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atypicalacademic · 3 years

Text

Starfire

Chapter 2

This chapter features Reyja North from @greyvvardenfell . Also to more new friends, Balam uses she/her and he/him whenever he vibes with it.

Chapter 3: Vili

Words: 3.8k

Warnings: Mentions of plague, and memory loss

call; a call

As soon as the sounds of Nadia’s golden links and anklets faded away, Balam walked over to Julian’s desk, left untouched in the corner of the library, letting his hand hover over its surface, calling through the jumble of impressions for traces of energy.

Fatigue. Overwhelming fatigue. Traces of anguish- but wasn’t that to be expected? The man must have worked himself half to death, by the looks of the papers- sharp-angled, near-illegible handwriting scrawled in a frenzy, diagrams inked and crossed out and inked and crossed out again, a stagnant, wretched hopelessness. It was the mundane repetition of an old nightmare. The man seemed to ooze feeling wherever he went.

His deck thrummed in response.

The card that leapt to Balam’s hands surprised him.

The Lovers?

Look deeper.

Deeper?

The answer is deeper than the pain.

No, there was another longing here, then.

Balam pushed past the papers, sifting through the layers of despair until another impression called to him. He flung open the draw beneath the table, and there- folded in half- it was Julian’s handwriting alright, harried and racing past the paper, but laced with another feeling. No less aching, no less desperate, but the language of another kind of dream.

It was a letter.

He unfolded it, ignoring the shiver of guilt that ran down his spine.

My dearest,

Dearest? His dearest?

Balam folded the letter shut. That wasn’t any of his business. Not yet. Instead, he closed his hands around it, drawing the energy out of the letter till she could cast a tether. Not too far, he realized. This could take him to Julian. Where he could hear, hopefully, before he proceeded any further, the man’s side of the events.

Dearest who? He thought back to the Doctor’s wild ravings as he took off into the night.

She deserves to know.

Balam pocketed the letter, and rummaged through the sheaf of papers for another one- void of most emotion and magically inconsequential. A receipt with the address to Doctor Devorak’s clinic in South End, an acknowledgement of filled prescriptions.

That would give him a cover to explain to anyone who had questions about his dealings with the accused murderer. Though it seemed that Nadia would understand if he did, the Palace was hardly just the sovereign, and he’d rather not let that cat out of the bag at the moment.

Feeling for the tether, he began to make his way out of the library.

“You look like you’re going somewhere, detective.”

Portia poked her head in through the shelves, pushing the books to either side to smush herself between them, the intricate carvings on the library’s windows casting patterns on her lovely face.

Laughing, Balam threw his hands up. “You’ve caught me.”

“Mind if I come with?” She followed Balam from the other side of the shelf separating them, her smile flashing between the ancient, musty tomes like a splash of light against the dark shadows. “Milady did ask me to come up here to help you, so-” She trailed off, with a hopeful, eager quirk of her eyebrow.

Balam hesitated.

On the one hand, he knew that Portia was sympathetic, at the very least, to Doctor Devorak. Her distress at what seemed to be his imminent fate was obvious. On the other, Balam had far too little information at the moment to implicate her in a direct dealing with a man accused of murder; seemingly harmless or not, he didn’t know what ties he had, or whose stakes he carried, or who, if anyone, was biding their time here, at the Palace. Besides, if someone saw her in his vicinity, the Palace’s headservant- no.

Too big of a risk, too soon.

It briefly occurred to him that he could turn Portia down, and set out on his own.

But one look at her, leaning against the shelf, stepping out of the shadow to close the space between them in a bouncy stride, was enough to kill that proposition before it could even be thought out.

The Lovers.

Oh, please.

“Sure,” Balam grinned, as he pulled out the other scrap of paper, squinting at the address scrawled there. “D’you want to come down to South End with me?”

Portia beamed, all freckled cheeks and sky-blue eyes, and Balam’s heart did a frantic, desperate swoop. “You bet I do.”

With a whisper of magic, he snapped the tether.

As long as he didn’t stop working.

The clinic was still work. And if the man had any sense at all, he wouldn’t be hiding at the first address that linked back to him.

If the city’s melancholy wavered like a mist beneath the bustle of Centre City, vanished into dust down the pinkened streets of Heart District, gathered into puddles of rose-water and seeped through the Temple District’s tolling bells and somber ritual chants, South End wore it, almost proudly, on its sleeve.

Raucous and irreverent, a biting anger that spilled out of the taverns’ clamor, a rankled sense of injustice as fractured as the cobblestones that paved the dingy, narrow streets, a seething togetherness that thrummed like a live heart. Angry drunks flung tomatoes at the Count’s dismantled statue from the abandoned gardens, their songs as visceral as physical pain, watchful street-children tugged at the sleeves of passerby for coin, for bread, gritting their teeth instead of grinning and bearing it.

Colorful epithets directed at the Palace and the class who occupied it adorned the grey walls of the narrow, lopsided buildings, some, Balam remembered, of his own doing. (Absently, he wondered if the Piss Off he’d scrawled in a Heart District road remained, and if his current employer would think any differently of him if she knew of it.)

Something of that persistence, Balam imagined, clung to the walls of the building they’d found themselves in, to its silvery curtains embossed with paintings of tiny moths, to the books stacked haphazardly up to the ceiling, half in their wooden shelves and half out of them, to the mess of stray pillows and cushions and the thin black and silver drapes strewn over the rickety table and chairs.

It also clung to her, the person who’d greeted him and Portia at the door, waving them in with a curious frown, fidgeting, understandably, uncomfortably in her seat when they’d told her they’d arrived from the Palace, watching them, carefully, with her guarded, keen, deep-blue gaze.

Reyja North, she’d said her name was- and if the vague indications of the people they’d asked for directions were to be believed, not an unfamiliar name in these parts. The Doctor’s colleague who had taken up the practice he’d left behind was not a physician, but a healer nonetheless, for ailments of the mind.

“I guess a lot of people need it, these days,” She shrugged, propping her chin in her hand. Her other hand moved restlessly along the crescent moon pendant at her neck, pale fingers tracing the silver edges as though out of an old habit. “In any case, it gives me enough to live on, and uh, I’m glad I can help where I can.”

Balam flipped through the small file of dusty, faded stack of papers Reyja had offered him; save for this, the Doctor had seemingly left nothing behind when he’d went to work at the Palace. It was the same frenzied scrawl from the papers back at the library- patient's notes, mostly- colds, coughs and fevers, more prescription receipts- there wasn’t much to be gleaned from them, save for the sheer volume of people that the Julian seemed to have aided, even before the beginning of the Plague.

Portia’s fingers brushed against Balam’s beneath the table; he could feel her eyes tracing the words, the look on her face a frown of inscrutable focus.

Biting her lip, she looked up at their host. “Were you with him at the Palace?”

“For a while, yeah- though,” Reyja winced, her eyes darting up over the stairs behind them, “He spent most of his time with the patients, and working on a cure- and my work was with- you know-”

“The ones they left behind.”

She nodded, grimly. “I didn’t see a lot of him towards the- uh, towards the Masquerade.”

“And you’ve known him for?” Balam peered at her over the papers.

“A few years? I joined him after my own mentor died from the Plague.”

“And you never heard from him since.”

Again, Reyja’s eyes wandered up the stairs. “No, of course not. Not in years.”

“What was he like?” Portia asked, abruptly. Her voice rose a little, ringing across the narrow walls. She glanced at Balam. “I mean,” she went on, quickly. “That counts as evidence too, doesn’t it?”

Balam nodded.

“Well I never knew him personally, but as a colleague - he's always been kind, you know.” Reyja replied, frowning at the table as though it held all the words she said. “Hard working, and sincere- he cared a lot about- people, and I don’t really know how things go anywhere else, but-” She cleared her throat. “But here, I’d say the people cared for him too.”

“Huh.” Portia leaned back in her chair, still worrying her lip. “That doesn’t sound- bad, does it?”

Reyja glanced at her, then at Balam- her clever, piercing eyes searching for something she seemed to find, in the end.

“Look,” she leaned across the table, her palms clasped. “Take it from an uninterested third party, if you will, and take it with all the grains of salt you need to. But it’s very hard for me- for any of us in South End to believe that he did what he did. Most of us knew enough of Ju- of Doctor Devorak to know that he wouldn’t hurt a fly. At least, he wouldn’t have.”

“Really?” Portia’s voice rose again. Louder. There was a shuffle from overhead, one that Reyja hid with a cough.

Balam let out a breath, and smiled what he hoped was something reassuring. “We’ll keep that in-”

Another rattle. Something thudding against the wood. Sharp, then insistent.

“You said you lived alone.” Balam looked up, alarmed.

“Um-” Reyja looked shaken, her composure vanishing as she reached out to stop Balam when he rose. “I do, it’s just-”

Gathering the beginnings of magic in his palms, Portia at his heels, Balam hurried past the table.

“My cats-” Reyja said weakly.

More noise, unmistakable this time, and in a weakening flash of déjà vu, a stumbling form of tall cape and leather gloves and auburn hair nearly hurtled down the stairs, clinging to the railings as though trying to stop his legs from moving against his own will.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. The man was horrid at being a fugitive.

“What are you-”

But Julian Devorak didn’t seem to hear him, or see him. His grey eye was fixed, enormous and shadowed in the gloom, his mouth hanging open, his gloved hands shaking-

Balam turned around. Portia looked as she did the night before, as though she were pinned to a spot and drained of every color her shock matching his. (How had he not noticed their resemblance before?) Her lips parted with a sound- a sob wrapped into a name wrapped into a call that sounded as though it were drawn from somewhere deep and fractured and long lost- “Ilya?”

His voice, in return, a tremble that echoed right through Balam’s ribs- “Pasha.”

And then she was crying, tears streaming down her cheeks as she launched herself at him, Julian meeting her halfway down the stairs, a jumble of words in a language Balam didn’t know or recognize, sharp syllables cutting through the air as they embraced, once, and then again, and then Portia’s arm curled around him as she tugged at his ear, drawing all of him nearly to level with her chest, more words, now- angry and anguished, and his answering sniffle, a phrase laden with so much guilt that it could have been nothing but an apology.

It knocked loose another emptiness in Balam’s chest- the tugging deep in his soul that felt like wooden playhouses and huddling beneath plantain leaves, tackling someone into the mud that never stopped smelling of the rain-

He sank down with shaking legs on to one of Reyja’s chairs, and waited for it to pass.

He was still reeling with it, when, as though being jolted out of a daze, Portia and Julian fell silent, registering him as though for the first time.

Three pairs of stricken eyes fixed on him, as though they were waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Balam stifled a near-hysterical laugh, and ran a hand over his face. “Did you break in here?” Was the first thing he could think to ask.

“Yes-”

“No.” Over Balam’s shoulder, Reyja’s and Julian’s eyes met. Sharp blue to guilty grey. “I protected him.”

“I thought so.”

With her hand still clasped in Julian’s, Portia frowned stubbornly, her eyes still sparkling with the remnants of tears. “Balam, you wouldn’t-”

“No, no, of course not. I said I wouldn’t.”

Balam watched the terror bleed away from her expression, another tear slipping down her cheek. His heart twisted.

“Erm-” Julian shifted, sheepishly, the way he had back in his shop. “I suppose you might be ah, here for an explanation.”

Balam raised an eyebrow. “You think?”

It felt as though an age had passed, between finding Julian on the staircase, and now- with them sitting around Reyja’s table- his story laid out between them. But it couldn’t have been that long- truly, not much longer than the time they’d taken to drain the cups of hot chocolate that Reyja had set out for them, or the time it took for Balam’s hands to find Portia’s again, lacing through her fingers and squeezing them- once, twice, every time she stuttered or paused or wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Not much longer than the time Julian had taken to unbutton his collar, flashing the four-point sigil etched in faded blue at his throat. A gift? A curse? A gift-curse?

Reyja’s and Julian’s hands too were intertwined- they had been from the moment he joined her.

My dearest.

Who else could she have been?

“You don’t have to believe me, my dear.” Julian’s eye, his voice and shoulders, were downcast. “I wouldn’t expect you to. There’s nothing more I can offer you- no answers I could-”

Balam cut him off. “I think I do, though.”

He had no illusions. Despite the mark, and what that implied, Julian’s story was no solid evidence. On the contrary, really- he'd read of plenty of murderers who had laid out a tale exactly as vague and conflicted as Julian himself did- witnesses who clamped their mouths at the last moment, even a final, desperate ditch attempt at staking a claim to innocence- I don’t remember- held no rhyme or reason, and had no hope of holding, without the most watertight of alibis to the contrary- he had none yet- even in the fairest of trials.

And if there was someone else at play, framing him- it was guaranteed to be quite the opposite.

Had the investigation fallen into someone else’s hands, hell, if the circumstances of his own life were any different, Balam himself would have found it hard not to dismiss as the ravings of a guilt-wracked, desperate man.

But here he was. Or, whatever it is that was left of him.

“I’m missing them too.” He confessed, gingerly. “Memories.”

Portia inhaled sharply, looking away from Julian, to him.

“Uh.” Balam sniffed. “I don’t remember anything past the last three years. I woke up sometime after the plague faded away, I think. I don’t really-” He swallowed. “I don’t remember anything of my life before it. I mean, I remember nothing.”

Why was he telling them this? Where did this odd blanket of familiarity begin to wrap itself around him, this strange welcoming in their eyes?

There was a flicker of concern in Reyja’s eyes, though Julian was the first to voice it. “Are you-”

“Yeah, yeah, I managed. I manage. As you can see.”

He supposed that was the word for it. When Balam attempted to outdo his own pain by being crueller to himself than it could be, he liked to tell himself that that was all that he would be, would do. Manage, and nothing more.

“Oh, Balam.” Portia’s voice trembled again, and the way she clasped Balam’s hand to bring it to her lap did not go unnoticed by the other two. Reyja’s lips twitched in a private smile, and Julian seemed to bite back a remark at the tip of his tongue. Balam suppressed the urge to bring the back of her palm to his lips.

“Anyway,” he went on, quickly. “Noone loses their memory in the marketplace, so-”

Reyja made a sound that was half-laughter, half a noise of sympathy.

“So it’s either-” he ticked them off, “grievous injury, of the body or the mind,” he glanced at Reyja and Julian, who nodded in assent, “or. Magic.”

“So it is magic.” Julian frowned. “Magic could do that.”

“As far as I’ve read, yes. If it’s powerful enough. Or used incorrectly,” He eyed the sigil glowing cobalt on Julian’s throat. “Or um- maliciously.”

“And Julian’s no magician.” Reyja touched his back.

“No.” Portia interjected, the frown clouding her face darker than mere thoughtfulness, lighter than resentment. “At least, he wasn’t.”

“And as far as we know, neither was Count Lucio- if we’re thinking of him having fought back, or something.”

Julian laughed, darkly. “No, no, decidedly not.”

“And that’s why you broke into my shop.” Balam guessed. “Looking for Asra.”

“You what?” Portia stared at him.

“Ill-advised, I admit-”

“Ilya,” Portia sighed, exasperated. That too, fell like an echo, knocking against the hollow metal hallways of Balam’s memory. “Fucking typical. Mazelinka ships you out of here with your life barely on your back, then you come running back and decide, oh, I don’t know,” she cleared her throat, slipping into an impression of Julian flawless enough to be unsettling. “Ah, why shouldn’t I, a fugitive, break into somebody’s house in the middle of the night to ask a simple question?”

That exasperation, that heavy sigh, waves of fondness and concern sharpened into an edge that felt like home. Where had Balam heard his own name spoken that way? When? And from whom?

“Ha!” Julian quipped. “ You’ll find that time hasn’t laid a hand that heavy on your dashing rouge of a brother, Pashushka.”

“You-” She declared, “Are really fuckin’ lucky that Balam’s so-” Her eyes widened a fraction, but she went through with it, draping an arm around Balam’s shoulder, pulling him closer so their shoulders brushed. “That Balam’s how he is, or-”

And how is that? Balam wanted to ask. Tell me how that is, tell me which ragged part of me it is that you think deserves to stay.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.” Julian broke back into his wide grin, a waggle of his eyebrows and a remark in his and Portia’s shared language in a tone that made Balam want to stick his tongue out at him like a child.

“So” He said instead, clearing his throat and collecting himself. “If we assume that magic was involved, somehow- we're looking at a different set of circumstances, or at least, a larger pool of people than just you, Julian.” Balam drained the last of his cocoa, set his cup down. “How or why, I don’t know- we'll have to wait for Asra to return, or till we figure it out, and we will, but in the meantime.” He gave him a withering look. “Please stay put. It won’t help any of us if you get caught before we have a solid case on our hands.”

“Stay put? Here?” Julian laughed, exuberantly- despite the shadows beneath his eye and the tension in his shoulders, a world lighter than he had been when he’d stumbled into the shop. “I can hardly think of a better fate than that.”

Reyja flushed, ducking her head to hide her grin.

Portia rolled her eyes, but he felt her relax in response, soft lips lifted into a fond smile that Balam wanted to lean in to touch.

What a heavy burden it must have been, to carry a secret like this for so long, to work with it and live with it, to move through the world with it without a soul to share it to. There’s a certain kind of knowing, he thought, that felt more like pain than relief.

“We’ll be off?” He asked her, settling his free hand on the nape of her neck. “We shouldn’t stay here after the guards change shifts and-”

“Yeah,” She agreed, quickly. “Yeah, we should go.”

“Thank you.” Reyja said softly, before Julian could. “I know you’re taking a risk with this, but-”

Balam shrugged, wrapping an arm around Portia’s waist. She leaned against him, resting her head against Balam’s shoulder for a moment, ginger curls brushing against his skin. “Condemning someone innocent, and everyone he loves under my word, is a bigger risk, no?”

“Yeah,” she breathed. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

“Oh, my dear.” Julian smiled. “Despite all our misfortunes,” His eye softened, long, gloved fingers rubbing circles over Reyja’s wrist. “We Devoraks have always been dealt a kind hand with our people.”

Our people.

Balam had to look away, trap the beginnings of his tears at the corners of his eyes. He didn’t know where this came from, either. This guilt, this odd twinge of an old pain, this sharp lick of an old, buried anger, this silence at the other end of a call for that.

Was that what he searched for, in his face in the mirror? His people? Someone else to mirror the language that he had noone else to share with? The jokes that died on his lips, the figures of speech that came and went unsaid when he was too exhausted to turn them into anything but silence, the things he panted against the skin of short-lived lovers, to have them fall on ears that didn’t know the language his heart spoke in.

It was that, perhaps, that made Balam pause at the doorway, and turn back to him. “I promise I’ll do my best, Julian. In any case, I’m glad I got to meet you.” He threw a teasing glance at Reyja. “And you too,” He winked. “Uninterested third party.”

Reyja raised an eyebrow, glancing pointedly at where Balam’s arm was curled around Portia’s waist. “What does that make you?” She snorted. “A very interested fourth party?”

Balam heard Julian’s laughter rise and fall as the door fell shut behind him.

Portia whispered his name, her calloused thumb stroking circles over his waist. Though he couldn’t imagine why, her eyes were clouded with guilt. “We um, we need to talk, before we get back to the Palace.”

He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, his palm brushing her freckled cheek.

“Then I guess you know the best place for that.” The taverns were too crowded, the teashop too quiet, the abandoned garden crawling with drunk guards. The chocolate was still sweet on his tongue. Balam made a face. “And I guess I’m in the mood for kahwah.”

#starfire #portia devorak #portia x apprentice #the arcana #balam maitreya #youll excuse the lack of aaromal here she needed a break #reyja north #julian devorak #family bonding family bonding #the in laws #ot3: you are all of my devotion

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moth-and-raven · 3 years

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

They left his new turban behind. It’s just coiled there on the dusty stone floor, spattered with blood darker than the red fabric. I pick it up in a trance, rubbing the soft cloth between my fingers. Someone must’ve torn it off of him as they paraded his body out of the Market.

This can’t be happening.

But it is.

I try hard to tamp down my panic, turning away from the entrance and pushing back through the slowly-dispersing crowd. All around me, people mutter their theories and suspicions. It doesn’t help as much as I hoped it would to hear their anger on Julian’s behalf; no one stopped the guards, they just watched, and let them take him.

Thank god Skylar is so tall. I see him through a gap in the milling bodies. Just the sight of someone who might be able to help brings a lump to my throat. I fight it back for the moment, but I know I’ll lose out soon.

“Skylar,” I gasp, half-choked from my quick pace and the threat of tears.

“Reyja?” He reaches out to steady me, concern already etched across his kind face.

“They— they t-took him—”

I have to hold it together. I have to. I have to help him. I have to get my Julian back. It can’t end like this. It can’t —

Skylar pulls me into a strong embrace and I break, sobbing against his chest. I don’t have time to be crying like a child, but it won’t stop. His soft stomach is too welcoming, his arms around my back too gentle. He lets me weep there in the middle of the Red Market, shielding me from curious onlookers until I can breathe again.

“I’m so sorry,” I mumble when my voice returns, thick with tears still unshed. We just met and I’ve already stained his shirt.

“He means a lot to you.”

“He means everything to me.”

“Hm.” He nods. “Well, let me tell you, Ilya’s gotten out of worse scrapes than this.”

“But if they took him to the palace…”

“I’m sure they did.”

My heart drops. He wasn’t supposed to agree with me.

“But he’s even gotten out of there before,” Skylar continues. “With help.”

With help… “We need to— I need to find him.”

“Let’s go, then.”

