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Starry Night ball

Location: Grand Ballroom

“Might I borrow you for a moment?” She closed her fan with a snap. “I’m afraid the matter concerns your sister, and what the court has begun saying about her.”

There is not an immediate response given to the beautiful woman who approaches him. Farred takes the moment to finish his drink and set it aside, finishing with a composing breath before turning back to address the Duchess.

”Pray tell,” He begins with a voice of long suffering exasperation. ”What has she done and what rumors have arisen from it?” It would be far from the first time he had to deal with unfounded (or very founded) rumors of any of his siblings. Honestly, he was supposed to guard their physical form not their reputations. Unfortunatly, he has experience with one much more so then the other.

Dohmnall Durmand sat outside his home in the rural reaches of Vermilion, the prized family dirk lying in his lap as he sat on the lush grass, facing where the horizon prepared for the sun. Soft rays of light just kissed the undersides of the clouds that dotted the sky above. Behind him, behind his home, the forest shrouded the lake and horizon beyond, but before him, meadows and plains swayed beneath the winds. Worked fields dotted the sight on gentle, wide hills rolling into the distance.

For a little while now, he’d been telling his daughter to rise before the sun. It was important that she bring herself out of bed. As he was beginning to wonder if he would have to send someone in to help him in this matter, he heard the door behind him. That must be her.

The little girl yawned as she stepped from the house, rubbing her eyes at the horizon that hadn’t even revealed the sun yet. She approached her father, grumbling softly, “Ye wanted me out this earrly?”

“Therre y’ arre, Gwen.” He couldn’t help but smile about this precious girl of his. She could hear him trying to be stern and failing.

She gave a sheepish giggle, “hehe, sorry. it’s been about a week or so, hasn’t it?,” since he started asking her to get up early. When he pat the ground next to him, she stared for just a moment before approaching with sleepy steps to have a seat next to him.

“Isn’ i’ beau’iful?” Dohmnall breathed deeply of the crisp, morning air, gazing out at the sprawling landscape, yet dim before the sun would rise. Then, the warmth of the Sun kissed his forehead, “ah. Be sure tae close y’rr eyes, as y’ feel th’ warrmth,” and he did so.

Gwen – Little Stratya, age 6, not even halfway to her nameday yet – watched him for a moment, watched her father as the light crept down over his forehead, his face, down his neck. Groggily, she remembered she was supposed to do the same thing, and the little girl turned toward the sun. She settled in like he was, closing her eyes when she felt toasty warmth like fresh bread creeping down from the top of her head. Together they sat as light spread over them from head to toe.

From the front, at least. After a moment or two of sitting facing the sun, the lass pitched back and rolled across her hips to turn around and have the sun warm her back, too. Her father looked when he heard the movement, and had himself a laugh. Yes, she had a point, didn’t she. Your back could get cold, if you did it improperly.

“We’ll have another go at it tomorrow. When ye no longer have tae turn around, it’s well in your ken.”

A few chores and a meal later and that was, apparently, the day’s training. She’d spend the rest of the early morning with her mother before going off to either dabble in another trade or find where the other kids were going for the day.

The next day, when she joined him, he spoke as the light traveled across him, “Zivitas, The Life-Fatherr, gave us the Sun that life migh’ grrow, that we migh’ see and be warrmed. The ligh’ he gave us was sae powerrful that Zivitas had tae send the grreat spherre o’ light and firre he made farr away, ferr it would blind and burrn us if nae.” Dohmnall was not doing the meditation, despite sitting with her.

“Is tha’ why we need such carre, Pa?”

Dohmnall smiled for how clever his first-born was, “aye, just so. We sit here so, in the earrliest light, that we might sup ever so gently frrom the grreat power he made for us. You feel it, don’t you?”

Little Gwen thought for a moment, looking down at her wiggling toes, “a wee bit.”

“Ye’ll get it. Nowt’s beyond yerr ken, my darling lass.”

This day would have a little more training than the last. For the moment, however, the girl looked up at her father and smiled at the confidence he had in her, before her gaze swept out over the fields in front of them. The sunlight spread over the fields and she watched for the words her father said were true.

---

Dohmnall’s eyes widened as the touch of the family dirk let him hear enough to warn his daughter before his wound took the life from him.

“He will.. Command ye…” That was all he could manage, and that was all she would need.

When the voice entered her mind, she knew what it was. She knew who it was.





Her body only began to turn on its own before she understood what had happened; what Maximilian had done.

One step. One step was all he could take from her body before she stopped. Her muscles seized as they fought each other. The brilliant, rich gold shine of her eyes signaled the full maddening weight of Fury coursing through her.

I will kill you.

The Fury lifted the foreign weight from her mind with its forceful presence.

Then she was sprinting, charging the isolated manor they had planned the night around. With a great leap, Stratya Durmand kicked down the heavy oak door to the entry hall, her body like the bolt from a ballista as she drew her knives.

One man lay crushed beneath the door ripped from its hinges, reduced to a red smear and a limb or two sticking out from underneath. A knife flew from her hand and embedded in the skull of an archer taking aim ahead of her. Her body chased and plucked it from the still body as she ran past.

At the top of the entry stairs, her momentum carried her briefly into the air when she collided with the next archer as terror drove him back.

She wrested the bow from him and tore the quiver from his body before she crushed his skull under her heel, turned, and shot another archer aiming at her. At the door, Gale and the rest of the squad were entering.

She and her father had never reached them. They must have heard the door break down.

One of the squad shot yet another archer on the second floor balcony, but not before he loosed an arrow into Stratya’s shoulder. A short cry of pain, and she ripped it out. Fury closed the wound and bound the muscle back together.

The doors to the second-floor main hall kicked open, hinges straining to hold. Maximilian had transformed the second floor chamber for ritual. Candles flickered in steady arrangement, traitors rose from ceremonious seats around the caster in the center.

Duncan Lancaster, Heir to the Barony, came forward, drawing steel. He sought to outmaneuver her, but she caught his sword in the guard of her parrying dagger and pushed the tip over his shoulder. His own blade bit into him, and was driven down until his limp body fell away from her.

The traitors in the room began to attempt to flee, only for the first of them to reach the door to fall forward and die, the parrying dagger in his back. Stratya picked up the longsword Duncan had used. One of them tried to sneak up behind her, but stepped too heavily in pooling blood. She spun about and the blade she’d just retrieved carved a path up his body.

The rest hid themselves in the shadows of the room, becoming as small as possible while praying she would pass.

She turned, and her eyes found him. Maximilian desperately plied magic from the center of the room, but without supporting casters, his attempts to control her were futile at best.

She approached him slowly, family dirk in her right, longsword in her left.

The blade of his son’s longsword was put to his throat, “there werre only men guarrding this place. What did ye do wit’ th’ women, Max?” If that golden gaze could kill, this would have been over already.

He told her. She killed him.

And then she collapsed.

When Nik had realized that Ari was no longer in the ballroom, his mind swirled in panic. He felt the pang of an emotion that he couldn’t quite place. It was somewhere between sheer panic and anger, an emotion he wasn’t used to, especially with people he barely knew.

Find her.

Nik quickly excused himself from the group he’d been conversing with, his tone likely more strained than he’d meant to allow. A dull ache spread across his temples as he made his way through the crowd, scanning. The speed at which his eyes darted around the room made him dizzy which only added to his panic. Anyone watching could clearly see that Nik was distressed by something.

FIND HER.

Nik pushed people out of his way, his face shifting into something angrier as he grew more annoyed with the obstacles in his way. The dark-haired knight hadn’t even realized that there were now people staring at him like he was the new spectacle. His mind shut all of that out, tunnel-visioned on finding that damned girl.

He almost missed it.

A pair of shoes tossed on the floor beside the bar and purple flowered accents trailing not far behind.

Relief came like a sudden rain shower and Nik visibly relaxed as a loud sigh escaped his lips.

”I’m going to kill her.” He mumbled under his breath as he started in her direction.

As Nik approached the strangely unattended bar a mop of red headed curls began to appear from behind it. Looking up at him with bright emerald eyes, brightened by the red and puffy color around them, Ari sat huddled in the corner with her legs tucked into her chest and a half empty wine bottle in hand.

Her eyes glanced down to the bottle than back up at Nik before extending her arm out.

”Drink?” she asked, her voice nearly cracking at the word.

Nik’s anger never left him. It just shifted. No longer was he angry at her for leaving him, he was angry at whoever did this to her. He took a moment to temper the fire growing in his gut, taking breaths. Then, he shifted his weight and moved to sit next to her.

”I’ve got my own.” He replied, holding up his glass of scotch, though barely a swallow was left of it. He raised it to his lips and drank the last little bit before setting it down on the ground to the side of him.

”Do you want to talk or do you want a distraction?” He offered, turning his head to look at her.

Looking at the bottle and his empty glass, without hesitation she poured more into it nearly overfilling the glass before taking a long swig herself. Nik couldn’t help but laugh before he carefully brought the glass to his lips to sip too. He didn’t want to think about the fact that just a second ago, he was ready to punch someone to find her and now he was perfectly calm and at peace. That realization would not sit well with him.

”A bar full of alcohol is a great distraction, I can tell you from experience.” she said softly as she sniffled back more tears. The bottle hung between her legs as her arm rested across her knee.

”After this whole event is over, I’m going to do something I probably shouldn’t.”She added, still whispering soft enough that only he could hear. ”I’ll need you to support me in that.” Ari glanced to look over at him to get his reaction.

”Depends. Is there a good reason to do this stupid thing?” He asked, suddenly rather serious, his volume matching hers.

She looked at him in silence only responding with a simple nod, the seriousness in her eyes telling all that needed to be said.

Nik watched Ari’s face, his eyes narrowing as he took all of her in. His eyes glanced over her swollen red eyes, the way her hands shook just slightly, and the way she carried herself like someone who was on the verge of collapse. Knowing that she had a reason for doing her stupid thing was all Nik needed.

”A bar is an excellent distraction. But so is a dance, of which I was hoping I might convince you to share with me…” He responded, eyes still trained on her face.

Ari blinked, before taking another large mouthful of wine. Her cheeks puffing up with the alcohol before she managed it down. ”M-me?” she stuttered. ”There is a room full of beautiful women who are much better dancers then me…”

”Is anyone else down on the ground here with me?” He asked, brow raised at her. He rolled his eyes at her next comment, letting out a low sigh.

”The world is full of beautiful people, Ariella. But there is only one you. And you look like you could use a dance.” He added with a soft, surprisingly genuine smile on his face.

A coy smile spread on her lips as she turned from him taking another long drink from the bottle. Realizing it was nearly finished, she tilted her head back wiping the wine around her lips on the back of her hand.

”Well, how can I refuse when you put it that way…” her eyes appeared to brighten up. ”...but the shoes are staying off.” she gestured over to the heels that laid beside him.

Using the bar she pulled herself to her feet and dusting off her dress before setting the empty bottle on the bar top.

”I expected no less.” He replied with a soft chuckle. Nik lifted his head to watch Ariella as she dusted herself off, admiring the strength about her. Yes, she looked like she could collapse at a moment’s notice. Yes, she looked all the world like everything was crumbling around her, but… She stood up. She held her ground. There was a certain beauty he found in that.

Nik reached his hand out to her, giving her a soft pout. ”Help me up?” He asked, giving her the most pitiful look he could manage.

Leaning back with her hands on her hips she looked down at him, biting back a grin before rolling her eyes and shaking her head. She reached out and offered him her hand ”If this is a sign of your protection abilities, I'm worried.” she grinned cheekily.

Gripping on his hand she used all the might to pull him, her feet sticking to the marble floors as her back arched as a tiny grunt escaped her lips. However, to Nik it felt like a rabbit pulling a carriage.

