contrary, she was someone to respect and admire. To purposely restrain herself for so long…must have been killing her.
Nico saw his opportunity to pouch Sylvie’s friend when she revoked the right or claim for her. He technically overstepped, but did not violate the terms of their truce. Where one door closed, another opened, and he would not waver at the threshold and waste his chance to speak with Teselin, and to know her.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t the paragon of confidence, and his stilted speech and stiff, squared shoulders certainly showed! Teselin didn’t seem to pay any notice of his social fumbles, thank the stars—or she was just aiming to be polite.
“Canaverises do not accept payment,” he said a little too bluntly, rejecting her offer for recompense. “Besides,” he lifted his expression, which likely sank back into its glum, inconvenienced default, “a simple hat will hardly bleed my money dry. If you insist on repayment, well,” he jerked his head to the bundle of delectables in his hands, “you already have.”
When they arrived before the towering Canaveris float, its sculpted hibiscus petals open to showcase their careful, painted detail alongside the iridescent colors that captured the sun in duochromatic shades of magenta and fuschia, Nico bristled at Teselin’s comment pertaining to the fireflies. He didn’t blame her for succumbing, like every other face in the crowd, to the allure of magic and alchemy combined, but rather, blamed himself for mentioning the silly pests at all. Of course people would take notice of such a flashy display and ignore the finer details consigned to the background, quickly ignored and dismissed.
Then…Teselin continued on with her brief assessment, and her conclusive statement impelled him to turn around and gauge her expression for honesty. Either she wholeheartedly meant every word, or her ability to bluff surpassed even a Canaveris. He elected for the former. “I…” he swallowed, fighting to overcome a surge of unexpected emotion, “that is…thank you. Sincerely. You may be the first outside my family to endorse my work. However,” a shy little smirk pressed on his lips as he pointed to the hibiscus flower, as well as the platform on which the entire float was balanced, “I painted not only the murals, but the flower, and the seasonal scenes that ribbon around this platform. They are certainly nothing special,” he indolently inspected the scene of spring, a serene field of wildflowers dotted with blooming cherry blossom trees, above which overcast clouds hung thick with rain, “and not indicative of my work at large. I am, indeed, partial to landscapes and primarily vignettes of nature, but,” he shifted on one foot, both eager and frightened out of his mind to share his secret; what if she didn’t understand him, or worse, rejected his alternative interests? “I paint these for the sake of appearances. They are not what I truly enjoy creating, but…my uncle would not approve of my preferred style, subject matter, or color palette.” He lowered his voice, in case he accidentally summoned his uncle, and with him, the Ardane bitch, too, “Canaverises are reputation-bound, and if I were to openly explore and express myself publicly through my art, the ensuing scandal would shame my family. As it is, I always destroy whatever pieces I create, and not precisely for the reasons one might believe.” He caught her wrong-colored eyes under the shadow of her sunhat and paused, hoping she would catch his meaning without needing to announce it. In the act of destroying his creations, he had become the storm, purging the old growth to make room for the new. Nothing remained infinite in the world, so why should artists aspire towards immortality? Why prolong the staid and stale for generations to come? As a monument to defiance, or desperation? Relevancy, in an ever-changing climate? Let the life you breathed crumble in your hands. It is only right that you should end its misery.
Fully intending on brushing aside her hopeless, depressing blatherings, Bronwyn resolved not to say another word on the matter, tiring of how often she dominated the conversation and constantly saddled Sigrid with piles of her neverending worries. Really, the warrior had enough on her plate than to cater to the selfish ramblings of a displaced faoladh who, since leaving her clan, could never get her shit together! Here, Bronwyn wanted to enjoy a carefree day hopping across stalls and eating anything meat-related she could sink her teeth into, and not two minutes into their outing, she already set the mood on a downer. Why Sigrid even bothered to tag along and endure the verbal onslaught all the damn time was beyond her. Be that as it may, it did bolster her spirits just a tad to hear Sigrid respond in very colorful terms.
“Is ‘shit’ your new favorite word?” Not meaning anything by her extremely light raillery, she gave a quick flash of a toothy grin. “Thanks for that, though. It helps to hear a refreshing new perspective after living in my head for so damn long. Who knows what I end up doing after my brother recovers?” After. Not ‘if.’ She was, at least, trying to stay positive. “Maybe I will leave Galeyn, when all’s said and done. There’s not much for me to contribute that Hadwin can’t already do, and better,” she rolled her eyes at that painful admittance, but it was true. His resourcefulness, coupled with his gung-ho attitude, granted him the enviable ability to get things done, improbable or not. His methods were always questionable, but no one could complain he never achieved the desired results. “But that’s off in the future, and today’s all about the present,” she added, desperate in her attempts to maintain lightheartedness and fun. “Though I will admit one of my reasons for wanting out of this kingdom is due to the food. Seriously, if I have to hork down another salad, I’m going to go rabid.”
Passing through the palace gates, they followed the main road to town, a short walk made shorter by the fact that both Bronwyn and Sigrid possessed long legs, and their wide, striding lopes set a swift pace and abbreviated their journey severalfold. The first thing that caught Bronwyn’s attention upon entering the festival proper was not on the colorful stalls, nor on the display of curios a traveling merchant had collected from afar, nor, surprisingly, on the buttery scents of baked breads and aromatic spices crossing from every which direction. It was on a line of hay bales arranged on shoulder-high standing poles, and a small assemblage of people aiming to topple them over with their fists. She stopped and stared at it for so long, she hardly noticed another presence beside her.
