Feliciano found Ludwig sitting alone out in the garden, off duty now that night had fallen. The island was cradled in a net of clouds that sank like a thick ocean below them. Above, however, the stars started to fade into hundreds of constellations, growing brighter in the quiet of a steady breeze and the smell of grass around him.

Ludwig tried to appreciate it, but the stars glowered at him with silent judgment. Guilt gnawed at his very core.

The rustle of grass alerted him to Feliciano's approach. He half leapt to his feet, fists balled, but dropped them when Feliciano raised his hands, keeping his eyes averted as always. "It's just me," Feliciano murmured.

Ludwig nodded, "I'm sorry. I'm on edge." He settled back onto the ground, his fingers curling into the grass none too gently, like he could anchor himself down.

Feliciano leaned against him with a little sigh. "I told you to speak with your brother."

"You fail to realize how pointless that would be," Ludwig said, "What's done is done. I have bigger concerns."

Feliciano threw his hands up, but bit his tongue, breathing carefully so he didn't yell. "Ludwig. If you could hear yourself." He groaned. "I don't know how to make you understand that I don't want this," Feliciano said. He felt Ludwig stiffen under him, but made a grab for his hand. He held tight. "You have to pick a side. My side or the king's side. Because I am not or ever will be on the king's side."

Ludwig swallowed and looked away.

"Grow a backbone," Feliciano said. His words felt sharp even to him. "Not everything is black and white. Being the king's little dog isn't the answer and it sure as hell isn't going to set me free. You'll lose everything if you continue this way. Work with my brother and yours. They aren't going to just sit around and let the king use them as tools. That's where I'm putting my loyalty, and if you're so hellbent on following me, then you have to follow me all the way." He sighed a little bit and loosened his grip on Ludwig's hand, finally realizing how deeply his nails dug into his skin. He frowned a little bit.

"I swore an oath as a soldier…" Ludwig said. He spoke quietly, like he was trying to avoid too much emotion. In that, he was more vulnerable than Feliciano had ever seen him before.

"Your oath was to uphold the values of the kingdom, to ensure peace and prosperity," Feliciano said, "I think the king has long since broken his own oath. You are no longer bound because he is no longer worthy of good men like you. And you definitely aren't bound into a service of protecting me. Because if you truly loved me, we would stand side by side and fight together. You seem to forget that I can hold my own. I can rip men apart—" he shuddered deeply, teeth chattering just slightly. "Can and will if I need to."

Ludwig made a noise deep in his throat.

He allowed Feliciano to gather him up into his arms and just hold him, stroking at his arm as he stared up at the sky. "Remember your oath to me?" Feliciano finally asked, breathless at the constellations peppering the sky. "We'd start a life somewhere, have a home, adopt children…somewhere that we could see the stars." He started teasing through Ludwig's hair, easing it out of its strict organization where he'd gelled it back.

"I do remember…" Ludwig said. "I think about it a lot."

"Then fulfill your promise," Feliciano said.

Ludwig nodded against his chest, closing his eyes. "I have to take you to your cell soon…" he muttered.

"Let me look at the stars just a little longer," Feliciano said.

"A few minutes more," Ludwig conceded.

Feliciano continued to stroke the soldier's hair, lost in the haze of galaxies that suddenly made him feel so small. He hummed a little bit to himself, keenly aware that the other's ear was pressed to his heart, right above the scar that marked the wound that almost took his life.

How weirdly things worked out, he thought, keenly aware of his own pulse into his ears.

He felt Ludwig shift against him then climb to his feet. He allowed him to walk him back to the castle.

When they reached his cell, Ludwig helped Feliciano into his nightclothes and made sure his bed was properly fitted with its rough sheets—proper and neat, unlike the mornings when Feliciano woke half strangled in them. Making sure he was comfortable, Ludwig bent down to kiss his lips.

Feliciano accepted this kiss, but captured his head in his arms so he could not pull away. "Hm, Ludwig?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think there is such a thing as fate? Or is everything pure coincidence?"

Ludwig blinked. His lashes brushed against Feliciano's forehead. "I don't—I don't know. I don't like to assume that my actions mean anything in a greater scheme. It'd make all my mistakes matter too much…Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering," Feliciano said.

Ludwig stood awkwardly at the door then dimmed the little oil lantern. "I'll return in a few hours. There…are things I need to take care of. Good night."

"G'night, Ludwig," Feliciano answered. He buried his face into his pillow.

