Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Chapter 9, Part 2

 Notes: Let's go figure out what the deal is at Melemor's Temple, huh? Should be easy peasy...

Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Chapter 9, Part 2 

 

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Chapter Nine, Part Two

Photo by Anne Laure
 

I Think That Went Well, Don’t You?

 

Two cups of tea, a quick bath, and a fresh pair of clothes later and Hiram was on his way to the Temple of Melemor. He could have taken Mule—it would have made the journey faster—but he was in a contemplative place after the memories he’d been assailed with last night, and decided it would be nicer to walk. It hadn’t been all that long since he’d left Galenish and Andurion behind, and yet…he’d forgotten. He’d genuinely forgotten how bad it had been before he finally walked away.

The mind is a surprisingly resilient organ.

It was an unfortunately tenacious one, too. He felt it, over and over again, as he walked—the blow that had knocked him down, the blow that was the true end of the relationship that has defined his life. It wasn’t even the first time Andy had ever hit him, was the thing. They’d trained together for decades, which inevitably led to bumps and lumps. The first time he’d started learning staff work, he’d managed to split Andy’s lip so badly there was still a faded scar there, and Andy had broken not one, but two bones in his foot once when he’d moved unexpectedly and put his armored boot on Hiram’s slipper. Those had been painful, but understandable—accidents happened. It was inevitable, they’d laughed about it even as they’d bled.

That hit, though…that hadn’t been inevitable. That had been a choice, a deliberate choice to assert dominance in the coarsest way possible. As soon as Hiram had realized that, once he’d assured himself there was nothing at work on his lover except Andy’s own greed and impatience, that had been that.

He’d been gone before the month was out.

If Phlox knew where Hiram’s mind had taken him, he didn’t say anything about it. He only sat there in his ear, inert but for the faint glow of his spirit and a trickle of heat that was a comfort on a chilly morning. Hiram smiled as he walked, melancholy but grateful, so grateful, for what he still had. Before long, his strides had brought him to the western edge of Lollop, and as he turned north he was joined by more townspeople on the road, all headed to the temple for Lares services. He nodded to several whom he recognized and eventually struck up a conversation with a cheesemaker that lasted until they got to the temple, which…

That was a big temple for such a modest town. Melemor was a major god of the pantheon, yes, and his temples were also often used as clinics and infirmaries, but heavens, this was as tall as two barns stacked on top of each other. It was made of stone, too—not marble, of course, but smooth river rock bound with cement and stacked toward the sky in the immense arch that was said to resemble Melemor’s prayerful hands. The stones were multicolored, and many of them had veins of quartz and mica that shone in the morning sunlight. It was…quite beautiful, Hiram thought to himself. Even compared to the cathedral back home, this was quite beautiful.

“I’m sorry about this rubbish decree of the High Priest’s, Hiram.”

He turned with a smile to look at Tilda. “It’s quite all right, my dear.”

“It’s not,” she said sourly, her lovely face stiff with resentment. “And I told him and Uriel as much, but—”

“No, truly.” He shrugged. “If knowing a bit more about me will solidify my welcome in Lollop, I’m happy to participate in a cleansing.”

“Cleansings are meant to be voluntary, not compelled,” she said with a sigh. “Especially when they’re for public consumption. It’s nonsensical—no one has brought any kind of complaint about you, they have no good reason to doubt your character.”

Hiram just wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a comforting squeeze. “Let’s go see if we can get ourselves a good seat, hmm?”

The temple was already two-thirds full by the time they got in, the pews filled with families trying to occupy their children as everyone waited for the light to be right. Melemor’s services only started, by tradition, when the focused rays of morning light began to directly illuminate the altar at the front of the temple, and they ended once the beam of light had moved on. It made for a relatively short service, which was pleasant for most involved.

