Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards Ch. 15 Pt. 2

 Notes: What does the future hold? No one knows for sure, but it's going to be interesting ;)

Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards Ch. 15 Pt. 2

 

***

 

Chapter Fifteen, Part Two

 

Photo by Karthik BK

 

Slow and Steady

 

It didn’t take much effort to convince Letty that he was under the weather the next day. She was already inclined to mother him after his illness, and even the slightest hint that he was feeling down was enough to make her frown at him. “We need to make one of your teas,” she said, casting a glance at his shelves full of jars. “Which one is best for a sore throat?”

Hiram waved her off. “I’ve already had tea,” he said, smiling as Knight hopped over to Letty and nudged her knee in greeting. Her frown vanished as she bent down to pet him. “I’ve actually got to go to town today to collect some supplies for upcoming orders.”

“You can’t do that if you’re sick!” she said, hands flying to her hips.

“I’m not that ill,” he protested, trying to modulate how he was presenting himself to her—a bit ill, not so sick he needed to be in bed. “Mostly tired, I’m sure. Actually, if you cared to come with me, that would be a great help.”

Letty narrowly looked him over. “You could just make a list for me and I could fill it for you,” she pointed out very reasonably. “I’ll probably get better prices for a lot of it anyway.”

She probably could, curse this child and her ineffable logic. “I’d like to get out of the house. I’m tired of lying around.”

“Da said he saw you leaving the tavern yesterday.”

That rotten bastard. “I was just checking in with Mistress Tate,” Hiram assured her. “I didn’t want to make her come all the way out here again.”

“It would be better for her if you did,” Letty said with her customary directness. “I hear that Mayor Hurst has people telling him every time they see the two of you meet up in town.”

Hiram frowned. “Why would he even care?”

“I don’t know, but it’s no secret he’s not fond of you, and of course he’s had it out for Mistress Tate for years.” She lowered her voice a bit, even though there was no one to hear other than the two of them—that she knew of. “I was talking to Karla who was talking to Glen, he’s one of the initiates at the Temple of Melemor, and she said that he said that Mayor Hurst is furious that High Cleric Velagros isn’t going to help him figure out a way to drive you from Lollop anymore. He’s actually going on a mercy mission soon! He’ll be gone for a whole year in the north, Glen says, and his replacement isn’t nearly as fond of the mayor.”

Goodness. Hiram should have thought to ask Letty about this issue earlier; clearly she had all the good gossip. Still… “I’ll take that under advisement, but I don’t care to design my life around the will of petty tyrants,” he said.

Letty rolled her eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”

What? “I am not.”

“Listen to you! ‘I don’t design my life around the will of petty tyrants, for I am Hiram Emblic, lord of the leaves, master of mosses, purveyor of purgatives, rar rar rar…’” She pasted a smile on her face and turned her nose up in the air. “Now bow, peasants!”

“I don’t talk like that,” Hiram protested. “I certainly don’t call people ‘peasants!’”

Letty broke down in snickers. “No,” she agreed, “but you talk like you’re someone out of a ballad sometimes instead of just another person.”

Huh. Come to think of it, she wasn’t as wrong as he wanted her to be. Hiram would have to work on that. “Needless to say,” he pressed on after a moment, “I’m well enough to go to town with you. The fresh air will do me good, and I’d like to watch the mistress of dealmaking at work.”

The compliment struck home, and Letty flushed with pride even as she went over and got his sweater down from the hook by the door. “Fine, but you’re wearing this. It’s getting sharp out there. And we’re taking the wagon, so you don’t have to walk the whole way. No arguments!”

“I don’t—” His voice trailed off as he saw a dire light enter her eyes, and put the sweater on in obliging silence. As Letty harnessed Mule to the wagon, Hiram laid a fresh bowl of water down for Knight.

“This is going to take forever, isn’t it?”