“How about it, missy? Wanna give it a go?” Half-startled, Bronwyn turned to see a stout man, a barker by the overconfident way he carried himself and the gleam of money lighting his eyes a greedy color.
“A go? What do you mean? What is this?” She gestured at the hay bales. “Some sort of game?”
“Not just any game!” The barker intoned. “It’s a game of cunning, you see. All these poor sods over here are all muscle and no brain,” he tsked sadly at the hulking forms landing powerful blows to the hay bale, the pole stand not budging a centimeter out of place. “Poor gits, if you ask me. Not a one of them has been able to topple that pole over, hay bale and all. Here I go, bending the rules and giving them infinite hits, and they still can’t do it! So I figured,” he sharpened a winning smile at Bronwyn and at Sigrid, “I change my tack, and try and find a couple of tough ladies to show up all these men with wits over fists. See, if you can manage to knock that pole over—and I assure you it isn’t fused to the ground!—if you can do it without contacting the pole at all, only the hay bale, then you’ll come out of this with,” he leaned into a stage whisper, his eyebrows wagging dramatically, “an entire roast boar. All to yourself!” To prove his honesty, he opened the flap to the tent he was guarding and sure enough, inside, lay a succulent boar, dressed and cooking under a low flame. Bronwyn couldn’t help it; she salivated. “And it only costs two bits to try! So what do you say?” He gave her a playful nudge on the shoulder. “You in?”
Normally, Bronwyn wasn’t a sucker for this kind of ploy. Living with her con-man of a brother helped her avoid encountering or engaging with people of his ilk. Yet…shamed as she was to admit, the thrill of the “hunt” (after a fashion), pulled her into the game. And maybe, just maybe, there was a way to win. Employing her own cheating methods—her Sight—she determined that the barker wasn’t lying about the pole. It could be toppled, but at the same time, he seemed so assured that no one could figure out the trick, let alone perform it successfully. But she had an idea. One she was sure even Hadwin would approve.
“Here,” she clinked two bits into the barker’s open hand. “I’ll have at it, but before I begin, I’ll be right back. I need to relieve myself if I want to give it my all.”
The barker squinted suspiciously at her. “Not gonna try something, are you?”
She passed a quick wink to Sigrid. “I mean, I already paid you in advance, so if I run off and don’t come back, it’s not as though you lose anything.”
Not quite buying her explanation, he let her go, probably assuming whatever schemes she devised would make no discernible impact. Instead, he was moments later greeted with a sight he never thought he’d experience. A wolf, running at top speed, launched itself into the air and tackled the hay bale, full force. The speed paired with the force of the wolf’s assault had, indeed, wrenched the pole from its weighted moors and sent it, hay bale, wolf, and all, crashing lengthwise on the ground.
The more Ari listened to Nia’s overinflated wedding plan, the more he realized a glaring miscommunication between them, and it was large enough to startle the fugue clean out of his body. “Excuse me, Nia, did you just say…’today’? As in, you expect the ceremony to take place on this specific date? Am I hearing you correctly?” Apparently, his ears had worked just fine, and Nia meant, with all due seriousness, to expedite the event and arrange to have it now. Within a twelve-hour time frame, at most. If he caught his reflection in the mirror, he would have noticed the color draining from his cheeks.
“Nia, it is far too soon to host this event. Chara and I scarcely have had the time to prepare, between my work on the float and masquerade and her diligent organization of Galeyn’s contribution to the festivities. She and I have discussed the ideal timeframe for the ceremony, and it is in three days hence, on the eve of the palace ball—the final night of the Solstice. This way, it will not require much, if any convincing, to dress Alster and Elespeth in their formal best. Additionally, I fear moving the date to tonight is too short notice for the guests you wish to invite; not to mention, we mustn’t exhaust our invitees after last night’s incident. Even if the…unintended circumstances did not occur and everything went according to plan,” he said in the delicate, roundabout way he favored when being direct elicited too much discomfort, “it is still prudent to space out major jubilations of this sort lest others suffer from celebration fatigue—including the matrimonial couple of honor for which this celebration is intended. No doubt they too are exhausted and require rest. Alas,” he sighed and turned to the full-curtained window, already feeling like his grasp on all situations spiraled too wildly out of control to regulate, “if you are so determined to manifest an impromptu ceremony in a matter of hours, then I invite you to discuss your ambitions with Chara. Good luck and Godspeed. You will need it.”
It turned out, Ari’s warning was well-founded. Chara Rigas, already in a sour mood (no thanks to Vitali’s unceremonious return) did not take well to Nia’s wildly-altered schedule modifications.