The soldiers escorted Arthur and Gilbert as far as the gates of the Grounded Tier, leaving them to stare at the knotted rope dangling off the face of the plateau deep into the mist below.

"You couldn't have taken us down another level on your blimp?" Arthur asked.

The first soldier shook his head with a little shrug, "Our orders were our orders." He and several others secured the gate with several variations of heavy chains. They rattled with harsh finality.

"And when we return?" Arthur asked, "Exactly how are we supposed to reenter the city?"

"There's a shuttle you can pay for," The soldier explained. "And at the gate we'll confirm if you have the healer and arrange the journey back to the Third Tier."

"You're fucking with us on purpose," Gilbert muttered, "Making us climb 100 feet down on a ratty string?"

The soldier shrugged again, screwing his face into a sardonic smirk from behind the gate. "Best of luck."

"Whatever, let's just get this over with," Gilbert said, easing himself off the cliff face to clutch at the first knot. They were spaced apart comfortably enough that he was able to shimmy down from knot to knot, though the strain ached at his arms and blistered his palms.

The rope swayed dangerously as Arthur mounted it as well.

Gilbert hissed and clung tightly. "Be careful."

"Excuse me for lacking experience climbing ropes," Arthur muttered through grit teeth. "This is undignified…"

"So is staring upwards at your ass," Gilbert said. He kept his eyes focused in front of him, lowering himself a few steps until his feet tentatively found the next knot. He grunted as the rope slapped against the cliff-face in a sudden gust of wind. Pain shot through his shoulder. "Just don't fall, got it?"

Arthur slipped but caught himself, not before burning his palms on the rough fibers. "Shit."

"What did I just say?"

They climbed for an eternity, it seemed, until the cold clung to their limbs and made their fingers numb. Gilbert could not tell the difference between his own shivering and the shaking of aching shoulders. His head pounded. His knuckles bled where they scraped rock. His palms were burnt raw.

"You doing okay up there?" He managed, panting heavily.

Arthur had slowed down considerably. He was several body-lengths above Gilbert still.

"Yes," the other heaved. He had to shout to be heard. "How much…farther?"

"Hell if I know," Gilbert called up. "I can't see a damn thing below. Beginning to think this fog would cushion my fall if I slipped."

"Don't even consider it," Arthur said.

The rope twisted and swayed more dangerously than before, until Gilbert felt as if he'd puke from motion sickness. Then, with a sensation like he'd missed a step, his foot brushed against nothing—no subsequent knot to catch his balance. Clawing at the rope, he cried out, raw hands screaming as he scraped downward.

His feet touched solid ground. He stumbled, falling to his ass. "H-holy shit…"

"Are you—are you alright-?"

Gilbert stared at where his palms bled. He hissed, shoving them into the moss carpeting the ground. The coolness soothed him. "Yeah." He squinted upwards through the fog. "You—you're maybe twenty feet from the ground now, Arthur."

"Bloody fucking finally," Arthur groaned. He climbed further, muttering darkly, then dropped the last five feet. He thudded heavily into the moss and climbed to his feet. "Your estimate was a bit low."

"You're fine," Gilbert said. "Didn't break a leg."

He looked up. Even if there was no fog, he doubted he would be able to see the stars from here. "We have to figure out a way to get our bearings."

Arthur nodded and pulled a compass from his bag. "Due North," he said, tapping it before snapping it shut. "Alfred gave this to me."

"We'll have to thank him later," Gilbert said, just to have something to say. They trudged on until the moss thickened into grass, which only grew sparse as bamboo staves filled out into a dense forest. They knocked together like hollow chimes in a gust of wind that also rustled offshooting branches and leaves.

"He lives on the other side of this plateau, I think," Gilbert said. "I doubt it's more than a few hours walk at the most."

"On the edge?" Arthur asked.

"Boats," Gilbert explained, gripping a thick bamboo pole for balance as he stumbled. "House boats. I've been there before. He will not receive our invitation well."

"He'll have to," Arthur said.

They found a little village in a clearing somewhere within the forest. The houses here were dug into the ground-little holes covered with roofs, which were bamboo frames lashed together then covered in moss. They seemed quaint, but Gilbert couldn't see past the darkness of the tunnels.

"We might consider staying here for the night and getting a start early in the morning," Gilbert said. "We probably have four or five hours until sunrise."

"Sounds like a good idea, but in the middle of this village?"