Today, it was clear that the priests were impatient to get started. High Priest Velagros stood, tall and ascetic, right behind the altar, his hands clasped in a position of prayer even as his glittering eyes roved the room. When they landed on Hiram, they narrowed sharply even as the corners of his lips perked up.

Well, at least Hiram couldn’t be accused of shirking his responsibility. Nor could anyone else, it seemed—he and Tilda had to squish in with their neighbors as more and more people entered the temple.

I wonder… Hiram sat a bit straighter and looked around, but he couldn’t see Avery in the crowd. Surely he was here somewhere, though. Perhaps he liked to sit in the back.

There was a sudden, sonorous sounding of the gong, calling all worshippers to attention. The High Priest stepped forward, hands aloft, and as he spread them apart, sunshine seemed to gather in them for a moment. “All praise to the god of healing love and the light of truth,” he intoned in a voice that didn’t sound very loving at all. “Sing the song of solace.”

Hiram murmured along with the song as best he could. It really had been a long time since he’d prayed to Melemor, and he wasn’t surprised that his devotions were a bit sloppy. Eh, Melemor wouldn’t care.

They got through two more songs, several incantations for minor healing that left numerous people in the crowd smiling, and one dirge for the death of a gnomish family patriarch at the ripe old age of a hundred and eighty-seven. That was fairly involved, and by the time the last of the great-great-great-great-grandchildren had been named, the light was well past the midpoint of the altar. Hiram actually worried for a moment that he wouldn’t be called up, which after the psybane would truly be a waste, until—

“And finally,” the High Priest said, gaze unerringly finding Hiram, “we have a ritual cleansing to welcome the newest member of our society to Lollop. Hiram Emblic, step forward so that ye may be freed of your sins in the light of Melemor and your neighbors.”

There was a massive rustling as everyone in the entire temple turned to stare at Hiram. Fortunately, he was immune to embarrassment and only smiled as he stood and eased his way past the other people in the pew and made his way to the front of the vast room. An acolyte had already laid out a kneeling pillow for him, and he settled himself on it as Velagros came to stand in front of him. He held a bronze bowl in one hand and a silver-bladed knife in the other.

“Open your heart and soul to the love of Melemor, Master Emblic,” he said, then held out the knife.

Nice of him to let me do the cutting. This was all part of the ritual—a symbolic cut that would be healed along with whatever “bedeviled” him inside thanks to Melemor’s grace. It was also a test in and of itself; if you only gave yourself the tiniest prick, you might be seen as lacking faith. Hiram scraped the length of his index finger down the blade, and blood immediately began to drip.

High Priest Velagros captured some of it in the bowl, frowning, then set the blade on the altar behind them. He then dipped his fingers into the blood and closed his eyes. “The spirit of our god binds and sanctifies our connection,” he said. “Let it show me, and all of those present, your true heart.” He pressed his fingertips to his own forehead, then reached for Hiram’s. Hiram closed his eyes and focused on the past that had sent him to Lollop, hoping that Melemor would understand. The fingers touched his head, and then…

Feelings of harshness, hatred, and abandonment echoed throughout the temple. No specific words, no pointed visions, but a wretchedness and sense of loss that it was Velagros’s job to contain. Right on its heels was the pain of walking away from Misha, leaving his family behind, his baby, and there was no way back and he knew it, he would never see her again… Hiram had lived all this last night, and while it wasn’t pleasant to experience it again, it wasn’t enough to hurt him. He heard Velagros gasping his way through the cleansing prayer and hoped the other man was able to protect the rest of the townspeople.

Gradually, the feelings of despair gave way to something sweet and soft. The light shining down at the altar was warm, like a blanket resting on Hiram’s shoulders as he sat before a toasty fire. It soothed the aches and twinges that had seemed like his constant companion since leaving Galenish, and he smiled as he felt the cut on his finger knit. As the heat finally faded, Hiram opened his eyes once more and looked up at the High Priest, who was staring down at him with a blank expression on his face.