“Are you drunk?!” Chara balked. The two of them had settled into the sitting room attached to her and Lilica’s living quarters, a room better suited for their business, as it would afford more privacy over the more publically accessible councilroom. Crossing her legs over the chair on which she was situated, she furrowed her pointed eyebrows at the alchemist’s questionable reasoning. “There are no such arrangements for tonight. I don’t know about you, Ardane, but I prefer to adhere to a schedule, not hop around all willy-nilly whenever the mood arises. While it is wonderful to see you take such robust initiative,” she said dryly, “you have failed to consider a few key elements that require refinement. For one, Elespeth’s gown is in midst of last-minute alterations, our anticipated guests have yet to be informed, not all wedding gifts are present and accounted for, and the mongrel has yet to make the cake he promised to bake—among other important, time-sensitive tasks that I’ve delegated between myself and Ari, who is only now available to contribute his resources. If you are curious, I will send you a detailed and itemized list if you do not believe me. But, as someone who has organized plenty of events over the last several decades, I daresay I know what I am talking about.” She leaned back on her chair, flicking a stray strand of hair out of her face. “I shall be frank with you, Ardane. The past three events I’ve hosted on behalf of Alster or Elespeth were slapdash, rushed affairs, and I for one believe they deserve better than a half-assed mess, don’t you agree?”
Besides, she thought, but dare not share aloud to the likes of Nia, I’ve yet to finalize my own proposal arrangements—and Ari is not ready to assist me, either.
“I would highly recommend you reconsider this hasty, reckless approach, if not for easing my burdens, then surely,” she exchanged a knowing look, “for easing those of your overworked beau. Despite our very contentious relationship—for which I accept full accountability and blame—“ she raised one hand up in the air, solemnly swearing, “Ari and I understand each other very well. I know how devastated he is about his ruinous masquerade. As it stands, his stress levels are likely escalating to a dangerous level, and you are well aware of what happens when he is unable to manage his homeostasis.” Chara plucked a paperweight from the side-table, a marble-carved owl rendered so intricately, it looked as though it would shake off its petrification and take flight. She needn’t spell out the name of the paperweight’s creator, nor his intimate and debilitating relationship with stone. “Don’t do as I did, Ardane. Tread carefully with him, but don’t baby him or he will notice. He is resilient as he is breakable. Sometimes he confuses the two and moves when he should rest—especially when others implore him to do the opposite.”
Teselin had worried for a moment that her offer to repay Nico was a faux pas, knowing well the convention of gift-giving among the Canaverises. It had been a knee-jerk reaction on her part, a gesture of her own moral code, and by the blunt reply she’d received, for a moment she worried she’d unintentionally hit a nerve. A wave of relief washed over her when he gestured to the sweets, and she relaxed when the topic had essentially settled on that resolution. For a moment, there, she feared she might have unwittingly sabotaged yet another budding friendship--one that she suddenly realized she needed so desperately, especially right now. After last night, after Apelrade, after every time her own powers had betrayed her… the summoner craved a day where she could blend in among all other productive members of society. One light-hearted day where she didn’t have to worry about anything, save for what she and an innocent companion might do next to jubilantly pass the time.
Following that sense of relief where her comment was dismissed and the easy, content atmosphere wasn’t disrupted, as she’d feared it might be. Making a slight excursion to go and see the parade floats up close was akin to just what she’d had in mind for an easy day, trying to appreciate simply being alive. In her mind, on the off chance that Sylvie had believed her when she’d tried to assure her that her magic was fully under control, Teselin had assumed they might spend the day window-shopping (or actually buying) clothes and accessories that reflected the latest fashions among D’Marians. Or, maybe she’d have engaged Ari’s niece in a conversation about those books she had taken such a liking to (especially after she had so unfairly criticized the girl’s taste the night before). Neither of those activities were ones that stretched far beyond her realm of what she had in mind for a nice, easy, positive day, but if she was being honest with herself… quietly taking in sights, such as the exquisite parade float, felt much easier on her head. Perhaps it was serendipity that where she had failed in her friendship with Sylvie Canaveris, Nico somehow ended up being a better fit.
“Surely I am not the first person to take great notice of your art, Nico. I have a hard time believing that. After all, you’re a Canaveris. You were already born into talent. How could anyone possibly overlook your work?” Teselin wasn’t attempting to flatter the Canaveris nephew for the sake of propriety. Nor was she attempting to manipulate his feelings such that he would favour her as he did any friend. The young summoner was not one to throw around words that she didn’t mean, and if Nico’s hard work really did go as unappreciated as he evidently believed… then she felt bad for him. Not in the sense of pity, but rather, sadness. And in a sense… perhaps empathy. Just as few could recognize him for the artist he was, few could see her to be the person she was trying to be: someone who had never wanted to be the catalyst of destruction.
“It must be difficult, then. Painting what you don't exactly choose to paint.” Teselin observed, and took a seat on the edge of the float’s platform. It was hot, and the summer sun was getting to her… at least, she refused to believe that she was succumbing to the band on her arm so soon. After a moment’s rest, she’d be fine. “Have you ever tried to show your preferred pieces to anyone, then? Why destroy them once they are created? Unless, for you, that is the entire point of your art is to destroy it? Not all beautiful things are meant to last…” Without realizing how it emphasized her words, she reached forward to pluck a simple buttercup from the grass at her feet. A weed to most, whose beauty was often overlooked up until the point where it shriveled and died. Yet, that it ever dared to bloom in the first place, was a bold act of defiance in and of itself. How it dared to take up space, knowing it was disliked, and knowing it might well perish by being plucked from the ground by fussy garden caretakers, was in itself beautiful.