He let out a soft chuckle and pushed himself up from the floor, giving her a little bit of help. ”I just wanted to see how cute you’d look struggling.” He teased lowly into her ear.

Ari’s cheeks pinkened, unsure if it was the wine or his words but she attempted to play it off nonchalantly.

He pulled away a moment later, a smirk on his face. ”Shall we?” He asked, still holding her hand.

Just as he asked the orchestra to start their next song, the timing was strangely too perfect. She felt the butterflies in her belly flutter, not necessarily because of Nik but dancing was not something she was very good at and usually just avoided it. It really was the first time anyone asked her to dance and she didn’t want to mess it up.

”Yes, but don’t laugh. I’m not very good.” she said while following him towards the dance floor. Thankfully for everyone else her dress was long enough to hide her bare feet but feeling the cool grounding touch against her skin helped ease the nerves that had started to build.

She looked around awkwardly trying to not be too obvious as she observed the other dance pairs and how they were positioning themselves. Her lack of experience was clear and as time went on she started to feel slightly embarrassed. Unsure of where to put her hands, how to stand, the direction it all started to become a tad overwhelming.

Nik guided her to the floor, his eyes already scanning the room again for any signs of trouble. When those amber eyes of his turned back to look at her, he could see the way her eyes seemed to dart around and the hesitant way she grabbed and let go and grabbed again.

….adorable.

Nik took Ari’s hand and placed it gently at his shoulder. ”Just follow me. I’ve got you.” He told her, his voice low so that only she could hear him. He took her other hand with his and began slowly pushing her, guiding her, through the song, one gentle step at a time.

One foot over the other, Ari stumbled once more than twice falling slightly into Nik but he caught her before she could really fall. She grumbled under her breath but with a few more steps seemed to get the hang of it. She smiled realizing as she was able to finally catch her steps.

”So…” she attempted to break the ice as they moved along the dance floor. ”You’re a dancer and a swordsman. I have heard that a good swordsman needs to be good on his feet so I suppose it makes sense. She didn’t look up at him, her eyes continued to look down at her feet as she attempted to continue moving without stumbling.

”I’m a man of many skills.” He replied with a small smile, clearly enjoying her compliments. He watched her steps, smiling as she slowly became a little more confident with each one. Nik was not known to be a very patient man, but at least with her, he seemed to be.

”Good, just like that…” He whispered, his hand at the small of her back pulling her with him as he turned them both. ”You aren’t so bad yourself, princess.” He continued after a moment, smiling down at her.

Large emerald eyes shot up to meet his nearly stumbling again at the word princess ”Please…dont use that. I- I don’t like titles.” she said trying to be as polite as she could but being called a princess made her skin crawl slightly. ”I don't really care for this world…" she said softly, nearly a whisper. ”it changes people. her mind went to Cal. ” I don’t mean to be rude, I just…Ari..you can call me Ari.” she smiled softly. ”Or something else but just, not that."

Nik stayed quiet for a moment, eyes searching her face for a moment. ”Of course.” He replied simply, giving her a soft smile. ”Ari.” He added after a beat.

”Want to tell me what this stupid thing you’re going to do is?” He asked, eyes lifting up a moment to scan the room again.

She returned his smile ”Thank you." letting out a soft sigh she thought about the best way to tell him.

”The king has a son, named Callum.” his name leaving her lips made her expression falter. A sadness crept in her eyes. ” He is my best friend. He’s gone missing." she whispered looking around. ”Anastasia, the princess, she was my childhood friend. I went to check on her after her mothers death and she told me that he was missing. I had a feeling something was wrong. I couldn’t find him. He always found me. He wasn’t at my hideout, he wasn’t at any tavern during drunkards day… he didn’t send a letter. Nothing.”

Taking a moment to take a breath she followed his lead, dancing with ease as her mind found itself elsewhere. ”She was told she couldn’t go looking for him, but I cannot just let this go. He … I" she thought about telling him about the dark magic, about how Cal and her would bond over it. She decided against it, not here. ”W
He had a lot of similar interests. Anyways, I need to find him. There have been some things that happened, changes I've seen in him and after his mother…he hates his father." her voice dropped.

”I’m worried." her large emerald eyes looked up at him. ”I need to find him."

He was quiet for a moment, listening to her speak. The king’s son… Even Nik knew that what she was doing was something that could get the both of them killed. Anything involving the royal family was something he’d much, much rather enjoy. However, the idea of his grandfather sending him out here, just to have his only grandson do something so stupid because of the girl he sent him to? Now, that was some sweet, sweet irony. And something Nik wouldn’t dare pass up.

”Then, we’ll find him.” Nik replied simply, his tone calm and firm. ”You just tell me what you need from me and we’ll make it happen.” He added.

Smiling, Ari’s shoulders dropped slowly. Her body, which was tense, seemed to relax as they continued to move around the dance floor. When her father instructed her to be watched by Nik every fiber of her being hated it. But, his understanding and willingness to listen to her was not going unnoticed, or unappreciated. In fact, it was one of the first times outside of Callum that she felt heard.

”I feel like I keep saying thank you but I really do mean it. For now, just..a distraction. I have to attend this or else my mother will put me on a pyre. Tomorrow though…tommorrow we can start looking.”

She took in a deep breath followed by a warm smile, her eyes brightening once again.

”Distractions I am all to happy to provide.” He chuckled, his smile gentle. ”I’d like to see her try, though. I’m not above cutting down a woman…” He mused, seeming to genuinely think about it.

Even he didn’t quite realize just how much he meant that.

”Look at you… Dancing like a pro already.” He teased lightly, pulling her closer to him now. ”Careful not to step on my toes, hm?”

”I’m more worried about you, stepping on mine.” she laughed softly ”My lack of shoes always makes that a possibility but one I am willing to risk.I give credit to such a great leader, I think you’re the only reason I'm not falling on my face."

”Me? Step on your toes? I would never.” He replied, his tone taking on that playful teasing lilt. ”Eh, you wouldn’t do that either. I’d just catch you and twirl and make it look like you’d always meant to do that.” He shrugged.

”As long as I can help it, I’m not letting anything bad happen to you.” He explained, watching her face now as they continued to move.

”Well you are kind of paid to do so.” she teased.

Glancing around at the other dancing couples Ari turned to look back at him ”I saw you mingling around, meeting people. Has anyone caught your eye? A number 87 perhaps? Or what is 92? I can’t remember.” she grinned playfully.

”Mmm, well… There was this one girl…” He mumbled softly, turning to look around. She might think he was looking for the girl, but once again, he was scanning the room, his eyes narrowing as he spotted a few annoyances. Luckily, they were either far enough away or occupied.

Ari looked around with him, attempting to spot who he might be looking for but had no luck.

”And I had planned on making a night of it, but… I think my plans just changed.” He explained with a shrug. He let his fingers splay out over the small of her back, feeling how small she felt in his arms. The change in his grip caused the hairs on her arms to stand. She turned her attention back to him, looking at him for a moment before speaking.

”I’m sorry if I ruined your plans. You could still find someone, I'm sure, tomorrow is still some time away. I don't want to spoil your evening. Though selfishly I am enjoying your company - surprisingly.” she smirked.

Once again, Nikolai found himself looking at her face, glancing at her eyes, nose, the way her lips curled upwards just slightly as she spoke to him.

”Surprisingly?” He asked, an incredulous tone to his voice. ”My plans aren’t ruined, simply changed. Besides, I’m fairly sure she’s already off flirting with someone else.” He whispered the last part like it was some secret between the two of them.

”So, whether you like it or not, I think you might be stuck with me.” He added, giving her a smirk of his own.

”It seems so.” she smiled.

As they danced, gliding across the floor with ease, suddenly her worries seemed to slip away. Though it was only momentarily she found herself getting lost in the moment.

Nik found himself staring at Ari more often than not as they danced, enjoying how comfortable she seemed. For someone dealing with so much, she looked so strong. He felt an unfamiliar rising desire to support her, to be the pillar that helps boost her up.

”You mentioned a place you liked to hide at?” Nik started, pulling her with him as he moved them around the dance floor. ”Is it nice?”

”Well it wouldn’t be much of a secret if I told you.” she said with a tone of playfulness ” It's a place that Annie showed me a long time ago, it's in the woods. It's where I feel most myself. I could show you it, maybe tomorrow. I suppose it would be important for you to know about it but only a few people know of it. Annie, Callum and I suppose my family but they know not to go there. The last time they did…” she paused.

”Well I don't remember it but according to my brother they destroyed many of my things. I’ve been trying to find a way to remember it but any journal or thing I would have had is stuck in a box that I can’t open.” she admitted.

Nik listened as she spoke, still leading her around the dance floor. He was far more graceful about it than he’d let on earlier, having enjoyed dancing. Though… he’d probably never admit that to anyone. Maybe especially her.

”We can certainly do that.” He replied, a smile on his face. ”You’re not going to jump my bones out there, right? I’m a man with sensibilities, you know. You shouldn’t take advantage of me.” He teased, his lips curling into a smirk.

Ariella nearly missed a step at his comment, stumbling over her feet as her cheeks warmed. She narrowed her eyes at him in mock offense, though the smile tugging at her lips ruined the effect entirely.

“Jump your bones?” she echoed, letting out a soft laugh.“Nik, I think you’ve confused me for some scandalous tavern girl or one of your 97 conquests.”

Her fingers tightened lightly against his shoulder as he spun her across the floor, the movement making the skirts of her dress sway around her legs.

“And besides,” she added with a teasing tilt of her head,“you’re the one who keeps pulling me closer. I’m beginning to think you’re the danger here, not me.”

She glanced up at him then, playful but slightly nervous beneath it all, still not entirely used to his charm or this kind of attention.

“You don't want me even attempting that, I wouldn’t know the first thing or even how where to start.” she admitted the wine clearly had some effect on her judgement of conversation.

Nik pulled Ari closer, spinning her as he leaned forward to whisper in her ear, ”I’ve always been the danger.” Ari leaned into his words, her cheeks flushing more as his voice tickled her ear.

He pulled back a moment later, that same calm smile on his face as he gave her a knowing look. ”You didn’t think you’d be much good at dancing either. And yet… here you are. I think you follow instructions very well.” He teased.

“I-that… my” she stuttered on her words, clearly flustered.

“I don’t like to follow instructions actually. she finally managed to say but her voice still quivered. “So is this how you have built up such large numbers?” she whispered. “Trying to make me just another number on your belt?” her tone seemed to drop slightly.

His lips curled upwards as she began to stutter, clearly flustered by him. No small amount of pride and confidence swelled inside his chest at that fact.

His brow furrowed, however, as she mentioned his ‘belt.’ It was rather quickly replaced with a slow, easy grin. ”Are you… asking me to bed you, Lady Edwards?” He asked, his slow, low tone hiding the hurt he felt.

lady edwards…

It was obvious she struck a nerve with him.

His image was carefully crafted and he liked that it gave him the ability to move about without much expectation. People didn’t expect a rakish rogue to be of any real use, but… The idea that she truly thought he would treat her that way stung more than he cared to admit.

Far more.

“I'm sorry…” she said softly. ““I just…” she looked up at him, her large eyes scanning his features and though he held his charm on his face she could see hurt behind his eyes by her question. ““No one has ever paid me any mind before.” Her eyes fell as she looked around as if checking to see if anyone was listening. ““And you, with your charm, your way with words. You're attractive and smart. You have the attention of so many. ” She looked back up at him before shaking her head softly. Being too embarrassed to look back at him as her insecurities were written all over her face.