“Thank you,” Hiram said wholeheartedly.

To his shock, Velagros suddenly burst into tears. Not just tears but sobs, wrenching and awful, that sounded as though they were being forcibly pried out of him for all the shuddering and shivering he did. Hiram was mystified until he realized that he’d just shared one of the most traumatic experiences of his life with a man who knew his townspeople inside and out. Velagros wasn’t the type to be overcome by emotion; he could distance himself from the familiar trials of his flock. Hiram was…a bit of an outlier, there.

An acolyte quickly stepped up and finished the ceremony, wiping Hiram’s forehead and hand clean with a white cloth as another acolyte took the High Priest by the shoulders and drew him away from the wide-eyes townsfolk witnessing his breakdown. “Blessings of love and light upon you all,” the acolyte who’d tidied up Hiram said loudly, and then, “We’re done, thanks.” The light hadn’t even fully passed the altar.

Hiram sighed as he got to his feet. Instead of getting through things with minimal fuss like he’d intended, now he was sure to be even more the talk of the town. That was the last bloody thing he needed, and despite the energy that the healing had left him with, he felt rather tempestuous as he strode down the center aisle faster than anyone could reach out to him. He didn’t want to field nosy questions and suspicious glances, didn’t want to talk at all, really, he just wanted to be left in peace, was that so much to bloody ask? He heard the stirring of hundreds of bodies behind him, ready to move out, and it took all he had to resist the urge to run. He couldn’t—

“Master Emblic,” someone called from his left, low and steady. Hiram turned and saw Avery Surrus a dozen feet away holding the reins of a chestnut mare. He must have exited the temple even faster than Hiram. “Might I help you make your escape?” he offered with a little smile on his face.

Hiram didn’t care in the moment whether it was a ruse, a joke, or a taunt. He practically ran to Avery’s side and didn’t hesitate as the man, with deceptive ease, handed him up into the saddle. Avery followed right after, and Hiram settled in the center of his loose embrace as he clicked the reins and tapped the mare with his heels. They set off at a trot, and were gone from sight before more than a score of people had even made it outside, much less started over toward him.

“My hero,” he murmured, and felt the vibration of Avery’s laugh against his back.

“My pleasure.”

 

Hadrian's Colony: Epilogue: Elanus POV

 Notes: Oh my goodness, we're...at the end. The end of Hadrian's Colony. Not the end of our guys' story, nowhere close, but over seventy thousand words later, here we are. This was a rough go for our lovers, and the ending isn't a firmly happy resolution in all respects, but I feel confident in their ability to weather whatever comes next. 

And there's a lot coming, and soon. But not immediately! My brain needs a break, so I'll be doing a short story/novella in another genre entirely next, then revisiting these gents after that. Thank you all for reading and sticking it out with me! Life is challenging for a lot of us right now, but you give me something to look forward to every week.

Title: Hadrian's Colony: Epilogue: Elanus POV

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Hadrian’s Colony: Epilogue: Elanus POV

 

Photo by Sebastian Brito 

 

Nothing happened fast on a Drifter ship. Technologically and culturally speaking, speed wasn’t a thing for them. Their lives were measured in milestones—another hydroponic crop harvested, another trade deal made, another piece of their massive ship salvaged or decommissioned. They had loose schedules for everything from maintenance to health services, which was one of the reasons Elanus was so confident he could improve their systems. It wasn’t hard when half the damage was self-inflicted thanks to ignoring component wear and tear until it failed. He promised them results—in hydro-storage and recycling, in heating and cooling, and in diagnostics, and he was going to damn well deliver.

And what he asked for in return? A level of speed that had the Father—the head—of the ship ready to tear his hair out.

“We can’t source a ship that fast!”

“They’re already sourced,” Elanus replied absently as he tweaked the program Catie was putting together for hull integrity diagnostics. One more sensor in this area would be easy to manufacture, and it would cover an entire kilometer of ship that was currently underperforming but would soon be supporting temperature differentials. “You have three in storage.”