And… perhaps Nico wasn’t so different. Someone who dared to create art, however unpopular amongst his family or other artists, he still did what he loved. Even if no one else saw it. “I noticed I don’t see any of these in your courtyard. No dandelions, either.” She said after a thoughtful moment, and twirled the stem of the tiny flower, bursting with all the colour of the summer sun, between her fingers. “They get rid of them to plant the flowers that they want. But, these so-called ‘weeds’... they serve their own purpose. To birds and bees and other insects that thrive on their pollen. Despite what an ordinary gardener might believe, they serve their purpose to specific life forms, who happen to miss them when they’re all pruned away. But that doesn’t make them unimportant: just undervalued, and misunderstood. They deserve to take up space just as much as the roses and the tulips, don’t they? Just because the purpose they serve isn’t one that many might value, they matter to someone. To some things. I bet your art isn’t so different, Nico.” She looked up from the tiny flower, shadowed by the wide brim of her hat, to Ari’s nephew’s face. “I hope you don’t feel you can’t ever keep a piece because you’re afraid of what your family might think. I bet there is an audience out there that would appreciate what your hands can create. But, you’ll never know if you don’t try to find them. Maybe… start keeping a few pieces that you value. See what happens. I bet you'll find someone drawn to it, even if it’s not someone from your family.”
Could the same be said for me? She couldn’t help but wonder, but the more she thought about it, the more the smile on her face faded. No… I have no other use or purpose than that of a deadly weapon. There is no place for a thing like me in this world…
It was almost as if her thoughts attracted the very attention she didn’t want to get. A few people who had approached the floats to see them up close on their own suddenly took notice of the girl in the wide-brimmed hat. Perhaps they were looking a little too closely, for a couple of them backed up and began to whisper, their eyes growing wide. Teselin stood abruptly, dropping the buttercup. Did they recognize her…?
“...let’s go.” Without another word of explanation, she grabbed Nico by the hand and hurried away from the floats, back toward the people crowding around the vendors and performers. Perhaps it was safer to get lost in the crowd than to isolate herself and stand out by virtue of not being surrounded by others. “If people recognize me and see you with me… are you sure you want this, Nico?” Teselin was out of breath when she asked him, her heart racing and her cheeks flushed just from hurrying for a few minutes. With every moment that passed, she was gradually feeling more and more unwell. “You’re a Canaveris. I… don’t want to impact your reputation for the worst.”
“Bronwyn, profanity of any kind is highly more favourable than snobby vernacular. Shit is just one among the many of my favourite words.” Sigrid said as much so casually one would have thought it was a commonly known fact. “And nary is there a situation that doesn’t warrant some sort of profanity. After all, it got your attention enough to get you out of your own head, didn’t it?” She wasn’t oblivious to the faoladh woman’s gradual change in attitude. Bronwyn’s general outlook on the future seemed far more favourable than before: she no longer saw her brother (or herself) as a lost cause, and had bounced back relatively quickly from the chaos that had ensued the night before. Though when she mentioned the possibility of leaving Galeyn someday--perhaps someday soon--the blonde warrior’s heart sank in her chest. It was a curious feeling that she struggled to rationalize. Why so sad? It was obviously something that Bronwyn thought might make her happy; removing herself from the epicenter of magic that sent her into panics. Hell, even putting distance between herself and her brother, as well as the place where her younger sister had finally met her end would surely be a boon to her mental health.
But that would mean that Sigrid would, ultimately, end up losing a friend. Especially knowing that she might not be able to follow. And although Bronwyn was obviously not her only friend, somehow the thought of parting ways with her tapped on a sense of melancholy that didn’t make sense. “I’ll agree with you, there; the food here is most definitely sub-par compared to what I grew up with in Braighdath.” She grinned, but the corners of her mouth dulled that smile. “I haven’t thought too much about… well, what to do now. Now that I’m not in Locque’s thrall. But neither am I a Dawn warrior anymore. Just… a person who’s cousin happened to marry into royalty. And who roped me into being a guardian to one of his children. I don’t know… did that annihilate my chances for leaving and settling elsewhere. I don’t know what I’d do. Whether I’d try to start over and assume a new sort of identity, or freelance my skills. The last time I wandered off… it didn’t end so well for me.” She didn’t go into detail about Locque getting her claws into the former Dawn warrior at her peak of vulnerability. What would happen next time?
“After what happened… it makes me afraid to end up weak again. Knowing how easily I’m… manipulated. Makes me reconsider wanting to leave. But I don’t know what’s left for me here, either. Certainly not a hefty serving of meat.” Sigrid tried to ease off on a jovial note so as not to delve too deep into her feelings. She wanted Bronwyn to be happy and fulfilled; but she didn’t want to think about her leaving. Not yet.
The two women were sidetracked from their borderline deep discussion by some intriguing festival event, one that included bales of hay stacked atop tall, wooden poles. A game that, evidently, anyone had yet to win. Seeing them pass by and having gotten their attention, the barker shouted out to them, encouraging them to give it a try. Personally, Sigrid could give or take it; she was already relatively secure about her own strength and had nothing to prove. Bronwyn, on the other hand… she was motivated by something else.
“You gonna do it?” Sigrid asked Bronwyn, just seconds before the faoladh expressed her interest--for obvious reasons, considering just moments ago, she’d been griping about the food (and was already hungry). The former Dawn warrior didn’t try to dissuade her; in fact, she was curious to see exactly what tactic Bronwyn would employ that these other, disappointed men surrounding them hadn’t already tried.
But, of course… she should have guessed it would have to do with her wolf form. The one thing that all of these men just didn’t have.