Nik raised a brow and a moment later, something clicked. She wasn’t used to his kind of attention, much less any attention at all. He was likely one of very few who had ever glanced her way. It was hard for him to imagine given her looks, but wasn’t outside the realm of possibility.

““...would you have noticed me if my father wasn't paying you to watch over me?...”

Her voice cracked into a soft admittance. She wanted to run, to let go of him and end the dance. To curl back up behind the bar and drink herself into tomorrow. But she stayed. Why did she stay…

”Ariella… How many guards do you know willingly ask their charge to a dance? At a court gathering? Where most men are in want of a wife?” He asked, gentle amber eyes looking down at her. No longer was there that roguish charm he usually tried to put on. For one brief moment, he was simply Nikolai.

”Look over there.” He started, giving her a small spin so she could face where Ambrose and Stratya danced. ”Is he dancing with his charge?” He asked, his gaze scanning her face. She continued to look at Ambrose and Stratya as they seemed to be enjoying themselves. Her eyes glancing back up at Nik only moments later.

”My point is… As you said, I could have nearly any woman in this ballroom.” A small pause as he recalled a few who couldn’t stand the sight of him, ”And yet, I have asked you to dance with me. Not because of some need to keep you close, although that is a bonus…”

Nik let out a small chuckle at that before continuing, ”I just… wanted to.”

He wanted too…

The words lingered between them as he continued to move her across the dance floor. Enjoying the dance and being with someone who wanted to be there.

Nik allowed a quiet to settle over them, his eyes kept on the beautiful woman in his arms. Anyone watching would have clocked the way his gaze was softer, gentler than he had been with others, though perhaps the roguish knight hadn’t realized it himself yet.

As the silence lingered, Ari’s smile didn't falter. She continued to look up at him, their eyes unbreaking as if holding a silent conversation between them. But before long the music started to slowly come to an end.

Despite the lull of the music, Nik continued his slow dance with Ariella, pulling her with him as he moved. It was as if the world had melted around him and all that was left was him and her. It wasn’t until she began to slow a bit that he even realized that the music had ended.

Nik felt a heat rise to his cheeks, something not very many ever got the chance to see.

Did… he really just get lost in the moment with her?


Ari didn’t let go, not right away. Instead she stood in his embrace for a moment longer, catching the flush in his cheeks.”The wine hitting you too?” She asked, knowing full well it wasn't the wine.

Nik froze at her question, realizing that she may have understood what his actions meant before he even did.

And that scared him.

”Thank you, for the dance.” she added with a softer smile. ”Maybe we can have another? before the night is over.”

“...Maybe.” He replied, his reply short and quiet. He looked at her for a moment, really looked at her. Amber eyes scanned her face.

Bump.

No… He couldn’t. That was stupid.

Bump. Bump.

It terrified him how much he wanted to dance with her again.

He took a step back, bowing towards her, ”Thank you for the dance.”

”I don’t… want to take up too much of your time. I’ll be nearby.” He added softly before he turned and took a few steps away from her.

The sun had only just dipped beneath the horizon, and the night’s first stars only just began to shine, when Cynwaer stepped through the tavern’s doors. Right away, his nose sniffed out the heady, familiar, and very inviting scents of various liquors. Mostly cheap ones, but those were the sort he liked best. The boisterous chatter of a late-evening crowd unwinding after a day’s labours filled his ears. By their choice of words—or rather, expletives—Cynwaer reckoned that most of them were either sailors or longshoremen. That wasn’t surprising. After all, this tavern sat so close to the sea that the air within was thick with salt.

He tugged on the brim of his hat, pulling it just a touch lower over his eyes, and strode purposefully across the room. The clinks of bottles and glasses wafted over from the bar. Were this any other day, he would’ve gone straight there with barely a second thought.

But this wasn’t any other day. For today, he was here on business.

And so, he did his best to ignore the temptations of the bar—and to avoid it entirely, for that matter—as he carefully and firmly pushed his way through the mingling crowd. Thankfully, the night had not yet grown so old, and the patrons so inebriated, that a few shoves here and there were enough to start a fight. Even so, he did have to flash the sword and pistols hidden under his coat a few times, just to keep ones who looked to be more belligerent at bay.

“Over here, Captain.”

A man called to him through the crowd, his resonant voice rising above the din, and his Kimoonese accent distinct amongst a sea of Caesonian tones. Cynwaer immediately turned, following the man’s voice before it sank beneath the tavern’s noise. Soon enough, he found himself away from the bulk of the crowd, and in a quieter—relatively speaking, at least—and darker corner of the tavern. The dim lamplight illuminating the rest of the building couldn’t quite reach this area, leaving the handful of tables and chairs clustered against the wall shrouded in dancing shadows.

Cynwaer approached the only table that was occupied. “Evenin’,” he greeted with a tip of his hat.

“A good evening to you, also,” Kidelaut—the man who’d called him over—replied. A small, amicable smile graced his sun-kissed, weather-worn face, and he had an air of tranquil calm about him. The dark patches of red staining his white shirt and tan longcoat, and the stiletto knife stabbed into the tabletop, on the other hand, looked markedly less friendly and peaceful. “Please, do not mind the mess. There was some trouble with a few drunks earlier. Sioridann here attracted some unwanted attention.”

“Huh,” was all Cynwaer said. He nodded to the knife. “Must’ve been some feckin’ trouble, aye.”

Sitting to Kidelaut’s left, Sioridann tittered softly, covering their mouth with a hand. “Oh, that?” she said and reached for the knife. “Don’t worry, Cyn. I didn’t actually use it on anybody. The only thing that got stabbed was this poor table here! And I only did it to give some extra encouragement. Some people just need more of it than others, I’m sure you understand.”

They gripped the knife’s handle firmly, and with a hard tug—hard enough to rock the table—they wrenched it free. “But I’ve to admit, getting that kind of attention is rather flattering,” they said with a mischievous grin on their lips, and a playful shine in their eyes. Then, with deft, quick movements, they returned the knife to its sheath, which until now had been hidden within the ruffles of their skirt.

Kidelaut chuckled and shook his head. “Your flattery, Sioridann, is my trouble, I should remind you.”

“Oh, don’t say it like that,” Sioridann replied, the mock hurt in their voice much too obvious for Cynwaer, or anyone else, for that matter, to take seriously. “You know it’s useful, sometimes.”

Cynwaer cleared his throat, interrupting them before they could go on any further. “Right, well,” he said as he pulled out the chair opposite Kidelaut, and took his seat. He took off his hat and placed it over the deep gnash left by Sioridann’s knife. “I’m guessin’, an’ I’m feckin’ ‘opin’, that ta’ twa o’ ye did’nae ask me tae sail aw’ ta’ feckin’ way daen ‘ere frae Sorian jus’ tae ‘ave a chat, aye. What d’ye need me fer?”

Sioridann and Kidelaut glanced sideways at each other. Then, the latter pushed the bottle in front of him to the middle of the table, right beside Cynwaer’s hat. “This is for you,” he said. “For your troubles.”

Cynwaer moved the bottle closer to him, raising a brow but saying nothing. Not even a full day has passed since he’d received the letter calling for him to bring his ship to this small, unassuming village well south of Felipina, and to do so by this very night. For most ships, it’d be a tall order. For the Remembrance, herself a slower-than-average vessel, it was almost an impossible one. Preparations alone—resupplying her hold, recalling her crew that’d gone ashore, and expediting her repairs—had taken several hours. Gathering the necessary information to chart her route—to avoid the odd navy ship and privateer—took a handful more.

By the time they’d left Sorian harbour, it’d already been well after sunset. Had it not been for the fortuitous appearance of a particularly strong southerly, and plenty of hard graft—and creative sailing—on part of the Remembrance’s crew, they would’ve never made it in time. Cynwaer had been plying the sea for his trade almost all his life, and still he could do without reliving those few hours between Sorian and here.

And so, calling his experiences ‘troubles’ felt like a vast understatement. An insult, almost. And one bottle, no matter how rare, or potent, or luxurious, was certainly not payment enough.

But Kidelaut knew that already. Cynwaer knew that he knew.

The bottle, therefore, meant something else entirely.

“Cheers, pal,” Cynwar said, picking up the bottle and reading the label. It was Javarian whiskey, according to what was printed, but oddly enough listed a distillery closer to Wayness as its source. He glanced at the two, and they responded with small, surreptitious nods, just obvious enough for his eyes to catch.

Speak in code.

Cynwaer returned the nods, then leaned back in his chair. “So, ye business up near ta’ mountains, how’d it gae?” he asked casually. “‘Twas minin’ stuff, was it?”

Your work at Redwater didn’t go according to plan, did it?

Kidelaut offered a shrug. “We achieved our aims, but admittedly, not without a few surprises.”

Yes.

“But it wasn’t anything we couldn’t handle,” Sioridann chipped in. “Although I’m sure I speak for the both of us when I say that a change of scenery would be welcome. The countryside is lovely, but the convenience and bustle of a big city is hard to forget.”

We took care of things as best we could, but we attracted unwanted attention. We plan to lay low in Sorian for the time being.

Cynwaer nodded slowly. “Aye, I can bring ye there,” he said. “But tell ye ta’ truth, once ye ‘ad a few days o’ city livin’, ye’d wan’tae get ta’ feck out quick as ye like, aye ye would.”

Are you sure you want to go to Sorian?

“We appreciate your concern, Cyn,” Sioridann replied. “But you don’t need to worry! It’s not our first time in Sorian, you know? We know a few people here and there. It might have been a while, but I’m sure they’re still around! We’ll check in on them, see how they’re doing while we’re in the city.”

Yes. We’ll find our contacts, see if they’re still active, and go from there.

Kidelaut smiled. “Yes, it has certainly been a long time since we last heard from them,” he said. “And even if they are no longer around, we always have you for familiar company, Captain, do we not?”

And if all else fails, we’ll be counting on you.

“I s’pose ye dae,” Cynwaer replied. “But I’ll warn ye first, dae’n gae lookin’ fer me ev’ry feckin’ day, aye. Ta’ city’s a busy place nowadays, an’ I’ve me own shite tae deal wi’, aye I dae.”

I’ll do what I can. The city has changed, and I’m currently doing some work of my own.

That earned him a pair of curious and slightly concerned gazes, and so he continued. Or at least, he made an effort to—speaking cryptically had never been one of his strengths, and it took him a moment to think of what words to use. “Ah, I s’pose ye’ve not ‘eard yet,” he began. “Ta’...Well, ye ol’ bossman—” he looked at Kidelaut “—’is lady got intae some major trouble, aye she did, an’ now I’m tryin’ tae make sense o’ it aw’.”

The Queen has been charged with a serious crime. I’m dealing with part of the aftermath.

Sioridann’s eyes widened. Kidelaut, on the other hand, merely furrowed his brow, and even then only for a fraction of a moment. “I see,” he said, sounding calm as ever. He paused, chewing on his lip and tapping a finger on the table. “Do you happen to know the nature of the trouble?”

“‘Tis ta’ unmentionable kind, aye.”

Magic.

“That…Is very major trouble, indeed,” Sioridann said, their voice dropping to a hushed whisper, their eyes looking down at the table. “And what happened to the lady? I mean, I assume the bossman’s not pleased, but surely he wouldn’t punish his lady too severely.”

What is the verdict on the Queen?

Cynwaer shrugged. “I cannae say. I’ve nae heard ‘bout it yet, but I’ll be honest, ‘tis nae lookin’ tae good fer ‘er, nae. She’ll likely get a feckin’ ‘eavy punishment, frae what I ‘ear.”

I don’t know, but she’ll most likely get burned.

Sioridann sighed, and shook her head. “So even someone like her can’t get away,” they murmured.