Daniel Hammersmith scowled at him. “You shouldn’t have that information. Have you been scanning our ship? Because that goes against the agreement you made when you came on board.”

Elanus didn’t resist the urge to scoff. “I didn’t have to scan anything,” he said. “The families who own those ships came to my people within the hour of us arriving, all looking to make a private deal.”

Hammerhelm’s expression darkened even further. “They don’t have the authority to make deals with outsiders unless I say they can.”

“Which is why I haven’t said yes to any of them,” Elanus replied. “But I will have one of those ships, Father Daniel, and I’ll have it without you dragging my stay here out and getting more concessions from me for using your precious resources, like I haven’t already repaid you fifty times over with the improvements I’m making for you.” He raised his eyes from the screen to look evenly at the Drifter, who looked away after just a second.

“Fine. But fuel is extra.”

Elanus smiled. “Of course it is.”

The truth was, he didn’t care that fuel would cost more. He didn’t care if it cost him as much as everything else they’d paid already, because fueling the ship they ended up with was the key to getting rid of Carlisle, and getting rid of Carlisle was key to getting Kieron back on an even keel.

You had to know him to know how he was being affected by his mother’s continual distance. After Catie’s Regen capacity was refreshed and Kieron broke out of the depression he’d been held in since the rescue, he’d acted almost normal. They’d been on Pinnace for a week and he’d been good for all of it—attentive to the kids, Pol included; conversing with Xilinn and Ryu about what had happened while they’d been separated; sticking close to Elanus when he could and showing him how much he cared in the small, sweet ways Elanus would freely admit he was addicted to.

It didn’t matter that so much of their early relationship was lost to Kieron’s traumatic brain injury; he still held Elanus’s hand whenever they were together for more than thirty seconds. He still laid his palm on his lower back when they walked, the easiest place for him to reach given that Elanus was more than a foot and a half taller than his fiancé. When they slept together—in a bed in guest apartments on Pinnace, which was a nice bit of privacy for all involved after months in close quarters with Catie—he pulled Elanus’s head onto his chest without a second thought. The love was ever-present, demonstrated in big and small ways, and Elanus was confident that he knew as much about how Kieron showed his emotions as Kieron himself did these days.

Which was how he knew the damage with Carlisle went deep. Kieron wasn’t extra sensitive to it because of his injuries, and Carlisle wasn’t extra solicitous of him because of them either. Despite their inability to speak with one another about anything of import, their actions spoke volumes.

Carlisle was quiet, avoidant, and cold. Kieron was quiet, persistent, and cracking under the weight of her disregard more and more every day.

That was why she had to go, before she broke something she had no right to anymore. She knew it, she agreed with Elanus, and as long as he got her a ship she could fly and gave her access to enough credits to do whatever the fuck she wanted, they were clear as far as he was concerned.

It didn’t take long. One conversation wrought a quick inspection of all three ships, Carlisle included in  the process because she was the one who would have to fly the damn thing, and then the trade was made. The ship was stocked, Carlisle was checked one last time and given a clean bill of health, and then…

She left. There was no elaborate goodbye, no heartfelt hugs and promises to meet again in the future. She simply said, “I’ll go, then,” and shook everyone’s hands. Kieron was the only one who got a double hand clasp, and for a second there, as their eyes met, Elanus thought they might have a breakthrough.

But no—Carlisle broke contact first, nodded at Elanus, then walked into her refurbished ship. Five minutes later, she was gone, heading for the closest space lane to do some exploring in the Fringe.

An hour later, Elanus found Kieron in one of the many small observatories, breaks in the outer hull that had been transformed into looking stations with plastisteel and forcefields. It was cold there, very cold—this part of the ship wasn’t well insulated, and when Elanus kissed the top of Kieron’s head as he wrapped him in an embrace, his skin was icy.