The poles and hay bales came tumbling down after Bronwyn’s unanticipated tackle, and onlookers were quick to back up so as not to get hit in the fray. Sigrid couldn’t help but grin: Bronwyn had done what the barker had obviously believed was impossible. Probably thought he wouldn’t have to give up that boar.
Understandably, he wasn’t impressed. “Now, that’s… isn’t that just playing a tad dirty.” His frown deepened and red flushed his face. “This is a game for people. For people’s wit and cunning. Not for--”
“For what? You trying to tell me the woman who just handed you two bits for a fair game doesn’t count as ‘people’?” Sigrid didn’t wait a beat to insert herself into the barker’s space. She even towered over him by a few inches. “You were just saying how you’d bend the rules for everyone else here. Well, you didn’t state any rules but one: knock the pole over without touching it. That’s exactly what Bronwyn did. She beat your game.”
“B-but she’s… she’s a wolf! You can’t just--”
“She beat your game.” Sigrid repeated, and enunciated every word with a lowered voice resonating with enough danger that no one would dare argue.
It seemed to work. The barker, red in the face with the defeat of being completely outwitted, sighed and held up an arm. “It seems we’ve finally got a winner. The boar,” he gestured to the end, “is all yours.”
Sigrid smiled, pleased that this hadn’t amounted to more drastic tactics of intimidation to keep the man honest. Wandering over to the proud she-wolf, she brushed some pieces of hay out of Bronwyn’s fur and said, “Think this will take care of your appetite for a while? If you’re feeling generous, there’s enough there to even share with your brother. I’m sure a bit of meat in his diet will do wonders for his recovery. That is, if you’re feeling charitable.” She winked. “No shame in a little selfishness now and then.”
In all honesty, Nia wished she was drunk. Gods, it had been so long since she’d lost herself in wine or ale. No doubt her tolerance had plummeted to nothing, and she’d get tipsy over the mere smell of one of Ari’s special cocktails. But since last night, she’d wanted nothing more than something to cope with the disaster that had befallen the masquerade. Teselin had run off and it didn’t appear she’d been seen since then; Sylvie hadn’t left her room all morning, despite assuring everyone she was fine. And Ari… was a complete wreck. And there was nothing she could do to help him. No amount of positivity or antics or even sex would haul him out of the rut he’d fallen into. She couldn’t change his mind about how he felt; but she could ensure that this pseudo-wedding went off without a hitch, and do her part to make two dear friends very happy--and thusly, make Ari happy, by having him recognized he’d contributed to such a wholesome gesture. The Master Alchemist had clung to this event from the very beginning, and even more so now, not only for her own redemption arc in the eyes of this kingdom, but because something had to go right for Ari to realize not all was lost. He wouldn’t be swayed by vendors and performers; but he would by another grand event.
“Didn’t we agree it would take place after the parade? Well… it’s after the parade, isn’t it?” It was obvious where the misunderstanding had occurred. They had never set an exact date, and in Nia’s mind, one event would immediately follow another. But it made perfect sense as to why it couldn’t possibly be today, however much she wished otherwise.
Nia sighed, and deflated as air left her lungs. She had been so sure this was the answer to so many things, but mainly a rebound for Ari. “Okay. So, not tonight. Well, then, when? And what more can I do to expedite matters? Hells, I haul Hadwin to the kitchens myself and bake the damned cake with him. How much longer are we going to wait to give rise to the opportunity for more bullshit to get in the way of a good thing?!”
Her desire to expedite the event became obvious: after Vitali’s arrival had spurred a chair reaction of terrible events, she was desperate for something to go off without a hitch. Because she didn’t want him to give up. But the longer they lingered in the planning stages… who knew what else the damned necromancer would pull? Nothing mattered to him except for creating chaos and watching the world writhe for it. If only the bastard had just stayed dead… “Yeah. Alster and Elespeth deserve something nice. I guess I thought… we had more of it in place than we do.” As if suddenly feeling weak, Nia eased herself onto a sofa. It was just now that she realized she was running on adrenalina alone; she hadn’t eaten one of Isidor’s pre-approved breakfasts. And Elespeth had given her time off from training, provided she kept up with a brisk walk or something similar during the day. Perhaps she was resonating more with Ari’s defeat than she cared to admit.
“I don’t know what else to do. I can’t convince him not to take what happened last night personally. I really thought, what he needs is for something to go right, and soon, and for him to see his part in it, you know? I’m damned if I try to intervene; I’m damned if I do nothing. So what the hell am I supposed to do?” Nia hunched forward and massaged her temples, feeling the onset of a headache. “Do I let him wallow for the remainder of the solstice celebration? This was for him, as much as it was for anyone else. It’s getting… really fucking hard to function to everyone’s expectations, and meanwhile make sure relevant parties aren’t completely falling apart.”
She didn’t know why she was saying all of this to Chara, who perhaps cared the least about her struggles or how she felt. But the Rigas woman knew Ari. And if she already hated her guts, then it wasn’t possible to sink much further in her loathing. “You know Ari well. Perhaps better than I do, given you have a longer history with him. What I know is that he doesn’t respond to empty praise or reassurance. He thrives on productivity and having his work recognized. He thrives on making a difference. I just want that to happen for him before the event caused by Vitali Kristeva completely fucks up his confidence to the point where he doesn’t want to try. So what do I do?” She looked up, straightening her body and searching Chara’s face. She’d spent hours on a horse in the dire summer heat making her way to the palace; she refused to leave empty handed. “The wedding’s not happening today; you’ve made that much clear. So tell me what I have to do now to keep Stella D’Mare’s leader from suffering a completely broken spirit. ‘Cause if we can’t make this happen today, before he has time to stew in negative feelings… then I’m at a damn loss, Chara.”