Gilbert shrugged and leaned against the one structure above the ground, a mossy circular well built from piled stones. The handle creaked as he turned it, wincing as his hands lit new with pain, then grabbed the bucket to slurp at the water. Arthur joined him.

When he'd finished, Gilbert wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "It's the best place for now. You think they'd go violent on us?"

"Don't know," Arthur said. "I suppose it's a chance we'll have to take. Be prepared to fight if you need to." He settled down against the well and closed his eyes, one hand on his dagger. "It'd be worth it just to get a few hours of rest anyway."

"True, tomorrow isn't exactly going to be an easy conversation," Gilbert mused, also closing his eyes. He was distinctly aware of just how quiet this village was, past the layer of croaking frogs and raging wind.

Feliciano did not awake to Ludwig's return, but rather to the rough rattling of the door, followed by a heavy curse and the scratch of something against the padlock. Something clicked. The lock dropped to the floor with a heavy crash. More curses.

The door scraped open.

Feliciano reached to rip the blindfold from his eyes, then realized with a start that he'd forgotten to wear it. He crawled from his bed and inched toward the oil lamp, which had burnt out sometime in the night. He ignited it with a little crank that struck two bits of flint together. It flickered then crept up the wick.

He wheeled around to find himself face to face with his brother.

"L-Lovino—"

"I can't sleep alone," Lovino said. "So shut up about it already." He lingered in the doorway, arms wrapped around himself, a blanket trailing down from one fist. He frowned.

"I understand…" Feliciano said, gesturing him to his bed. "You're lucky that Ludwig hasn't returned yet. He doesn't like to be woken up."

"Well tell him not to show his stupid face here. Not enough room for him," Lovino said, taking a seat. He flopped out over the entirety of Feli's bed, never minding that the other had no space.

Feliciano nudged him aside just enough so he could curl up against him. "Thanks for defending me earlier," he said quietly.

Lovino grunted.

"I have nightmares about it a lot," Feliciano continued, so quiet that his voice barely competed with the flutter of the oil lamp. "It's hard to live with."

"I will only ever blame the king for whatever the hell it was," Lovino said.

Feliciano sighed and wrapped his blanket around the both of him. He rested his cheek against Lovino's arm.

As if from a distant memory, Lovino felt completely natural taking his hand in his own. Their fingers laced together. He gave it a comforting squeeze. "Feliciano?"

"Hm?"

"Is it possible for me to get my memories back?"

Feliciano shrugged a little bit, "Maybe. I don't expect they ever really leave…they just get buried. …Why?"

"I want you to…jog my memory," Lovino said. "Tell me as many stories as you can. 'M not going to be able to sleep without Gilbert anyway so…I think my powers might return if my memory does."

Feliciano nodded a little bit, "I, um, wouldn't know where to begin." He laughed to himself, but it sounded as resigned as he felt. "And there's no guarantee, so please don't get mad at me if it doesn't help."

"Wouldn't," Lovino said.

Feliciano hummed as he thought. "You're not even the first person whose memories I've erased. It's a pretty pathetic way to protect someone. Make them forget. Push them away." He dug the heel of his palm of one hand into one eye then turned just enough to stare up at the light cast on the ceiling. "But you somehow found your way back to me and are somehow worse for it. Isn't that frustrating?"

"You're not poison," Lovino muttered, "So stop acting like we'll all fucking die if we're close to you." He huffed a little bit then nudged him. "Stories. Now."

"Um, okay, then give me a topic," Feliciano said. He was thankful that Lovino could not see his tears, but he smiled past them anyway, determined to keep a brave face.

"Well shit," Lovino muttered, "Our…mom?"

"Too painful," Feliciano said.

"Then how the fuck am I supposed to remember anything. Just keep to happy stuff…I know she's probably…you know."

Feliciano nodded. "Okay. Well, when we were like five…you used to want to help her bake pastry-bread all the time."

Lovino leaned forward, eyes lighting up. "Wait, seriously?"

"Yeah," Feli continued. "She'd mix it together but then she'd rip off a big chunk for you to knead, and you'd stand on a chair to reach the table. You always ended up completely streaked with flour but she wouldn't really mind. Then she'd let you make your own little loaf and cook it. I'd get so jealous because you had your own special bread, but I never wanted to put in the work!"

Lovino managed a little chuckle back, but inside he felt his stomach drop. He tried to imagine a small kid kneading dough—tried to put himself in those shoes—but the image slipped away like water through his fingers. He didn't know how much of it was real or just a desperate imagination. "What did…our mother look like?"