I shake my head, already awash in the guilt that always comes after letting someone see me at my worst. “You don’t have to come with me. I’m sorry, I just panicked and came right back to you, when you were—”

“He’s my friend, too.”

Julian has so many people looking out for him. I don’t think he knows what an effect he has. He’s not alone. We’re not alone.

I’m not alone.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Skylar says with a smile. He nods towards the exit. "Lead the way."

I wipe my eyes almost furtively on Julian’s turban, then drape it over my shoulders like a scarf. I'll get the damn thing back to him if it's the last thing I ever do. The thought almost makes me laugh: he can't even tell what color it is, and wore it for less than an hour. And it didn't work in the end, since it was meant to disguise him. But it's still his. I bought it for him.

We're out of the Market and halfway to the palace before I realize I don't really know where I'm going. I've never been to the dungeons, if that's where they took him, and my erstwhile guide— Oh no.

Skylar notices my hesitation and stops beside me. "What’s up?"

"Portia, Julian’s sister. I need to tell her."

"Little Pasha?"

"You know her too?"

"Only from Ilya’s stories. Although…"

"What?"

Skylar cocks his head, staring at something I can't see. "She's got the Devorak nose and hair?"

"Yes?"

He smiles to himself. I've just opened my mouth to ask why when my name, in Portia's strident voice, cuts across the rosy Heart District street.

“At least someone’s safe,” she says angrily, twisting her hair around one hand as she approaches. She’s crying, but I don’t think she even notices. “I knew this would happen, I just knew it! I never should’ve agreed to—”

Apparently protectiveness runs in the family too. “It isn’t your fault—” I begin, but she cuts me off.

“I fucking know that! I know that, but… but what if…”

“Did you see him? Is he…?” I can’t bring myself to ask if the blow he took was worse than I thought.

Her lower lip trembles. “I don’t know,” she admits softly. “They were heading towards the dungeons, I think. A bunch of them. I saw Vulgora, and Valdemar.”

I swallow hard. Valdemar. Whatever Julian had been about to say before the guards sprang their trap had to do with them.

“I left Balam behind to watch while I came looking for you,” Portia continues, stifling her tears with an enormous breath. “But she can’t… I don’t want her to do something stupid before we get back.”

“We were on our way,” I tell her, gesturing at Skylar.

“You found him, then?”

Skylar himself laughs. “I’d like the full story at some point, how Ilya got here and knew where I’d be. But not now, obviously. I can wait a little longer.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you up to speed,” Portia says. “The real version, not whatever my idiot brother might’ve suggested. Let’s go.”

I let her spin his tale while we walk, trying not to compare this to the last time I was approaching the palace with Portia and a tall man. It seems so long ago now, though it’s been only a few days.

I should’ve told him then. I should’ve said aloud what I’ve been thinking all along. He deserves to know that I love him. I’ve known the whole time and kept it to myself, because how could I possibly love a man I met a week ago? How can he already matter so much to me that I would lie and sneak around and break the law for him? The way his name sits on my tongue, the memory of his skin against mine and the sound of his laugh… I love him. More than I’ve ever loved another person, like all the love I couldn’t express the last twenty-five years has been saved up just for him. I stifle a desperate sob with the back of my hand; I don’t want to talk about this, not with Skylar and Portia. As much as I like and appreciate them, it isn’t theirs to see yet.

We reach the palace at sunset. Exhaustion sucks at my feet as I climb the last set of stairs. It’s been a long day, one of the longest I can remember. I just want my Julian, to hold him and kiss him, to tell him what I need him to hear.

It’s as though nothing happened. The gatehouse guards make Skylar give his name, but they don’t even frisk him for weapons or ask what he’s doing here. Maybe it’s because he’s with us, or maybe they were here when he was, three years ago. I suppose it doesn’t matter; we’re across the bridge, through the doors, and turning into a corridor I haven’t been down yet before they can change their minds.

A blur of color hurtles out of a side room halfway down the hall, fast as quicksilver, stopping Portia as we pass. The newcomer speaks so quickly, through an accent I don’t think I’ve ever heard before, that I catch only a few words.

“— as you thought, the old dungeons — sent for Vlastomil — tried to go down myself, but—”

Portia cuts in. “You said you wouldn’t!”

She shrugs, rattling the beads of her magenta bracelet as she throws up her hands. “He’s in trouble, no?”

Portia shakes her head, and, to my surprise, wraps her arms around her waist and kisses her cheek. “Please don’t do this to me, Balei. One person I love is already in hot shit. I couldn’t stand it if you were, too.”

Oh. Oh.

“Um, this is Balam,” Portia says, catching sight of the blush rising to my cheeks as she turns back. “We’re, uh… yeah. Sorry I couldn’t introduce you sooner. She’s been in Prakra for a few months, just got back last night.”

My heart clenches, knowing that Portia had chosen to spend her time chasing ghosts and opening her home to me and Julian instead of being with her lover. And I can’t stifle the wave of guilt that quickly follows: I don’t think that I, in her position, would’ve done the same. If I had to choose between people who asked for my help and spending time with Julian, especially after he’d been gone… well, I can hate myself for being so selfish later.

“You’re Reyja,” Balam says to me. Without waiting for me to confirm or deny, she pushes on. “Portia’s told me all about you, and Julian, and as I said, I tried to follow the courtiers to the dungeons to see if he was alright, but they got too far ahead of me, which I suppose is for the best, considering how armed they were, but I think—”

When does she breathe?

“— I can ask Yaz to let us in, since they—”

“Yaz” couldn't possibly be Yazakh, Nadia’s bodyguard, could it? I can’t imagine anyone being on good enough terms with them to call them by a nickname.

“— and besides, I’ve been away from them, too.” Balam smiles wistfully. “East Prakra will always be my home, but to be away from you, from all of you—” She pauses to tuck one of Portia’s long red curls behind her ear. “—was more difficult than I imagined.”

Skylar, who had been watching, amused, from the sidelines, perks himself up. “East Prakra?” he asks, following the question with a raindrop-quick series of words in a language I can only assume is, indeed, East Prakran.

Balam lights up like the sun and responds. They exchange another few sentences then switch back to Vesuvian.

“I like you,” she says. I’m surprised at her straightforwardness, even if Skylar doesn’t seem to be.

“I don’t know much more than that,” he admits. “I haven’t had the chance to speak it since I left.”

Balam chuckles.

“I’m Skylar, by the way.”

“He’s an old friend of Ilya’s,” Portia adds.

“Ah. Of course I want to hear all about your time in East Prakra, but…” Balam trails off.

But Julian’s still in danger.

“Yaz will be in the gardens at this time of day. I’ll be right back.”

She’s gone before any of the rest of us can speak, racing down the hall with her colorful skirts flaring and the jingle of her many bangles floating back even as she turns the corner and disappears.

“I’ve missed her so much,” Portia says with an affectionate sigh.

I cast around for something to ask, something to distract me from the new rise of fear in my throat. Every second we delay means another chance Julian might— I don’t even want to think about it. “How did you meet?”

“She works here too, in the library.”

“Oh.” It was probably for the best that she’s been gone, then, considering what’s happened in that library the last few days.

Portia smirks at me. “Don’t worry, it’s all been cleaned up. And anyway, she’s usually too focused on her work to notice if something… else… is going on.”

“What does she do, exactly?”

“Research. Writing. She’s a magician, too.” Portia draws herself up to her full height, still several inches shorter than I am, and beams with pride. “She’s compiling a history of magic, actually. She works so hard, I know it’s going to be amazing when she’s done.”

Despite the situation, my interest is piqued. I’d love to read something like that myself. Skylar, too, nods, green eyes already distant with the thought of what he might learn. I wonder if he had time to buy the book he was examining when Julian and I found him.

“Oh, and by the way, always check which bracelet she’s wearing. If it’s silver, use ‘he’ instead.”

It isn’t long before Balam returns, her voice musical and flowing like water. She’s clinging to Yazakh’s elbow; for the first time since I came to the palace, I see them smile. It falls from their face when the two of them stop in front of us.

Yazakh’s stern golden gaze sweeps over us. They’re even taller than Julian, though not quite Skylar’s height. “You are the magician,” they say to me.

The magician Nadia hired to bring Julian to justice. There’s no question in their eyes or their smooth, deep voice, but I hear it anyway. Why would I, as that magician, want to see him now?

Julian said our relationship would come to light sooner or later. This is the worst possible time, but I don’t have it in me to lie anymore. I simply nod, and Yazakh mirrors me. I’m sure I catch a glimpse of understanding before they turn away.

“Follow me.”

The path to the dungeons is surprisingly straightforward, decorated much like the rest of the palace in cream and silk and luxury. Behind me I hear Portia and Balam whispering to each other, but it takes most of my concentration to stay calm, hold back my tears, and keep my steps steady.

The air changes, turning colder despite the summer evening outside, as we pass into a barracks crowded with off-duty guards. All of them snap to attention when they recognize Yazakh, but they push on, unlocking a heavily-barred door at the end of the room to reveal a darkened staircase. I can feel my heartbeat in my throat, behind my eyes, reaching out into the darkness in search of Julian’s. He’s down there, I know. I can only hope he’s alone.

Before we descend, Yazakh turns to another guard. “When did they leave?” they ask.

The guard blinks. “About ten minutes ago, Captain,” she responds.

“All of them?”

“Yes. And, er…”

They level their stare at her.

“We heard screams.”

A bone-deep chill washes through me. I can’t take it. I have to see him.

Though I’m sure they could’ve stopped me if they wanted to, Yazakh lets me rush around them. I reach the bottom of the staircase before the others have even started down it.

I’m shaking when I call light to my palm, illuminating the gray-black stone of the palace’s dungeon. Wrought-iron bars enclose narrow cells, some cracking with rust and disuse. For a terrible moment, I don’t see anything.

And then a flash of red catches my eye.

Julian is manacled to the wall, slumped forward over his knees with his arms spread. His shirt is in tatters, hanging from his broad shoulders; what remains is smeared with dirt and blood. I can barely see the rise and fall of his ribs, the only other movement being the steady drip of blood from his nose. As I stare, stunned to paralysis, he coughs, sending a spatter of blood droplets against the opposite wall.

“No…” I breathe. What have they done to him?

He hears me, but doesn’t recognize my voice.

“Back already?” he growls. “For more fun, I hope. I told you I could take it.”

The others, minus Yazakh, pause on the stairs behind me. Portia draws an unsteady breath.

“Ha, and you brought friends.” He spits a mouthful of blood. “Well, I’ve never backed down from a challenge and I’m not about to start n—”

At last, he looks up. His patch is gone, replaced by a storm-dark bruise that, even as I watch, is shrinking, evidence of the abuse of his captors erased by the magical mark on his throat. Our eyes meet across the room, through the door of his cell.

I can’t hold back the tears anymore.

"Reyja!" He thrashes against his chains, swearing when it results in nothing but a rattle. “No, they weren’t supposed to—!”

I stumble to the bars. I can’t reach him. “Julian…”

“I didn’t tell them, I swear! I would never—”

“I believe you, I just—”

Someone touches my shoulder. I think I hear Portia bury a sob in Balam’s neck and Skylar hiss through his teeth.

“You need to get out of here, darling,” Julian says, words racing like wildfire. “Please, I can’t bear to see—”

“I’m not leaving.”

“You have to!” He’s getting fierce now.

“No! Not without you!”

The door opens. I didn’t do that. But a key rasps against the iron and I fling myself into the cell as soon as the bars swing away, dropping to my knees at Julian’s side. He squirms again, trying desperately to break free though he must know it’s impossible by now. Tears blur my vision as I scrape uselessly at one of his manacles.

“Reyja—”

I can only answer with a sob, fed by my frustration. What kind of magician am I, that I can’t even break a lock? No, wait— The spell comes unbidden to my hand, after I draw another stuttering breath. I snap the cold iron at its seams, both wrists at once.

“Please, my dearest,” Julian tries again, even as his voice cracks from the weight of his own tears. “They’ll come back…”

Heedless of the blood, I press into his side. He can’t fight the desire any more than I can and folds over me, crying into the notch of my shoulder, still begging me to go even as he holds me closer.

I don’t know how much time passes before I come back to myself. We’re alone; our friends must have decided we needed this moment. Somehow, I retained enough awareness to keep the light in my hand glowing. I set it overhead so I can wrap my arms around Julian’s neck and hug him to my chest.

He winces. I recoil; the man was just tortured, I shouldn’t be causing more damage. But he doesn’t let me retreat from his embrace.

“They didn’t get you, did they?” I can barely hear him, though we’re intertwined.

“No. Skylar, and Portia, and Balam—”

He shudders. “If they find out—”

“Yazakh’s on our side.”

“The Countess’s bodyguard?”

“They let us in.”

“Perhaps they haven’t gotten everyone, then.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, darling…” Julian sighs. “My goose is cooked.”

“What? But you didn’t do it!” He’s only in danger because of Lucio’s murder charge, and we have proof that he’s innocent. Surely—

“Didn’t I?”

I rear back to stare at him, incredulous enough to stop my tears at last. “What the fuck are you talking about? Of course you didn’t. Skylar said so, and so did Lucio himself!”

“To be fair, what he said was that I didn’t help him.”

“That’s not the same thing!”

“It won’t matter.”

I shake my head. “Nadia said you’ll get a trial.”

He laughs harshly. “In front of whom? Praetor Vlastomil? I heard Vulgora send one of their soldiers off for him. He’ll listen to the loudest voice in his ear, and wouldn’t dare go against what Valdemar wanted.”

“Why does it matter what Valdemar wants? They’re not in charge.”

“I’m not so sure of that. Nadia was gone for a long time, you know. The people who, erm, who brought me here, they're no loyal Vesuvians.”

“You think Valdemar consolidated power while Nadia was in Prakra?”

“They’re perfectly capable of it.” He gestures at his plagued eye. “I, ah, I still can’t remember everything, but what Skylar said… They were planning something, back then. Three years ago. Something I got in the way of. Something they never lost the drive to complete, it seems.”

I didn’t sign up for political intrigue. But I did sign up to solve this mystery, and if that’s where the next clue leads… “So what now?”

“Erm.”

I don’t like the way he said that. “What?” I repeat, narrowing my eyes.

“Well, ah.”

“Julian, please, just tell me.”

He lets out a long breath and tips his head back to look into my eyes. “Do you remember the night we spent at Mazelinka’s?”

“Of course I remember. It was, like, days ago.”

“I woke you up with my nightmares, but I couldn’t remember them.”

“Yeah?”

“What, ah, what Skylar said. I had been ranting about a bird. A raven-headed man with his wings bound. And I, erm. There’s a… there’s a book. I— I stole it. From Asra.”

Asra. Julian had been searching for my former master when we first met.

“I saw it again when we were in the library, but I couldn’t remember until… The raven-headed man is in it, along with some, ah, other things.” He pauses, scanning my face in the silvery light of my magic, and heaves another heavy sigh before pushing on. “Tarot things.”

Tarot? Like, my kind of tarot? What could he possibly— no.

“The raven-man is the Hanged Man,” Julian says quietly. “I think I contacted him once, long ago. The book says us non-magic folks can only do that through dreams, or… or…”

People without magical abilities rarely encounter the Arcana. They have no use for each other, and most of the time can’t communicate anyway. But every so often, in the depths of a dream or when the fabric between worlds thins, preparing for a departed consciousness to cross over…

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” I can’t help the volume of my outburst. He really can’t be serious.

“I have to speak to him, Reyja! I have to! I feel it in my heart, my soul, the same way I— well, the same way I knew we would have something special. But dreams turn into nightmares every time. Something’s not working with that route. This is all I have left.”

New tears spring to my eyes, but these are fueled by anger. How dare he— “You want to get hanged?”

“Of course not!” He pulls me closer at the very idea. “But the, the mark… it won’t let me do it myself.”

His words fall heavily against the stone walls around us. He would only know that if… “You—?”

“Those three years were very long, my darling. Very long and very dark, at times.”

“You tried to—?”

“Just once, at my lowest.”

I can almost feel my heart break. “Julian…”

“I’m so sorry. I just couldn’t see another—”

I cut him off, hugging him tight, like if only I squeeze hard enough, I can erase that pain. I wish I didn’t understand it, but it’s all too familiar. I never got low enough to try, but the thought lingered through so many of my days. Every time the hopelessness, the loneliness, welled up like blood in a wound, I imagined how much simpler it would be to… My tears are soaking into what’s left of his shirt, and from the trembling of his body against mine, I can tell that Julian’s crying too. I give in and let it come, wondering distantly how much more I can cry today.

But there has to be another way. I won’t let him do this. I can’t let him do this. And we aren’t alone, not anymore.

“Have you talked to Asra?” I ask thickly, after I’ve hiccuped to silence again.

“About what, darling?”

“The Hanged Man. How to contact him in a way that doesn’t involve dying.”

“Erm. Well, of course I was looking for him. But I, ah, I didn’t have much to go off of, you understand. And when I found you instead… No, I haven’t.”

“Can we at least try that?”

“If you think he would listen.”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“Erm… no reason.”

"Alright then.” I wipe my cheek with the back of my hand, then clear away some of his tears too. He still looks horrible, but we can't do anything about that at the moment. And in any case, there’s something a little more pressing to take care of first. “Let’s go.”

“You know where Asra is?”

“Not yet, but we’re not looking for him right now.”

“What? Why not?”

I stand up and offer him my hand. “We need to talk to Nadia.”

—————

Skylar belongs to @ollifree.

Balam belongs to @atypicalacademic.

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#cw suicidal thoughts #moth & raven #the arcana #the arcana fanfic #julian devorak #reyja north

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greyvvardenfell · 3 years

Note

2, 8, 9, 10 from those OTP asks for Reyja/Julian, Jak/Dorian and Adam/Fenris? 😘

2. Highschool/College AU: Who is the straight-A student, and who’s the backrow slacker?

Good Noodles: Reyja, Fenris, Dorian

Slackers: Julian, Adam, Jak

8. Bodyguard AU: Who is the bodyguard? Who are they protecting? Which one is secretly pining for the other?

Bodyguards: Fenris, Jak, Julian

Protectees: Adam, Dorian, Reyja

Secret Piners: Fenris, Dorian, Julian and Reyja are both secretly pining for each other and we all know it

9. Pirate AU: Who is the pirate? Who is the member of the royal family who did not sign up for this?

Pirates: Fenris, Jak, Julian

Royals: Adam, Dorian, Reyja

Same as bodyguards askdshjakd

10. Childhood best friends AU: Which one was super obviously in love with the other the whole time? Who was oblivious until they were older?

In Love The Whole Time: Julian, Fenris, Dorian

Oblivious: Reyja, Adam, Jak

#oops all of my ocs are Oblivious #yeah sounds right #julian is more the class clown who still gets good grades to reyja's Straight Laced Nerd #😘#rey's ocs

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ollifree · 3 years

Note

i mean all of them for everybody but specifically pre-relationship 7 for terron/zev, lanni/alistair, and kendra/bull, and domestic 2 for skylar/lucio

Remind me of my backlog why don’t you?

7. What would their lives be like if they had never met?

A caveat to all of these: the companions run the same life as though they’re not romanced; the wardens are an AU.

Terron

If Terron and Tamlen never find the cave, the clan still moves north to the Free Marches to flee the Blight. Instead of Merrill joining the Kirkwall crew, she, Terron, Tamlen, and Fenarel all split from the clan. The group travels central Thedas, eventually picking up a young city elf with magic. She becomes the group’s collective younger sister. Eventually, the pick up enough people (either from cities or other splintered groups of Dalish) to form a new clan with Merrill as the Keeper and the mage as First. Fenarel does pluck up the courage to tell Terron his feelings after several years this verse, but gets turned down. Sorry Fen.

Lanni

Lanni becomes Teyrn (Ferelden doesn’t use gendered titles in my canon) of Highever. Though Fergus is passed over (without hard feelings) Oren becomes Lanni’s heir. I don’t wanna be all “one true love”, but one true love. She does have partners here and there. They’re just not ones she has life-long partnerships with.

Kendra

She eventually does have her five kids, either biological or adopted, but like Lanni doesn’t quote unquote “settle down” with anyone as her co-parent. Children and a partner were never things she conflated with the other. So, Fanari’s solo worldstate where Kendra’s not involved in the Inquisition basically. Congrats on writing Skylar out of existence like that. Are you happy? Is this what you wanted? Answers?

2. What’s the wedding like? Who attends?

I can’t answer this one, he’s gone now.

It’s still in the planning stages, both in-universe and in meta.

Along with multi-tiered monstrosity cake, I know now that Lucio would want to be married by the time he was 45 so there’s a timeline that exists. Also, it happens in Ostwick. I’d say small invite list, but like. The Trevelyans. Non-family invitees so far:

Reyja, Julian, Portia, Haider, Balam, Yazakh (by virtue of Portia and Balam being there, I’m sorry), Nurlan (if she can behave herself), and a few side charas I’m yet to introduce plus nameless parties from Skylar’s traveling days he keeps hidden from me.

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moth-and-raven · 3 years

Text

CHAPTER ONE

Asra’s laughter echoes as he races down the narrow Market District street and disappears around the next turn. All I can do is smile and follow: though we’re the same age, or nearly so, he has a youthfulness about him that I don’t share. I doubt an outside observer would guess that I’m the student and he the teacher.

He’s taking me up to the Palace today, to celebrate. After three years, my magical education is complete. On paper, at least. Or to his satisfaction. I don’t know if I’m confident enough to say I’m a full magician yet, though. It feels like I have so much left to learn. But Asra has assured me countless times that confidence is exactly what I’m lacking, not skill. And that, I’ll have to find on my own.