“I doubt it will take her any longer than it would be,” Hiram said as he straightened up with a little wince. Curse his creaky right knee, he was going to have to get it looked at sometime soon.

“How do you think she gets all her gossip, hmm? By gossiping. This is going to take forever.”

“Then at least we’ll be in it together.”

“That’s not comforting.”

Hiram didn’t mean it to be, either. He was looking forward to seeing how Letty handled herself in town. “Chin up, my dear,” he said right before stepping outside, thus cutting off Phlox’s usual diatribe about how he didn’t have a chin anymore, thanks to Hiram. “All set?” he called out to Letty, then quickly followed it with a cough.

“All set!”

He let Letty keep the reins, and she proceeded to expertly drive them to town. The only break in her composure came when she passed her house, but no one ran out to yell or summon her inside, so she gradually relaxed once more. By the time they got to Lollop, she was bursting at the seams with energy. “Where do you want to start?” she asked as they entered the square.

“How about the carpenter? I could use another chair for home,” he said.

Letty brightened. “Are you going to have a party?”

Oh, hells no. “I like to be prepared for every eventuality,” Hiram replied. They stopped in front of the dwarf’s shop, hitched a complacent Mule to the post out front, then walked inside.

The shop was well-lit, and the entire front room smelled of freshly cut wood and varnish. There were shelves with stacks of wooden bowls and other kitchen items, a few sets of basic furniture, and a marvelous clock on one wall that appeared to be moving. Hiram moved closer to it while Letty rang the bell and saw that it was moving, a series of interlocking gears connected to a rotating wooden circle that had a dozen different animals carved into it. Hiram watched with fascination as the animals shifted position in time with the ticks of the clock, taking shapes that, if he remembered correctly, were dwarvish symbols for numbers.

Brilliant, and no magic needed at all. Hiram felt heartened just looking at it. Amazing things could be done without using magic—were done every day, in fact. He could do them too. He could live without it, thrive without it. He could.

He had to.

“Letty! And Master Emblic!” Karla came into the front room wearing a leather apron covered in sawdust and sporting a beaming smile. “How lovely to see you both. What can we do for you today?”

“Hiram needs another chair,” Letty said, getting right into it.

“Oh, does he? A match to the others?”

“No, I don’t think that’s necessary. He’s got an eclectic style,” Letty said, and Karla…

Immediately accepted that. She didn’t even look at Hiram, just proceeded to talk the order through with Letty as though it was completely expected that she’d be handling everything. Hiram watched, bemused, as they settled on a simple but comfortable wishbone-style chair with a spun-cord seat, going so far as to look at the ones in stock and have Hiram sit in them, all without saying a word.

“I think this one works very well,” Letty said. “Comfortable for him, but it would be suitable for someone with a slightly taller build as well.”

“Like Master Surrus,” Karla said, and the girls giggled together.

Wonderful. Now he was part of the gossip.

Letty proceeded to talk Karla down from a price that seemed perfectly reasonable to Hiram to something half that, all without a single frown. It was suggestive, but it could be as simple as the girls being friends. He needed more evidence before he could speak to her definitely having a spark.

The rest of the afternoon passed much the same, visiting half a dozen other merchants. By the end of the second interaction, Hiram was not only sure that Letty had a spark, he was certain it was strong enough to merit training. Letty and Karla were friends, but she was no more than “one of Granth’s sprogs” to many of the others, and they’d all been asked by Tilda to give her a hard time. The interactions started hard, almost antagonistic in some cases, but in under three minutes Letty managed to talk each of them around to not only being polite, but giving her the discount she was looking for. None of the prices were scandalously low, but if Letty did become a Rogue, there was no doubt her natural strengths would lead her toward deception, perhaps even thievery.

That wasn’t the fate he wanted for her. Rogues caught thieving were subject to the same laws as everyone else, only with more public condemnation since they used magic to help them. The thought of Letty being whipped in a public square made Hiram shudder, and by the time they got to the last merchant he was on the verge of calling the whole thing off.