“I s’pose not,” Cynwaer said, his voice taking on a more sombre note. He hated the Queen as much as he hated every other noble, but he couldn’t deny that he understood why Sioridann might be feeling so upset at the news of her possible burning. The Queen was supposed to be untouchable—someone who sat well above the law. If the witchhunts could reach even her, could even sentence her to burn, then it meant that very dark times were coming for the common arcanist.

For arcanists like Sioridann.

“Do not worry,” Kidelaut said quietly, placing a hand on their shoulder. “You are safe with us.”

Sioridann shrugged his hand away. “I know that,” they said, a bite in their voice. “But what about those not with us? If the Queen—” she stopped abruptly. “I mean, if the lady—”

“Oi, let’s jus’ stop that, aye?” Cynwaer cut in. “‘Tis givin’ me a feckin’ headache, ‘tis so. ‘Ow ta’ feck ta’ twa o’ ye can keep gae’n on an’ on wi’ that, I’ll ne’er feckin’ know. We’ll nae be ‘ere much longer, anyway. We’ll ‘ave tae move soon, otherwise ta’ harbourmaster’s gae’n start askin’ me tae pay ‘arbourin’ fees.”

A quiet laugh came from Sioridann. “You didn’t pay?” they asked, their voice still small, and still heavy with worry. But at least it was a little chirpier, a little more playful, as it usually was. “I’m surprised they even let you dock to begin with.”

“Aye, well, I told ‘im I’ll be gone in an hour or twa,” Cynwaer replied. Sioridann tittered, and even Kidelaut’s lips curled in a wry smile. “What? I was’nae lyin’. I did’nae know we’d end up ‘avin’ a wee chat. I reckoned we could’ve talked on ta’ ship.”

He grabbed his hat, placed it snugly on his head, and stood up. “Come on, let’s gae. I’ll be fecked off if I’ve tae pay fer a full night when I’m nae e’en ‘ere fer half o’ that, aye I’ll be. We can talk more freely aboard ta’ ship. An’ ‘sides, I wan’tae be back in Sorian ‘fore daybreak. I’ve got shite tae dae.”

“And what might that…Shite, as you say, be?” Kidelaut asked, getting to his feet as well.

Cynwaer looked at him for a moment. Then, he grinned. “Ah, right, I did’nae tell ta’ twa o’ ye,” he said. “‘Tis nae aw’ doom an’ gloom, aye. I’ve a plan tae dae somethin’ about aw’ this shite, an’ best o’ aw’, I found us a new pal tae lend a hand. I’ll ‘ave tae introduce ye, once we’re back.”

Time: Night
Location: Ballroom
Attire:imgur.com/TBp3fyc | Magic ring on pointer finger
Interactions: None
Mentions: Kira @potter Alexander @FunnyGuy Cassius @oso

Violet said nothing.

She simply lifted her glass, taking a slow sip of the crimson wine as Kira disappeared into the crowd. The rich taste lingered on her tongue, and the smile that had rested upon her lips from the beginning never once faded.

That... went far easier than I expected.

Her crimson eyes followed the place Kira had vanished, gleaming a little brighter beneath the ballroom lights.

She hadn't needed to accuse her or even needed to ask.

One harmless remark about a dating auction had been enough.

You folded so quickly. The thought almost made her laugh.

Violet had wondered if the woman before her was truly Kira. There had been signs. Small inconsistencies. Questions that pried just a little too deeply into her family. Questions meant to test how naïve she was. The implication that she was stupid and unobservant. But she was a Damien after all, and someone who admired Alexander's finesse. Being under estimated seemed to have its advantages.

Instead of denying it, Kira had discarded the mask herself.

She said so much in such a short time that Violet's mind swirled with all her thoughts. Her eyes glazed over as her wine glass touched her bottom lip so gently, resting there as the smile did not fade.

One question remained at the tip of her tongue however…

Curious

Her smile widened ever so slightly.

For someone who had approached this like a game of chess… She had sacrificed her queen to capture a pawn and folded before Violet could even make her next move.

Taking another slow sip of her wine, she couldn’t help but bask in the feeling of satisfaction.

“...Cassius is his father's son. And perhaps just like the boy, the man knows a lot more than he's leading on.”

”Hmm..” Crimson eyes flicked up to continue watching…waiting

Location: Grand Ballroom
Attire: Attire: Starry Night Attire
Interactions: @princess Marina and Lottie
Mentions:@Oso Cassius

---

Her sincerity hit him like a sack of bricks. He did not know if he was worthy of such an assessment, but there was a part of him that desperately wanted to. Just how was he supposed to answer her? Tell her that she was wrong? Did he not just say that he was not going to argue with her on matters of taste? The only response he had for her was the bright red color that tinged his cheeks and the nervous gaze of someone with a question burning inside of their warring heart.

If I shine like stars then what does that make you?

Those words stayed stuck in his throat though the question persisted in his heart and that's where it would stay, for now. Instead, he gave her a half-cocked smile. "I won't say no to food." His gaze looked down at their entwined hands. She hadn't let go yet and for some reason, he struggled with the notion of letting go.

Nolan followed her with his fingers still laced with hers to one of the tables lined with a veritable feast of excess. For him this had become something of his new normal though he knew that the young boy that had lived off of stale bread stolen from another vagrant would have looked up on this with equal parts joy and disgust. Now it just left him disgusted.

Still, he hid it with a cheeky smirk at the princess. "Your eyes look wider than your stomach. Try not to overfill your plate."

His fingers unlaced hers almost unwillingly and grabbed her a plate. Over her shoulder though he saw them, Lottie and the mysterious man that looked like the spitting image of Damien Calbert sitting at a table directly across from him. Lottie looked furious, or something a bit more complicated than furious and if he were to wager a guess it would involve the reason why Lorenzo tried to strike King Edin.

Concern visibly painted his features followed by a pang of guilt. "I believe I have been a very poor friend to my nearest and dearest tonight," admitted the young noble. His gaze fell back up on his friend before he looked at Marnie. "Forgive me, I will only be just a moment or two." He bowed his head politely before he parted with the princess.

Nolan made his way over to his friend with calm steps that failed to ease his worry. There was never a moment where he did not worry about her and this year had done nothing, but exacerbated them. However, when he finally stood in front of her and her new... whatever they were, a part of him could not but to feel the simple delight of seeing his friend again.

From being he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Looks like the night sky is missing a star." Nolan gave her a fond smile that was reserved for only a handful of people. "Lottie, it's been too long."

FLASHBACK

Kalliope & Sjan-dehk

Part 1

Time: Morning, Ignis 8
Location: A cove off coast of Sorian

---

It was a nice cove that Cynwaer had found.

Sjan-dehk had felt as much when he’d stepped ashore a few days ago, but only now, as he walked up the sandy beach, with the soft rush of languid waves behind him, and the warm-but-not-too-warm morning sun hovering overhead—and without as much tension weighing on him—could he truly appreciate the relaxing airs permeating the cove. It was almost like a whole other world, here. The grey rock formations encircling the bay, and the verdant forest stretching further inland, made it easy for him to forget the world.

And to—for the moment, at least—forget the events of the past few days.

“More pitch for the stern!”

“...bucket of paint for the larboard gunwale…”

“If your hands are idle, you can start mending…”

The shouts and calls of sailors, echoing across the beach, provided Sjan-dehk a welcome distraction from his thoughts. They seemed to respond to the squawks and cries of gulls, ospreys, and other seabirds high above, circling lazily with wings outstretched. Punctuating this strange conversation were the loud scrapes of saws against wood, thumps of hammers against wood, and the occasional bellowed expletive.

A smile, small and unbidden, spread across Sjan-dehk’s lips. Moments of relative peace like this had been far and few in-between during the war—least of all for a warship as active as Sada Kurau. He’d long since learned to savour them whenever they decided to grace him with their presence.

Quietly humming a tune, he tucked the package under his arm—a vaguely cube-shaped object wrapped in old sailcloth—tighter against him, and quickened his pace. There was someone he wanted to see.

Not ten steps later, he came across Yasawen and Inshahri. The two young arcanists were crouched over a diagram etched onto the sand, the former with worried eyes and furrowed brows, and the latter with a long stick in hand. As Sjan-dehk drew closer, he heard the boy first.

“Shahri,” Yasawen said, trepidation clear in his voice. “I, um, I’m sure you know what you’re doing but…But this feels dangerous.”

Sjan-dehk immediately changed direction and walked over to them.

“It’ll be fine!” Shahri chirped. Her eyes turned towards him. “Good morning, Captain!”

Yasawen snapped his head around to look at Sjan-dehk, so quickly that Sjan-dehk could feel his own neck ache from just watching the boy.

“Oh! Good morning, Captain. Shahri—I mean, we’re just trying to draw an arcane array. A simple one! N–Nothing complicated!”

“I see,” Sjan-dehk replied simply. The diagram didn’t look like anything to him—just a series of overlapping and concentric circles, with crudely-drawn pictographs surrounding their edges. He looked at Inshahri. “So what’s this…Array supposed to do?”

Inshahri blinked. She said nothing, and simply smiled at him.

“I—I told you, Shahri,” he said, glancing sideways at her. “We should at least get the book, so if…If anyone asks us anything, at least we can give an answer.”

“I assume the book you need is aboard Sada Kurau.”

Yasawen nodded.

“And you want to get back aboard while she’s like that?”

Careened on the shoals, and amidst the white surf of breaking waves, was Sada Kurau, her keel exposed to air for the first time in months. Sheets of copper plated the entirety of her hull beneath the waterline, the metal tarnished by blots of mottled green in most places, though there were still tiny patches that could still glimmer in the sunlight. Long poles—not much more than tree trunks stripped of branches—prevented her from righting herself, whilst dozens of ropes, anchored to the ground by dismounted cannons, stopped her from toppling over onto her side.

Her crew clambered over her hull like ants. Some replaced planks that were showing signs of wear, others scraped marine growth from areas that weren’t protected by copper, but most simply gave her a good, and long overdue scrubbing. It would take a full day to clean her thoroughly, by Sjan-dehk’s estimate, and then another half-day to repaint her.

Ample time for rest, for everyone involved, in other words.

“Nobody’s getting aboard,” Sjan-dehk continued. “Not even me. Whatever you need will have to wait—”

“Shahri!”

A voice not too far off in the distance—a girl’s—interrupted him. Inshahri’s eyes widened, and she jumped to her feet.

“Hasehnya found us!” she exclaimed, hooked her arm under Yasawen’s, and practically hauled him up. The boy let out a surprised yelp, stumbling and almost falling face-first onto the sand, before he found his balance. “See you, Captain!”

Inshahri gave her parting words without looking at Sjan-dehk. Yasawen gave him an apologetic look as he was dragged away.

Barely a couple of heartbeats later, Hasehnya dashed past Sjan-dehk.

“W–Wait, Shahri, please stop!” she called out between pants, clearly out-of-breath. Still, she gathered up as much of her skirts as she could in her hands, and continued chasing after the two younger arcanists. “D—Don’t do whatever you’re planning to do! It—It’s not safe!”

Tehwasang followed behind her, though she was markedly in much less of a rush. She even found time to stop and offer Sjan-dehk a simple nod.

“Greetings, Captain,” she said, a smile on her face. “Hasehnya and I will take care of those two. Don’t worry about us.”

“Make sure you do,” he replied. “But make sure the two of you find time to unwind as well. Times like these don’t come easily. Get as much as you can out of the next day or so.”

“I’ll see to it that Hasehnya takes it easy, Captain.”

And with that, she ran off after her friend.

Sjan-dehk watched her go, and watched the other arcanists chase each other for a while. Then, with a soft chuckle on his lips and a shake of his head, he continued on his way. All of the arcanists—Tehwasang and Hasehnya included—weren’t much more than children. They could still afford to be silly, and he was more than willing to allow them that luxury.