I wonder if he knows how much the prospect terrifies me.

“Come on, Reyja!” he calls, popping his head around the corner to look back at me. “This is a treat, not a punishment!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” My knees already hurt and we haven’t even started up the hill yet. Dashing around like Asra does is out of the question. For all I know, it always has been.

I say my apprenticeship lasted three years, but honestly I don’t know how long we’ve known each other. The early years… I was sick, I think. Very sick. Sick enough that I wouldn’t have survived without his care: I barely survived with it. At least that’s what he told me, and I have to trust that he’s telling the truth. I can’t remember what it was like, or anything before it. Maybe I had the Red Plague, the horrible illness that ravaged Vesuvia around that time. But that should’ve killed me, like it did countless others. I suppose I’ve resigned myself to never knowing what happened, and doing my best to start over.

It’s much harder than it sounds.

Asra is waiting for me at the end of the street, talking to his python familiar Faust. She flicks her tongue playfully when I finally catch up and stretches from his shoulders to rest her smooth, scaled head against my cheek. Almost immediately, Asra’s smile falls.

“You doing okay?” he asks, brow furrowed.

“Yeah.”

“For real, Rey.”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

I hate it when he fusses over me. I hate that he’s seen me so weak, had to do everything for me. It’s embarrassing. And that concern is never far from the surface when we speak, like there’s something he’s holding back. He watches me intently when he thinks I can’t see him, but it’s with the trepidation of someone about to walk on broken glass, careful in case the next step is the last. He’s always kind, uplifting my successes and consoling my failures, and I’m grateful. Yet I still get the sense that, for whatever reason, he’s afraid. Of me or for me, I can’t say.

“Alright. If you say so.” Faust pulls back and drapes herself more securely around his neck again. Her pale purple scales match the exact color of his eyes. “Hey, guess what?”

“What?” I ask, hoping he won’t actually make me guess.

“You didn’t think I’d really let today pass without giving you a present, did you?”

Asra and his presents. He’s brought me so many gifts over the years, accumulated on his frequent travels, that I’ve run out of space to keep them all. Some he insists aren’t really presents but merchandise for the shop we run. Crystals and herbs, amulets and oddities and, most famously, fortune-telling. That’s where my magic shines, one of the only things I’m undoubtedly good at: I can hear the cards almost as well as he can.

He digs in his bag and pulls out a small black velvet pouch, embroidered with moths and moons in silver thread. The moment I take hold of it, energy rushes through me like light: they’re tarot cards.

Asra’s a remarkable artist, painting, carving, weaving — all of the carpets in the shop are his work. And these cards are too. I open the pouch and take one off the top of the stack: the Fool, delicately painted in shades of gray and white on a field of black. An unopened chrysalis, the beginning of a journey.

“They’re beautiful,” I say breathlessly, my eyes still tracing the outlines of folded wings beneath the chrysalis’ transparent surface.

“You deserve them.”

I glance up at him. “Thanks, Asra. Really.” Of all the gifts he’s given me, this tops the list. While his own set of cards are fun to work with, at the end of the day, they’re his. These are mine: I don’t know how he did it, but this deck is overflowing with the same kind of magic I wield. It’s amazing. “Thank you.”

He grins, but bashfully. “Don’t mention it. Like I said, you’ve more than earned them.”

I shuffle through the deck almost absently. The voices of the Arcana get louder, if not clearer, in response to the slide of each card between my fingers. Some of the artwork catches my attention as it passes: Death, the Hanged Man, the Moon. I pause on that one. She’s always been my favorite. Her rough face, round and white, reminds me of my own.

But the longer I linger on her silvery curves, the stronger a sense of anticipation grows. I’m not in the proper mindset for a reading, but I can hear her nevertheless. Something important is coming. Soon. Maybe—

“Shit.”

Asra’s voice breaks my attention. Faust has lifted herself from his shoulders, periscoping up, tongue flicking madly. Whatever she’s learning seems to flow directly to Asra, just like she was able to sense my mood when she touched me. And he isn’t pleased.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he repeats, dropping his gaze to the cobblestones beneath our feet. “I’m so sorry, Rey, but—”

No. Please, not today. This was supposed to be my day. I can’t hide the disappointment twisting my mouth into a frown when I meet Asra’s eyes as he looks up again.

“You have to leave,” I say dully. He’s been doing that more and more often recently, off on adventures I could never keep up with. I wish it didn’t make me so bitter, that he goes out and lives while I can barely leave of the shop some days. It’s my own fault. And I would never want to weigh him down or hold him back.

But it still hurts.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. At least he sounds sincere. “If I had another choice, I wouldn’t…”

Isn’t there always a choice? “No, I get it. You can go. I’ll be fine.”

He knows me too well to let me say that. “You can still head to the Palace, yeah? It’ll be good for you to get up there, I think. It’s nice. And I don’t think it’ll be too busy, since it just opened up again. A lot of the people here don’t know what we were missing out on.”

I’m one of them. The Palace has been shut for years, since the Plague struck; Countess Satrinava just reopened the massive clockwork gates yesterday, at the start of the new year. I know it would disappoint him if I didn’t go, even if it’s the last thing I want to do now. But I meet his tentative smile as best I can. “Okay. You said there’s a fountain, right?”

“A really cool one! You should be able to sense it before you even see it. A lot of magic flows through its waters. We’ll visit it together someday, okay? I promise.”

I nod. It’s always ‘someday.’ Someday, I’ll feel better. Someday, I’ll be strong and wise and confident, shed all this uncertainty and shame. Someday, I’ll have someone besides the flighty magician who never stays in the same place for long, whose ties to me are tenuous at best even after three years, who cares about me in his way, but not the way I want to be cared about.

But not today.

Never today.

Despite the Moon’s premonition, it’ll never be today.

“I’ll be back soon,” Asra says. “A couple days, tops. Out with Muriel, alright?”

When I improved enough to look after myself, he left the shop to me and moved into the woods to live with his oldest friend. I’m sure he got tired of sleeping in the fortune-telling room on a pile of pillows, though he always insisted they were more comfortable than a bed. I left them there in case he ever needs another place to stay; he embroidered most of them himself over discussions of magical theory and technique, so each pattern of silken thread reminds me of a different aspect of the craft. “Okay.”

“Take care of yourself, Reyja. Please."

"Yep."

"And again, I’m sorry about this. I’ll miss you.”

I should respond to that, but I have nothing to say. Maybe he does miss me when he's gone; that doesn't make his journeys any more pleasant for me.

He sighs and drives his hand through his soft white hair. As I watch, he summons a wave of magic and steps through it, vanishing completely and leaving me on my own.

Again.

I look away, over the spires and rooftops of the city towards the Palace. It rises high above me, perched on a cliff overlooking the bay. It’s a long way up. I would catch a carriage, drawn by the Countess’s own shimmering golden horses, if I could handle speaking to the driver. I can, most days. If I’m doing well enough to leave the house, it isn’t usually an issue. But today, I don’t think I want to risk it. Maybe the walk will help me work through some of this disappointment, and the flood of other horrible thoughts that always comes with it. It isn’t Asra’s fault. He shouldn’t have to tiptoe around my every oversensitive little hang-up for the rest of his days. It’s just as well. The sooner I get over the pain, the better. I’m an adult. Older than him, even, if only by a year or two. Stupid of me to get upset over someone else just living their life. He doesn’t owe me anything; if he ever did, he’s long repaid his debt.

I sigh and tuck my new tarot deck into my bag. At least I can look forward to getting to know them later. But for now, I ought to do what I said I would. The Palace grounds should be beautiful: it’s January, high summer, a time for new beginnings and positive change.

I’ll believe it when I see it.

------

Flowers of all kinds perfume the air inside the Palace gates. I recognize only a few of them: roses, irises, lilies, dahlias. Honeysuckle, Asra’s favorite. There’s a small, shaded corner full of moonflowers near the corner of the Palace itself, right where it opens up into the grounds proper. They’re all closed now, twisted into sleepy spirals by the heat of the day, but just the sight of them makes me smile. I, too, prefer night.

I drift past tall sunflowers and happy peonies, bright poppies and elegant orchids. Beyond the flower gardens, fruit trees stand like soldiers in their neat rows, adding their own sweet scent. Vaguely, I wonder who tends to all these plants. There isn’t a leaf out of place and, somehow, the riot of color makes sense here.

In the center of the main courtyard stands the fountain Asra mentioned. And he was right: I can sense the currents of magic flowing through it before I even pass through the garden archway. It’s tall, white marble polished smooth, surrounded by a pool to collect the splashes at the end of their journey. I lean against the knee-high basin and trail my fingertips through the water, admiring the sparkles of sunlight in the tiny, laughing waves.

“It is beautiful, isn’t it?”

The low, musical voice startles me; I withdraw my hand and straighten up suddenly, afraid I was somehow breaking a rule. “Y-yes, it’s gorgeous,” I stammer. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

My breath, and the rest of my sentence, catches in my throat when I turn around.

Nadia Satrinava, the Countess of Vesuvia, is standing right behind me. Though her dark eyes are hooded kindly as she smiles, fear tingles along my calves, urging me, ridiculously, to run. Maybe that’s coming from her bodyguard instead, though: they’re huge, both tall and muscular, and the flatness of their expression reveals nothing. I can’t help but take a step back, nearly tripping and falling into the fountain. Thankfully, I catch myself.

Countess Satrinava inclines her head, eyeing me. I must be imagining the interest in her gaze. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before,” she says.

“N-no, I’m, uh. I haven’t been, um. No.”

I’m so eloquent.

She chuckles. “Of course, all are welcome in these gardens. I find myself visiting them often these days, as a respite from the hustle and bustle of…” She trails off delicately. “There is much peace to be found here.”

“Yeah, for sure.” I swallow hard, wondering how much more conversation I’ll be forced to make with the ruler of my city.

“Do you live in Vesuvia?”

“Yes?”

“Then perhaps you recall some of the beautification efforts I began, to share this beauty with the people.”

I wish Asra was here. “Oh, um, I haven’t actually lived here that long.”

“Indeed?” She raises a well-groomed brow and, almost imperceptibly, glances at her bodyguard. “Were you here during the Plague?”

I’ll have to lie to her, or at least not tell her the whole truth. How can you just say you don’t remember most of your life, especially talking to the countess? “No. It was already over by the time I moved.”

Countess Satrinava turns and murmurs something to her companion. They respond, then pivot on their heel and return to the archway, very clearly standing guard. Again, the desire to flee from this situation grabs hold of my muscles. I do my best to ignore it.

“What is your name?” Countess Satrinava asks me.

Suppressing the tremble in my voice, I answer. “Reyja North.”

“What do you do for a living, Ms. North?”

“Mx., actually.” Looking back, I can’t believe I corrected her. “Um, I own the magician’s shop on the corner of the main market square.”

“You are a magician?”

As of this morning. “Yeah. I work with Asra al-Nazar. He’s better than—”

“I have heard of this shop, I believe.” She seats herself on the edge of the fountain and crosses her legs elegantly. “Please, sit.”

I plunk down beside her.

“You tell fortunes there, do you not?”

“Yeah. But Asra—”

“You tell fortunes?”

I cave under her insistence. “Yes.”

“Excellent.” She almost sighs, as if in relief. “That is very good, Mx. North. I have great need of your services, in fact. It is most interesting that you would come to me now.”

A thousand thoughts crash against the inside of my skull, almost deafening me. A few break through as words: You don’t mean me, it’s Asra you want. I’m only here because he wanted me to come, and only now because the Palace is open to visitors again. Whatever you want, I can’t provide it. I’ll disappoint you, I know I will. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I—

“Do you have the Arcana with you?”

That’s an archaic term for tarot cards, but I’m not going to risk correcting her again. I could lie, but I shouldn’t do that again either. Gently, hesitantly, I touch the side of my bag. “Yeah, I do.”

I hope these cards will be kind to me, on my first reading with them.

“I shall ask a simple question. I wish only for the answer to it. Know that answering correctly could prove a great boon to the city of Vesuvia, and to me, as well.”

No pressure then. I pull the deck from its velvet bag and start to shuffle, almost like I’m being guided by a force outside myself. But I know the feeling. The fountain’s magic reaches for me, heightening my senses as I shift into the reading mindset. If nothing else, the motion and the sound of the cards soothes my nerves, drawing my awareness away from my own doubts. This is something I can do, a distant part of my mind reminds me. I have nothing to fear here.

“I’m ready whenever you are,” I tell the Countess, glancing up at her.

She closes her eyes and lets out her breath. “What do I want from you, Reyja North?”

Well, she wasn’t kidding about her question being a simple one. And the answer comes to me just as simply, in a single card: “Justice, upright. You want me to untangle a knot, one that’s been twisted back in on itself over and over again. It’s time to release it.” As quickly as it came, the card’s presence fades. “Is… is that right?”

Countess Satrinava nods. “Yes. That’s right.” She stands abruptly, just as gracefully as she sat, and rubs her temple. “I am haunted by an event years past, and I cannot allow the specter of it to linger any longer. Make no mistake: I am not entirely sure what will come of this course of action. There may be difficulties I cannot foresee, and challenges neither of us have ever faced.”

I can only blink, stunned to silence.

“You must come to the Palace and assist me for a short time,” she continues. “There are questions I fear I will be unable to answer without you, but they must be found. Do you understand?”

Her words? Yes. But her meaning? “I don’t— I can’t, um—”

“You will be afforded every luxury, and I will ensure that whatever profits you may lose shall be reimbursed two-fold. I will also speak to Yazakh and have them add your shop to the guards’ rounds, to see to its safety while you are away.”

I don’t know if there’s really anything left for me to decide. I’m still not convinced I can help her, but she seems to think otherwise. Quite strongly, too.

Part of me — the suspicious, paranoid part — wonders if, somehow, Asra planned this. Did he know it would happen? Is this a test? Is that why he left? I wouldn’t put it past him to set something up and watch all the dominos fall into place… But I can’t bring myself to believe it fully. Maybe this is what the Moon was warning me about, the important event hovering just over the horizon. If it is… who am I to ignore fate?

“Okay,” I say weakly, then clear my throat to repeat it. “Okay, I’ll do what I can.”

“Splendid!” Countess Satrinava shifts her long black hair over her other shoulder and smiles at me. “I will send an escort to fetch you in the morning, as we have much to discuss. Rest well, Mx. North.”

“Um, just Reyja is fine.”

“Very well, Reyja. And you may, in turn, call me Nadia.” She waves her bodyguard back to her side. Their amber eyes regard me with detached curiosity, vibrant against their dark skin. “We shall see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow. Um, Nadia.”

This’ll make a hell of a story when Asra comes back.

------

It’s been a long day. A long, interesting day.

I roll over again, unable to settle into sleep despite my exhaustion. Why did I say yes? What have I agreed to? I already feel out of my depth and I haven’t even done anything for the Countess yet. What kind of mystery errand requires a fortune-teller, and why did it matter that I was new to the city? Or was that irrelevant, and just her making conversation?

It must be past midnight by now. My mind is as loud as it’s ever been, forcing my racing heart to keep up. And maybe it’s because all of my senses are desperately searching for something to focus on, some sort of distraction from the thunder of my thoughts, but I hear the noises quite clearly: faint footsteps, a rattle, a muffled crash.

Adrenaline floods my body, wrenching me out of bed to tremble at the top of the stairs. Logic tries to tell me it’s just Asra, already back and trying to keep from waking me up. But he’s never that loud.

What the fuck is happening? My mentor — former mentor — takes off again, the ruler of the city offers me a job, and some asshole tries to break into my shop, all on the same day?

I can’t handle this.

But I have to do something.

I shrug into my robe and grab the dagger from my dresser. It’s decorative, another gift from Asra, but better than nothing. I summon a freezing spell to my other hand and creep back to the stairs, moving as quietly as my weight will allow. It’s not as dark as I thought, once I reach the halfway point. But fear tightens around my stomach: the light is coming from a shapeless mass, beaming from red eyes in a skull-like head. It’s already more than halfway from the back room to the front door; I can’t let it get any closer.

I stumble on the next step.

It snaps its head in my direction.

Acting on instinct, I fling my spell, catching it in the chest and sending it sprawling.

“Oof!”

Oh god, what have I done? That was a human voice! Frantically, I call light to my hand — why didn’t I think to do that first? — and take a few more steps down the stairs.

The mass was mainly a coat, it seems, now draped over a tall, long-limbed man lying spread eagle on the floor. His red-eyed white skull was a plague doctor’s beaked mask, sent tumbling away during his fall.

“Mm, that’ll hurt in the morning... Hey! Why can’t I get up? Asra? Asra!”

He knows Asra? That would explain why he’s here, then, but certainly not why he had to break in. “Who are you?”

The man startles as best he can, stuck to the floor by my spell. “Who is that? What’s going on?”

I clench the dagger more tightly in my hand and take another step towards him. “I asked first.”

To my surprise, he laughs. “Ha, if you don’t know, I’m not going to tell you.”

Well. That leaves us at somewhat of an impasse. But he’s still struggling against the effects of the spell and, for the moment, I have the upper hand. “Will you at least say why you’re breaking into my shop?”

“Your—? Oh. Oh, no. I could’ve sworn that… Your shop?”

Asra hasn’t lived here in over a year, and he doesn’t so much work the counter as supply the merchandise. So, for all intents and purposes… “Yeah. My shop.”

“Ah.” He falls silent for a moment, then, with effort, shakes his head. “Then I owe you quite the apology, shopkeep. I’m very sorry. I was looking for, ah, an old friend.”

Asra’s never talked about anyone like him before. “I gathered that. But he isn’t here. Not anymore.”

“You know him?”

Now that I know that the man isn’t a threat, some of my fear has faded. I fold my arms. He can’t see me from his prone position, but I hope the warning in my tone is clear. “I’m not overly inclined to be honest with the person who broke into my house in the middle of the night. But yes, I do.” I pause. It wouldn’t hurt to have him think I’m stronger than I really am. “He taught me a lot of cool tricks.”

“Ah. So this, err, sticking charm is your handiwork?” He squirms. His leather uniform squeals as he tries, again, to free himself.

“It’s a freezing spell.”

“Freezing spell, yes. Do you think you could, ah, reverse it? Or do whatever magical hocus-pocus you have to do to let me up? Only, mm, only one of my hands is pinned in a rather unfortunate place…”

Oh. I didn’t want to hurt him. And he doesn’t seem to want to hurt me, either. Besides, I’m not the one he’s looking for. “Fine. Just a second.” I set my dagger on the stair behind me and murmur the counterspell. He rises to his hands and knees, then flops backwards to sit on the floor and rub his wrist. After a moment, he looks over his shoulder at me.

He’s remarkably striking. Deep-set eyes, one covered by a patch, thick red hair, a strong aquiline nose. He looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks, with his dark circles and pale skin. Poor guy. But he’s grinning broadly, and it suits his face to smile like that.

“Thank you. I’d hate to lose the use of my fingers. They’ve won me a lot of esteem, you know.” He seems to realize a little late that what he said could be taken as a double entendre and blushes. “A-anyway. Ahm. You don’t happen to know where Asra is, do you?”

“No.” It isn’t a lie.

“Ah. Well, then. I suppose I’ll get out of your hair. Unless…" The man levers himself upright, tapping his chin with a gloved finger. He’s very tall. “Those cards of his, did he teach you about them? How to read their secrets, the future, what have you?”

Why is everyone so interested in fortune-telling all of a sudden? “I can read tarot, yes.”

“Excellent! We’ll ask those, then. That is, if you would do me the honor?”

For some reason, my stomach swoops alarmingly when he shoots another smile my way. I nod before I realize what I’m doing and finish descending the staircase. He follows me into the back room, almost looming over me in his eagerness to reach the reading table. I’m suddenly very aware that I’m in my robe and nothing else.

If he notices the flush on my cheeks, he doesn’t comment. He just watches me gather the cards and begin to shuffle, his visible eye darting between my hands.

“Sorry, but before I ask anything, I have to know your name.”

“What’s that?” As if emerging from a trance, he looks up.

“Your name? For the reading.”

“Oh. Right. Of course. I’m Julian. And I swear I know you from somewhere…”

I’m positive I don’t know him. I would’ve remembered someone so— I would’ve remembered him. I blush even more and shake my head, breaking our eye contact and bringing the focus back to the reading. I’m just doing my job, nothing more. An odd time of day for it, maybe, but he did ask nicely. “This’ll only be a second,” I tell him.

But it takes longer than I expect. His aura is nervous, and it makes the cards’ whispers harder to hear. My own energy is almost depleted too. And more than a little distracted. Eventually, though, something speaks to me.

“The Magician, rever—”

Julian interrupts, laughing raucously. “Magician? Magician? Ohoho, there’s one for you, Asra. A hearty fuck you, as we’d say in the old days.” He slams his hands palms-down on the table and stands up, whirling out of the room.

“Hey, wait a minute!” I follow him into the main shop. “The Magician isn’t about fuck yous, even reversed. It’s—”

But Julian sighs, shaking his head. “No, no. It’s alright. I should’ve known. Asra’s never been forthright, as I’m sure you know. I shouldn’t have tried to fight fire with fire. Never works.” He looks down at me. “And I shouldn’t have gotten you involved. I’m sorry about that. And I’m sorry, again, for… you’ve been very hospitable, despite my, erm, breaking and entering.”