“Master Spindlestep?” Letty called out as they entered the tailor’s shop. “We’ve a delivery for you.”

The elf looked up from where he was pinning a mannequin. “Finally. I’ve been waiting for long enough.”

Letty stopped in her tracks. “Sir,” she said a bit coldly, “have some understanding. Master Emblic has been ill.”

“It would have been a trivial effort for him to send you or one of his other little admirers to bring my silk to me when he first got back to town.” He came around the mannequin and held out a hand imperiously. “Well, give it here.”

“It was very expensive,” Letty parried. “Perhaps you’d best prove you can pay for it first.”

This was where anyone else would have folded to her spark. Narion, however—

“I have to check the quality first, obviously. Master Emblic has no head for fabric, after all. It would be a simple thing to trick him.”

“He wasn’t tricked!”

“Prove it.”

Hiram watched bemusedly as Master Spindlestep proceeded to give Letty absolute hell over the quality of the silk, the quantity of it, and the final price to be paid. In the end he handed over exactly what Hiram had paid for it, no more and no less. Letty was almost huffing with anger, and excused herself to look after Mule the moment the transaction was done.

“It’s a good thing you’re doing for her,” Master Spindlestep said as he set the bolt of Lancre silk on his cutting table.

Hiram raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“It’s clear she’s got a talent to be developed,” the old elf replied. “You plan to use the Thread to test her, yes?”

“It was my thought,” Hiram said, too tired to dissemble. Maybe he was still a bit sick after all. “But the thought of her as a Rogue…”

“It wouldn’t suit her,” Master Spindlestep agreed. “Neither would being a Bard. But I have it on good authority that a third designation will be available in this particular party. You’ll have to go out of your way to expose her to it, though.”

Hiram leaned in. “What are you referring to?”

Narion told him, and a second later Hiram began to laugh.

Of course. Of course. That was perfect for Letty. It would be a hard sell, but he would do his damndest to try. “Thank you, Master Spindlestep,” he said genuinely as he held out his hand. “For helping me clarify things.”

The blind tailor shook without missing a beat. “Thank you for your service to our community.”

And on that vague and suggestive note, Hiram had to be content.

 

Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Ch. 15 Pt. 1

 Notes: Moving right along on this new year's day! Love you guys, let's hope we have a year that looks up instead of down this time.

Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Ch. 15 Pt. 1 

***

Chapter Fifteen, Part One

 

Preparations

 

Avery was right; Tilda had done an excellent job of making Hiram’s excuses for him, and he was accepted back into the fold with little more than a ripple. “Sick on the road, eh?” Jon had said sympathetically when Hiram took Tilda to the Yew Brew for lunch the day after he got home, as a thank you for seeing to his affairs and taking Mule back from Narion. “That’s a rough go, Hiram. You should never travel while you’re sick if you can help it, it sets your recovery back something terrible.”

“I found that out, unfortunately,” Hiram replied with a good-natured laugh at himself.

“You need soup,” Jon went on, muttering to himself as he headed back toward the kitchen. “With herb dumplings, none of the venison, that’ll be too rich. And tea with honey…” Hiram was tempted to ask if he had lemonmint, but Tilda drew his attention with a quirk of one eyebrow.

“What?”

“It’s amusing to me how everyone who comes across you wants to dote on you,” she said with a smile.

If only you knew. “I hardly need doting,” Hiram said. “I’m very capable of taking care of myself.”

“Mm, of course you are. That’s why you spent so much time with Master Surrus recently.” She looked at him archly. “Do you know how many people he’s invited into his home these past five years? Two. You, and Master Spindlestep. That’s all.”

“That you’re aware of,” Hiram pointed out, because it was a rather unjustified assumption. Why should everyone presume that they were welcome to stick their noses into Avery’s business?