He needed to say something, break through the discomfort somehow, but…

“I don’t know whether I should feel happy or not with how it’s all ended.”

Huh, looked like Kieron was going to do the heavy lifting, then. As usual. “You feel how you feel,” Elanus said, not-very-usefully in his opinion, but what else could he say? “You can acknowledge something is for the best without being happy about it.”

“Is that what you think? That her leaving is for the best?”

“Yes.” There was no doubt in his mind. “For both of you. She’s been little better than a slave to a complete madman for most of her life, Kieron. Someone who controlled her every move, who had unreachable expectations of her.”

Kieron flinched. “Do you think I treated her like that? With unreasonable expectations, I mean?”

No, fuck that. “Honey,” Elanus said in what he hoped was a level tone, “You didn’t have any expectations of her, from what I could see. Or if you did, they were minimal at best. And I think that’s part of why it’s better that she left. Not just for her sake, so she can learn about a universe that’s so much bigger than what she’s used to, but so you can figure out how you feel without the pressure of being so careful around her. It’s breathing room, baby. Just some breathing room. It’s not forever.”

I won’t let it be forever.

“Besides,” he went on, “I don’t think Carlisle has quite the right skillset for our next adventure.”

“I don’t know,” Kieron said in a lighter tone than Elanus was expecting. “It might be nice to have a highly trained mercenary on our side when we try to infiltrate Trakta.”

“Ha,” Elanus muttered. “Goes to show what you know about infiltrating xenophobic, religious-right, neo-fascistic societies. You don’t make headway in a place like that with guns.”

“So how are we going to do it, then?”

Elanus kissed the top of Kieron’s head. “With the weight of my charming personality, of course. And a lot of credits.”

Elanus had them to spare, after all, and Trakta was incredibly money-hungry now that it had seceded from the Central System. He knew exactly what buttons to push to get access to the planet, and once he was there, he’d grease the right palms and set things up to get Xilinn’s kids back.

Easy. They were due something being easy for once in the past few years, and this was going to be it. It was.

It had to be.

 

Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Chapter 9, Part 1

 Notes: Let's have some memories, shall we? Damn, am I bad at keeping things fluffy. I swear this is going to stay a cozy and low-angst fantasy!

Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards, Ch. 9 Part 1

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Chapter Nine, Part One

 

Photo by Preston Goff

Take Me To Church

 

To be honest, Hiram almost forgot about the issue of showing up at the Temple of Melemor on Lares. He had a lot of work to do before the next market day, after all; his entire stock was gone, and in the days since then he’d had numerous clients come to his home in hopes of getting more of whatever curative he’d sold them before market day.

“Worked a charm,” the woman who’d come to him all bound up said as he sat with her at his table, dicing prunes. Her name, he learned, was Mistress Erine, and she owned one of the largest flocks of sheep in town. Her world was focused on caring for her family, her sheep, and her herding dogs to the detriment of caring for herself, hence lots of easy-to-carry food to last her the day that led to, well…issues. “Had to spend a whole evening on the latrine, but it was worth it. Now I want to be prepared for next time.”

“You should take dried plums with you when you go to work,” Hiram suggested. “They’ll get you ahead of the problem.”

“They’d be eaten right out of my satchel before I made it ten feet by one of the little ones or their pa,” she said with a shrug. “Medicinal tea, on the other hand, is avoided like the plague.”

“It’ll have the same effect, as long as you’re regular with it,” Hiram said. “Just one cup a night, brewed fairly weak. You can make one sachet last three or four days that way. Or, give me a few more weeks and I’ll have a tincture of this made up that you can add a bit of to water. That might be easier for you in the long run.”

“Very kind of you, Master Emblic.”

He smiled as he handed over a new sachet of tea. “It’s my pleasure.”