I don’t know what to say. I watch lamely as he picks up his mask and stares into its glassy red eyes.

“If he returns, tell him… tell him Julian’s back for the closure he ran from.” He crosses to the door in a billow of black and red. “Thank you for your time, shopkeep. I’ve never been a lucky man, but maybe it was luck that led me to you tonight. Maybe I’m one step closer now.” He wrenches the door open and steps out into the night, affixing his mask again. “And maybe, if luck is kind, we’ll meet again someday.”

With a swirl of his coat, he’s gone.

---------------

#the arcana #the arcana fanfic #reyja north #julian devorak #god i don't want this in the tags but it feels weird to post without them so

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moth-and-raven · 3 years

Text

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I’m not sure when we made it to bed, but I wake up the next morning to Julian’s breath on my neck. He has me tucked into the curve of his body, holding me close with one of his hands resting on the flesh of my belly.

I don’t want to disturb him, but blinks himself awake almost as soon as I shift.

“Good morning, darling,” he says softly, his voice still rough with sleep.

I roll over in his arms and kiss him; his unshaven cheek bristles against my lips. “Good morning,” I echo. “Um, how did we get here?”

Julian chuckles. “I’m glad you don’t remember. I woke up, oh, a good few hours after dinner and it broke my heart to see you still sitting on the floor, asleep against the chair. Like you didn’t want to let me go, even for a moment.”

I kiss him again, more soundly. “I didn’t. I don’t.”

He pulls his hand from between us to cup my cheek. “What a lucky man I am, to have someone like you.”

After all this, everything that’s happened, it still feels impossible. Every event that’s lined up just so, every ounce of serendipity, has led us to each other. And now we’ve conquered the biggest barrier to being together. Julian is a free man. The other details seem inconsequential.

Before I can tell him that, I startle at a knock on the door, followed by Portia’s teasing voice from behind the solid oak.

“Wake up, lovebirds!” she calls. “Or if you’re already awake, stop doing whatever you’re doing so I don’t scar myself forever by coming in!”

She doesn’t wait to open the door, though, and only laughs to see us scramble out of the bed.

“Feeling better today, Ilya?” she asks, looking him over.

“Much. Amazing what a solid meal and some sleep can do.”

Portia rolls her eyes. “Pretty sure I’ve been telling you that for years, and Mazelinka years before that. And yet you always seem to forget it.”

“Nonsense!” he says indignantly. “I tell my patients all the time—”

“For you, dumbass.”

“Ah… right.”

She laughs and shakes her head. Someday, maybe, we’ll get through to him that he deserves the same kind of care he shows to others.

“Anyway, you’ll be happy to know that Asra’s waiting for you,” Portia says to me. “We didn’t even have to go out looking; he was at the palace gates this morning. Did you talk to him somehow?”

I blink, stunned. I didn’t reach him, or even try. But he’s always been mysterious like that, showing up exactly when he’s needed. “No, I haven’t talked to him since before I came up here, the first time.”

My own words sink like stones in my stomach. He doesn’t know about any of this, all that’s happened in the handful of days since he slipped out the back door of the shop.

Julian interjects, coughing weakly. “Aha. Well, then. This will be, erm, some sort of reunion, won’t it?” He’s pale and fidgety, brushing his hair back from his forehead and letting the auburn curls fall over his eyes again and again. “Can’t say I’m overly excited for it.”

That makes sense. It’s been years since they last saw each other, and those weren’t the best of times. And apparently Julian stole from him on his way out, too. But it’ll be okay. I tell him so as I take his hand.

Even through his reluctance, he smiles at me. It lights up his eyes, both gray and red, and I can’t help but smile with him.

Portia lets the feeling hang for a moment, then pipes up again. “Nadia’s with him already. They’re in the big salon, with breakfast. C’mon!”

She leads the way down the stately palace halls, chatting with us. Nadia wants to announce Julian’s innocence at the start of the Masquerade, she says. It’s its own form of justice served, I suppose, clearing his name rather than solving the mystery of the Count’s murder. I’m certainly not complaining.

As we reach the door of the salon, Julian stops, letting Portia go on ahead. His palms have only gotten slicker the closer we get. He looks down at me, biting his lip, and sighs heavily.

“Erm, darling, I have to, ah. Asra. He and I had an, erm… He might not be overly pleased to see me.”

“What?” I’ve never known Asra to be on anyone’s bad side. “How come?”

“We, ah, didn’t part on the best of terms. The mark, the curse, it’s… well, it’s my fault. I—”

He doesn’t finish the thought before Portia turns back, exasperated, and grabs the loose fabric of his shirt to push him into the room. I have no choice but to follow, mind astir with prickles of unease. She shuts the door behind me.

This salon is brighter, much more colorful than Nadia’s personal suite. Rugs and curtains add splashes of orange and purple and red, met with sprays of blue forget-me-nots and tall white lilies nestled in glass vases. Nadia sits resplendent in a shimmering golden robe, her hair flowing like water over her shoulders. She’s laughing as we walk in, hiding it behind her hand. Opposite her, Asra sits cross-legged on an ottoman with Faust curled around his forearm to drink tea from his cup.

“Reyja!” Asra says, beaming at me. “You did a little more than take care of yourself, didn’t you?”

I smile back. Despite our differences, Asra is my oldest friend. He knows me, at least as well as I let him, and it’s nice to see him again. “How was your trip?”

He waves the question away. “Not that exciting. Nothing like what you’ve done. Nadia’s filled me in on everything.” His lilac eyes darken, and for the first time he shifts his attention to Julian. “And everyone.”

The room falls silent, chill in the morning sun.

“Erm, hello, Asra.”

“Julian.”

“Aha, long time no see?”

“Could’ve been longer.”

“Ah.” Julian scrambles for something to say. “H-how’ve you been?”

Asra takes a deep breath and drops his smouldering gaze. Immediately, the sunlight slanting through the windows feels warm again. “You’re right,” he offers. “It has been a long time. And it’s felt like a long time, too.”

That isn’t really an answer. But with Nadia here, and even with me, it’s probably the best Julian’s going to get. Something happened between the two of them; even if Julian hadn’t said as much, it hangs in the air like smoke. And now is not the time to discuss it.

“Good morning to you both,” Nadia says, cutting through the awkward silence. “I trust you slept soundly, for this morning brings new challenges.”

We both nod, eager to move on.

“Excellent. Indeed, as Asra said, I have shared with him all you told me. I must admit I was surprised to hear that he, too, was at the palace around the same time.”

Asra shrugs. “I had to help.”

Nadia smiles at him. “I’m sure your talents were put to good use. If nothing else, Reyja’s training proves you to be a strong and skillful magician.”

“Ha, thanks.”

“But I’m afraid I have reached the end of my knowledge,” she continues. “Though I understand there is more to the story.”

Julian clears his throat and gives my hand one last reassuring squeeze before dropping it and stepping into the middle of the room. "Yes. While sifting through everything else, Reyja and I came across some more pieces of the puzzle. Now, erm, I don't want to step on any toes, but—"

Nadia interrupts with another gentle smile. "You have my permission to speak freely, Doctor."

He lets out a noisy breath. "Thank you, Countess. Erm, Nadia. But you might not want to hear it."

"Perhaps not. But it must be said nevertheless."

"You aren't wrong." Julian squares his shoulders and turns away, pacing across the ornate damask rug. He stops abruptly in front of the windows and wheels around, lip raised in a fierce snarl. "There’s a snake in your midst," he declares.

Asra snorts. "Who, Faust?"

"No! Quaestor Valdemar. It’s very possible that they’re the one responsible for Lucio’s — I’m sorry, Count Lucio’s — murder,” he says. “I admit that this evidence isn’t the most solid, and what I would give to have the answers! But, erm, bear with me. We, Reyja and I, we spoke to an old friend of mine, who was here back then as well. Maybe you remember him, Asra? Skylar Trevelyan?”

Asra shrugs again, noncommittal.

“Ah. Well, at any rate, he, erm, reminded me that it was Valdemar who infected me with the Plague, and Valdemar who had been—” He stops, stuttering. “You both know all this, don’t you?”

“I would like to hear it from you, Doctor,” Nadia says kindly.

He flashes a grateful smile. “Skylar also reminded me that I, ah, wasn’t at my best back then. Especially towards the end. I suppose, to put it plainly, I was losing my mind. Those rumors, at least, were somewhat true.” He laughs harshly. “But I’ll flatter myself by saying that that was mostly the Plague’s doing. The Plague, and magic.”

Asra and Nadia respond together, with varying degrees of credulity. “Magic?”

“Magic,” Julian confirms. “Dreams, and tarot, and this.”

He drops to one knee and, before anyone can stop him, slides a thin blade from his boot and slashes it across his forearm. I barely stifle a scream as I scramble out of my chair to his side. I know he’ll be fine, but—

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Asra says, only mildly alarmed. Faust has repositioned herself around his shoulders and flicks her tongue as if to punctuate his remark.

Julian laughs and holds out his bleeding arm. As we watch, the cut shrinks, sealing itself in the light of the mark on his throat. Within seconds it’s gone, leaving behind only ribbons of blood smeared across his pale skin. “Nothing’s wrong with me, Asra.”

“No more than usual, I guess.”

“It certainly comes in handy.”

Asra rolls his eyes. “I’m sure. Trust you to make a bargain-mark kinky.”

“A what?”

Asra sighs and refolds his legs. “That sigil. It’s the mark of a deal struck. Someone gave it to you…” He closes his eyes and sends a tendril of his own magic out, washing over Julian in search of answers. He finds them quickly. “The Hanged Man? How did you—? Oh. I get it.”

Julian pulls his sleeve down again and busies himself tucking it back into his glove, avoiding Asra’s accusing gaze. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have—”

“No. You shouldn’t have.”

“But, erm. I did.”

Asra stares daggers into Julian. “No shit,” he spits after a moment. “Okay, Nadia, here’s what he’s telling us, since he won’t just say it: he used an ancient ritual to contact an ageless being from a magical realm, and while they were chatting, he gave him something important enough to merit superhuman abilities in return. And now, unless I’m pulling this out of my ass, the good doctor wants whatever he gave him back.”

“What?” Julian snaps his head up. “I never said—”

“You want to talk to the Hanged Man again, don’t you?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“He’s not going to give away anything for free,” Asra says. “If you want answers, it’ll cost you.”

“Oh. I see.”

“You really don’t.”

All four of us sit quietly for what feels like an eternity. Eventually, Nadia picks up her tea cup and breaks the silence. “This mark is what allowed you to heal so quickly from the torture instigated by Quaestor Valdemar,” she says to Julian.

It isn’t a question, but he answers anyway. “Yes, it is. I can share its power, too.”

He glances at me and smiles. Nadia follows his gaze, understanding.

“What do you hope to learn from this Hanged Man?” she asks.

“What Valdemar was planning, three years ago. Why they’re still after it now. Where they’ve gone, maybe. And why there’s still evidence of the Plague leaking through the palace, putting the people I care about in danger.” His mismatched eyes linger on my face, tracing my features. He can’t resist reaching for me, trailing a finger along my cheekbone.

“Do you have a plan?”

He drops his hand, and with it his smile. “I do,” he says quietly.

I haven’t said a word since we walked in, but I can’t let him go through with this. “It isn’t possible,” I say, more to him than Nadia.

“Oh?” Nadia cocks her head.

Before I can elaborate, Asra laughs raucously and falls back against the sofa. “Let me guess,” he says, words molten with contempt. “Is there some martyrdom involved?”

“Asra—” Julian’s voice is stuck between warning and whining.

“For fuck’s sake, Julian, you haven’t changed at all, have you?”

“Of course I—!”

Asra sits up again, slowly, and runs his hand through his fine white hair. “Makes sense, why you’d want to,” he says reluctantly. “I guess I can’t blame you for that. And why you’d decide that there was only one way to do it.”

“The book—”

“Was written for magicians, who would already know that there are other ways to contact the Arcana.”

“Oh.”

“I know the ritual. I can send you into the Hanged Man’s realm. Without killing you, even.”

Julian hesitates, glancing between me and Asra. “Alone?” he asks softly. I can’t tell if he wants the response to be yes or no.

Asra sighs. “Ideally. But honestly, I’m not sure I like that idea.” His eyes meet mine, from the other side of the room. “What if Reyja went?”

I hadn’t considered the possibility. I have magical skills, and more of a connection to Asra than Julian does, regardless of what happened between them. It might work.

“Instead of me?” Julian shakes his head and, almost automatically, reaches for my hand again, pulling me closer. “No. I won’t put her in danger.”

“Look, I’m just laying out the options. If shit goes wrong, there will be two lives at risk instead of one, and it takes a huge amount of magical energy to do what I’m suggesting.”

“So I have to face this alone.”

“Still on that kick, huh? No, that isn’t what I said. I can send you both, I just need some time to prepare. And a quiet place, preferably near water?”

Nadia, still seated in her cozy armchair, nods. “Valdemar’s threat is still present. If this stops it, I will do what I can to assist. You shall have all you require, and I’ll personally see to it that no one disturbs you.”

“Thanks.” As he stands and guides Faust back into her usual spot in his shirt, Asra eyes me closely, lingering especially on Julian’s hand in mine. “Don’t make this ‘represent’ anything, Julian,” he says. “And Reyja… actually, nevermind. It’s not time yet. I can tell.”

What’s that supposed to mean? He’s doing it again already, deciding for me what I can and can’t know. He did the same thing during my apprenticeship. It does inspire me to do better, and more, I suppose, just to prove him wrong. If Julian and I are going to the arcane realms, I’ll make sure we’re safe, no matter how dangerous Asra thinks they are. I’m not the same person he left standing in the shop that night. If nothing else, now I have someone to fight for.

------

We part ways with both Asra and Nadia at the base of the stairs. They’re heading out to the fountain in the garden to set up the ritual, which Asra said he’d start preparations on as soon as he finished his noon salat. Nadia recommended that Julian and I take advantage of the last few minutes of downtime we have before we go, and I was quick to agree.

Julian looks over his shoulder almost guiltily after I shut the door of my room.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing, nothing. Just, erm… I was trying to tell you, warn you, I suppose, before we went in, that Asra and I— It didn’t last. Clearly. Ha, really, the only feelings I retained are embarrassment and dismay, over my own actions.”

“Oh.” I have no experience with bitter exes. “What happened?”

I realize too late that that’s a very personal question, but Julian just shrugs. “Our involvement was almost purely physical. I needed… someone. Something. A, ahem, a firm hand.”

I swallow the image of Julian on his knees, submitting to Asra the same way I had pictured him submitting to me. “Did you get that, at least?”

“Oho, that and more, my darling.” He steps closer to me and reaches out to mesh our fingers. “But I took it too far. He wanted to end it and I, erm, didn’t. I’m ashamed of the lengths I went to hang onto him.”

“And that’s why—?”

“More or less. I think. It was all such a mess. I don’t blame him for, for responding like that. Holding a grudge. For all I know, I made it worse during the time I can’t remember.” Julian shakes his head.

“I mean, it’s good that you… aren’t like that anymore? Right?”

He chuckles. “I hope I’m not.”

“I don’t think you are.”

“Mm.”

We stand together for a moment, then, biting my lip, I pull him closer to the bed. He follows gratefully, sinking down and letting me lean against him. His lips are soft on my cheek, his breath softer.

“Asra was one of the only people I could remember from my time in the palace,” he says. “That’s why I was searching for him when I found you. I had hoped he would know something.”

“I guess he did.”

“But I wouldn’t have known which questions to ask without you, my dear.”

Strange how it all fits together. “Did Asra live at the shop back then?”

“Yes. I believe it was left to him many years ago.”

I frown. “I wonder why he moved out, instead of making me leave.”

“For both of our sakes, I’m glad he didn’t. How would I have found you then, hm?”

That almost chills me. I don’t want to think about a world in which we never met. “We would’ve found each other somewhere,” I say quietly.

Julian lays back, settling me into the crook of his arm. “Yes,” he agrees. “But I’m grateful we didn’t have to wait any longer. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

He’s said that before. He said it the night we spent at Mazelinka’s house, and when we were in the library. And he’ll say it again, I’m sure.

I wonder, briefly, painfully, how many people he’s lost to “something happening,” that would make him so eager to repeat such a sentiment.

“I won’t either.”

“What’s that?”

I snuggle closer to him and tilt my head back to look him in the eye. “I won’t let anything happen to you, either. You… mean a lot to me.”

“You mean a lot to me, too, my dear. More than, erm, more than I could possibly say.” He blinks, letting the smile that had been floating at the corners of his mouth blossom. “Not that I won’t try, though.”

But he doesn’t have to say anything. Not right now. It’s enough, for the moment, to lay here with him, our hearts beating in tandem.

I doze off to the steady sound of his breath and awaken only after the sunlight has moved down the wall, to Asra stepping into the room without knocking. He looks haggard, already worn out by the work he’s done to set the stage for our adventure.

He pushes his hair back from his forehead and sighs. “It’s time.”

—————

Skylar belongs to @ollifree.

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moth-and-raven · 3 years

Text

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Julian manages to stand up on his third try, though he still leans heavily against the bloodied stone wall. I wrap his arm around my shoulders myself when he makes to step away from it. He smiles weakly to feel me tucked into his side, but most of his concentration is focused on staying upright; he turned white as a sheet as soon as he got his footing. I remember what Mazelinka said, about him passing out after using his healing mark. I’ll just have to make sure he’s in bed by the time his strength gives out.

I hear voices filtering down from the barracks when we reach the foot of the stairs, but there are far fewer than before, and they sound familiar. Portia laughs, though there’s still a catch in her throat, and Balam’s fast-flowing speech wraps around the murmur of the others like eddies in a river. Julian and I take the stairs slowly, one at a time, until we emerge in the now-empty room.

“Oh, Ilya!” Portia sees us first and scrambles to her feet to rush to his side, dropping Balam’s hand. She swallows hard seeing the blood soaked into his clothes but gives him a gentle hug anyway. “I’m gonna tear them apart,” she hisses as she pulls back. “Piece by fucking piece.”

Skylar moves to Julian’s other side and takes some of his weight. “With any luck, Salsa will have already found them and gotten a good head start on that. She’s a great tracker when she wants to be.”

“Tracker?” I ask. “What happened?”

Portia growls. “They up and vanished. All of them. The whole court.”

“What?!”

“Valdemar, Vlastomil, and Vulgora, anyway,” Balam says. She’s sitting on Yazakh’s lap in the corner with her arms around them. She sighs and leans her cheek against theirs; they don’t react, focused on a spot on the opposite wall. “We don’t know about Valerius or Volta yet, officially, but it seems only likely that all of them disappeared at once. Yaz just got the report a few minutes ago, that all of their estates and suites are empty.”

No wonder Yazakh isn’t responding. Just glancing at them, I can see the calculation in their amber eyes, putting together what they know about the courtiers. They’ve been Nadia’s bodyguard, and head of palace security, for a long time; I think they worked for Lucio before that, too, in his mercenary company, so they know what they’re doing.

I’m a little surprised I don’t see anger in their face, though. If Valdemar, or Vulgora, or whichever other V-name, had a contingent of guards at their beck and call, that would mean that some of their staff went rogue. Maybe it just isn’t in their nature to get outwardly upset; I get the sense that they’ve been through some shit. In any case, being around Lucio for as long as they were could turn anyone off of huge displays of emotion, I think.

“Is Nadia still here?” I shift closer to Julian. “We really need to talk to her.”

Balam nods, looking at Yazakh as if for permission to continue. Whatever she sees must grant it. “She’s been briefed on what happened and wants to see you both right away.”

That’s convenient. At least we’re all on the same page. “Where is she?”

Abruptly, Yazakh stands, shifting Balam into their arms like she weighs no more than a doll and setting her back down on the bench they left. “I will escort you,” they say, their voice betraying nothing. “It may no longer be safe to walk the halls of the palace alone.”

Their words linger in the still air. Portia and Balam glance at each other as Yazakh strides to the door. Skylar hesitates before urging Julian to take another step, and I follow.

“I’m right as rain, truly,” Julian complains, trying feebly to duck away from our support. “This is nothing. Actually, it’s strangely similar to—”

“If you’re about to tell the pregnant war elephant story again, I will hit you,” Skylar says bluntly.

“Or the pirates who taught you how to fence,” adds Portia.

“Or the leech farmers.”

“Or the—”

“Alright, alright!” Julian sighs dramatically. “Tough crowd.”

Skylar laughs, then pats him on the shoulder. “If you really think you’re fine, I’ll let Reyja deal with you. She seems to know how to handle you already.”

“Oh, does she ever.” Julian lolls his head onto mine and places a sloppy kiss on my forehead.

“Same horny bastard as always, aren’t you?” Skylar says fondly.

Before Julian can respond, Portia takes Skylar’s hand. “If you’re not gonna go with them, come with us. We have something… interesting to show you.”

Skylar cocks his head, intrigued. I assume, by the looks on their faces, that Portia has filled Balam in on what we learned from Lucio, and now she’s only too eager to see their touching reunion. If Balam is a magician too, the three of them should have no trouble connecting to him. Part of me is certainly curious, especially because Skylar doesn’t seem to have known that the Count was lusting after him the whole time, but I have bigger problems to deal with first.

One of which, pressingly, is that Nadia’s bodyguard has now been told, nearly directly, that Julian and I are romantically involved. If they hadn’t figured it out earlier, now it’s clear.