He found the person he was looking for a little further up the beach, seated on the sand just a dozen-or-so steps away from the treeline. Her scarlet tresses shivered in a gentle, balmy breeze, and she was dressed in a spare set of his blue-and-white uniform. Sjan-dehk held his package just a little more securely against himself, straightened his back a little more, and approached Kalliope with careful steps. He knew he didn’t need to be cautious around her, but he couldn’t help himself. It hadn’t been that long ago when she’d been confined to his quarters while Dai-sehk tended to her considerable injuries.

Sjan-dehk announced his presence by clearing his throat, and setting the package on the sand.

“Courtesy of Master Avek,” he said, letting out a quiet grunt as he took his seat beside her. “There’s salted fish, some pickled vegetables, vinegared rice, and a few other things in there. I wish I could’ve gotten you something better than our rations to commemorate your recovery, but the next time I go aboard Sudah will most likely be for an hours-long tongue-lashing, and I don’t want to keep you waiting that long.”

He leaned back on his palms. There were better things he could’ve said—better than grousing about what he had to look forward to, and food, at the very least—but nothing came to mind. Pressing a finger into the soft sand, he swept his eyes across the beach, ultimately settling his gaze on the arcanists. Hasehnya still chased after Inshahri, and Inshahri still dragged Yasawen behind her. It did seem as if they were all having fun now, however.

“I’m sure you saw what happened,” he started awkwardly. “But don’t worry about it. Our arcanists may just be children, but they know what they’re doing. I’m mostly confident that they won’t do anything too stupid.”

The sun was almost too bright, the sand too warm, the air too full of life. For days, Kalliope had existed in a world that was only the size of Sjan-dehk's cabin, a dim, rocking space that smelled of medicinal salves, old parchment, and the lingering, comforting scent of the Captain himself.

The journey back to the Sada Kurau had been a blur of agony and strange, haunting beauty. She remembered the weight of Sjan-dehk’s arms, the way his chest felt like a fortress against the world, but it was the music that had kept her soul from drifting back into the river. Stratya’s fife and the bards in the streets had woven a silken shroud over the sounds of the city—drowning out the imagined click of locks and the memory of Hafiz’s low, melodic cruelty. Every note had been a handhold, something for her to grip when the dissociation threatened to pull her under. She had been so deeply, achingly grateful for that music; it was the one of the only things that had made the transition from the stone tomb to the wooden deck of the ship survivable.

But once the music stopped and the cabin door closed, the wreckage of her mind had truly begun to splinter.

The last few days had been a descent. She had been a ghost haunting Sjan-dehk’s bed, her body wasting away until her collarbones stood out more than normal. Every time she closed her eyes, she was back in the tunnels. She would wake with a throat-tearing scream, her hands clawing at her own skin as if she could peel off the memory of Hafiz’s touch. The nightmares weren't just images; they were sensory assaults—the smell of sulfur, the cold slide of a needle, the feeling of her own autonomy being methodically stripped away until she was nothing but a vessel for pain and the pleasure of a twisted man. She had wept until her eyes were swollen shut, sobbing into the pillows until she was physically too exhausted to breathe, only to fall back into a fitful sleep where the cycle began again.

She had let Dai-sehk treat her, but she had been silent, her gaze fixed on a knot in the wood above her. She had made one request, whispered with a shame that felt heavier than any chain: something to ensure no part of her violator remained within her. Since then, she had felt hollowed out, a burnt-out husk of a woman. She had hardly eaten, the very idea of nourishment feeling like an insult to a body she no longer recognized as hers.

Now, sitting on the sand in one of Sjan-dehk’s linen shirts and pants, she felt exposed. The sleeves were rolled up multiple times to keep them from swallowing her hands, the fabric smelling of him and the sea—a sharp contrast to the stale, metallic scent that seemed to cling to her own pores. She looked at the package he’d brought, then slowly shifted her gaze to him. Her eyes were sunken and rimmed with the red of exhaustion, the vibrant green of her irises muted, looking like moss on a grave.

“Salted fish is plenty, Sjan-dehk,” she rasped, her voice thin and jagged from lack of use. “Better than anything I’ve tasted in a while. I think... I think my stomach forgot how to be hungry.”

To hear the weakness in Kalliope’s voice—-a far cry from the oftentimes mischievous, sometimes teasing, but always sure and strong tones that he’d gotten used to—made Sjan-dehk’s heart ache with a pang that cut him right to the quick. His fingers dug into the sand, and he stared at the space between his feet. How could he have felt so light-hearted, so relaxed earlier, when Kalliope was in such pain?

She watched the young arcanists with a distant, hollow envy. They were so loud, so messy, so unbroken. “They’re lucky,” she added quietly, her fingers digging into the sand. She focused on the grit beneath her nails—it was sharp, it was real. “To have someone shout at them to be safe. To have someone care if they do something stupid. It's a luxury they don't even know they have.”

She fell silent, the sound of the waves filling the gap. She looked at the oversized sleeve of his shirt covering her arm, the weight of it the only thing keeping her from feeling completely translucent.

“Thank you. For the clothes. And... for bringing me out here.” She looked up at the sky, her neck straining slightly. “When the stone was closing in... when he was there... I didn't think I'd ever see the sky again. I'd accepted that the dark was all that was left for me.” She looked back at him, a flicker of raw, heart-wrenching vulnerability in her eyes. “You saved me, Sjan-dehk. I know I’ve been... a ghost these last few days. But I owe you my life. I’m eternally grateful. Truly. Thank you for not letting me stay at the bottom of the river.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Kalliope,” Sjan-dehk replied with a shake of his head. Coughing into a fist, he cleared his throat before going on. “I mean, I appreciate your…Well, I guess appreciation, but it wasn’t just me who went to rescue you. Charlotte was there too, and Stratya, and Roman, and Cassius. I don’t think I could’ve done it all on my own. Not as quickly or easily, at least.”

He tilted his chin towards open waters, at a ship that lingered just beyond the bay. “And the Captain of that ship over there, Cynwaer? He was the one who pointed me in the right direction. Or at least, the people he knows pointed me in the right direction. But without their help, I’d probably still be walking around Sorian in circles trying to find you.”

He turned his head, and met Kalliope’s eyes with his own. The puffy redness circling them, the dullness of her irises, and the raw emotions in her gaze—none of those escaped his notice. “There’s plenty of people who’d happily jump into that river to pull you back out if you ever fall in again,” he said quietly, reaching out with a hand to cover hers. “And that includes me, so you’ve nothing to worry about. After all, what’s a river to a Jafin? I’ll dive in as many times as you need me to, and if I fish you out and find that you’re a ghost, I’ll just find a way to breathe some life back into you.”

A slight blush washed over cheeks, his ears picking up on the dramatic nature of his words. But still, none of it was a lie—if Kalliope ever found herself in trouble, he’d consider it his honour, his privilege to be there to help her out of it. “That’s just the right thing to do, you know?” he went on. “So please, don’t feel like you owe me anything. That you’re out of there, and recovering, and safe, is more than enough for me.”

“And, ah, you don’t have to thank me for my clothes,” he said, this time averting his eyes before they could drift over her. The looseness that was typical of clothes cut in the Jafin style, and his uniform being a touch too big for Kalliope, meant that rather little was left for the imagination. Sjan-dehk wasn’t even sure where he could rest his gaze. “I’ll see if I can borrow some from Iyen, or Hasehnya. They should fit you better.”

Kalliope felt the warmth of his hand over hers, and for a fleeting moment, the chill that had lived in her marrow since the tunnels seemed to recede. She didn't pull away. Instead, she turned her hand over, lacing her fingers with his in a tentative, fragile grip. His humility was so characteristic of him, so steadying, but she couldn't let him dismiss the weight of what he had done.

“I know I owe them, too,” she said softly, her gaze following his out toward the Remembrance and the shimmering horizon. “And I’ll find a way to tell them. I’ll thank Charlotte for her kindness and Stratya for the music that kept me sane. But Sjan-dehk...” She paused, her thumb tracing the line of his knuckles. “It’s different with you. You didn’t just pull me out of a warehouse. You’ve been pulling me out of the dark since the moment we met.”

Sjan-dehk’s eyes turned to their hands, the redness in his cheeks growing a touch brighter. Every brush of her thumb against his knuckles sent a strange, tingling sensation rippling up his arm, and across his entire body. He didn’t dislike it, however. Quite the opposite, in fact—it eased his aching heart, and filled him with a calming, soothing warmth. He looked back at her, and gave her a small, soft smile.

Slowly, he curled his fingers between hers, holding her hand in a ginger, yet firm grip, as if trying to tell her through touch alone that everything would be fine, one way or another. He’d make sure of it.

She looked back at him, her expression earnest and stripped of its usual masks. “You helped me remember that there’s more to the world than shadows and contracts. You... you helped open my heart again, even when I was trying so hard to keep it locked tight.” The confession hung in the air, vulnerable and heavy, but she didn't look away. “So don’t tell me I don’t owe you. I owe you the fact that I’m sitting here at all, instead of just being another ghost in the stones.”

Sjan-dehk wasn’t sure if he’d heard what he thought he’d heard. Had she just…Well, he didn’t even know what to call what she’d just said, but it certainly sounded rather intimate. His mind raced to come up with a response—not so much because he didn’t know what to say, but because he had too many things in mind to tell her. By the time he stopped staring at her with mouth slightly agape, however, she’d already moved on, and he decided to wait for the next opportune moment to share his words.

When he mentioned finding her better-fitting clothes from the other women, a ghost of her old smirk touched her lips—pale and fleeting, but there. She looked down at the wide, Viserjantan sleeves and the scent of sea air and sun-dried linen that clung to the fabric.

“Don’t bother the others just yet,” she murmured, her voice losing some of its jagged edge. “I actually... I like these. They’re comfortable. And they smell like you.” She shifted slightly, pulling the oversized shirt a little closer around her frame. “It makes the world feel a little bit safer. Like I’m wearing a bit of your strength until I can find my own again.”

She reached out with her free hand toward the package he had brought, her fingers trembling only slightly as she felt a heat touch her own cheeks. “Now, are you going to help me with this salted fish, or are you just going to sit there and turn red?”

“R–Right,” Sjan-dehk blurted out, the word leaping from his tongue a little too quickly. He looked away, and tried to hide his burning cheeks from Kalliope’s eyes. Embarrassed as he was, however, he still felt a deep sense of relief from having seen the fleeting smirk that’d graced her lips, as how a radiant sun might shine through gaps in foreboding stormclouds. It seemed that whatever he was doing, was helping.

He cleared his throat and pulled the package closer to him.

“Let me take care of this.”

Taking care not to accidentally rip the age-thinned and weather-beaten sailcloth, he deftly undid the couple of overly-tight knots that Avek had tied. The fabric unfolded into two rough squares. Sitting in the middle of them were plates and bowls covered in thin linens—likely cut from old clothes. Sjan-dehk peeled the damp fabric sheets off of the food and laid them neatly on the sand. “This looks like the fish,” he said, and placed a long, oval-shaped dish between Kalliope and him.

Next came a deep bowl. “The rice.”

Then, another elongated plate. This one, he brought up to his nose to give it a sniff before placing it on the sand. “Pickled vegetables. Cabbage, carrots, and peppers, mostly. They smell fine to me, and it looks like Master Avek’s cooked them through, so they should be safe to eat. Though if they taste funny to you, don’t eat them.”

He looked down the mouth of the next item, an earthen jar. “Sugared apples and plums, I think,” he said, sounding genuinely surprised. “Must be made from local Caesonian stuff, because we didn’t bring any sugar with us and the only fruits we’ve got in Sada Kurau’s hold are lemons and limes.”