“No, you are correct,” Nico admitted with the flop of his head. “You are not the first person to have noticed my work. It was my uncle who first saw my potential and helped cultivate it. Over the years of his tutelage, I learned the finer points of technique, on how to mix my own paints, how best to use and blend colors, how to transfer the essence of what I wanted my painting to evoke from the subject to the canvas…I owe him so much for blossoming into a fully capable and competent artist.” He was more of a father to me than my own, he thought, gloomily. “Imagine his disappointment if I were to show him what my heart truly wishes to paint. I would be rejecting his teachings, which tout beauty and aesthetics above all, and thereby would be rejecting him. I am not yet ready to spit in his face all so I could rise as some sort of pariah and maverick. It does not seem worth the effort.”
“Besides,” he spun a negative into a positive—how very Canaveris-like of him—and pressed on a pleasant smile, “I have learned to enjoy destroying my works as much as I enjoy creating them. In a sense, the unmaking ends up becoming an art form in and of itself. I find it fascinating how easily my impressions upon the world can…disappear. As though I have done nothing at all. Made no ostensible impact when in reality, only I know the truth of what I both wrought and wrecked—sometimes in the span of a single day. It is a bold thing, I find, to shore up the courage to destroy pieces of yourself, over and over and over again, in a test to see if there remains left in you an ounce of creative spirit, or if you’ve forever destroyed it, as well. And I find that not only is it still present, but it is strengthened by the ever-going trials and tribulations I force it to withstand. Destruction…it sows the seeds of creativity. Motivates it to glue together the tearing void, until at which time it will tear anew, and the process repeats. As such, destruction is not a singularly bad or evil thing to experience. It can be…beneficial.” The entire time he spoke, Nico glanced askance at Teselin, observing, without trying to stare so overly, if she understood the not-so-hidden context spelled out in his dissertation. Destruction has a purpose. You have a purpose.
“Adding to your analogy,” he tapped another budding buttercup with his boot, but out of respect for its tenacity to grow when others spurned its right to exist, chose not to uproot it from the grass, “there is a beautiful purple weed that thrives from disturbances of the land. If, for example, a damaging forest fire sweeps the earth and leaves the soil scorched and barren, one can be assured that this weed will take root, and spread across the charred landscape in open defiance. For that reason, it is known by many, quite literally, as ‘fireweed.’ People would seldom know of this plant or its benefits in revitalizing a ravaged ecosystem if not for the destructive event that caused its emergence in the first place. One day, perhaps the dandelions and buttercups will have their moment to shine, as they should. And perhaps,” he slid the stem of the buttercup out of her fingers and tucked it into her hat ribbon, “you will be the first to see it. The true face of my art.” And with it, his true face, the one hidden to the world behind Canaveris polish and artifice. Already, he revealed more of himself to Teselin than anyone else in his family, than anyone else, period. And for that…she was truly something special.
But who should ruin the moment but a couple of upstarts? His dark eyes noticed them the moment Teselin yanked his hand and implored him to go. Obediently, he allowed her to lead him into the throng of people, needing to pick up his pace to follow astride the much smaller Teselin, whose small frame belied her sudden, rabbit-like spurts of speed. Once a fair distance away from the source of her fright, the two of them slowed to a less frantic walk, and they resumed strolling down the busy thoroughfare, a little winded but not worse for wear.
He glanced at Teselin and frowned. Apparently not.
“Are you well? Do you need a place to rest?” Resuming the lead, he guided her down a less-peopled side street. “I know a secret route into the undercity where we might avoid prying eyes. And since it is below ground, it has an added benefit of removing you from the harsh sun.” As they continued down the road, her question didn’t even cause a shudder of hesitation in his footing. “My uncle has not yet formally revoked your guest privileges; ergo, my reputation is not in any danger. Otherwise, I am fully prepared to play the ignorant fool and claim my obliviousness towards your true identity. I will simply say I was too swept up in your beauty to notice anything awry,” he said, wryly enough so she wouldn’t read too much into his offhanded, yet sincere, comment. He did find her beautiful, in ways that others might find her ugly, or terrifying, or an eyesore, like a dandelion sprouting in a field of uniform, unchanging grass.
Unfortunately, their hopeful exodus to safety hit a snag, as they stumbled upon the worst possible person in the whole of the D’Marian village to encounter.
Nico stopped short and rummaged together his most unruffled appearance. “Uncle Ari, good morning. I, ah, suppose we both had the same idea to make use of the secret passage.”
Ari, dressed in a billowing spring green coat that caught the breeze, and the sun, and his smooth features, radiated the type of polished, pleasant inscrutability that Nico could only aspire to embody. “Well, it is not so much a secret anymore, now that you have chosen to introduce it to your new lady friend.” Ari’s eyes rested on Teselin, impossible to determine recognition or suspicion under his flawless mask. “I do not believe we have met before. While I am certain I need no introduction, I am Lord Aristide Canaveris. It is a pleasure to meet you,” he swept into a customary bow. “I do hope my nephew is not causing you too much grief. May I ask your name in turn?”