I don’t want to leave him to walk on his own, but he shrugs my touch away and heaves a steadying breath, following it with the best smile he can muster in an attempt to reassure me. For a moment, I’m frozen, stuck between declaring my affection openly to Nadia by staying at his side and at least pretending I haven’t been lying to her all along. Julian senses my hesitation and reaches for my hand, dropping a kiss to my knuckles. I suppose he’s right: we couldn’t hide this even if we wanted to, not in person.

So be it.

Portia and Balam file into the hall behind us, arms linked, with Skylar bringing up the rear. We linger; it feels like everyone has something to say, like this is some sort of turning point. Nothing will be as it was once we part. Even Yazakh rests their hand on Balam’s shoulder before stepping aside.

Skylar breaks the tension first: “Well, we’ll see you later, then. At dinner, maybe?”

“Oh, yeah! That’s what we can do afterwards!” Portia beams. “We’ll get something nice from the Masquerade practice food. I’m sure the cooks are going crazy right now.”

“I saw surmai when I went past the kitchens this morning,” Balam says. “And cardamom mishti.”

“Yum! Yep, that’s what we’ll do. Um…” Portia trails off, then drops Balam’s arm to surge forward and give Julian another quick hug. “Stay safe, Ilya,” she murmurs into his chest. “Please.”

He responds in Neviv, and she laughs. But it isn’t enough to staunch a fresh burst of tears.

“I’ll see you soon, Pasha,” he says, ruffling her hair as they part.

“Last time you said that, you disappeared for ten years.”

“This time I mean it.”

“You fucking better.”

------

Portia, Skylar, and Balam take the southern branch of the hall. Yazakh waits until they’ve turned the corner at the far end before catching us in their calm golden gaze and starting in the opposite direction. Julian and I follow, fingers linked, nerves growing with every step we take closer to Nadia.

By the time we reach the door of her salon, my heartbeat is lodged firmly in my throat. Yazakh glances at us and I feel the command to stay put as surely as if they had said it aloud. They aren’t even gone long enough for Julian and I to speak to each other; he squeezes my hand, once, a silent reminder that we’re in this together, then lets go. I’ve just drawn a breath when Yazakh returns and beckons us inside, shutting the door behind us.

The room is a picture of elegance with its cream-colored upholstery and dark wood, gold-accented lamps and drawer pulls, purple-and-red gauzy drapery framing the evening through a wide window on the opposite wall. And in the middle of it, in a large suede armchair, sits the Countess herself, sipping jasmine tea. She sets the cup aside — carefully aligning it on its ceramic coaster — and rises to greet us.

“Reyja. Doctor Devorak.”

Julian shifts. “Countess Satrinava,” he says hesitantly.

“There is no need to stand on ceremony, Doctor. Please, call me Nadia.”

“May I insist, then, Nadia, that you call me Julian?”

“Very well. Do come in.” She indicates the sofa across from her chair. “Would you care for some tea?”

I don’t like this. She’s being too nice. If she’s going to condemn him, I wish she would just do it so this tension has somewhere to go.

“Ahm…” Julian stops himself from looking at me, but not before his hand twitches towards mine. “I must say, dear Nadia, that this isn’t the welcome I was expecting.”

She levels her dark gaze at him, smiling faintly. “I believe my courtiers saw to your welcome already, did they not?”

“Ah, right.”

“And rest assured, they will be soundly, fully, and completely punished for such a foul act of cruelty.”

What? What? Julian seems as baffled as I am. In her eyes, he’s still a criminal… isn’t he?

Nadia gestures to the sofa again. Both of us sink onto it. This… this isn’t going according to plan at all.

“I sincerely apologize for their horrific treatment of you, Doctor—” She catches herself. “Julian. Anything at all you need to assist in your recovery, do not hesitate to ask. I will see to it that you leave here as spritely as you arrived.”

“L-leave?” Julian asks weakly. “Erm, forgive me, but aren’t you—? Weren’t you, erm, searching for me?”

“I was. I employed a skilled magician to follow your trail, and here you are.”

I open my mouth, but I’m not sure why. My tongue is too dry to speak.

“Indeed, skilled magician—” Nadia turns to me. I swear she winks. “Would you kindly regale me once more with the evidence you have gathered?”

“Um,” I say eloquently. “Um, s-sure.”

I pause for a moment in a futile attempt to gather my poise. It isn’t until Julian’s fingertips brush mine, in a move he attempts to disguise as repositioning himself on the sofa, that I find my voice.

“So. Three years ago, this man, Julian Devorak, came to work here at the palace. Vesuvia was in the midst of the Red Plague, a horrible disease known for killing thousands. He was searching for a cure, like many others, and worked in a large group of medical providers to learn as much as he could while also caring for the sick. He took copious notes and sought out the opinions of colleagues and friends in other areas of expertise. By the end of the Plague, he was one of, if not the only, doctor still working.”

Nadia is listening raptly. I take a breath and continue.

“He looked after Lucio himself, noting his condition and complaints. Even though multiple sources indicate that he himself had suffered some sort of loss prior to coming here, he worked very hard to keep Lucio comfortable. All the way to that final Masquerade, he pushed himself to do more.”

I hope Julian’s listening too.

“He worked under Quaestor Valdemar, employed by the palace then in the same capacity they are now. They were getting close to a cure, though their methods were…” I trail off, thinking fast. The swelling around Julian’s plagued eye has lessened enough for him to open it now, though he’s been keeping it closed out of habit. I turn to him and brush his bangs back; he catches on and blinks, showing Nadia the vibrant scarlet sclera. “... less than ideal.”

“You were infected?” she asks, surprised.

“I was,” he answers. “At the end, they, erm… Of course I don’t want to speak ill of any of your esteemed court, but—”

I interrupt bluntly. “They held him down and infected him on purpose.”

Nadia’s eyes widen. “How horrible,” she says, almost to herself.

“Yes, erm, it certainly wasn’t—”

I cut him off again. As much as I love hearing him talk, now isn’t really the time to be mincing words. “It nearly killed him. And from what I’ve found out, several things happened around the same time right after that: Valdemar left when they saw evidence that the Plague had taken root, possibly to visit Lucio’s chambers themself. Julian followed, though by then he was hallucinating vividly and, by his own admission, can’t remember what he did or found. But based on what remains of Lucio’s suite, a huge explosion took place, burning everything inside, including Lucio, to ashes. The only power I know of that can affect such a large area without leveling the entire building is magic. Even then, most magicians couldn’t handle something like that alone.”

Nadia nods. “And after that explosion?”

“I think it’s safe to say that that’s what killed Lucio,” I offer. “And I also think it’s safe to say that Julian is not a magician. I spoke to many people, including other magicians, who’ve known him for a long time, and none of them said anything about it.”

“I see.”

I swallow hard. It might hurt my presentation to admit this, but it also feels too obvious to leave out. “So I don’t know who it was. Yet. But I can almost guarantee it wasn’t him.”

Nadia leans back in her armchair and stares at us. As my conclusion fades away, it takes more effort than I expected to stop myself from leaning into Julian’s arms. I’m very tired; from the heaviness of the shadows under his eyes, and the pallor of his skin, I can tell that the reserves of strength he’s been drawing upon since I brought him out of the dungeons are almost depleted too. He needs to rest. We both do. But our next move is out of our hands now.

After what feels like an infinite moment, Nadia sits up again and takes a sip of her tea. “You have certainly been busy, Reyja,” she says. I wonder if I’m imagining the hint of laughter in her voice. “And, indeed, your work has paid off. I see no evidence of a crime in your actions, Julian, nor do I see motive or intent. I no longer believe you killed my ex-husband. Therefore, I have no need or inclination to prosecute you further.”

In the beat of silence that follows her words, my heart surges.

“B-but—” Julian stutters.

“I understand this may come as a shock. While I cannot truly atone for the mistaken accusations leveled at you three years ago, I fully intend on providing restitution in the form of lost wages and the reinstatement of your South End clinic, should you wish to resume seeing patients. The records of the building’s purchase remain, though you may have some cobwebs to clear out.”

“But I—”

“Shall I word it plainly? Very well: Doctor Julian Devorak, I, Countess Nadia Satrinava, hereby award you an official pardon, clearing you of any culpability in the murder of Count Lucio of Vesuvia.”

I could cry. I might still cry. I barely dared to hope we would come out this cleanly. Yes, we still have a mystery to solve: the Hanged Man’s involvement, Lucio’s actual murderer, and now where the courtiers ran off to. But this is a victory. Once again, I have to hold myself back from sagging against him.

Julian, apparently, has no such qualms, and turns to me with joy in his mismatched eyes, barely hesitating before he cups the back of my head and kisses me soundly.

When we part, Nadia is grinning like a cat. “Do you need a moment?” she asks, laughter spilling out from behind her mask of courtesy.

I smile sheepishly as Julian clears his throat. “Did you know all along?”

“I guessed. You were hardly subtle, Reyja, though I expect you were trying to be. Yazakh confirmed my suspicions when they announced your arrival, as, clearly, have you.”

“I’m sorry, I—”

She holds up her hand to stop me. “You need not explain the twists of fate,” she says. “I understand all too well.”

“I’m, um… thank you.”

“You are quite welcome. And, truly, if you wish to retire, please do so. I will have Portia bring dinner to your room, unless you would prefer to be alone.”

“No, that’s fine.”

“And you do not mind being waited upon by your sister, Doctor?”

Oh. She really does know everything, doesn’t she?

Julian blanches. “I swear to you, Countess, on my parents’ graves, Pasha had nothing to do with—”

“Portia is my trusted handmaiden and confidante, and will remain so. Her relation to you is irrelevant in that regard. And, indeed, you have no more reason to worry: you are a free man.”

I think it might take him a little while, and some sleep, and a solid meal, to realize that.

Nadia sees us to the door. Julian’s leaning heavily on me again, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. Nevertheless, he smiles broadly at the Countess as he shakes her hand, dropping a grateful kiss to her knuckles and bowing as low as he can manage. “Thank you, Nadia. More than I can ever articulate, thank you.”

She smiles back before turning to me. “I had hoped yours would prove an unbiased perspective, Reyja,” she laughs. “More fool me for thinking so. It would seem there are few in this city unaffected by the Plague even now, though in the most remarkable of ways. I could not have predicted this.”

“Me neither,” I say.

“Indeed! Sleep well, both of you. We shall speak more in the morning. I’m afraid this is merely the end of a chapter, not the whole story.”

I nod. But I’ll sleep well tonight, regardless.

------

Portia brings us the food she promised alone, skillfully balancing a tray laden with heaped plates in one hand as she closes the door of my room. She sets it down on the desk and throws herself into Julian’s arms, near tears with happiness at the good news. He hugs her tightly in return.

When she pulls back, she’s grinning through her sniffles. “Well, let’s eat before it gets cold.”

We settle down to the sumptuous meal. Luckily for me, it’s not fish, but thick coconut curry sauce slathered over chicken on beds of sticky rice, with sweet samosas and yogurt and a handful of crispy chickpeas each. I’ve never had such delicious food before; if this is a preview of the Masquerade, I’m in for a treat.

It’s gone quickly, though, with how hungry we are, and Portia soon stands to go.

“I guess I’ll leave you two alone for the night,” she says.

“Okay,” I tell her, eyeing Julian appraisingly. I think he ate as much as he could, but he’s flagging fast, sprawled in the evening-colored armchair on the other side of the room. “Go be with Balam. You two are cute together.”

She giggles. “Thanks. I’ll tell her you said that.”

“Please do. Anything happen with Skylar and Lucio?”

“Ooh, don’t make me rush that story. I’ll tell you later.”

Julian snorts. “Runs in the family, you know,” he slurs, near-drunk from exhaustion. “We’re story-tellers. Always have been.”

“Shh, Ilya,” Portia says softly. “You’ve been through the wringer today.”

“I’m fi—”

“I swear to god, if you try to tell us you’re fine, I’ll kick you.”

“Couldn’t reach anything… critical…” he mumbles.

Portia rolls her eyes. “Bet I could. But I won’t. Not tonight, anyway. You’re sure you don’t need anything else, Reyja?”

I pause to think for a moment. “If you could, or if you know someone who could, maybe I should try to send a message to Asra? I don’t even know if he’s back in town yet, but he’s next on the list to talk to.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll ask Yaz, or maybe Balam and I will just go on a little forest adventure looking for him ourselves.”

“Thanks, Portia.”

“Don’t mention it!” She gives me a quick hug too. “Sleep well, okay? And I know I don’t have to say it, but take care of my brother for me. I kinda like him.”

I smile. “I kinda like him, too.”

Portia sticks her tongue out as she leaves, making sure the door shuts behind her. I wait for her footsteps to fade down the hall, then cross to Julian’s side, sinking to my knees beside his chair.

“Hey,” I murmur, sweeping his sweat-damp hair from his forehead. “How are you feeling?”

With effort, he opens his eyes. But the smile that breaks across his face like dawn when he sees me is effortless. “My darling, my Reyja,” he says. “You did it.”

“What did I do?”

“Oh, without you… never would’ve gotten here. Saved me.”

My heart flips over. “You saved you, Julian. It was all there just waiting for someone to see it.”

He shakes his head slowly. “You,” he repeats. “You did the work.”

I don’t want to argue with him. Especially not now. “If you say so.”

“I do. Can’t thank you enough. But I want to try.”

I run my nails over his scalp. “What do you mean?”

He lets his head loll, still smiling. “Probably shouldn’t talk about it now. But in the morning, when I, erm… after I get some sleep. I might not be at my best at the moment.”

A shiver of excitement rolls down my back. I shouldn’t speculate, but… “Okay. What do you want to do right now, then?”

He blinks at me. “Kiss you.”

I can’t complain about that. I stretch up to meet his lips, cool and soft against mine. He falls back after a moment, exhausted again, but reaches for my hand instead. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of that feeling, skin on skin, his long, slender fingers meshed with my thick ones. It’s his branded hand, too. I trace its heavy lines with the fingertips of my other hand, stopping when he sighs.

“You alright?” I ask quietly.

“That mark defined me for so long,” he says, staring at it. “Strange that it no longer has to.”

“Good, though?”

“Fantastic, darling. Utterly fantastic.”

I kiss him again. It’s just as strange, and just as fantastic, for me to know I can keep doing that. In public now, even, any time we want.

There’s still some blood and dirt smeared across his skin. Water magic has never been my forte, but I call a trickle to fill my cupped hand and gently wipe it away. I wish I had a dish to use instead, but everything in here is dirty already. For tonight, though, this will do. I just want him to be comfortable.

When I’m done, I let my hands wander down his neck, over his broad shoulders, along his arms, pausing at the hardest knots and working at them with my thumbs. He sighs again, softer and sweeter, as some of his tension dissipates. I’m entranced by the constellations of freckles and faded acne scars on his back, tracing patterns between them until he hums his contentment. I’ve never gotten to touch someone like this before, so tenderly.

So lovingly.

“Hey, Julian?” My voice is barely above a whisper. I don’t think I can say what I want to say any louder. Not yet, anyway. “I… I, um—”

But he’s already asleep, slumped in the armchair, a beatific smile still curving his lips from the comfort of my touch.

—————

Skylar belongs to @ollifree.

Balam belongs to @atypicalacademic.

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moth-and-raven · 3 years

Text

CHAPTER SEVEN

I wake suddenly, out of a deep, peaceful sleep, to a shudder that rolls me like the sea. The room is pitch-dark, but memories of last night come pouring back into my mind as I regain my senses. I’m in a tiny house deep in the South End, one that I cannot imagine finding again on my own, and my head has been resting against a man’s neck, with his arm around me and my own arm thrown across his chest to hold him tight.

It was his movement that woke me.

“Julian?” I croak. My voice hasn’t woken up yet.

He shifts again, and draws another unsteady breath. He can’t hide the catch in his throat: he’s holding back tears.

And not being very successful.

“Are you alright?”

He tries to laugh, but it’s so strangled, it could have been a sob instead. “I suppose I could try to convince you that I’m right as rain, but I have a feeling you’d see through that.”

“What happened?”

“Sometimes I… Sometimes sleep and I don’t get along very well. I’m so sorry I woke you.”

There’s a bit of a difference between not sleeping on occasion and waking up in tears. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Oh, no. No, no, I couldn’t inflict that on you.”

I call the dimmest light I have to my palm. It casts stark shadows over his eyes, gleaming on the tears still spilling from him. I set the silvery sphere above us and rest a hand on his chest. Almost automatically, like this is something we’ve done for years, he covers it with his own. I can feel his heart hammering just beneath my fingers.

“You wouldn’t be inflicting anything on me,” I say softly. “I want to help if I can.”

I think he’s been hiding his pain in laughter for a very long time, because it doesn’t even seem to be a conscious reaction anymore. “A-and, and what if— what if I’m beyond help?”

I frown. He doesn’t think that, does he? Just last night he told me that he’d come all the way back to Vesuvia in search of answers, putting himself at risk of capture and execution to discover what really happened. Someone that determined to seek the truth isn’t beyond help. “I’m not sure what to say to that. But I still want to be here for you. With you.” I scoot a little closer to him and brush his bangs away from his forehead.

He catches my hand and leaves a light kiss on my palm. After a moment, he sits up. “I had been sleeping quite soundly,” he says. “Mazelinka’s potion, or whatever it is, tends to have that effect. Calms you right down, fights off nerves, that sort of thing.”

“It worked on me too.”

He chuckles. “I noticed. H-have you, erm. Was that your first—?”

My heart sinks. “Was it that bad?”

“Oh, no! No, not at all! Oh, I shouldn’t have asked that, my dear. You don’t owe me any… well, you don’t owe me anything.”

Julian kisses my fingers again and tentatively meets my gaze. I send a little more magic into the light so we can see each other better. He’s stopped crying, though he still looks troubled.

“No, you don’t owe me anything, but I think I owe you,” he says. “Ha, I know I owe you. More than I could ever repay.”

“You really don’t, I promise.” I don’t want him to think I’m helping just so he’ll be in my debt.

“If I wanted to repay you, would you let me?”

“I guess?”

“Good. That’s good. I… I don’t want to hurt you, Reyja, but if I ever do—”

I study him for a moment. Despite what he said, it doesn’t really seem like he slept at all. “What happened?” I try again, keeping my voice gentle and allowing concern to color it.

“You’re not going to let me get away with it, hm?”

“I know what it’s like to torment yourself with thoughts like that.” With a flash of guilt, I remember all the horrible assumptions I made about him. “I just think it helps to talk it out, but I won’t push you if you don’t want to.”

His silence fades into a sigh, then he shakes his head and stands up. “You’re meeting me more than halfway. The least I can do is return the favor. But, ah, I’ll be back in just a second. Nature calls. Can I get you anything?”

He’s so sweet. “No, I’m fine.”

He clasps my hand before sliding the curtain aside and stepping out of the room. As his touch fades, the sensation of his lips against mine floats through my head to replace it. He’d kissed me again when I returned to bed, but otherwise remained the perfect gentleman he told Mazelinka he’d be and we did no more than that. It was so comfortable to simply curl up with him, feel his fingers run through my hair and the rise and fall of his chest. The bed is small, but with how close we were it didn’t matter. I fell asleep more quickly than I expected to in such strange circumstances.

But it didn’t feel strange. It felt right.

He returns quickly, moving like a shadow despite his height. “I truly am sorry for waking you,” he says as he sits down.

“It’s okay.”

“That’s very kind.” He reaches for my hand and smiles ruefully. “Do you have bad dreams, my dear?”

“Sometimes. Is that what woke you up?”

“Yes. They’ve been happening more often now that I’m back in the city. I don’t know what to make of that. But they’re always the same, strange figures and storms. Very odd.”

“What kind of strange figures?”

“Mm, I wish I could say. I can’t recall what they look like now. But clearly—” He gestures at himself. Though he washed his face while he was gone, it's still obvious he’s been crying. “It has some sort of effect on me.”

He pauses and stares at the floor. “Do you believe in second chances? In forgiveness?”

That’s a loaded question. But I’ll give him an honest answer, if only to keep him talking. “Forgiveness, not so much. I think it puts too much of the onus on the forgiver, when they’re the one who’s been wronged, y’know? But second chances… The best way to show you’re truly sorry is by changing your behavior, isn’t it?”

“Hm. I hadn’t separated the two out like that before.”

“I mean, I’m not saying that’s the only—”

“No, no, I understand. Yours is a much nicer way to look at things.”

“Why do you ask?”

He sighs heavily. “I sometimes wonder if I should just… well. I know where the palace is. I know where the guards patrol. I keep putting people — you, Mazelinka, Barth over at the Raven — I keep putting all of you at risk. Piling mistake on mistake. Taking you all down with me. If any of you get caught because of me… I just couldn’t bear that.”

I swallow hard. “I understand.”

“Do you?”

“I’ve put you in a lot of danger, too. I would hate if something happened and it was my fault.”

“Ha, but weren’t you called in to make something happen?”

“Maybe at the beginning.” I squeeze his hand gently. “But that was before I… before this.”

He turns to face me, folding one leg up on the bed. “I never wanted to make things more difficult for you.”

“I know. And I never wanted to make things more difficult for you.”

“Foolish of us, isn’t it? Or just very, very poor timing.”

“Or great timing. If I can keep you off the fucking gallows—”

“And what if I deserve to hang?”

“You don’t!” I surprise myself with the force of the statement. He doesn’t deserve that, no matter what he did. By all accounts Lucio was a power-hungry party boy, draining the city’s coffers to throw lavish balls while letting whole districts fall to ruin. If Julian did kill him, he was only doing everyone a favor. But I still don’t believe that the man sitting next to me is a murderer. “You don’t.”