Two empty plates, and two pairs of chopsticks came next. Sjan-dehk took a set for himself, setting it on his lap, and held the other out towards Kalliope. “We can take our time eating,” he said with a smile. “As far as I know, there’s nobody else on this island, and I’ve nothing to do for the rest of the day. We won’t be taking Sada Kurau out to sea until tomorrow afternoon, at the earliest.”

He paused, and when he looked at Kalliope, her earlier words—the ones about how he’d helped her open her heart again—played in his mind. A slight blush crept over his cheeks, but he kept a straight face, or at least a face as straight as he could muster. “So, ah, if there’s anything you want to do today, feel free to let me know. I don’t know what to do with myself, anyway, so it’d…I mean, if you don’t mind, I’d be more than happy to accompany you for the day.”

Kalliope watched Sjan-dehk’s hands—those same hands she knew could snap a man’s neck or fire a musket without a tremor—now coaxing Avek’s knots loose with a tenderness that made something sharp twist in her chest. The ordinary scrape of earthenware, the hush of linen, all of it built a fragile barricade against the static still crawling at the edges of her mind. It was an anchor, heavy and real, pinning her to the sun-warmed sand and keeping the chill of her mind at bay.

She took the chopsticks, letting her fingers brush his for a heartbeat longer than necessary. The scent of food hit her—rich, sweet, and alive—and for the first time in days, her stomach didn’t revolt. No bile, no sour twist, just hunger, sharp and startling.

“You might have to tell Master Avek he has a new best friend,” she murmured, her eyes fixating on the earthen jar. “Sugared plums and apples... it’s like he knew exactly what it would take to lure me back to the land of the living.” She took a small, careful bite of a plum, the sweetness exploding on her tongue, and it was a sharp, vibrant contrast to the metallic tang of blood she’d tasted for so long.

She chewed slowly, pondering his offer as she watched the waves. “Having your company alone is... it’s more than enough, Sjan-dehk. It’s refreshing. It keeps the noise in my head from getting too loud.” She poked at the rice, her expression turning pensive. “I don't have a plan for the day. I think I just need... normalcy. Whatever that looks like now.”

She looked down at the sand, her voice dropping an octave, becoming more serious. “I know I owe you an explanation. I know I should talk about what happened... about him. About...well all of it.” She shuddered, the oversized shirt rippling with the movement. “But I’m scared to, Sjan-dehk. I’m scared that if I say the words out loud, I’ll be back there. I’m scared you’ll look at me and only see the... the wreckage.”

She forced herself to look up, meeting his eyes with a vulnerability that was raw and aching. “So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to just... be here. Maybe later, if there’s a quiet spot away from the crew... I’d like to go for a swim. To bathe. I still feel like the stone, blood, and grime are stuck to my skin. I want to wash it all away.”

She nudged a piece of fish toward the edge of her plate, trying to lighten the heavy air she’d just created. “But what about you? Is there anything on your mind? You’ve been so focused on me... surely the Captain of the Sada Kurau has his own thoughts, and not just worries about a ghost in his cabin.” As if trying to prove she was okay and he didn’t need to worry, she picked the fish up with the chopsticks and took a bite. She was a little clumsy with the utensil, but she managed well enough. They weren’t something she used often, but she was familiar with them at least.

“I’ve got plenty of thoughts,” Sjan-dehk replied with a nod. An amused, knowing grin pulled on the corners of his mouth, and a quiet chuckle flowed from his lips. Kalliope’s attempt at steering the conversation down a less serious path didn’t escape his notice, but he wasn’t about to stop her. If anything, he was more than happy to follow her lead—the past few days had been filled with nothing but seriousness. They could have a moment—or two, or three, or perhaps even four—of levity today.

Reaching across with his chopsticks, Sjan-dehk snapped up a clump of lightly-browned rice and brought it to Kalliope’s plate. “But I’d like to think that I can be excused for ignoring most of them while you were laid up in my quarters and, as you put it, looking like a ghost, or looking like you were going to—”

He stopped himself abruptly, and coughed into his fist. Gallows humour—especially the sort acquired from war and battle—wasn’t the sort of thing most people appreciated. He’d unfortunately learned that the hard way more times than he’d care to admit. And besides, making light of Kalliope’s situation—even if due to a slip of the tongue—when she’d only just recovered well enough to leave Sada Kurau just felt wrong.

A quiet, raspy chuckle escaped her before Kalliope could stop it, a small sound that felt raw in her throat. “You don't have to censor yourself around me, Sjan-dehk,” she murmured, her gaze dropping to her hands. “I know exactly how I looked.” She didn't voice the rest. She didn't tell him that in the deepest, darkest hours of her captivity, she had actively prayed for the phantom river to drag her under for good. Even while lying in his cabin, she had calculated the easiest ways to simply stop breathing, to let the dark win, because dying seemed infinitely less exhausting than existing through the violation that played over and over in her mind. But every single time her mind had teetered on that precipice, the memory of his stubborn, furious jaw and the steady cadence of his voice had anchored her, forcing her to hold on just a little longer.

“A–As I was saying,” Sjan-dehk quickly continued. His chopsticks clicked and clacked as he brought more food to Kalliope’s plate—first some vegetables, then more slices of fish. “I think it’s only right that I focused on you while you were laid up. I still carried out my duties, of course, but other things? None of them were too important, if you ask me. Not as important as making sure you were alright, in any case.”

His cheeks reddened at his own words, but still he faced Kalliope fully before going on. “And, well, I think I can take my time thinking now, so it all worked out in the end.”

The sheer earnestness in his eyes sent a sudden, frantic flutter of butterflies straight into her stomach, immediately followed by a deep, hollow ache in her chest that genuinely terrified her. Kalliope wasn't built for tenderness; she didn't know how to navigate a man who treated her life as something precious, rather than a commodity or a target. The way she was falling for him was dizzying and dangerous, a violent current she had absolutely no control over, but as she watched him blush, she realized she didn't want to stop it.

Time: Evening
Location: Grand Ballroom balcony
Interactions: @Remram Magnus and @Infinite Cosmos Munir

Hesitantly, Magnus nodded and then said, "Yes, it's true. She admitted to being a witch and... Well, you know the rest." His brows knitted together. He had just pushed that thought way in the back of his mind. "I implore you not to think hard about it. It'll only leave a pit in your stomach like the rest of us." His piercing blue eyes looked over the view they had of Soralia. The lights almost seemed like the very stars in the sky.

He let the silence hang in the air for only a moment.

"A wi-" she started but quickly shut herself up. She indeed did not know the rest, but she knew enough. Enough that her vision of Caesonia had been shattered and left her rose tinted view of the world starting to darken slightly.

She was brough back to the balcony as she heard Magnus try to comfort her, "I - will try."

He turned to face her again with a very earnest expression. "I truly do wish to apologize to you, Shehzadi Amira. I did not mean to embarrass you the way that I did, but I had to make myself abundantly clear that it wasn't me who sent those flowers. It would've been cruel to lead you on when I've only learned of your existence tonight."

She was beautiful, beautiful enough to make any man's heart race. That was an indisputable fact though there was something else to her. There was something, for lack of a better word, pure about her. Not pure as in someone inexperienced with the world, but pure in the fact that she hardly seemed to have a malicious bone in her body and saw the good in everyone and everything. Maybe to her own detriment. She should have been more wary of him, of any man for that matter instead of inching
closer to him... And yet he made no attempt to move away.

A small bittersweet but understanding smile decorated her face, "I know that you did not, and I am thankful you were honest. Even if all of this was one big mistake, I am glad that I have made some friends. I do not know what I would have done tonight if I had faced all this .. news alone."

Magnus plucked a yellow marigold from one of the pots that decorated the balcony and gingerly tucked it behind her ear. "It may not be a bouquet, but maybe this will suffice." It stood out from the blues and golds that covered her though he could not deny that it looked pleasing on her. He smiled at his handiwork and said, "Yellow definitely suits you."

His delicate and caring gesture left her stunned, mouth gaping with a blush growing on her face. This was nothing like the story she had daydreamed but somehow that made it all that much sweeter.

With an easy smile returning to his face, he finally stepped onto the balcony proper and approached the pair.

"There you are."

His tone carried the familiar blend of relief and amusement reserved for troublesome family

"For a moment I feared I would have to explain to your father how I allowed his daughter to vanish into the night unsupervised."

His eyes shifted briefly toward the blond man before returning to Amira.

"I see, however, that you have already acquired company."

The prince offered a polite inclination of his head.

"Munir al-Kadir."

The introduction was simple, casual, and confident.

Spinning around at the voice that disturbed their little moment, Amira was shocked and almost thankful to see that it was Munir standing there. It had just occurred to her that had it been anyone else who had decided to take a walk on the balcony, this whole scene might have caused enough gossip to destroy her and possibly even Lord Magnus' reputation.

In that moment as Munir was busy introducing himself, she quickly took a step away from Magnus to keep the space between them.

Then his gaze flicked back toward Amira, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Now then, should I be concerned, or was this merely a strategic retreat from the horrors of ballroom conversation?"

Amira nodded nervously.

"Yes. Yes. I needed a moment to breathe after all the," She took a moment as she tried to choose her next words carefully, "commotion that had been caused."

"Though," She looked over Lord Magnus for half a second, a small smile once again brightened up her face, "I am feeling much better now."

FLASHBACK

Kalliope & Sjan-dehk

Part 2

Time: Morning, Ignis 8
Location: A cove off coast of Sorian

---

A loud, girlish laugh caught his attention.

He looked towards Sada Kurau. In front of her—well away from where most of the work was being carried out, thankfully—were the arcanists. Whatever tomfoolery Inshahri had planned to get up to had apparently been forgotten. The girl herself, also the source of the laughter, was hauling Tehwasang to her feet, who’d tripped and fallen face-first into the sand. Not too far away, Hasehnya lay sprawled on the ground, the rise and fall of her chest visible even to Sjan-dehk. Sitting beside her was Yasawen, the boy’s tiredness almost as obvious.

It was a peaceful sight, really, one that warmed Sjan-dehk’s heart.

And yet, it also reminded him of a harsh truth.

“But since you asked…” he began, trailing off as he considered his words. “One thing on my mind is, well, them—” he gestured towards the arcanists “—and the laws of your land. For a start, burning someone just because they can use magic is just wrong by any…Well, I suppose I should say by Viserjantan standards, but I’m really struggling to think of another place that burns people for their nature. I think the last time the Commonwealth had a witchhunt, it was still an empire, or something along those lines. It happened a long time ago, in any case. Long before we Jafins became Viserjantans.”

He shook his head. “But anyway, I’m just worried about them. Yasa, Shahri, Tehwa, Hasehnya…And every other arcanist aboard Sudah. If Shahri’s proved anything, it’s that if someone’s determined enough, they’ll find a way to sneak ashore. We can order our ships to anchor off-shore, or even anchor them somewhere else entirely, but someone’s going to find a way to end up in Sorian, I can feel it in my gut. And if the worst happens, and that someone gets burned…”

A heavy sigh, one that carried more worry than frustration, left his lips and nose. He could already imagine the outrage that’d sweep through Sudah and Sada Kurau if any member of their crew got executed for the so-called crime of possessing magic. They’d certainly have to make a hasty return to the Commonwealth, and news of Caesonia’s witch hunts became public knowledge, it’d be anyone’s guess what would happen next. Sjan-dehk had a feeling that it’d likely involve force.

“It’ll not be good, is what I’m saying.”