“Buttercup,” Nico blurted lamely. “That is her name.”
Again, Ari made no facial or non-verbal indication of suspicion, but his attention never wavered on the face hidden beneath the broadness of her hat. “Why, that is a gorgeous name, and you carry it well, I daresay. My apologies,” he gestured to Nico, “but I will need to borrow my nephew for the remainder of today. I hope this does not put too much of a damper on your plans. Nonetheless, do enjoy the rest of today’s festival!” With a parting bow, Ari turned and waited for Nico to follow, who had no choice but to oblige. I’m sorry, he mouthed to Teselin as he joined his uncle’s side and headed up the street, back to the villa on the hill.
Bronwyn, of course, was expecting some resistance, some reason or another for why her win didn’t count. She’s a wolf, or, This game is for people! The other men in play seemed to think so, too, shouting their protestations and demanding her disqualification. Needless to say, she wasn’t disappointed by the rabble who rallied so passionately for her expulsion. So this must be what Hadwin faced whenever he pulled off some unpopular or illicit stunt: outrage. Perhaps it should have concerned her to create disharmony over a bit of mischief she caused, and the target she placed on her head, but frankly, it empowered her. She felt bold, dangerous, seen, for one of the first times in her life. No wonder why her brother acted out so much; people tended to ignore good, law-abiding citizens, but whoever rocked the boat just a little, in plain sight, received the heat of attention. While she wasn’t the type to make these cheeky little instances of derring-do a habit, it was worth it to see Sigrid’s reaction—and to hear her no-nonsense defense of her win, the men buckling before her in fear. Oh, to command that level of intimidation! It wouldn’t hurt to try it out a tad.
In conjunction with Sigrid’s thinly-veiled warning, Bronwyn loped over to the barker, flattened her ears against her skull, and bared her teeth in a snarl. The barker, startled by two points of aggression, who he finally recognized as the woman who murdered a D’Marian family and the woman whose sister murdered Galeynians and D’Marians alike, bowed to the pressure, as did the outspoken, burly men behind them. They all smartly ceased their complaining maws.
“No need to get snippy,” the barker laughed away his nervousness and pointed to the tent. “I said the boar is all yours. Have at it!”
But Bronwyn didn’t immediately make a beeline for the delectable boar. Signaling to Sigrid to stand guard temporarily, the wolf ran off from whence she came, returning a few minutes later in human skin and fully clothed—if a bit disheveled in places. For one, her hair was an unbound mess, the frayed ends frizzing around her head like a halo. For another, mud had splashed splotchy brown patterns all along the hem of her skirt. Her messier appearance must have, in the eyes of the closest onlookers, solidified her stance as a Kavanagh, half-mad and troublesome, perhaps even deadly, depending on the circumstances. Suddenly, her innocuous little stint that before had liberated her didn’t seem as innocuous, or liberating. So long as she remained a Kavanagh wolf, the people of Galeyn would always associate her as a figure of ill-repute. If that were true, then why behave to their impossible standards? It wasn’t like she was causing any real harm…was she?
“Thanks for guarding my stash, and for defending me out there,” she said to Sigrid as she entered the tent, staring longingly at a prize she won…maybe not fair and square, but the barker never claimed the game fair. “I suppose we can shave a bit off the ends for my brother. Or leave him the bones. I guess it depends on whatever we can carry back after we’re done feasting. It’s the least I could do for the poor soul,” she pressed a hand over her heart in mock sympathy for the little brat. He was a brat she loved, but damn it if he wasn’t a continuous pain in her arse. Finding a carving knife and a few overlarge forks in a bucket on the floor, she presented the findings to Sigrid. “You should do the honors. Short of running up to the barker and pissing on his leg, I don’t think he was ready to negotiate winners rights with a wolf. You really sold my victory.”
Sitting on the tree stump perched closest to the fire, she stoked the sputtering flames with a stick, getting the most out of the dying remains before they winked out for good. Not like she needed the boar to cook at all; she preferred it raw, but for Sigrid’s sake, it was best to ascertain the meat’s doneness lest she come out of this excursion too sick to function, a diagnosis she ironically would have embraced come yesterday, if it allowed her to skip the masquerade. It actually gave Bronwyn pause to wonder: aside from the unpalatable aftermath, was Sigrid glad to have attended?
“You can come with me, you know.” Referring to their conversation earlier, Bronwyn, for some reason, felt the need to rehash it, and in the boldest, most forward, and most direct way! She stared down at the fire, deliberately blocking her view of Sigrid’s expression. “I mean, if you want to. It’s never fun traveling alone. I don’t like it, and it would be nice to have a partner for some of that journey, even if that means going our separate ways partway through. I think we’d be able to protect each other. From one easily-manipulated stooge to another,” she smiled to lighten the weight of her words, considering they were both victims of Locque’s compulsion. Lucky for her, she wasn’t wholly affected, and not for long. “Not to pressure you either way, of course. But if you’re staying just for your cousin…well, isn’t he due back in Eyraille soon anyway, along with his wife? Now that Locque’s reign is over, no one’s really bound to this place. We’re free to go.”