Tilda, to her credit, nodded. “Nevertheless, his interest in you is notable,” she went on. “And you can’t pretend it’s not doting when I saw him bring you to town on the back of his horse, while he himself walked.”

Hiram opened his mouth to argue, then gave it up for a lost cause. It didn’t help that he wasn’t really inclined to argue against it. The thought that he was worthy of special attention was…well. Rather nice, honestly. But that wasn’t something he wanted to delve into right now, so he switched directions. “What have you heard about the Thread?”

“They’re anticipated sometime within the next two weeks. Not on a Market Day,” she added. “That would make for absolute havoc.” Hiram could see that.

She went on. “I don’t know about the last time you saw the Thread come through, but their system for testing is rather relaxed, not at all like the temples’ formal assessments. If you have a child who’s inclined toward music and singing and there’s a bard, then they’ll sing a song together. If your child has an affinity for nature, a druid might let them interact with their animal familiar. The food and drink carts set up as well; it’s very merry, honestly.”

Hiram considered that. “How many children do they usually take?”

“Oh, it’s varied from year to year,” she said. “Half of the time, I’d say none. It’s a large investment of time and money to take a child all the way to the capitol for training, you know, and by the time they reach Lollop their means are often stretched. Last year they took one, a boy who was a clear fit for ranger training. The most they’ve ever taken at one time is three, and that was over a decade ago, when the program was better funded by the emperor.” She sighed. “Things have gotten tougher since he started pouring money back into conquering. We had such a nice stretch of peace there, for a while…”

Hiram remembered it well. After finishing the wars that coalesced his power over the empire, Andurion had been tired of battle. He’d married then, had Misha, and settled into ruling well. And for a time, he really had done well. It had been a solid decade and a half of improved roads, funds for universities and learning, and magical development of all types. And then…

The assassination attempt had seemed to come out of nowhere. It had almost overwhelmed all their defenses, and it was only thanks to a huge expenditure of magic that Xerome had managed to save Andurion’s life. Investigations into the effort quickly uncovered an extensive conspiracy, and that had been the moment Andy’s trust in the people he ruled had irreparably broken.

“You told me they would love me!” he’d raged at Xerome more than once. “That improving their lives would make them appreciate all the empire has to offer! And what did I get in return? A group so emboldened by my passivity that they stoked hundreds, thousands to the brink of rebellion!”

Nothing Xerome said was enough to quell Andy’s fire. He remilitarized, punished the entire provinces the conspirators had come from, and from there set about reminding the rest of the empire that he’d brought them together in their current incarnation by force and wasn’t afraid to do it again. Xerome had watched as the cusp of a new golden age was snatched away, and the urge to flee became stronger and stronger.

And now here he was, trying to help a girl flee her own personal despot. It felt so similar he took a second to pinch himself.

“What is Letty’s spark in?” Tilda asked, and Hiram gratefully turned back to her.

“I’m not sure,” he confessed. “I think it’s speech-centric though, at least at this point. She managed to talk me into taking Knight with absolutely no warning, all while holding off her aggressive father—from their house to mine, note. He didn’t catch up with her at my front door, she literally talked him out of hauling her back to their house for almost a mile. And she’s the only one who manages to sell rabbits at Market Day, have you noticed? Her father doesn’t do anything for the family other than drive the wagon and drink himself into a stupor while she keeps them afloat.”

“Interesting,” Tilda said, then bit her lip lightly. “Hmm.”

That wasn’t a good “hmm.” “What?”

Tilda sighed. “If what you’re saying is correct, and Letty is the one keeping her family afloat…have you considered what’s going to happen to them once she’s gone? Especially now that the next-oldest child is apprenticed out?”

Hiram hadn’t, in fact, considered that before now. He could see all too clearly the arc that might play out in his mind, though—how the money for food, much less drink, would grow thin once the rabbits weren’t selling as well. How Granth would take his ire out on those closest to him, his poor, silent wife and the next child in line…another girl, Hiram remembered, and still in school. He imagined the look on Avery’s face when that girl was pulled from his class so that she could try and fill in for her missing siblings, and that was where his imaginings ceased, because things started to get messy at that point.