It was, too. This was good, simple work that was satisfying to complete and helped build a solid reputation for him in Lollop. It also gave Letty and her brother something to do once the garden was built—he sent them out to forage for rarer ingredients, confident that Esme would watch from a distance to ensure they didn’t get into any tangles they couldn’t handle. They returned with chokecherries, kingslip and queen’s lace, five different kinds of bark, and mistletoe (he discarded the mistletoe immediately), and smiles on their faces after spending hours traipsing through the woods, eating the lunch he packed them and spending time away from their demanding father.

Hiram forgot all about Lares, in fact, until Letty reminded him of it. “We won’t be in tomorrow,” she said as she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders. The evening air was beginning to get a bit nippier, and the leaves were beginning to change color. Soon the apples would be ripe for harvesting, and then the squash, and then… “Because of Temple.”

“Oh yes, of course.” Hiram smiled a bit absently at her. “Enjoy it.”

Letty frowned. “I’ll see you there, won’t I? High Priest Velagros has been telling everyone that you’ll be there.”

Shit, right. “Ah.”

“You forgot, didn’t you?”

He sighed. “I did. But I’ll be there.”

Letty paused, fidgeting with the hem of her scarf. “Mistress Tate isn’t happy about it.”

Oh, she must be raising hell in town. Hiram was a bit surprised she hadn’t come to him with her concerns, but odds were she was hoping to handle it without him knowing. Kind of her, as ever, but unnecessary. “If you would do me the kindness of finding Mistress Tate and letting her know not to fret, that I’m perfectly fine with a ritual cleansing, I would appreciate it.”

“I’ll do that,” Letty said. “See you tomorrow morning, then.” She grabbed Rickie by the hand before he managed to dart away, then closed the door behind her.

“Perfectly fine, hmm?”

Hiram rolled his eyes. “Oh, stop.”

“No, I don’t think I will. Melemor isn’t some local pushover you can dodge with cleverness; he’s a major member of the pantheon.”

“I’m not going to dodge him!” Hiram insisted. “I’m just going to show him what I prefer him to focus on.” He scraped up the last of the herbs from his cutting board and poured them into the compost bucket, then put the kettle on. It was time for a cup of tea himself—a very specific one.

“For all that his high priest is a loathsome bottom crawler, Melemor is a god of truthfulness,” Phlox snapped. “He prizes honesty from his worshippers, and a cleansing implies being forced to speak the truth whether you want to or not. If you give yourself away—”

“I won’t,” Hiram insisted. “Look, Melemor is a balancing act—truth, yes, but he’s also a god of healing, whether physical, mental, or spiritual. All I’ve got to do is give him the proper bit to focus on and I’ll be right as rain.” A quick glance at his store of spices showed he’d need to make a special trip upstairs to find what he wanted.

It felt odd to go up to his bedroom while it was still light out. It was a comforting place, but one that had more memories associated with it than the rest of the house. Here was where his former life still shone through, and nowhere was that more obvious than in the special satchel he’d warded to all the hells and back that contained his most magical potion ingredients.

“Psybane, psybane, psybane…ah.” There it was, a thorny, prickly ball of herbs that sported a most arresting shade of blood red. He tried not to be disappointed by finding it.

“Psybane? Are you mad? Do you want to be able to walk tomorrow?”

Phlox was too loud in his ear, and Hiram flicked him irritably as he wrapped some of the thorns in a scrap of cloth and carried it back downstairs. The kettle was bubbling by then, so he took it off the heat, put the psybane in a bowl, and poured the water over it. A minute to steep, no more, or he really wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow. He timed it to the cadence of his own pulse, and then decanted about half the water into a small cup.

“This isn’t smart, Hiram. Just find a spell that can do it.”

“Spells are a bad idea for me, you know that. And so is fighting the tide of the town,” Hiram said, turning with the cup and carrying it back up the stairs. He toed off his house shoes—boots were firmly left by the door—and sat down in the middle of the bed, making sure his pillow was ready behind him. Psybane hit differently every single time, but Hiram hadn’t taken it since he’d left Galenish. He wasn’t sure what it would do to him this time around.