He cleared his throat. So much for their moment of levity—he’d just wasted Kalliope’s efforts in lightening the mood by introducing an even heavier topic. “But they’re just my thoughts, and I think a lot,” he said, his words rushed. “At least for now, there’s not a chance that would happen. We’re not returning to Sorian any time soon. Not in the next day or two, at least, so unless someone learns to fly or teleport, nobody’s going to be sneaking ashore. So we can all take it easy for now.”

Realising that his plate was still markedly empty, Sjan-dehk busied himself with piling it high with fish, rice, and vegetables. “We haven’t properly explored the island yet,” he said, and straightened his back, looking up and down the beach. “So I can’t say if there’s any place to swim, but I’m sure we can find a quiet place or an isolated patch of water for you to soak yourself.”

Then, he turned to face Kalliope, his expression soft and gentle, and his smile warm. “And you don’t have to tell me about…Well, about anything, really, if you’re not ready. You’ve only just started moving about, so I’d rather not have you start worrying over these things. When you’re ready to talk, I’ll be here to listen. But until then, just rest, relax, and enjoy yourself today. You’re safe and among friends here.”

Kalliope listened quietly, her chopsticks navigating the mountain of food he had compiled for her. She managed to gather a piece of the salted fish, chewing slowly as his final words washed over her. She swallowed, setting her plate down in her lap, her expression turning somber but resolute.

“I hear you, Sjan-dehk,” she said, her voice dropping to a serious, quiet register. “And I know you want me to just rest. But I do need to tell you about... about everything. In time. You didn't just pull me out of a warehouse; you and your crew painted massive targets on your backs to do it. You deserve to know exactly why I was taken, who Hafiz really is, and what you need to expect moving forward. I won't keep you in the dark when you risked everything to bring me into the light.”

She took a breath, letting her gaze drift back out to the young arcanists on the sand before transitioning back to his worries. “But regarding your arcanists... you're entirely right to worry. Magic is viewed as one of the ultimate, unforgivable crimes in this country. The people here are absolutely terrified of it, mostly because they've never been allowed to understand it.”

She picked up a slice of pickled carrot, turning it over with her chopsticks before eating it. “The history preached to us from the cradle—in Caesonia, Varian, and Alidasht alike—is that centuries ago, too many people abused magic, and it became an existential, incredibly dangerous threat. Whether that's the absolute truth or just a convenient lie to maintain control, I can't say for certain. But something catastrophic must have happened for three entirely different nations to universally ban it and enforce the pyres.”

She shook her head, her green eyes flashing with a touch of her old, sharp conviction. “Is their approach right? No. I don't agree with it at all. We would have been infinitely better off educating the masses, demystifying it, and regulating it strictly. But what's done is done, and a single person can't change generations of ingrained terror. I've seen both sides of it in my life—good usage, and truly evil, horrific usage. But even with the worst of it, I've never believed that every person born with a spark of magic deserves to be put to the torch because of a trait they didn't choose.”

She paused, taking a bite of the sweet, sugared fruit to wash away the bitterness of the topic, letting the flavor ground her sweet tooth before she addressed his deepest fear. “If the absolute worst were to happen, and one of your arcanists was caught ashore by King Edin's men... Edin is a fool in many ways, but he is not entirely suicidal. He knows the weight of foreign empires. I doubt he would risk a full-scale war by immediately executing foreigners who live under entirely different laws. At the very least, he would hold a trial, involve whatever authorities represent the Viserjantans here, and likely sentence them to permanent exile. He has just enough self-preservation to know that burning your people without a proper, bureaucratic trial would bring a rain of firelock smoke down upon his palace that he wouldn't survive.”

Kalliope quietly finished the plum, but as she looked out over the serene bay, the underlying dread returned to her features. “Though... I am deeply concerned about what we'll be sailing back into when we finally do return to Sorian. I don't doubt for a second that Edin will hold a trial for the Queen. And the result will almost certainly be her execution—if only to make a bloody fucking point, secure his crown, and spread enough fear to keep the rest of the city paralyzed.”

There was a sharp, caustic irritation in her voice, vibrating beneath the surface. To anyone else, it might have sounded like a generic disgust for the incoming political butchery, or perhaps a lingering trauma from the city's cruelty. But it wasn't fear of the crown that made her jaw tighten; it was bitter, venomous resentment. It had been Edin or Alibeth who ordered the slaughter of her family—perhaps even both of them sharing the ink on the warrant—and the thought of the Queen dying on someone else's terms turned her stomach. It irked her to her absolute core that she wouldn't be the one standing over Alibeth, that she wouldn't get to watch the light shatter and fade from the royal woman's eyes the exact moment she realized the ghost of her past had finally come to collect the debt.

The realization that she was sitting on a beautiful beach, drowning in dark thoughts of murder while Sjan-dehk watched her with absolute devotion, made her pause. She caught herself, noticing how heavy the air had become between them. With a soft, self-deprecating sigh, she set her empty plate aside on the sand and shook her head, a gentle, genuine smile replacing the tight lines of her jaw.

“I’m sorry,” she added softly, her voice losing its sharp edge completely as she gestured out toward the sparkling water and the children playing. “Look at me. You bring me out here for fresh air and a lovely picnic, and I spend the whole time talking about executions, witch hunts, and tyrannical lunatics. We should actually be enjoying the day. Look at this view, Sjan-dehk... it’s absolutely beautiful. We should be admiring it instead of inviting the world's ugliness into a place like this.”

Sjan-dehk had remained silent while she’d spoken, mostly because he’d been eating, but also because he hadn’t wanted to interrupt her. Between giving him a rough history of Caesonia’s relationship with magic, a brief introduction to how the other kingdoms in the region viewed magic, and her own ideas as to what the King might do to a Viserjantan arcanist, Kalliope had answered more than a few questions Sjan-dehk had had in mind. Not all of those answers, however, brought him relief.

For one, that Varian and Alidasht were just as hostile towards magic as Caesonia wasn’t welcome news at all. Not for him, and certainly not for Lady Adiyan, Captain Kaizahn, or any of the other officials overseeing the trade mission. They’d all hoped that even if things got worse, and the Viserjantan flotilla had no choice but to leave Caesonia, they could still carry on with their task by sailing for the other kingdoms. But now, it seemed, that would be foolish. All it’d achieve would be to land them in the same trouble, just with different ambiences.

Sjan-dehk’s brows furrowed—a flicker rippling across his forehead. He could already foresee a premature end to the mission, and a hasty retreat to the Commonwealth. The very thought of it left a bitter taste in his mouth, but at the same time, he couldn’t deny that it’d be the wise thing to do.

For two, as much as he trusted Kalliope’s assessment of the King—and he trusted her plenty—he couldn’t help but feel uneasy at the thought of a Viserjantan arcanist being hauled before a Caesonian court for the so-called ‘crime’ of possessing magic. Would the weight of the Commonwealth alone, as Kalliope said, be enough to protect them? Sjan-dehk certainly hoped so. As things stood, the Viserjantan flotilla didn’t have the strength to do anything should the King decide that even foreign arcanists had to be burnt.

And lastly, there was that little change in Kalliope when she mentioned the Queen—or, to be accurate, the soon-to-be former queen. Sjan-dehk couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but she sounded…Different, to put it simply. Had it been simmering outrage at the injustice? Or something else? Regardless, it was something that piqued Sjan-dehk’s interest.

But, he decided, he would search for answers some other time. Kalliope was right—this day was much too pleasant, and the scenery far too peaceful for him to worry about such things.

“Well, I was the one who brought up the topic,” he said with a little smile. “So if anyone has to apologise, it should be me. So…I apologise.”

She shifted a little closer to him, her movements tentative but deliberate. Before her courage could fail her, she leaned sideways and gently let her head rest against his shoulder. She closed her eyes for a long, quiet moment, just focusing on the rhythm of his breathing and her own, the steady warmth of him soaking through the fabric, and the distant, peaceful calls of the gulls. For the first time since the warehouse, the phantom river in her mind felt entirely still.

After a long minute, she opened her eyes again, staring out at the sunlit waves rolling onto the shore. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was a quiet, fragile murmur that carried no masks, no teasing, and only the rawest vulnerability.

“Sjan-dehk... I know you think it was just the right thing to do, that anyone would have jumped into the river for me. But you went so far beyond that. You didn't just fish me out... you brought me into your quarters. You’ve let me haunt your space, you've cared for me more than anyone else ever has, and you look at me like my bruises and my scars hurt you just as much as they hurt me.” She paused, her heart thundering as she tried to keep from trembling. “Why? Why do you care so much about what happens to me? You’ve been carrying the weight of my wreckage for days without a single complaint, but... I’m so scared of what happens when you finally get tired of carrying me." Her next words came out in a barely audible whisper. "Because I don't think I ever want to let go or leave your side.”

Sjan-dehk’s breath caught in his throat, and despite himself, his body tensed up slightly the moment he felt Kalliope lean against him. Suddenly, he felt as if he had too many limbs—he didn’t know where to place his hands, or what to do with his arms as a whole, for that matter. Part of him wanted to pull her a little closer, a little more snug against him, but another part of him convinced him that any movement would cause her to slip, and fall onto the sand.

And so, even as he gradually relaxed, he remained as still as he could, shifting only ever-so-slightly to get closer to her. He could feel her heat, warm and comforting, spreading through him, the rise-and-fall of her chest as she breathed, and the strands of her hair that brushed against and tickled his neck. Were she not gazing out at the sea, she would’ve certainly seen the redness staining his cheeks. And that redness only grew deeper and darker with every word she spoke.

“You said it yourself,” he began, keeping his voice as normal—or whatever passed for that, at least—as he could. “It’s the right thing to do. And…”

He cleared his throat. A strange sort of nervousness came over him. He couldn’t tell from where—it wasn’t as if he was spilling some deep, dark secret. He was merely stating a fact. An indisputable truth that didn’t need to be kept hidden. Yet, the words seemed stuck in his throat, unwilling to leave until he finally forced them out.

“And, well, I–I knew it was one of those things where if I didn’t do anything, I…” Those words tumbled over his lips like water overflowing a bucket, before trailing away. He chewed on his lip, thinking of how best to express himself.

“I knew I’d regret it,” he said quietly, at last. “I–I mean, you’d probably still be fine. There were many, many people looking for you, and they’d have been enough to deal with the people who took you. But I didn’t like the thought of doing nothing, you know? I don’t think I’d have rested easy if I didn’t see for myself that you were alright. And I sure as the Abyss is dark didn’t want to let you out of my sight when I saw…Well, when I saw the state you were in. At least not until you’ve recovered, I mean.”

He breathed in deeply through his nose before continuing. “As for why I feel all that, well…I don’t know, to be honest. The Mother as my witness, I’ve asked myself that before, and all I can say is that you…I mean, I–I apologise, I don’t even know what this means, but I can’t bring myself to leave you alone. You say that you’re worried about how long I can carry you, but I…I don’t know. I want to carry you, if that makes sense at all. It wouldn’t feel right to me, otherwise.”

Despite his bashfulness, a wry chuckle rumbled in his throat. “I guess you don’t have to worry about letting go, at least,” he quipped. “Seems like you’re stuck with me for a while, if you’d have me, that is.”

His bumbling, achingly sweet admission broke something wide open inside her. The warmth radiating from his steady frame was suddenly too intense, too close to the raw wound of her vulnerabilities. Kalliope slowly pressed her hands against him as she sat up—not to push him away in disgust, but to create space before she entirely dissolved.

She pulled back from his shoulder, her movements deliberate but fragile, and forced herself to look at him fully.

As she met his eyes, the hot, heavy tears that had been building behind her lids finally spilled over, falling entirely unbidden down her pale cheeks. They traced the fading yellowish bruises along her jawline, leaving wet, glittering paths through the dust on her cheeks. Her lips trembled, stripped entirely of the confident masks she had spent a lifetime constructing. Her fingers stayed tangled in the rough linen of his sleeve, anchoring her as she looked at his flushed, flustered face.