He laughs harshly and looks down again. I watch him catch sight of the brand on the back of the hand holding mine.

He lets go.

I don’t let him, catching him before he can retreat and meshing our fingers together. In the liquid shadows of my magic, he looks so tired, so lonely. So worn down by the weight of the guilt he carries. I want nothing more than to kiss that pain away.

“I wish I had your confidence,” he says quietly.

“As long as one of us does.”

He shakes his head, but I cup his cheek in my other hand.

And then our eyes meet.

And despite the conflict I see swirling within him, he kisses me.

He lays down again, pulling me over him. For a moment I’m scared of resting on him too much, but that never seems to cross his mind. Or maybe it does, and he doesn’t care. Or maybe it does… and he likes it.

I feel cooler air on my skin and realize that he’s slipped his hands beneath my shirt. He glides his palms over my sides, wraps his arms around my back to hold me against him, squeezes my hips, just hard enough to be exciting.

He’s panting heavily, and so am I, when he pauses to roll over and guide me onto my back, looking into my eyes. Then he swallows a groan and kisses me again, deeper, moving with me almost frantically, like we’re running out of time. I smile to myself: how bizarre it is to have so many of my fears wiped away by one person’s approval. The prospect of him touching me doesn't make me nearly as anxious now as it did last night. Even then, I wasn't unwilling, just exhausted and ashamed of my own inexperience. But the way he holds me close, adoration spilling from him as pleasure sounds muffled in my throat and the solid heat of his growing erection against the inside of my thigh, pushes all my nerves away and buoys me higher, higher—

I’m not sure how much further we would’ve gone if Mazelinka hadn’t woken up. The trapdoor hits the floor and we both jump, torn out of our passionate little bubble. Julian flattens himself against me, holding his breath, careful not to make a sound in case we weren’t as quiet as we should’ve been.

But Mazelinka doesn’t intrude, and the click of the door as she leaves lets us relax again.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, shifting to his knees.

I laugh, still floating. “Don’t be.”

“That wasn’t very gentlemanly of me.”

“I never asked you to be a gentleman.”

He hesitates, but only for a moment. Then he laughs too, and settles back down, resting his head on my stomach. My stomach: my worst feature, and he simple sinks into it, into me, like there's nowhere he would rather be. I twist one of his auburn curls around my finger, if only to distract myself from how strange that acceptance feels, and he nearly purrs, his uncovered eye fluttering shut.

His voice is muffled when he speaks again. “How do you do it, Reyja?”

“Do what?”

He snuggles closer, sighing happily. “Put me at ease. Something, everything about you… It’s been years since I felt so calm. Ha, and we haven’t even released those endorphins yet.”

Another one of those comments, matched by a raised brow and a glint in his eye, that someone else might have smacked him for. Instead, I choose a different curl to play with and smile at him. We could release those endorphins if he wants to, but he actually looks sleepy now. I would rather he be able to drift off again than work him back up. Besides, there will be other opportunities: I'll make sure of that.

“Are you comfortable?”

“The most comfortable I’ve ever been.”

I would laugh more if it didn’t disturb him. “We still have some time to sleep.”

“When do you have to return to the palace?”

I’ve been gone all night, and I don’t really want to think about going back if the alternative is staying with him. But there are still so many questions to answer, at least in ways that Nadia will accept. I have a feeling that walking up to her and saying Julian’s innocent because he told me he doesn’t know if he did it or not won’t work very well. “We can figure that out in the morning.”

He only hums in response, already half-asleep. My eyelids are getting heavy too.

We can figure everything out in the morning.

------

When I wake up again, Mazelinka’s little cottage is lit by the sun. Julian isn’t next to me, but when I move the bedroom curtain aside, I see him in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee with a newspaper spread across the table.

My heart aches at the rightness of it.

“Morning,” I say softly.

He looks over and beams at me. “Good morning, my dear. Can I get you some coffee? I picked up some almond pastries in the market too, if those strike your fancy. Always a good selection in this part of town.”

I take one of the little crescents but wave away the mug he offers. “How long have you been up?”

He glances out the window. “Oh, not long. I just didn’t want to disturb you so I made myself scarce.”

It’s much easier to kiss him when he’s sitting down. He’s wearing a new shirt; I wonder if he went back to his lodgings while he was out. “Did you sleep better?”

“Mm. I already knew you worked magic, but to feel it firsthand?” He grins. “Countess Satrinava chose well.”

The countess… How long can I keep this from her? I’ve skirted her requests for updates several times now, and that was when I still thought I was imagining the connection between me and Julian. But I have learned things, and I should share them as soon as I can.

“I don't think it'll take too long to get to the palace,” I tell him as I sit down in the other chair. "And I'm sure I can catch Nadia between Masquerade things to fill her in."

His face falls. In fact, his whole demeanor shifts, like the reminder that we don’t live this life yet caused him physical pain. “Reyja, I… I don’t want you to have to balance all this. I can’t ask you to put yourself in harm’s way for me.”

“I’m not. And you’re not.”

“If Nadia catches the slightest hint that you’ve— that we’ve—”

“I know.” I reach for his hand. “That’s not going to happen.”

“It’ll come out sooner or later,” he says ruefully. “Secrets always do.”

“Yeah. I know that too. But at least we can do our best to make it later, because sooner wouldn’t be ideal.”

He sighs. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

He said the same thing last night, but there’s weight behind it now. I would call it ominous if it wasn't so sad. Inevitable, maybe, like he’s positive something will happen and he’ll have to get in its way to protect me.

When I meet his eyes again, he’s shoved the despair away. “What’s your plan, sweetheart?”

I tell him what I’ve found out. He listens intently, brows furrowed, then sits back in his chair. “It sounds like my old desk has been useful. I wish I could tell you what else was in there, but I’m afraid that memory is as shaky as all the rest.”

“It’s okay. I just need to go back to the palace long enough to tell Nadia. Then we can get together again, maybe at the Raven, and figure out what to do next.”

“You’ve made more progress in three days than I have in three years.”

“It helps that I’m working to keep you alive.”

He winces, and I regret saying it. I don’t have to remind him what’s at stake.

“Does that help? Truly? It seems like such a burden.”

“You aren’t a burden, Julian.”

Several heartbeats pass, then he lets out a deep breath and squeezes my hand. “I’ll take you to the edge of the district.”

------

The guards at the front of the palace salute me as I pass. I stop only briefly to ask if they know where Nadia is: I don’t want to waste time wandering around looking for her.

“The east wing, Mx. North.”

“Lucio’s suite?”

“That’s right.”

I meet Portia on the stairs. “Perfect timing! The Quaestor got here a few minutes ago.”

“The who?”

“Quaestor Valdemar. That’s the expert Nadia called in. They’re… familiar with the Plague.”

She looks distinctly uncomfortable. I understand why as soon as we step into the Count’s old rooms.

A bone-thin figure, nearly taller than the Countess even stooping, turns around at the sound of our entry. They’re so pale that their skin is almost green, sickly and pallid. An elaborate headdress sweeps up into horns, setting off their piercing red eyes. All of their other features are hidden beneath a white breathing mask, and I think I’m grateful for that.

“Ah. Welcome back, Reyja," Nadia says. “Have you had a productive morning?”

It takes me a moment to even register that she’s talking to me. I’m still captured by the Quaestor’s gaze, like they’re searching me for every secret I’ve ever held.

They know.

They can’t know.

But they know.

I try to shake myself out of it, if only to keep up appearances. “Uh, yeah. I found out some… things.”

“Do share, if you’d care to.”

With effort, I tear myself away from Valdemar and look to Nadia instead. Her long hair is still up for sleeping, beautifully braided and pinned away from her deep bronze skin. She adjusts the filmy robe around her shoulders and smiles at me.

She isn’t my enemy.

I tell her about the wars I’ve studied, how damage like this can only be caused by magic that’s gotten out of control. I tell her about the pages of notes I’ve found on Julian’s desk, trying not to let my mind wander back to the caress of the hands that wrote them. I tell her that nothing I’ve learned about him either there or from… other sources has led me to believe that he was either capable of or considering the murder of Count Lucio.

Before anyone else can speak, Valdemar breaks their eerie silence. “I knew Doctor 069.” Their voice is soft and sleek, like the skin of the vampire eel that bit me. “Such an interesting specimen. A shame it escaped.”

It?

“Indeed, Quaestor.” Nadia nods to them. “Doctor Devorak had many friends here. Perhaps that is a lead worth pursuing, Reyja. If Lucio’s death was magical in nature, as you say, he could have had accomplices.”

I could wander around the whole city with him under the guise of 'looking for accomplices.' “Is it true that he used to live in the South End?” I ask, feigning ignorance.

“Yes, I believe he did. Would you like a guard to accompany you?”

“No!” Fuck, I have to cover that outburst. “Um, no. I think the sort of people who would associate with, uh, with Doctor Jules wouldn’t be interested in speaking to me if it were so obvious I was working for the Palace.”

“A fair point.” The Countess fixes me with her deep, inscrutable gaze. “Should I set a place for you at the dinner table this evening? I note that you’ve been putting such effort into this endeavor that you’ve neglected your meals.”

Shit, shit, shit. I was hoping she somehow hadn’t noticed how much I’d been gone. “Oh, um, Portia’s been helping. With that. Bringing me stuff to eat in the library and, uh, and in my room.”

She smiles, and for a long, painful moment, I wonder if she knows too. But it passes, and she gestures towards the door. “Of course. Please let me know what you discover. The Masquerade draws ever nearer and, while the evidence you’ve gathered so far sheds doubt on Doctor Devorak’s involvement, it has yet to reveal another perpetrator. I trust your continued investigations will bring many secrets to light.”

It takes all of my concentration, and a small bit of magic, to keep from flushing a guilty scarlet. “T-that’s what I’m hoping too,” I manage to say.

Nadia pauses at the door, looking back over her shoulder at me. “Have you anything else to ask of me, Reyja?”

The words rush out of my mouth before I can stop them: “Will he hang?”

Portia stares at me like I’ve lost my mind, and Valdemar leans forward, unblinkingly focused on the answer.

“If you find the doctor, he will be imprisoned until a magistrate of proper stature can try him in court.” Nadia eyes me. “I am not in the habit of executing innocent men.”

She beckons for Portia and Valdemar to accompany her and sweeps away down the corridor. I follow them to the door and watch them go, barely daring to breathe until the dust stirred by their departure settles. That was far too close. Everything depends on me being able to lie convincingly to the Countess until I don’t need to lie anymore. But some tension in me falls away nevertheless. She doesn’t want to kill him. She wants justice, as anyone would. As I do. As he does.

I can’t wait to tell him.

---------------

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#the arcana #the arcana fanfic #reyja north #julian devorak #moth & raven

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moth-and-raven · 3 years

Text

CHAPTER TEN ~NSFW warning~

“I could’ve saved us some time had I just followed my first instinct last night,” Julian jokes. But his voice is tight, and he jumps at every sound as we skirt the base of the cliff on which the palace sits.

“Stop saying that,” Portia says flatly. “This isn’t a woe-begotten self-sacrifice, it’s a necessary risk to get you off the hook.”

“I… right.”

“Besides, you should practice staying quiet. It’ll be so hard for you to keep your mouth shut for more than a few seconds at a time.” She winks at him to take the sting from her words.

“Who, me? I’m a paragon of stealth.”

Their banter fades into my concentration. I’ve been practicing my own skill on the walk, calling to mind everything I can remember about the invisibility spell Asra taught me: how to reshape the air around the object being hidden, how to account for differences in shadow and light, how to keep others away so their touch doesn’t reveal anything. I’ve never tried to maintain its effects for so long before, but if the gravity of this situation doesn’t inspire me, nothing will.

“— won’t you, Reyja?”

I startle. Portia’s looking at me expectantly, though Julian has his eyes on the cobblestones. “Sorry, what?”

“I said you’ll gag him if he won’t stop talking.”

Now I know why he’s blushing so deeply. My own cheeks flush, and Portia laughs.

“Oh, both of you are way too easy to tease.”

I’m not flustered by embarrassment, but rather the idea of how good he would look drooling around a ball gag. Not the kind of gagging she meant, I imagine, although based on some of her other comments, maybe she did. Like her interest in asking me about whatever it is Julian and I have, though, I’m strangely pleased that someone might think I’d enjoy that. My mind flashes back to the way Julian trembled under my touch at the shop, how obviously and unashamedly aroused he was to feel my hands roam his body, and again in the rush of passion as he rutted against me in Mazelinka’s bed. The memories only serve to draw more blood to my face.

But we make it across the rest of the market and through the wide streets of the aristocratic quarter without incident.

“Okay,” Portia says as we stop at the base of the long incline to the palace gates. “Ready, Reyja?”

I nod.

“Ilya?”

He risks a small glance at me, then nods too.

“Alright. They know both of us on sight so we shouldn’t even be stopped, but if we are, for the love of god…”

She doesn’t need to finish the sentence. We all know what will happen if this fails.

I take a deep breath and call up my magic, pulling in scraps of our surroundings and weaving them together to mask Julian from even the most determined viewer. He disappears piece by piece until I’m satisfied that he can’t be seen from any angle. I’m almost positive his breath catches as I circle him, checking my work, and I smile to myself at how well I can picture his blushing face.

But I can’t see it, and that’s the point. I just have to hope I can hold the illusion in place long enough.

A long, curved road leads us up to the gatehouse, our footsteps pounding in time with our hearts. One of the guards waves to Portia as we pass, and another nods at me. I can feel my breath in my throat… but they don’t bother us.

We reach the massive double doors leading into the main hall and wait for the intricate mechanisms inside — Portia told me in passing the first night I got here that the locks were Nadia’s invention — to open. A pair of servants bearing a load of colorful streamers nearly knocks into Julian; I hear his swallowed yelp in the instant they would’ve collided, and then they bustle away. I suppress the urge to reach for his hand.

The hallways buzz with activity — Portia wasn’t kidding about the Masquerade preparations being in full swing. We have to pause more than once for her to give directions or advice, or wait for a large decoration to pass. But eventually, I catch sight of the bejeweled tree barring the way to the library and the breath I’ve been holding since I constructed Julian’s disguise loosens in my chest.

Portia has the keys in her hand as we stop, and quickly opens the myriad locks. “Go,” she whispers after poking her head in to ensure we’ll be alone. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

The heavy thunk of the door sees her off.

I felt Julian’s presence behind me when I stepped into the quiet, so I drop his glamour all at once. Part of me wasn’t expecting to make it; there were a lot of variables over which we had little to no control. I don’t want to have to try it again.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. It’s the first thing he’s said directly to me since we left the Raven.

“You’re welcome.”

He opens his mouth as if to say something else, but turns away down the first row of books instead, following an old habit. I thought I would have to take him to the alcove in which he used to work, but it seems he’ll get there on his own. I hope that’s a good sign: if just being in this room can jog his memory, this massive risk might’ve been worth it.

He rushes to his desk the moment he catches sight of it, like he’s greeting a long-lost friend. He laughs joyously before looking back over his shoulder to smile at me.

And just as quickly as it appeared, that smile falls away.

Portia interrupted before we could really talk about what happened last night. I’m grateful she was there to help, but a weight still hangs between us; his aura reveals just how nervous he is to be alone with me again. He breaks our fleeting eye contact to stare at the mess of ink and paper scattered over the desktop, evidence of the problem-solving both of us have done.

A moment passes. Then another, and another. Maybe I’m still holding my breath after all, because nothing moves but the dust motes in the light beaming from the windows.

“I’m sorry, Reyja.”

His voice is soft, but I hear it clearly. He’s apologized for so many things in the short time we’ve known each other. This one feels different.

He turns around fully and starts back in my direction, speaking as he walks. “I’m so sorry. For everything. I don’t know what I was thinking, rejecting you like that. It was the last thing I wanted to do, and I did it anyway.” He pauses in front of me and sighs. “But I meant what I said at Mazelinka’s. To have something with you… that’s what I truly want.”

The world feels balanced on the point of a needle, like if I move or speak, it will shatter and take both of us with it.

“I hope I’ve made it clear that I find you, ah, very, very attractive. Because I do. Everything about you.” His gaze traces my features until he breaks off with a shy smile. “And by some miracle, I think you see something attractive in me too.”

Just something? No. Even with his flaws, he’s perfect.

"I want to spend all the time I have left with you, however long or short that may be. I want…” His voice drops to a whisper. “Oh, god, I want you. ”

A shudder tingles through my whole body. To hear him say it so directly, in a voice so laden with emotion, sets me afire. I can’t even find it in me to overthink the words.

“But what do you want? If I ruined this, I’ll accept that.” Julian grimaces. “If you can’t forgive me, or, rather, give me a second chance… well, that would be wise, I think. I know I have no right to ask it of you. And I still can’t promise you'll be safe, but I would give my life if it meant yours wouldn’t be in danger. I’m prepared to take that responsibility whether you, erm, whether you want me back or not.”

If only he knew I’d thought the same thing, long before our night under the starstrand. How many times did I tell myself I would do whatever it took to protect him, regardless of his feelings for me? And how determined was I to think the worst of him, just like he assumed that I wouldn’t care enough to stay, only to have it all proven wrong? The very fact that he’s asking if I want him back, because I already had him once, is more than I ever thought I’d get, and more than I ever thought I deserved.

No force can keep me from the man who told me otherwise.

I take the step he left for me and ball my fists in his shirt, pulling him down into a fierce, fiery kiss. My tongue finds his as he crumbles against me, breaking under the relief that swirls through us both. This is meant to be. We are meant to be. I’m enough of a pessimist to acknowledge that it may not last forever, but right now, right here, this moment was meant to happen. Julian whimpers and buries his fingers in my hair, pulling me closer. In return, I bring one hand to his jaw and adore the scratch of the stubble I find there.

It could be seconds or hours later, but eventually he breaks away. Not far, just enough to rest his forehead on mine, breathing heavily.

“Julian…”

His face lights up at the sound of my voice. “Oh, dearest Reyja.” He leans in to kiss me again. “I didn’t realize I could want so much, and find it all in one person. In you.”

“You say that like I didn’t find the same in you.”

He laughs. What a beautiful sound. “You flatter me, my darling. Oh, and I'm so grateful for it.”

My darling. Is that who I am now, his darling? His dearest? There’s nowhere I would rather be, no one I would rather be, than that. I hug him tightly, if only to prove to myself that this time, I’m not dreaming.

“I have something for you,” he says, close enough that I can feel his breath stir strands of my hair. “It’s already yours, but…”

I look up at him, cocking my head. “What is it?”

Reluctantly, he breaks our embrace and reaches into the pocket of his coat. “You left it at Mazelinka’s. I shouldn’t have taken it, but I… I saw it sitting there and—” He peeks at me from under his eyelashes. “I wanted to remember that night, in case it was the only one we had. I wanted to remember how beautiful you were, how lucky I was to have you, if only for a moment.”

The starstrand flower has darkened, shriveled into itself in curls of midnight blue. It’s delicate, its light faded, its stem hardening in the absence of its tree. But he holds it gently, and offers it like he’s giving me his very heart. His touch is so soft, so careful as he tucks it behind my ear again. I catch his hand against my cheek and lean into him, struck beyond words by the depth of the gesture. He lifts my face to his for another kiss; his lips are even softer.

“I wish I had something more fitting,” he murmurs.

"I think it’s perfect. You don’t have to show off for me."

“What do you mean?”

I kiss him once more. His flushed skin is like stone in sunlight, or maybe the sun itself: if I could, I would happily put him at the center of my world. “I mean that you’re enough on your own.”

The tips of his gloved fingers skate down my cheek to touch my lips. “But you deserve more.”

We make a strange mirror, he and I, both convinced that neither would like what we saw in the other and so trapped in that thought that we almost ruined everything. I won’t leave anything up for interpretation, or misinterpretation, this time.

“I don't want more. I want you,” I tell him. “As you are, right now. Innocent or guilty. I want to help you. I want to stand with you against whatever happens.”

“Whatever happens,” he echoes. “Oh, my darling, I was kidding myself in the most merciless way when I thought I would be able to leave you. It seems so strange, to be so certain that I want to wake up beside you again, feel your chest rise and fall against mine. I haven’t slept as soundly as I did with you for years. I can’t remember the last time I felt so…” He trails off, reaching for my hands to fold our fingers together. “So happy. You make me happy, Reyja. When I walked away, I figured I would never be happy again. But if that was the price I had to pay to keep you out of harm’s way…”

I can’t let him think that this is what I expect, that the actual price for being with me is constant anxiety over my safety. I love how willing he is to protect me, but I’m not helpless. “You don’t have to do that to yourself. I need you to know that I’ll be alright.”

I don’t think I’ve ever said that before and truly meant it.

“But—”

I shake my head. “I’m not going to let you tear yourself apart to keep me together, okay? Like I said, and will say every time you need me to, I just want you. We’ll look out for each other if it comes to that, but I don’t want us to start out so unbalanced.”

Julian squeezes my hand and sighs, pulling me closer to rest his cheek on the top of my head. “That’s a different sort of protection, isn’t it?” he asks quietly. “Protecting me from myself.”

“M’hm. Does that sound reasonable?”

He chuckles. “More than reasonable. It sounds… it sounds… Ha, do you know how rarely I’m at a loss for words? You do that to me, sweetheart. I know seven languages and not a speck of any one of them is coming to mind right now.”

“That’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.”

“I don’t, do I?”