“Hiram…”

He smiled a little. “Are you worried for me, Phlox?”

Phlox sniffed. “Only worried who would find your rotting corpse and take control of me afterward.”

“It’s all right, my dear. I’ll be fine.” He drank the tea down in one long swallow, then—

The psybane grabbed him like a hand to the throat and threw him down into memories. His vision went hazy, then dark, and Hiram’s mental landscape flickered and reformed over and over again. A cave, a dungeon, a barren mountaintop, a fiery plain, a sumptuous bedroom—

“—think you can get away with this?” Andy raged at him. “We need an alliance with the Sharivath, Xerome, and Misha is how we get it! You can’t hide her from me, I’m her father. Where is Misha? Where is my daughter?”

“A marriage alliance to the Sharivath isn’t worth it,” Xerome insisted, unwilling to back down from his enraged lover. He’d done that too much lately, given in to Andy when he should have pushed, should have fought back. He loved the man, but he was getting harder and harder to deal with. “Not for your only child. She doesn’t want that kind of marriage anyway, you know that.”

Andy sneered at him, his handsome features contorted by disdain. “Her wants are secondary to the needs of the kingdom.”

“She is your only heir! Don’t set her up to play second best when anyone she marries ought to be begging for her hand. ”

The blow came out of nowhere, so hard that Xerome fell to the floor from the force of it. He stared up at Andy, incredulous and feeling far more hurt than the strike warranted. There was nothing in Andy’s eyes to show he regretted it, nothing of repentance or shock at his own actions, at hitting the man he professed to love—just anger, anger, anger. “Bring her back before the week is out, or I’ll—”

The scene shifted, dragging him into a new vision. This one was Misha, garbed in a loose black robe and holding perfectly still as Xerome poured a dark, shimmery oil over her head as he spoke an incantation that would hide her from her father, and any other magic user who Andy could hire to do his dirty work. When it was done and he’d wiped her face clean, she opened her eyes and looked at him. “Come with me.”

Xerome shook his head, feeling his limbs tremble. The spell had taken a lot out of him. “I can’t hide myself this way, sweetheart.”

“So choose another spell for yourself.”

“Spells are the whole problem,” he said tiredly, handing over a towel. “I need to turn my magic off for a while, Misha. Your father will try and track me by it, so it’s best I don’t use it for the foreseeable future, other than laying some false trails.” He sighed. “No, we need to go our separate ways, for your own safety.”

Misha grabbed his hand, oil be damned. Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over her cheeks. “What about your safety?”

Oh, baby. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’m afraid for you.” She bit her lip. “And I’m afraid to be without you. Please, just—isn’t there some way we can stay together?”

And risk her father’s anger turning physical on her? Misha was a fine warrior, but she didn’t have her father’s skill or guile. “No, my love,” he said, squeezing her fingers in his. “I’m so sorry, but this is for the best.”

“It’s just for now, though.” There was still a hint of hope in her voice, and it made his heart clench with self-loathing. “Right? Just for now. You’ll find me later.”

Your father would have to be dead, and he might never die after what I’ve done for him. To him. “I’ll try,” he promised, and it rang false in his mind like a bell, tight like a noose, clawing out of his gut like a—

Hiram rolled onto his side and threw up the remnants of the psybane tea, gasping for breath. He shivered in the wake of his violent visions, and every part of him ached with longing for a life he’d never have again, and people who were lost to him forever. His family, his dearest ones…

“Are you all right?” Phlox asked quietly. “That took a long time, it’s almost dawn.”

It felt like no more than a few minutes…and an eternity. “I’m all right,” Hiram said, his voice rough from dryness. “I just need to settle a bit. Then I’ll clean things up and we can go to the Temple.”

And if this doesn’t work, then I’ll figure something else out on the fly.