“You are an incredibly foolish man, Sjan-dehk,” she whispered, her voice cracking into a raw, fragile thread that barely carried over the steady rush of the surf. “You say that like it's a simple thing. Like wanting to carry the wreckage of a broken woman doesn't cost anything. You have an entire ship to command, a country to answer to... and you're letting a shattered assassin anchor you to the sand.”

A small, trembling sob finally forced its way past her split lips, though she didn't look away from him. “It terrifies me. Do you understand that? Hafiz took my autonomy, he took my blood, and he took my peace... but what you are doing to me right now feels so much more dangerous. He only knew how to break my body. You... you are dismantling everything else.”

She squeezed the fabric of his sleeve, her green eyes wide and brilliant with tears as she laid her heart completely bare to him. “I’ve spent my entire life keeping my heart locked in an iron box so no one could ever use it to destroy me. I told myself I’d shove anyone away who got too close. But you broke the lock without even trying, just by being... you. I think... I think I’m falling in love with you, Sjan-dehk. And it scares me more than the dark ever did. Because if you ever decide to drop me... I don't think I'll survive the fall.”

Sjan-dehk’s eyes widened. His mouth opened, as if he were about to speak, but no words came out. What should he say in response to such a revelation? What could he even say?

Nevertheless, he knew he had to say something. The silence, which thus far had only lasted the barest of moments, already felt incredibly uncomfortable. Letting it stretch on for any longer would be torturous. For him, at least. And so, he shut his mouth, chewed on his lip, and took as little time as possible to think over his words.

“W–Well, like–like I said,” he began haltingly. “I, ah, I don’t plan on leaving. Leaving you alone, I mean. But only if you’d have me, as I think I’ve said. Even if I have to return to the Commonwealth, I can always take you with me, you know? I don’t think–I mean, I’m sure nobody would mind. So…You shouldn’t worry about that. I’m not going anywhere.”

He sucked in a deep breath. “And–And as for you falling in…”

His cheeks burned before he could even finish his sentence.

Love. A simple word, really, but one he couldn’t even bring himself to say aloud. It felt like if he did, he’d be acknowledging something he’d been trying to ignore. An emotion he didn’t know what to do about; one he wasn’t even sure he felt. He did feel strongly about Kalliope—that much he couldn’t deny. Very strongly, in fact. But love? That was a very heavy word, with heavy implications. It wasn’t a word to be thrown around lightly, and he certainly didn’t want to. Not with her. Never with her.

He glanced at her, and caught sight of green eyes shimmering with tears, looking up at him from under the red tresses that always drew his attention. He saw her bruised cheeks, her slender fingers clutching to his shirt, and the raw vulnerability etched upon her face. Immediately, he averted his gaze, directing it towards Sada Kurau instead. Not because he didn’t want to look at her, but because he knew he’d find it difficult to find the right words if he did.

“As for…That,” he finally continued. “I, ah…Well, thank you.”

Those were not the right words.

“I–I mean, it flatters me, really.” His cheeks were so hot they felt as if they were afire. It was all he could do to not once again give in to silence. “But I don’t…I mean, I feel very strong…Well, feelings, for you. I–I just don’t know if I can call it love. I–I mean, I meant everything I’ve said to you. It honestly doesn’t feel right for me to let you face what you’ve to face on your own. It pains me to see you hurt. I’d fight every one of your demons if you so much as asked. I–”

He stopped himself before he rambled any further. “I care a lot about you, Kali,” he said in a quieter voice, the slight waver betraying his inner tumult. “And I know it’s strange. We haven’t even known each other for that long, and yet…You’ve become someone important to me.”

Despite himself, he let out a mirthless chuckle. “Sorry. I know this isn’t the answer you wanted. But it’s the honest answer. Twenty-four years, and all I’ve known is the sea, sailing, and fighting. These…Things, this matter of the heart is new to me. I know what I feel for you, Kali. I just don’t know…I don’t know if I can call it love. And love’s a very…Special thing, you know? I don’t want to say it just because it’s the right thing to say. You deserve more than that, I think.”

He let out a sigh, visibly deflating. “Sorry,” he mumbled ashamedly, and braced himself for her reply.

Kalliope didn’t blink. She sat there, her hands still rooted to the coarse linen of his sleeve, watching the absolute agony of honesty play across his features. The hot tears on her cheeks grew cool against the salt air, but she didn’t wipe them away. She listened to him stammer, watched him look out toward his careened warship, and felt the heavy, lumbering weight of his integrity pull at the space between them.

When he finally muttered his second apology and deflated, bracing himself as if waiting for a blow, the absolute silence fell over them.

But the explosion she had been terrified of—the catastrophic drop she had just predicted—didn't happen.

Instead, a strange, quiet stillness settled over her. The frantic thundering in her chest slowed, its erratic rhythm smoothing out. She looked at his burning cheeks, his downcast eyes, and the sheer, unadulterated decency of a man who refused to lie to her just to make a heavy moment easier. In her world, words were cheap; they were bartered, falsified, and used to slit throats in the dark. To have a man hold her heart in his hands and care enough about the truth of it to say 'I don't know' was... the most magnificent thing she had ever witnessed.

Before the thoughts could form in her mind, a sudden, magnetic pull drew her forward. The space she had just created between them felt entirely wrong. She didn't think about the scars, the tunnels, or the rules she had built to keep the world away. She only saw Sjan-dehk—his fierce, bumbling goodness and the burning heat of his cheeks.

Slowly, deliberately, she closed the distance. Her fingers slid from his sleeve to the warm, solid line of his jaw, her thumb lightly brushing his skin as she guided him towards her and leaned in. When her lips met his, it wasn't the sharp, predatory kiss of her past, nor was it a demand. It was a gentle, tentative pressure—a quiet, aching seal of gratitude and a silent surrender to the safety he offered. It lasted for a long, breathless moment, a soft anchoring of two souls on a quiet shore, before she slowly parted from him, her breath hitching slightly.

A tiny, fragile trace of her old, genuine smile touched the corners of her mouth, weary but entirely unmasked.

“Sjan-dehk,” she murmured, her voice steadying, though the rawness remained. She gently shifted her hand, her fingers sliding down until her palm met his, softly smoothing over his calloused knuckles. “Look at me. Please.”

She waited until his eyes drifted back to hers, refusing to let him hide in his own shame. “You are apologizing for giving me the greatest mercy I’ve ever been shown,” she said, her green eyes locking onto his with a piercing, liquid intensity.

“Did you really think I wanted a rehearsed line? I spent my entire life surrounded by people who said exactly what was convenient, right before they drove a knife between my ribs. If you had just blurted the word back to me out of pity, or because you thought it was what a hero was supposed to say... that is what would have broken me.”

She squeezed his hand, her thumb tracing the line of his knuckles, grounding them both on the sun-warmed sand.

“You tell me you care enough to fight my demons. You tell me it pains you to see me hurt, and that you want to carry my wreckage even when you don't have to.” A soft, watery chuckle rumbled in her throat, a flicker of her old, brilliant warmth sparking through the exhaustion in her eyes. “Sjan-dehk, you can call it whatever you want. You can call it a captain’s duty, or stubbornness, or a matter of the heart. The name of the word doesn't matter to me. The fact that you mean it does.”

She leaned slightly closer, the oversized hem of his shirt pooling around her knees, the terrifying distance she had created by pulling away completely vanishing.

“I’m not asking you to know the whole sea before you’ve even set sail,” she whispered, her voice dropping into a gentle, unhurried cadence. “Twenty-four years of fighting and sailing... and you're letting a broken assassin teach you how to drift. If we're stuck together, then we're stuck. I can handle a slow burn, Captain. In fact... I think I prefer it.”

Kalliope had kissed him.

She’d also spoken at length after that, but if Sjan-dehk had to be embarrassingly honest, he hadn’t paid as much attention as he should’ve to her words. How could he, when just the brush of her lips against his had rendered his mind frozen? Time moved on, and Kalliope had given her reply, but still it stubbornly clung on to that moment. Even now, as he met her gaze with eyes wide and lips slightly parted, he couldn’t help but think of her warmth as she’d drawn closer, of her gentle touch as she’d guided him into the kiss; of the soft pressure from her lips…

And of how content he’d felt in that moment.

Not happiness. Contentment. Something far more valuable, and far harder to achieve, as far as Sjan-dehk knew. And in that moment, when she’d kissed him, he’d felt it. In that moment, the rest of the world, and all of its headaches and ugliness, had faded away, and the two of them were all that existed. No troublesome nobles to deal with. No worries about arcanists and Caesonia. No concerns about the future. Just him and Kalliope, and that’d felt enough.

It was a wonderful feeling.

And one that left a pang of guilt in his heart.

He glanced at their joined hands and quickly suppressed the sigh that was building in his throat. Here was Kalliope, approaching him with sincerity and effectively giving him her heart, and what did he have to offer in return? Uncertainty. Doubt. A man who couldn’t even decipher—couldn’t understand—his own emotions and what he felt for her. It didn’t seem fair to Kalliope.

“Thank you,” he murmured, and immediately felt silly for saying it. What was he even thanking her for? For her reply? For not, as he’d expected, getting upset? Or was it for entrusting him with her heart?

Or perhaps for helping him make some sense of everything?

Sjan-dehk hadn’t listened carefully to everything that she’d said, but he’d heard enough to know that she’d made some very good points. Did naming his feelings towards her even matter? He knew what he’d do for her, and the lengths he’d go for her, and he knew full well that he’d make good on his word. It might not be as grand as an open declaration of love, as a hero in a Vasenyan folk tale might do, but surely it was—for now, at least—enough? Kalliope seemed to think so.

And wasn’t that all that was important?

“Thank you,” he said, clearer this time, a smile gracing his lips. He turned his hand over, and with a ginger touch—as if he were handling some priceless porcelain work—he wrapped his fingers around her hand to grasp it in a gentle hold. “Thank you for trusting me, Kali. I promise…Not, I vow to you that I’ll make sense of…All this. And I’ll do it as quickly as I can, as carefully as I can. I don’t want to keep you waiting too long for me, after all.”

He looked at her, his cheeks dusted with redness, and his smile sincere. “And on the day I figure it out, it’ll be my turn to tell you how I feel. But until then, it’d be my honour to stick with you, wherever the Mother, or the Navigator, or the Stormbird, or the Abyss Keeper, or any other deity that I’ve probably forgotten, might bring us.” The last few words came out with hints of playfulness, his smile turning into a more mischievous and cheeky grin.

Silence once again returned. Sjan-dehk rubbed his thumb over the back of Kalliope’s hand, and just took his time savouring this little moment.

“Captain!”

Unfortunately, Yasawen seemed to have other plans for him.

“I swear, I’m confining the lot of them to the ship the next time we go ashore,” he said, leaning away from Kalliope and preparing to get back on his feet. “You can stay here and rest. I’ll be back shortly. It shouldn’t take too long.”

With that, he stood up and walked toward the sea. Ahead of him, he could see Hasehnya holding Inshahri back from something on the sand, with Yasawen looking worried as usual, and Tehwasang not even trying to hide her amusement, also as usual. More likely than not, Inshahri was trying her hand—again, he might add—at whatever array she’d tried to sketch earlier. An annoying interruption, in other words.

And yet, Sjan-dehk’s smile didn’t fade. What was it that Kalliope had said, to describe their relationship? A ‘slow burn’, was it? He quite liked the sound of that. His gut told him that it’d suit them nicely. And besides, fires that burned slowest, also burned the longest.

He could take plenty of comfort in that.