Nevertheless… “Letty deserves to have this opportunity,” Hiram said. “I know she wants the chance to use her spark, it was one of the first things she said to me. She’d hoped to apprentice to me, but...” But he couldn’t admit to his abilities, especially not now. Not with imperials breathing down his neck, scouring the etherium for any trace of his signature.

“But you’re not magical,” Tilda agreed, and Hiram took a moment to thank the gods that he had such an influential woman on his side. He hated lying to her, and yet he appreciated that she’d fallen for his cover entirely. “I know. It’s a hard prospect either way, in truth. Perhaps there’s something the community can do to intervene…Granth is a hard man, but he’s not incapable of seeing reason when he’s sober.” She shook her head. “Anyhow, Letty is who we should be focusing on. Are you thinking she might do well as a bard, then?”

Hiram waggled his hand a bit. “She doesn’t have any musical inclination, from what I can tell. Never hums while she works or plays an instrument, not even a shepherd’s whistle. But a spoken ability is the sort of thing a bardic college could bring out for her. Or…” He closed his eyes for a moment. “There’s edge cases as well,” he said consideringly. “For instance, plenty of diplomats are sparks.”

“She doesn’t have the upbringing for a formal diplomat’s job, though,” Tilda demurred. “Those go to aristocracy only.”

He hated that she was right. “Some other sort of guiding role, then. Someone who needs to be able to talk people around.”

“The only thing that pops into my head at the moment is working as a rogue.”

Yes, Hiram had considered that as well and he didn’t like it any better. Letty was too much of a self-sacrificial soul for rogueing. She wouldn’t last long. “This is still conjecture,” he said after a moment. “The first thing to do is make sure she’s got the spark we think she does. This is too important to make a mistake with.”

Tilda nodded. “Sensible. How do you want to go about it?”

Hiram smiled. “Actually, I was thinking another trip to town might be in order. Supplies, you know. Negotiations for this and that. Only this time, I’m going to have a bit of a recurrence in my chest cold, gods above, my poor throat.” He coughed into his hand. “So Letty will have to do all the talking to get me what I need.” He leaned in. “And if you wouldn’t mind talking to a few people about being a bit more difficult than usual when we come in…”

Tilda laughed. “I’m sure they’d be happy to draw things out. Where are you planning to go, then?”

Jon arrived a moment later, two steaming cups in  hand. “Soup’s on the way,” he said. “With a hearty garlic loaf on the side. Nothing as good for the humours as garlic, you know.” He beamed at them before heading back to the bar.

Hiram took a sip. Echinacea and licorice root. Hmm. It was heavily herbal, but the honey cut the intensity of it nicely. He had a second sip, then set the cup down. “Let me fill you in.”

 

Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards Ch. 14 Pt. 2

 Notes: Merry Christmas, darlins! I hope you're all so well and cozy and happy. Have some comforting fantasy, on me ;)

 Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards, Ch. 14 Pt. 2

***

Chapter Fourteen, Part Two

 

Photo by Simon Lee

Matters That Matter

 

By the time Hiram was conscious again, he’d slept straight through the night and managed to come out the other side into a decent approximation of waking after a normal night’s sleep. Never mind that he’d been in Avery’s house for two days now and been unconscious for all but a few hours of that; he felt decidedly refreshed, the ache in his throat no more than a whisper now. In fact, he felt well-rested for the first time since setting out from Lollop in the first place…heavens and hells, was it four days ago now? Five?

“Did I miss Market Day?” he asked Avery that morning as they shared tea, a plate of toasted bread straight from tongs over the fire, and a bowl of savory porridge flavored with chicken stock and a hint of butter. The chives on top were the perfect accompaniment, just enough freshness to keep the dish from palling on the tongue. Avery was a better cook with under five ingredients than Hiram on his best day.