“My, perhaps I misinterpreted your drunkenness for exhaustion. You are looking rather peaky; when was the last time you ate? It would explain your memory loss.” Chara rested one hand upon her cheek, her relaxed, almost dismissive position belying her shallow concerns. Shallow? They were downright nonexistent. “I ask not about sleep, because if we are honest, no one slept well last night…with the exception of that unconscionable necromancer.” She snorted, her derision for Vitali dampening whatever cutting insults she could lob at Nia, at least. Dampened, but by no means absent. “Anyway, I thought I had made it quite clear when exactly I scheduled this event. Never would I be so vague as to proclaim, ‘Some nebulous time after the parade.’ If I recall, another major event was happening then, and I daren’t double-book two very important engagements in one slot, save for very exceptional reasons. Now jog my memory, what was that event?” She pressed one finger to her lips, mock pondering the answer. “Oh yes, it was the masquerade. A bit insulting to overshadow Ari’s hard work in favor of your own passion project, hmm? In the future, please leave the scheduling to those who have a proper handle on the passage of time, and who know how to prioritize. Now open your ears, for I shall only repeat myself once.” She cleared her throat, for emphasis.
“It was mutually agreed upon by myself, Queen Lilica, and Lord Canaveris at a private meeting that we would integrate the ceremony with the Solstice ball. The one we are hosting here, at the palace, in case your muddled memory confused the two dances. Considering your recovery status, this is a legitimate possibility. The ball is in three days, beginning precisely on the sixth bell. Our preferred guests will arrive twenty minutes early to fill in the reserved viewing spaces before we open the doors to the general public. Alster and Elespeth will enter separately, in the muddle of our other guests, donned in the outfits I and Ari have tailored them to wear. Once the crowd settles, Lilica will make her opening announcement—and segue into the ceremony proper, in which she will call Alster and Elespeth forward and officiate their wedding. Rewedding. What have you,” she shrugged, less interested in the semantics of vocabulary than in her ironclad itinerary. “They kiss, everyone applauds, we present a cake, they lead the first dance, and the ball proceeds as intended. Now before you go on wondering why we’ve chosen to combine two events into one instead of giving them their own, quieter ceremony among an intimate group of friends, I assure you, Alster would have it no other way. Modest and humble as he appears for the most part, he is a sucker for grand, romantic gestures. Eats them up. He wants the whole world watching when he declares his undying love for his lady-love. He wants them to see, and share in his joy, and be whisked away in a moment of pure, harmonious elation—or something of the sort.” Again, she shrugged, electing not to participate in the analysis of her cousin’s strange and disproportionate empathetic responses to anything revolving around his love. His ability to love with wild abandon was demented and otherworldly, indeed, to manifest for him and Elespeth in the form of multiple miracles, one more impossible than the next.
“Based on this in-depth briefing I’ve shared with you, tell me; do you still intend on sabotaging this fully-fledged plan? A plan, might I add, that Ari had a hand in creating? Because I assure you, he does not take well to surprises, well-intentioned or otherwise. We share that much in common, at least.” In fact, one thing she admired about Ari was his predictability. Always punctual, always on schedule, he never swayed in his commitments, however uncomfortable or confusing. It made him reliable. It made him safe. It made him…so exploitable. And now that she thought back on their tumultuous decades together, it was she who instilled those traits in him, as a means to position him exactly where she wanted, like a dog trained on command. Heavens…she sickened herself.
Her legs bounced uneasily in her chair. What she wouldn’t give for a drink after this hellish conversation, which served to retread, with a rake, all the horrible ways she treated that hopeless man. “You are doing him absolutely no favors, Ardane, by wresting his control, spinning it to your liking, and then presenting this new, twisted-up thing to him like you’ve given him a gift. You want to help him? Slow down. You are too eager in your approach towards serving your sentence and that makes you overzealous, and overzealousness leads to sloppiness. Tell me: do you want to do good work, or sloppy work? Then I suggest you cease trying to race to the finish as if quickening your pace is going to exonerate you faster. And it won’t if you’re stumbling. I cannot believe I am saying this, but I want you to succeed. So listen up and listen well.” Uncrossing her legs, she smacked both feet flat on the floor, slapped her hands on her knees, and leaned forward, capturing Nia’s frenetic gaze. “Ari is not a quick, throw a bandage over the problem and be done with, fix. He is not your responsibility to fix at all. Not emotionally, anyhow. Do give the man a little more faith. If he could not handle the pressures and uncertainties of his position, he would not be in such a position to start.” She raised a knowing eyebrow. “Do keep in mind he is D’Marian leader only because I chose not to delegitimize his bid to rule by outing his curse to the masses. Would I have withheld this damning information if I thought him unfit to lead? No; it is precisely because I thought him a good fit that I elected not to destroy him. Alster wanted out, anyway. He was just too stubborn to abdicate without a push. And oh, it was a push, alright.” She tried not to shiver at the god-awful memory of Alster’s Serpent-summoning stunt, and the ensuing insanity of events that followed.
“I digress. My point is, Ari has a thicker skin than you credit him for. He will recover, but allow him to crumble a little, first. He will bounce back when he is ready. Not when you are ready. Trust his pace, do not throw unknown variables in his face if you can help it, and for heaven’s sake, take a damn breath. We often cannot predict when something disastrous is to occur. It is out of our hands. By the laws of chaos, aren’t the odds of disaster striking tonight about the same as three days from now?” She smiled in a challenge for Nia to argue her watertight rationale. “I imagine the only person who would possibly know is Tivia, and no one can reach her after last night. Even if we were to ask, something tells me she would not deign to answer.”