Silence sparkles in the midafternoon sunlight. Julian wraps his arms around me and sways, in and out of shadow, dancing with me like we have nothing better to do. After a moment, he gestures towards the same armchair I curled up in several nights ago, crying myself to sleep with the idea that he would never want me. I take a savage sort of pleasure in proving my own memory wrong as he pulls me onto his lap and kisses up the side of my neck before burying his nose in my hair.

“That scent,” he murmurs. “Oh, it’s neither the time nor the place for confessions like this, but my god. I prided myself on my strength of will at Mazelinka’s and yet all I could think about as soon as I left you there on the pier was doing exactly this, holding you close and feeling your luscious body under my hands, and how much I— ah, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t say anything, erm, anything more. Not now, anyway.”

He shifts beneath me, his blush resurfacing with a vengeance. Not now.

I’ve never thought of myself as impulsive. In fact, I’m quite the opposite, so frozen with indecision that I rarely do anything at all, let alone anything rash. But if I’ve learned nothing else from Julian, I’ve come to see some value in action without thought. We wouldn’t be where we are without it. Of course, there’s much more value in thinking things through before dashing off into the night, but sometimes…

“We have time.” I slide off his lap and turn to face him, crawling back up so I’m straddling his thighs instead. He swallows hard, cheeks moving beyond pink into scarlet, and reaches out to steady me with his hands on my broad hips. I smile as I brace myself on the plush upholstery behind his head and trace the tendons in his neck, pausing to toy with the snaps at the collar of his uniform. “What were you going to say?”

“A-ahm. I was just, erm…”

“Go ahead, Julian.” I lean close, knowing he’ll feel my lips against his ear. My smile widens when he trembles and tightens his grip on me.

“Oh, you have no idea the things I want to do to you,” he groans. “And the things I want you to do to me! Darling, you’ll think me such a degenerate if I tell you what crosses my mind when I picture us.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Try me.”

He stares at me, his visible eye wide. Then, as if in slow motion, he cups the back of my head and draws me into a deep, sensuous kiss, parting my lips with his tongue, his breath crashing against mine the faster his lungs heave. He lets me pop the snaps of his jacket and run my fingers down his chest, leaving faint red lines in the wake of my nails; his skin takes so kindly to scratch-marks. In return, he slides one hand under my shirt, groaning with pleasure at the smoothness of my skin.

And then he stops.

“I-I shouldn’t—” he stutters, reluctant to busy his mouth with something other than kissing me. “You’ve never—”

That’s thoughtful of him, but being a virgin does not make me virginal. “Should I go first?”

He gasps, and for a heart-wrenching second I wonder if I went too far. But then he pulls me closer and I feel the shift of his growing erection beneath his trousers. I’ll take that as a yes.

“I keep thinking about you on your knees, shirtless, maybe more…” I say, tucking one of his errant curls behind his ear. “Looking at me like you’d do whatever I told you to.”

“Oh, I would!”

I shiver. Of course this isn’t entirely new territory, but I had wanted to know how familiar he was with things like this. More than I had any right to expect, it seems. Lucky me.

“And I’ve bound your hands behind your back—”

He moans.

“—and you’re gleaming with sweat, like we just finished having some fun.”

He kisses me again. I wonder if he would let me undo his pants.

“I love your smile. I bet it’s even cuter when I tell you how good you've been.”

“Reyja, I—!”

“Would you like that?”

“S-so— so much!”

Part of me floats out of my mind, watching from above as I, Reyja North, sit on a handsome man’s lap and tease him with sexual fantasies I’ve never given voice to before. The things I'm saying would’ve flustered me to even think about less than a week ago, but he’s so earnest, so eager… is this the kind of person I’ve been all along? Did it only take someone like him to reveal it? “Then I’ll tell you all the time.”

I’d love to touch him, stroke him, take his cock into my mouth and look up into his eyes as I make him weak-kneed with pleasure. That particular organ has always fascinated me; in the course of exploring my gender, I decided to wear a dildo under my clothes once. It felt nice, though not nice enough that I do it every day. But I love the way the real ones change so much, going from soft to hard and spilling so dramatically. I can’t deny that a piece of me will simply be happy to have a penis to play with regularly. I hope Julian doesn’t mind.

At the moment, I think he’s rather excited about it. He’s panting, open-mouthed, and thrusting against me almost like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Feeling bold, I take hold of a handful of his hair and tip his head back. He hisses between his teeth, a flash of ecstasy lighting up his face before his eye rolls and he shivers in delight.

“Will you be good for me, Julian?”

He meets my gaze for only a moment, his mouth fallen open. Between us, his cock jumps, and when I look down, thick milk-white cum is spilling from just below his belt through the fabric of his pants.

“No, no, no!" he groans, like he thinks he can stop it. “Oh no! Oh, I’m so sorry! I— You— I didn’t mean to—”

I didn’t know he was so near the edge. But even as I swallow my own apology, I realize that I’ve never seen anything so arousing. I made him do that, just by kissing him and giving him something to rub against. Just by saying a few words, I made him lose control of something many men pride themselves on maintaining. I would much, much rather he do this than strut around bragging about his stamina. He’s beautiful when he cums.

He’s still stammering as I silence him with my lips on his, but resists for only a moment before returning my embrace. What a rush of emotions he must be feeling right now. Whatever else, though, I’m not going to let him be embarrassed about this. At least not because of my reaction.

I pull away so both of us can see what happened. He looks at me trepidatiously, his blush turned a humiliated crimson though desire still sparks in the gray storm of his iris.

I answer his unasked question with a smile. “That was so hot.”

He wasn’t expecting that. “It… it was?”

I brush his bangs back and kiss him again.

He laughs, relieved but wild. “Oh, Reyja, I’m so happy you said that! I’ve, ah, I’ve gotten into trouble before, like this. Ahem. Truly, you’re one in a—”

With so many other things to think about, and activities to occupy me, I’ve forgotten where we are and what we’re supposed to be doing until now. For all I care, we’re the only two people left in Vesuvia. But everything comes crashing back at once when I hear a thump on the library door and, to my horror, the faint murmur of voices outside.

Fuck. Fuck.

Julian hears them a moment after I do and turns gray. I slide off of his lap and he pales even more as the full scope of the damage makes itself known: the creamy stain is very noticeable, smeared down the inside of one thigh. The look on his face says more than he ever could have in the handful of seconds we have to spare.

Because one of the voices in the hall belonged to Portia, but the other was Nadia. And she was asking to be let in.

—————

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moth-and-raven · 3 years

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CHAPTER TWELVE

I can’t sleep. And from my window, I see that Julian and Portia can’t either; the lights in the little cottage stay on long into the night. I hope they’re catching up, after a decade apart.

A piece of me wants to rejoin them. I felt so safe cocooned in the smells of Portia’s cooking and the laughter we shared. It drained away step by step as I returned to the palace. I trust both of them, but I miss them, too, even though they’re so close. It’s weird to be able to put faces to the holes in my heart.

I must’ve fallen asleep eventually, though, because I startle at the sound of a songbird greeting the dawn. We didn’t agree on an exact time to meet up again, but the earlier the better. With any luck, no one will be wasting the few days left before the Masquerade hanging around Lucio’s old rooms.

At least, no one but us.

The summer morning is cool and clear, buoying me down the garden path to the cottage. Julian emerges as soon as he sees me; Portia has to physically hold him back from running out to meet me. I laugh, seeing her strong, freckled arms wrapped around him from behind. She grimaces and releases him as I shut the door.

“Finally,” she grunts, though it can’t be later than six-thirty. “Nothing personal, but I’m already tired of hearing your name today.”

Julian pulls me into an embrace and spins around the small room, kissing my cheeks and forehead. “Good morning, my darling,” he murmurs. “What a sight you are.”

“Will you calm down, lover boy?” Portia rolls her eyes and swats at him, but I hear the smile in her voice.

He stops, raking his gaze over my face. “No,” he says softly. “I can't.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to.” She shakes her head and pulls a bundle of clothing from behind a chair. “‘Ian’ isn’t very excitable.”

“Ian?”

“Would you rather be Jules again?”

Julian looks closely at the clothes in Portia’s arms: a palace servant’s uniform, similar to her own, all cream and gold. “I need a different name?”

“Look, would you just let me have my fun?” she pouts, quickly turning it into a grin. “You’re Ian, my humble assistant for the day. That means you have to listen to me or I’ll fire you.”

“You wouldn’t fire me, would you?”

Portia eyes him up and down, as if thinking hard. “Yes I would,” she says. “You’re very fire-able.”

All three of us laugh. I can’t help but snuggle into Julian’s chest to feel the rumble of it. He nuzzles my hair, sighing contentedly as the moment passes. “I suppose I can let ‘Ian’ have the spotlight,” he tells Portia, taking the clothes from her. "At least for today."

“Good. I want to get up there soon. Did you have breakfast, Reyja?”

I don’t want to take her food, but I shake my head as she glances out the window at the sun.

“There’re some eggs on the counter, and an orange too, I think. I have some chores to do before we go, but they shouldn’t take long,” she says, moving to the door. “Ten minutes tops. Be ready by then?”

Julian nods.

Portia narrows her eyes at him, then at me. “Wait for me if you guys get done first, okay? You’ll be the least conspicuous if I’m around.”

Silence settles in the room after she leaves. I sit down on Portia’s perfumed couch; Julian starts to join me, then thinks better of it and ducks into the bathroom to change instead.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks. I can still hear him clearly.

“Not really. Too excited.”

“Nor did I."

I frown. "That's two nights in a row, isn't it? That you haven't slept?"

"Ahm… yes."

"Will you be alright?"

"This is nothing, truly. And I did sleep a bit. It'll tide me over, I promise."

I'm surprised by how fiercely I want to take care of him. I've never felt like that before. "If we get a minute, we should take a nap."

"Oh, darling, that sounds absolutely divine."

I lean on the back of the couch, resting my chin on my crossed wrists, watching the shadows he casts on the wall as he changes into his new outfit. Portia did the best she could finding clothes that would fit, but it looks like both shirt and trousers will hang loosely on him.

When he’s dressed, he reappears at the open door, doing up the last of his gilded buttons. “I was thinking about us.” He pauses, looking at me tenderly. “And I’m curious: would you have accepted my, erm, advances, from the beginning?”

“Like breaking-into-the-shop beginning?”

“Ha, had I not been so focused on tracking Asra down, I might’ve asked to stay.”

“Really?”

“I considered it.” He laughs. “You were in your element, my dear, with your spells and your blade. And in that robe too… I kept trying to think of reasons to come back, all the next day. If you hadn’t shown up at the Raven, I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

“Is that why you were so eager to talk that night?”

“What, when I asked you to dinner?”

That is what he did, isn’t it? A date I didn’t even realize we were on. “Yeah.”

“Circumstances being as they were, I did find myself wondering about that pendant. That you were carrying it only made me more interested.”

I touch the smooth silver moon hanging around my neck. “You still can't remember what it means?”

“No. I don’t mind, though. If all it did was bring us together, it means the world to me.”

My heart surges, swelling with affection. He grins and crosses the room, cupping my cheek as he kneels to press his lips to mine.

“I never did get to say what I pictured doing with you, did I?” he asks, more breath than sound.

He didn’t, though I can hardly regret what happened instead. I don’t have to encourage him to go on.

“Hm.” He sits down beside me. “Aside from the obvious, as I so vividly demonstrated, they're the most mundane things. Like— like taking you shopping, or doing laundry together. Is that… do you find that odd?”

I shake my head and nestle against him. It isn’t odd; it’s one of the most soothing scenes I’ve ever imagined.

“And, and settling down with you at the end of a long day,” he murmurs. “Just like this, or maybe in front of a fireplace. Anywhere, really, so long as you’re in my arms.”

I let my eyes flutter shut as I inhale the scent of his skin, his hair. “We could read together,” I suggest. “Or play cards.”

“We could, we could. Would you let me take you out to dinner again, too? Show you off?”

“If you wanted.”

“Oh, I want the whole city, the whole world, to see us and know we’re together. And we could even take Nurlan up on her offer of seeing a show, couldn’t we? I’m no stranger to the stage, you know. I used to be quite the actor. That’s where I met her, in fact.”

A slightly less peaceful thought burrows between his words, grinning slyly at me. “That could be fun,” I say. “Did you have your own dressing room and everything?”

His heavy-lidded gaze turns sultry as he follows where I lead. “All to myself.”

“Do they let audience members backstage if they really, really want to visit?”

“My darling, I wouldn’t let them keep you from me for all the gold in the Palace’s coffers.”

I hum contentedly, admiring the image in my head: I’m already in his dressing room when he comes through the door, flushed and exhilarated from a successful opening night. I stand up to greet him and draw him in for a kiss that turns rapidly from celebratory to sensual. I’m sure he can taste my intentions.

His chest moves with the sigh he heaves. “So much I want to experience with you,” he says wistfully.

“We can.”

“Do you think so?”

I peer up at him, throwing one leg over his thighs as I tuck myself into his side. “Yes.”

“Well, who am I to nay-say such confidence, hm?”

I don’t think anyone has ever described me as confident, but he’s right. I feel it. I’m tired, but excited, and hopeful, and determined to see what happens next. Maybe this will be beyond my capabilities, but I won’t face it alone.

“Oh, I could spend a lifetime kissing you,” Julian murmurs. “I want to spend a lifetime kissing you.”

“It takes two, doesn’t it? We’d be kissing each other.”

“So we would.” He grins. “Shall we start right away?”

He’s dressed and ready to go. Portia will still be a few minutes. We have time, but I won’t waste any of it by saying so.

We’re in a somewhat compromising position when she returns: sprawled along the couch, Julian laying against me with my legs wrapped around his hips, so involved in each other that I don’t even hear the door. I should’ve known better — it’s already apparent that his touch, his very presence, blurs my caution into action every time. Even the looming threats of the Plague and the Masquerade pale in the warmth he spreads.

Both of us scramble to sit up in response to Portia’s beleaguered sigh, but she just shakes her head. “Come on,” she says. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner the two of you can have some privacy. Wait, where’s your wig?”

“Oh, erm.” Julian gestures towards the bathroom.

Portia rolls her eyes. “Put it on. Everyone knows to look out for a redhead. They won’t be expecting dark hair instead.”

Julian offers his hand to help me up, dropping a final kiss to my knuckles before breaking away to collect the wig Portia found. It washes him out a little, but he doesn’t look half-bad with straight black hair falling to his chin, covering his right eye. He smiles bashfully and does his best to tuck his new bangs behind his ear, but they won’t stay. It’s for the best: he’d be even more conspicuous wearing his patch, and this way no one can see, and be tipped off by, his plagued eye.

We follow Portia through the sunlit gardens to the palace, swinging our linked arms. “We’re probably gonna have to go the back way,” she explains, tossing the words over her shoulder as she fishes for her ring of keys to unlock the same greenhouse we left through last night. “Carmeline was telling me that they’re blocking off the whole suite for the party, so no one wanders up there accidentally.”

“What’s the back way?” I ask.

“This, the servants’ passages. They run all over the building. Sorry about your neck, Ian,” she says to Julian, smiling cheekily. “You’ll have to crouch down.”

He sighs, resigned to his fate.

“Reyja can give you a massage later, right?”

I certainly could, and squeeze his hand to tell him so.

“What a reward,” he says dreamily. He’s about to lean in to kiss me again when Portia smacks his arm.

“No more of that. Not while we’re here.”

“Ah, of course.”

“And stay close. It’s easy to get lost, the way we’re going.”

I lose my bearings after the first three turns. How anyone can navigate these twisting halls with no indication of where they are in the broader scheme of the palace is beyond me, but every servant we pass seems to know exactly where they’re going. It’s for the best that they’re so focused, and so busy: no one gives Julian a second glance. Maybe his disguise was unnecessary, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.

We follow Portia single-file, past living quarters and storage rooms and kitchens and closets. At one point we pass an armory, full to the brim with weapons long neglected to rust. A tiny staircase gives us pause; it’s barely wide enough for my hips, and poor Julian is nearly doubled over to avoid the low ceiling. But we manage to squeeze up the tight spiral and crowd together on the landing crowning it while Portia feels for the door handle in the dark. I call a small light to my palm to help her, but our bodies cast shadows too dark to see through.

She finds it eventually, and we stagger out of the wall into ash piled high like snowdrifts. We’re on the other side of the suite now, opposite where Portia and I explored before. My heart catches in my throat when I realize that we’ve emerged in Lucio’s bedroom itself, untouched for the last three years, stirring cinders into the air with our breath and footsteps.

It’s so quiet. Eerily quiet, like sound is being eaten before it can escape. I close my eyes against the force of the silence.

And Lucio’s spark flares into view, white-silver and red, the vaguest shape of a man, blurred at the edges. His form disappears when I open my eyes again, but his presence remains, angrier than he was a few days ago. I wonder if he knows what time of year it is. The Masquerade was held in celebration of his birthday, after all, and from what I know of him, he’s probably pretty upset that people are ignoring its origins and partying without him.

At least that gives me an emotion to latch onto.

I rest one hand on Portia’s soft shoulder, holding her back before she can venture further in.

“What?” she asks. I can hear the excitement and concern mingled in her voice.

“He’s here,” I say simply.

Julian’s pressed so close to me I feel him tremble when I close my eyes again. I do my best to ignore him, weaving Asra’s old spells into careful nets to keep Lucio from vanishing when we call to him properly. He knows we’re here too, I think, but he can’t see us. I enclose the space around us, sealing up the room. Win or lose, here we go.

“Ready?” I ask quietly.

“We don’t have much of a choice, do we?” Julian whispers back, barely keeping his nerves at bay. Despite his eagerness last night, I can tell that this isn’t his favorite thing.

“Nope,” Portia says. “So let’s do it.”

“Okay.”

I call magical bindings to my fingertips, to hold him here when he manifests. I’d rather not use them if I can help it, because I know how much it will drain me, but needs must. Air mixed with fine particles of soot fills my lungs and I hold back a cough to call out to him: “Count Lucio?”

His aura flares red, searching through his former suite for the intrusion. But when he finds us, he recoils. Waves of fear and confusion replace his hostility even as he tries to stand his ground.

“Who’s there?” he hisses, but only I can hear him. His voice is reedy, a faint echo of what a living throat can make.

I ignore the question. He’ll find out soon enough. “We’ve come to visit you.”

“Uh-huh, sure. A palace full of toadies and not a single person comes up here until now.”

Not a single—? He’s been alone all this time? Three years, a floating consciousness with nothing else to do? How desperately lonely he must be.

“What do you want?” he adds peevishly. “I’m not really entertaining right now, y’get me?”

His presence is getting stronger, the more he funnels into communicating with us. He’s still unfocused, but I can almost see him when he moves. Behind me, Julian and Portia are frozen, holding each other’s hands, letting me work.

“That’s okay,” I tell him. “We won’t take long.”

“Hmph. Where else am I gonna go?” he pouts. “They’re shutting me up in here, away from the party.”

I wonder if he’ll manifest more quickly with flattery… “Locking you out of your own party?”

“Thank you! Finally, someone who recognizes how fucking stupid that is!” His shape roils like a thundercloud, smoke filling a glass vase until he almost looks solid. “The Masquerade is my baby! I may be dead, but I’m not gone!”

“That’s right,” I say, taking a hesitant step closer. “Um, speaking of… we had some questions for you.”

“Why d’you keep saying ‘we?’ There’s only one of you.”

Oh. “I… brought some friends. One of them might look familiar. He’s the one who wants to ask you about, uh…”

Lucio cuts me off. “Lemme see! Anyone who remembers me has shit to answer for, like—”

He stops dead the moment I take Julian’s hand. Both of them gasp, seeing each other for the first time. Julian’s skin is ice-cold, colder than usual, and his palm is damp with sweat, but he swallows bravely and raises his voice.

“Hello, Lucio.”

“Jules? ” Lucio says, the word dripping with incredulity.

“Now, you know I never liked that nickname—”

“Fuck my ass, it is you!”

“Erm.”

Lucio flows like quicksilver over the ash-stained carpet to shove his ghostly face into Julian’s. His eyes are the same piercing, plagued red, but his pupils are so pale as to be invisible.

“How fucking dare you?” Lucio shrieks. He tries to push Julian’s shoulder, but passes right through him. It only makes him angrier. “You fucking hack! I dug you outta the fucking trash to bring you here and wha’d’it get me, huh?! I trusted you, I gave you everything you fucking asked for! Why couldn’t you do what you said you would, asshole? This is all your fault! ”

I pull Julian back; he stumbles against me, flinching away from Lucio’s wrath. “I- I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“No! You fucking didn’t! You didn’t do shit and now fucking look at me!”

“Lucio, I—”

“Never should've trusted you. I thought we had somethin’, y’know? Since you were there for the arm thing and all. I should've called Naz-whatever instead.”

Julian swallows hard. “Nazali — erm, Doctor Satrinava — couldn’t have risked—”

“Don’t you dare fucking lecture me, Jules!”

Julian winces as Lucio launches into another tirade. I squeeze his hand; I could let go of him and he wouldn’t have to hear any of it, since it’s only through me they can communicate. But he squeezes back and draws a steadying breath.

“Look, Lucio, as nice as it is to hear your voice again—”

“And now you’re fucking mocking me? How dare—”

“— I really only have the one question. Then I’ll get out of your hair.”

Lucio crosses his arms, looking for all the world a petulant child just told he had five minutes until bedtime. “I’m gonna make the same promise you made me,” he says. “I’ll do ‘whatever I can.’ And apparently, that means I don’t have to do jack shit.”