I wouldn’t mind sharing more meals with him. That would have to wait until he got his situation back under control. Still, the thought of having Avery over to his home, cooking together, and perhaps showing him around the garden before taking him upstairs to bed…it was tantalizing. More than Hiram could let himself focus on right now, given how the swell of desire heated his chest and made him feel downright reckless.

No recklessness, not anymore. It would be the height of discourtesy to bring someone into his life when he couldn’t even guarantee he’d be here through winter. Not to mention, dangerous…to them, at least. Avery was a lovely man, gentle and kind, with a hint of secrecy that no doubt stemmed from his time as a rogue. He’d clearly left that roguish life behind, and the last thing Hiram wanted to do was pull him back into it under false pretenses.

He almost didn’t hear Avery’s reply, he was so wrapped up in looking at him. “—esterday, I’m afraid.”

“Damn.” Hiram had meant to be back before it became an issue. “That’s sure to cause a bit of a ruckus.”

“From what Narion relayed, Mistress Tate handled questions regarding your wellbeing with grace. You’re likely to have a crowd of well-wishers when you show your face in town again.”

“Mm.” That was sweet, but not what Hiram wanted right now. He wanted the bland blur of anonymity, not the sharp tang of attention. “Well, I’ve plenty to do to get ready for the next one.” He’d probably be fielding visits at his house all week, as well; he could think of a dozen people who would be running low on their teas and possets and remedies. It hurt to say it, but… “I suppose I’ve inconvenienced you for long enough.”

Avery shook his head, blue eyes never looking away from Hiram’s face. “You were no inconvenience at all. I enjoyed your company.”

“I appreciate that, but nevertheless.” Hiram sighed as he leaned against the slightly rough back of the chair. “This is hardly how I’d intended to further my acquaintance with you, being rescued from my own stupidity in the woods. You’ll have to let me make it up to you.”

Avery smiled, and for all that Hiram had thought himself braced against the expression, it still made his heart beat a bit faster. “You were sick, not stupid. I’m glad I managed to find you. I’d have been worried out of my head otherwise. And for all that I’d like you to stay longer, I know your other friends have been worried as well, so I’d best share you with them or risk a string of visitors.”

And he wouldn’t like that, Hiram knew. He understood. “Well, then.” He got to his feet. “Let me clean up my mess, and then I’d be grateful if you’d give me a ride back to town. I’d better start off by properly groveling at Tilda’s feet for not being as careful as she asked me to be.”

“Mm. I have a feeling you won’t need to grovel too hard.” They worked together to fold the blankets, take down the cot, and then Hiram insisted on doing the dishes. By the time they were done he was a bit breathless, but not enough to force him to cough. He checked his rucksack and was pleasantly surprised to find everything he’d hoped in there, even the Lancre silk, and all of it cleaned up or still tucked neatly away in the bags he’d bought it in.

“Are you ready?” Avery asked from the doorway when Hiram was finished repacking his things. He looked perfectly composed, other than the twist where his hand had found the edge of his cloak. His fingers were gripping it so hard that the tops of his knuckles had blanched white, noticeable against the dark brown fabric. This wasn’t the same silky cloak that had poured from his hands when they first met; this was a sturdy but plain wool with just a hint of embroidery around the hood.

Hiram wondered, not for the first time, what Narion planned to do with so much Lancre silk, and how much of it was going to end up on Avery’s body.

Not the time, old man. “I’m ready,” he said as he picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. They headed outside to where Buttercup was waiting for them, already kitted out. “Poor thing, having to carry both of us and the sack.”

“Not both of us, just you,” Avery said, crouching a bit to offer Hiram a place to push off as he hoisted himself into the saddle. “I’ll walk.”

Hiram frowned. “I’m not going to kick you off your own horse.”

“Too late, you already have,” Avery said with a smirk as he reached for the bridle. “Let’s go, then.” They left the shade of the ring of tall trees that hemmed in the little house to give it a sense of privacy and headed for the trail that led down to the road. Hiram couldn’t help it; he instinctively turned to look at the tower in the distance, tall and imposing and now more dangerous than ever before. He didn’t need to reach out to it with his power to know it had to reek of him. His magical signature was strong enough that it could temporarily overpower even the might of Gemmel, and he had no doubt that imperial wizards would be there before it dissipated.

Imperial wizards…some of them were people he probably knew, perhaps respected. People who knew him in turn; how he thought, how he acted. People who had a potentially deadly amount of insight into him.

“Hiram?”

“Hm?” He turned back to Avery, who was looking at him with a concerned expression. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Nothing, you just…you look as though you’re about to fall out of the saddle.” He frowned. “Do you need to lie down again? You do; it’s too soon. Let’s—”

“No, no.” Hiram shook his head. “I’m fine, I promise. Really. Just easily distracted, I’m afraid.” He forced a smile. “Let’s keep going. Please.”

Avery was quiet for a long moment before he reluctantly nodded his head. “If that’s what you want.”

I want to go back into your cozy little cottage and spend a week there. A month. Perhaps a year. I want to learn everything about you and hide away from the world.

But I can’t. Hiram had responsibility burned into his bones at this point. Speaking of…he idly reached a hand up toward his head and scratched the side of his neck right below his earlobe. Sure enough, Phlox heated up as he came close, just enough to let Hiram know he was in there, listening. Keeping watch.

He owed his old adversary a great deal of thanks for getting him out of the mess he’d been in.

***

Phlox remembered his birth into a world of pure elemental fire. He remembered flowing up through the cracks in the earth, his first taste of air and how frightening and freeing it had been.

He remembered finding others of his own kind, merging with them and falling apart, strengthening and weakening and finally striking out on his own to create a world that held him to the height he always dreamed of.

He remembered his mountain kingdom, so fiery and fierce, the natural lava flows the perfect place for bringing tender young flames into the world. Things had been so bright for a time, with his fierce consorts and his brilliant offspring and always, always more to eat. And then…

Intruders. Invaders. Metal made hot, screams and dark influences, no hope for a truce in the wake of so much death. Water made ice, poured over his children, crackling and shattering them. Not even he, Pyrax, could bring them back.

Vengeance was swift. Satisfaction, however, was fleeting. For that was when Xerome came.

Never had Pyrax been made to feel like such a tiny flame, not even in his earliest memories. His powers were wrenched apart, his entity torn asunder and cast into three separate phylacteries. He had hated, so much. He had thought he always would, but this self had been imbued with all the emotion, all the empathy, that he originally possessed. He saw the pain Xerome felt even as he won, saw his gentleness with his family, saw how mighty he could be—not a king, not an emperor, a god if he took all he was offered and bled enough souls for it—and saw how he wasn’t.

Watching him, being with him, changed Pyrax to Phlox.

Phlox cared for Xerome. Phlox cared for Hiram. And right now, Phlox was wondering how much of what had happened while Hiram was asleep he should reveal. Because while he hadn’t expected the creature that came to catch them up in its brutish arms—arms Phlox had been prepared to burn right off, Hiram’s warnings about power be damned—he knew it was no mistake that those arms cradled Hiram with a tenderness that was impossible to feign. No mindless beast could imitate such tenderness, such possessiveness. And while this was a beast, it had enough of a mind to know where to take them.

And then Phlox watched the beast become Avery Surrus, and laughed inside his gemstone prison.

Oh, this was too good. This was too good. A powerful wizard who pretended to be an herbalist, a rogue and a darkling who pretended to be a schoolteacher, and each of them lying to the other about their true nature despite the way they were drawn together.

There was no chance he was going to give their secrets away; they were far too entertaining. In fact, Phlox couldn’t wait to see what happened next.