Julian sighs. “Did I kill you?”

“You sure as fuck didn’t fucking cure me, did’ya?”

“No, I mean… at the end?”

“Pfft. You might as well have.”

The crunch of ash fills the silence.

“... But I didn't?”

Lucio shrugs.

“I didn’t kill you?!”

“I don’t know, okay?” Lucio turns his back on us and floats across the room to the soot-stained curtains, pawing uselessly at them as he tries to open the window. He grunts in annoyance and stares at the wall instead.

Julian presses his point. “You don’t know who killed you?”

“Look, I was kinda busy at the time. Dying and shit.”

“Do you remember anything?”

He scowls. “I remember someone coming in… someone tall, and thin. And pale. But… but I don’t think it was you. They weren’t… they weren’t human …”

I could shout for joy. I won’t, but I could. Julian is innocent! I knew he had to be! If there was someone else in the room before him, Lucio might have been dead before he even got there. That’s a mystery of its own, but I can’t help the relief flooding through my veins. Whoever it was, it wasn’t him. And right now, that’s as much of a victory as I need.

But Julian’s still worried, and still deadly focused on Lucio’s nebulous form.

“Hey, uh. I got a question for you, too,” Lucio says, shaking himself out of his patchy memories. “You owe me one, anyway.”

Julian nods for him to continue.

“You still in contact with that Skylar guy?”

Julian startles. “Skylar? I haven’t seen him in years. How do you know him?”

“Duh, he was here. Cared about me more than you ever did, too.”

“I… don’t remember that.”

Lucio smirks. “I sure as fuck do. Damn, if I hadn’t been, like, dying… he could rearrange my guts any day.”

I hadn’t realized Portia could hear him too, but she stifles a snicker behind her hand. The other, I see, is still holding Julian’s. Julian himself blushes, and clears his throat.

“Erm, I’ll be sure to let him know.”

“ASAP. He’s here, y’know.”

“What? How do you know that, if you can’t—?”

Lucio preens. “My good doggies were playing with Salsa a few days ago. I heard them.”

“You heard…” Julian trails off, then turns to Portia. I can almost hear his mind racing. “Pasha, is a tall man with dark skin and green eyes staying in the palace?”

Lucio interrupts before she can answer. “Do you think I’d be asking if he was actually here here? I just know he’s somewhere in the city.”

And Julian laughs, his shoulders loosening. Whoever this Skylar is, his presence must mean a lot to him. “I bet I know exactly where.”

—————

Skylar belongs to @ollifree.

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moth-and-raven · 3 years

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

We fly back through the narrow passageways chased by Lucio’s howls of protest, Julian explaining in fits and bursts what his plan is. Skylar is an old friend, he says, that he met when he still went by Ilya. If anyone would know something about what had happened three years ago, it would be him. I ask why he hadn’t considered contacting him before, and, with a guilty shrug, Julian admits that reaching out to old friends was never something he’d been good at. He and Skylar would often go years without interacting, only to run into each other again in the most unlikely of places.

With any luck, that can happen again.

Portia opens a panel in the wall for us to escape through. We emerge in a familiar corridor, the same one that led us to the greenhouse last night, and follow it outside. There’s a great gathering of servants on the other side of the lawn, overseeing the setup of a number of tents. Portia’s gaze lingers, guilt knotting her brow, before she turns away and ushers us down the narrow path back to her cottage.

Pepi barely stirs from her warm sunbeam, twitching her ears at our entry. Portia shushes her sleepy mew and steps into the sitting room, gesturing for us to make ourselves at home. “So where to now?” she asks.

Julian sinks onto the sofa and sighs, patting the space next to him in invitation. When I join him, he leans his head against mine. “I would bet dollars to donuts that, if he’s truly here, we’ll find Skylar at the Red Market,” he says. “For the plants, you know. Marvelous specimens here.”

Portia sits down on an ottoman across from us. “You’ll have to change again, then,” she says heavily. “If you show up dressed as a servant from the palace, they probably won’t even let you in.”

“Do they think so little of Nadia’s policies?”

She sneers. “It isn’t Nadia they hate, it’s the rest of the court. Vulgora put up such a huge tantrum when the Market moved into the Coliseum, I swear they were gonna run down there and set fire to the stalls themself.”

“The Coliseum?”

“Oh, Ilya. You’ve been gone a long time, y’know? Lots of stuff has changed.”

“Surely not the Red Market. That’s been a standby of Vesuvian tourism as long as the Coliseum itself has.”

“They kicked the whole thing out of the canals of the Flooded District a couple years ago to ‘clean up the area.’ Like they’ve ever cared about the Flooded District…”

“Well, I know seedy underbellies.” Julian snuggles closer, brushing his thumb across the back of my shoulder absently. “Those are the same no matter where you go.”

Portia smiles at him. “I guess. I can’t come with you, though. I really need to help with Masquerade prep.”

Julian nudges me and chuckles. “I think we’ll be alright, don’t you, darling?”

I think we’re venturing into yet another arena in which I have little to no experience. But I nod. It’s just a market. Maybe the goods are a bit spicier, and the clientele a bit rowdier, but we shouldn’t be there long and if Julian says he knows what he’s doing, I’m inclined to trust him.

“Excellent.” He kisses my cheek. “We’ve yet to go on a proper date anyway.”

She rolls her eyes. “You have terrible timing.”

He catches my gaze and arches a brow, soft grin turning cheeky. “Don’t I know it.”

“Be careful, okay?” Portia stands up. “And go get changed. I’m not leaving you two lovebirds alone in my house.”

I don’t blame her for that. Julian laughs and rubs my thigh before retreating into the bathroom and closing the door behind him. I’m casting around for something to do, some way to help, when I notice Portia watching me with a grin like a cat and a gleam of interest in her bright blue eyes.

“So,” she says. “You and my brother, huh?”

Me and her brother. She said she would ask, didn’t she? “What about us?”

“That’s what you’ve gotta tell me, isn’t it? How long have you been an item?”

“Oh, uh…” I think back through everything we’ve done. “We met a week ago.”

She just stares. “What?”

I can’t help but flush an embarrassed scarlet. All of it — breaking up and getting back together, sharing Mazelinka’s tiny bed, the eel bite, talking late into the night at the Raven, even him sneaking into my shop… it’s all happened in the last seven days. “Yeah.”

“Damn, you work fast.”

I shrug.

“So… how’d it happen?”

“What do you mean?”

She shakes her head impatiently. “Did he see you at a bar and start hitting on you? Were you in line together at the chancery? Did he… did he run into you in the marketplace and knock all your groceries out of your arms, then help you pick them up and offer to walk you home? Come on, Reyja, I’m dyin’ here.”

That’s an oddly specific scenario. But I ought to tell her the truth. “He broke into the shop the night before I came to the palace.”

“He did what?! ”

I suppose it is rather scandalous. “It was kind of a misunderstanding.”

“Uh-huh, sure it was. And then he was in your shop again the morning we came down to give the Masquerade announcement because…?”

“Um, he was checking on me. We’d spent a lot of time together at the Raven the night before but had to call things early.”

“Why?”

“Guards.”

“O...kay. Have you had any legal interactions with him?”

“Isn’t interacting with him at all illegal, considering?”

Portia laughs. “Fair point.” She leans back and looks me over appraisingly. “Listen, Reyja, no one’s a bigger fan of my brother than I am. And believe me, I know how much of a handful he can be. But you’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

“I am.” I’m almost offended she would think anything else.

She smiles to herself. “He was right, then. You’re someone special.”

He was…? “You already knew all this.”

“‘Course I did. He would not shut up about you last night. Classic Ilya, never using a two-word phrase when a ten-word one would do. He pulled out all the stops, really: you make his heart soar, he feels alive again, he can actually see coming out of this for once… it’s cute.”

My embarrassment fades. It warms my heart to picture him so joyful, and it’s even better knowing it’s because of me. “So why ask me?”

“Because there’s two sides to every story. I know how he feels about you, but how do you feel about him ?”

I pause. “I guess… I guess there’s just something about him. Something in him that speaks to something in me.”

Tightness creeps into my throat, cutting me off, but I don’t want to stop talking. I’ve never verbalized any of this before, what I’ve been missing. What I found with him. Why I care so much, so quickly, and why I’m willing to do almost anything to keep him safe. He may think I’m someone special, but so is he.

“I think it goes a lot deeper than that, too, though,” I continue, pushing the tears away. “I’m not really a happy person, or at least I didn’t used to be. But I’m happy around him. Lighter. He makes me feel attractive and interesting and sexy. Like I belong somewhere. Like I’m… like I’m not as worthless as I always thought I was. He appreciates me just as I am. And— and I don’t want to be anyone else when I’m with him. I never want to be me, but I don’t mind it so much when I see myself through his eyes.”

That’s the biggest thing: I am, for the first and only time I can remember, comfortable in my own skin, because of him. Quiet settles in the room around us, fed by the weight of my confession. I wasn’t expecting to get so poetic, or bare so much of my soul, but Julian does that to me.

“So I guess,” I say softly, “To answer your original question: me and your brother? God, I hope so.”

“Oh, Reyja.”

That isn’t Portia’s voice.

“My darling, can I kiss you?”

I didn’t hear, or see, him emerge from the other room. But there he is, leaning against the door jamb, back in his navy trousers and loose white shirt. Portia is still perched on the edge of the ottoman, her hands pressed to her chest and tears glistening where she had been eyeing me slyly. I don’t know how much he heard, but it must have been enough.

“You can always kiss me, Julian,” I say thickly.

He’s at my side in an instant, sinking to his knees. His lips are cool and soft, not deepening the kiss until I do. We stay joined for a long time, breaking apart reluctantly only after we run out of breath. Even then, he stays close, pressing his forehead to mine and peering at me with both eyes visible, glowing with affection.

“Then I always will.”

------

The last time I was at the Red Market, I was terrified. Not because of the people, or even the contents of the many stalls I passed, but because I was doing something new. It’s been several years since then but trepidation still rises at the back of my throat as the Coliseum fills the sky, towering over us, weeping rubble from the cracks in its smooth marble facade.

The Market itself is accessed through a nondescript doorway. Sometimes there’s a guard or two, neighborhood tough guys stationed to scare away the palace’s minions that come sniffing around spoiling for a fight, but today we’re in luck. I hope it holds; it would only take one person recognizing Julian from the old wanted posters to spoil everything.

Even so, he’s excited. I’m sure it’s been a long time since he last did something like this. And as anxious as I am, I’m nevertheless pleased to be with him, out on the town just like he imagined.

Voices and smoke, spices and charring meat and, barely disguised, the scents of the underground, of unwashed bodies and piss and vomit and blood, slither out of the stonework as soon as we pass into the Market. It’s dark, dingy, as red as its name from the glow of torches and lamps lighting up the tunnels. There’s a decent crowd for the middle of the day, most of them hiding their faces.

I squeeze Julian’s hand and pull him to the side of the pathway. “We should get some masks,” I tell him, gesturing with my head at the steady flow of other customers.

He casts his gaze over them too. “I suppose so,” he says, with a wry smile. “But I’d rather my first gift to you not be so… so…”

“Practical?”

He laughs. “Or such an obvious reminder of all this unpleasantness.”

“It wouldn’t be your first gift.”

“Mm?”

“The starstrand?”

“Ah, yes. The first thing I purchase for you, then.”

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. He’s sweet, but now probably isn’t the time to be quibbling over such minor details. “Then let me get them.”

“Darling, the sentiment remains—”

“So does the problem.” I catch his hand and mesh our fingers, then stand on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “It won’t be the last thing we buy for each other."

Julian sighs into my touch and relaxes, just enough for me to relax a bit too. “No, it won’t. I’m being silly, aren’t I?”

“Maybe a little.”

“I reserve that right.”

“I’ll allow it.”

I kiss him again, in the wake of his adoring grin, and we step back into the crowd together. I shift to hold his elbow instead of his hand as we meander down the rows of merchants, keeping our eyes open for clothing booths. It doesn’t take long to find one that will suit our needs; I pick out a velvety black shawl that can dip low over my face and Julian finds a length of fabric to twist into something resembling a turban. I have to roll my eyes then: trust him to find the most conspicuous way to hide.

“That one, huh?”

He runs the cloth through his hands. “Is something wrong with it?”

“It’s bright red, Julian.”

“Is it? It isn’t a sort of brownish-gray?”

Wait… “Are you colorblind?”

He pauses. “Ah. This is Mazelinka and my coat all over again.”

“What happened?”

“Those inner panels? I was sure they were a nice dark brown, sleek and stealthy. Mazelinka laughed at me the first time she saw it and asked if I was trying to torment myself with memories of the Plague. I wasn’t, of course!”

“I’m sure you had fun convincing her it was an honest mistake.”

“I did my best. I don’t know if she believes me yet.”

I laugh and take the scarf. If nothing else, red suits him. And wearing red at the Red Market should only disguise him better, right? I pay for both without incident and help him cover his hair, artfully arranging the end of the turban around his mouth and nose to hide his profile as best I can. After I mask my own features with my new shawl, we set off deeper into the Market.

Julian is obviously comfortable here, navigating the twists and turns between stalls with ease. And never once does he choose a path I would struggle to fit through. We make a whole circuit of the catacombs without any sign of Skylar, but on the next round, I find my attention wandering. So we slow down, perusing the merchandise, looking for all the world like just another couple out buying some more unusual trinkets to keep things fresh.

At one booth, Julian wraps his arms around me from behind, resting his hands on my belly as he holds me close, rocking me gently and humming to himself. I lean into his chest, all thoughts vanishing in a flood of contentment; how he knew that I longed for touch like this, for connection and acceptance and— how he knew that I wanted to be loved like this, I don’t know, but he was right.

We while away at least an hour, maybe more, wandering the Market. With no daylight, it’s hard to tell the time. Eventually, Julian asks if I’d like to get some lunch, and I agree. We duck into a notch at the intersection of several rows of stalls, a larger space with some places to sit and a handful of food vendors scattered around the perimeter. We decide on a Karnassi gyro stand and fold ourselves into a corner to watch the crowd pass as we eat.

We’ve just started another circuit, the opposite direction this time, when luck strikes again.

I hear Julian’s sharp intake of breath, colored by his smile, and follow his gaze to a booth near the entrance. Admiring the books is the tallest man I’ve ever seen, his height made even more obvious by the curved horns emerging from his tightly-coiled hair. His face is unmasked; clearly he isn’t worried about being recognized, and his green eyes spark with intelligence even from a distance. He rubs the stubble on his chin and picks up a book, flipping it open one-handed and frowning slightly as he scans the table of contents.

Julian takes my hand and slips through the throng of market-goers, emerging in the empty space at Skylar’s elbow; he doesn’t even seem to notice us.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Julian chuckles, pulling his mask down. He has to look up into Skylar's face, something I’m sure he isn’t used to.

Skylar startles, but recognition washes over him almost immediately. “Ilya,” he says simply. His voice belies his size, soft and soothing. He puts down the book to wrap Julian in a hug, kissing his cheek too. “Nice hat. Vesuvia again, eh?”

“Vesuvia again,” Julian agrees.

“You’re a wanted man here.”

“They haven’t come after you, have they?”

“Of course not. And if they did, well… I have plenty of other places to go.”

Julian shifts anxiously. Before he can say anything else, Skylar turns his attention to me. “You’re with him?” he asks.

“Yeah. I’m Reyja.”

“Nice to meet you, Reyja.” His green gaze darts between us as he chews his cheek, clearly working out exactly the manner in which I’m with Julian. Whatever conclusion he comes to, he must not be interested in pursuing it.

“I’ve, ah…” Julian clears his throat. “I’ve a rather big favor to ask of you, Skylar.”

“Alright.”

Just alright? Nothing else? No caveats?

Julian doesn’t seem surprised by his easy acceptance. He shuffles closer and drops his voice to a conspiratory whisper. “So, erm. I heard that, ah. You were here, weren’t you? Three years ago?”

Skylar frowns. “Yes.”

“And, ah, and I was here.”

“Yes?”

“Could you…” he trails off. “What happened?”

Several beats of silence meet his question. “What do you mean, ‘what happened?’” Skylar asks slowly.

“Erm, exactly that. I… I find myself in a bit of a… I remember waking up in a jail cell, and working at the palace for Lucio, but everything in between is a bit of a blur.”

Skylar blinks. And again. “Okay, well… uh, yeah, I was here. Helping. Helping you, specifically. You asked me, said the research side of the Plague could be an interesting topic of study. The Palace had opened its doors to anyone who wanted to come, so that wasn’t an issue. I never dealt with any patients, of course, I’d just watch from the sidelines. You even let me observe Count Lucio a few times.”

I smile to myself. I don’t think Skylar knows just how much Lucio enjoyed his ‘observations.’

“Is any of this useful?” Skylar asks.

Julian nods, his gaze unfocused as he tries to force his memories to return.

“I guess it’s not a huge surprise that you can’t remember. You, uh… you weren’t at your best, Ilya.”

He nods sadly. “So I’ve heard. Some say I lost my mind.”

“I don’t know if I’d go that far. But you definitely weren’t doing well. You wouldn’t even tell me what had happened, that fucked you up so bad.”

“Really?” Julian shakes his head. “I had hoped…”

“Sorry. The most you told me was in the last few days before everything went to shit. You said that Valdemar was going to try something big soon.”

“Valdemar…” His voice is mostly breath, lost in the intervening years. Just the passing acquaintance I have with Valdemar sets the hairs on the back of my neck on end at the mere mention of their involvement. Portia had said they were familiar with the Plague. I didn’t realize just how close they’d been to it.

“Shortly after that, they sent me, and everyone else who wasn’t medical, away from the palace,” Skylar continues. “I stayed in town as long as I could, though. I didn’t want to leave you up there by yourself.”

“That must’ve been when…” Julian touches his eyepatch.

“Oh, I just remembered another thing.” Skylar shifts his weight and draws his palm along one of his horns, thinking hard. “You kept talking about a bird man. Like, half-man, half-bird. Raven, I think. You said it was going to help you stop death from stopping death.”

Despite the press of bodies around us and the faint warmth from the many torches and lamps, a chill settles into my skin in the wake of his words. Stop death from stopping death? What does that even mean?

At my side, Julian has turned ghostly pale. He mouths the phrase, wipes sweat from his forehead, skates his fingertips over the fabric of his patch. “I— thank you, Skylar. Thank you.”

“You alright?”

“Yes, yes, I’m, ah… Valdemar, you said?” He turns to me. “The other doctor, it must have been them. They must’ve— I must’ve— The Plague, it’s— And, and…”

I touch his arm, alarmed. He’s rambling, his movements sudden and uncontrolled. Skylar and I glance at each other. Before either of us can do anything, though, Julian starts to pace, taking several steps towards the entrance of the Market and then coming back for me.

“Reyja, I— We need to— Thank you, Skylar, you’ve been more than helpful. I’ll, erm, I’ll be in touch. Yes? Yes. Are you staying at the— the…?”

“Um, Samal’s. The inn,” Skylar offers.

Julian laughs wildly. “Small world, small world. Say hello to Zhannur for me, would you? It’s been awhile.”

“Sure. Are you going to be okay?”

Julian takes my hand, squeezes it, and some of the mania in his expression fades. “Yes. Yes, I’m alright. Apologies. I just, erm. Amazing how a few simple words can bring so much back. B-but, ah, yes. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Either of you.” His gaze lingers on me and he smiles faintly. “Do excuse us, Skylar. I promise, we’ll catch up properly soon. Just like old times.”

Skylar cocks his head, watching Julian closely. But he does seem better already, and after a moment, he nods. “Good to see you again, Ilya. Take care.”

We wave farewell and Julian whisks me away into the flow of the crowd, hunching low to speak close to my ear.

“Valdemar,” he hisses. I’ve never heard him angry before, but the venom in his voice now is unmistakable. “They did this.”

“What?”

He gestures at his plagued eye. “I wasn’t working quickly enough for them,” he spits. “Too focused on patient care instead of finding answers. They held me down, forced essence of the Plague distilled from the beetles that carry it into my mouth…”

Horror crawls through me. “How dare they,” I breathe, shocked almost beyond words.

“Absolute power, as they say. Valdemar was given a free rein. Anything for the cure.” He pauses, and slumps. “Anything for the cure,” he repeats. “If only I could remember why it mattered so much to me. Beyond the obvious, of course. If I didn’t even tell Skylar, it must’ve… well. There are very few things he doesn’t know about me. I can’t imagine what would’ve made me keep mum.”

Mysteries on mysteries. But does this mean…? “So did Valdemar kill Lucio?”

He sighs. “It’s possible. They’d certainly be capable of it, considering—”

I never saw them coming. Julian never saw them coming. It took only moments, measured in the pounding footsteps of armored boots, the shouts of people used to being unquestioningly obeyed, a whirl of red and palace gold. In a beat of clarity, I meet Julian’s eyes. We have less than a second, but it stretches like spider silk as horrible understanding dawns over his features.

His luck has run out.

I scream when he pushes me away, sending me reeling into the gathering crowd, but it’s swallowed by the noise of the guards and no one gives me a second glance. I scramble to my feet to see Julian surrounded by soldiers. One of them, short, clad in quilted red, bares their teeth in his face. He snarls back and they lash out at the side of his head with a vicious-looking maul.

I scream again when he falls, motionless, to the cobblestones.

—————

Skylar belongs to @ollifree.

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#moth & raven #the arcana #the arcana fanfic #reyja north #julian devorak

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