"Red hair," Feli said. "Very curly hair. Dark eyes. Always laughing. That's the best I can remember…she loved flowing dresses."

Lovino could not picture her. He also turned to stare at the ceiling. It was hard to breathe. "New topic."

"Yeah?"

"Who was my best friend?"

"I'm…not sure," Feliciano said, "You spent more time inside with Mamá in the kitchen or followed Papá in the vineyards. You kind of picked a lot of fights. Were pretty grumpy around most people."

"Oh," Lovino said. "I guess I should have figured that." A few seconds ticked by, "Who was your best friend?"

"You and I played together a lot," Feliciano said with a little shrug. "Chased each other around the house and over the fence and through the vineyard and out between the houses. You used to try to climb trees and would get stuck up there until I went and found Papá to save you." He pressed his lips into a thin line. "You did get jealous of me and another friend a lot. An older boy by a few years. Kind of an awkward kid. Had a huge crush on me…but I guess I felt the same way. You hated him, oh my gosh."

Lovino snorted a little bit. "Good. Sounds like a jerk."

"I'm not sure if he could have been a jerk if he tried," Feliciano said, "but he'd follow me around a lot and stumble through words and get embarrassed a lot. And you'd try to hit him in the head with a broom til he left."

"Doing my duty as an older brother," Lovino said.

"Hmm, I suppose so. But he eventually had to leave," Feliciano continued, "Circumstances with his family." He sighed a little bit but hesitated. Lovino stiffened beside him, fingertips digging into his skin so hard that Feliciano yelped. The sweat was sudden. His hold became clammy.

"L-Lovino…?"

Lovino saw him—a blond boy dressed in black. It wasn't family circumstances but a funeral. A man with long blond hair—braided—had been buried to rest. His death was an unsolved mystery—Lovino heard a voice, a woman's voice that should have been bright and cheerful—

"It makes no sense—Murder doesn't happen in Volare—even in the Grounded Tier. What of the children?"

The boy stood so still, but his eyes were glossed over. Lovino had wondered if he knew that he needed to cry—

Feliciano lurched over on top of Lovino, shaking his shoulders. He smacked at his cheeks until Lovino's eyes focused. "Lovino!"

"His father died," Lovino managed.

Feliciano blinked but released him. "Yes…yes, he did."

He grappled for snatches of the memory again. He knew there was more. He knew he could picture it in his head.

His eyes grew watery as he glowered into space. "I think it's time to sleep," Lovino said, burrowing down into the covers with Feliciano. He held just a little too tightly, but Feliciano allowed it, stroking at his brother's hair until the other relaxed.

They drifted off uneasily.

The boy would have to leave. Feliciano wore a black apron, clutching his broom to his small body. Lovino had watched it happen. He'd seen the man fall from behind a wall from where he was crouched just out of sight. The aroma of honeysuckle and vines tasted bitter.

The man had a thick belt in huge hands. It'd begun as a disciplinary beating. His son had been out past his curfew, hanging around Feliciano in the fields. He was silent through the beating, lip quivering, head down, until anger overruled self control and the man lashed out in fury. The boy yelped.

Feliciano ran toward the scene, pleading for him to stop. The boy was sobbing, fists curled but body motionless. He'd stand and receive his punishment.

The whip cracked again.

Feliciano cried out. He fell as the belt slammed into his chest.

Lovino screwed his eyes shut. He opened them and the man was convulsing on the ground. His head had slammed into the fence post, which splintered into a heavy, bleeding wound. The pair had run away.

Now the boy was on the docks. He barely registered Feliciano approaching, hands behind his back, valiantly holding back hot tears. Lovino hid behind his mother's skirts. He'd seen too much and the guilt burned white hot in him.

"I'm sorry," Feliciano had said. He shook as if he'd rattle apart.

The boy had opened his mouth to protest, but Feliciano kissed him on the cheek. That was when his eyes glossed over and he stumbled back. His hands flew to his temple as if he was blinded by an intense headache—

They'd ushered him onto the blimp without noticing a thing.

"You erased his memory. That boy's memory—" Lovino realized he was talking to no one, the words gasped out half in his sleep, and Feliciano deaf to them in his own dreams. "You killed his father…?" A flash of white seared across his vision. It felt like someone had heated a knife in the fire then stabbed at the space behind his eyes. Then twisted.

It was all Lovino could do to keep silent, breath coming in gasps as he tumbled from the bed, thrashing against the sheets tangled about his limbs like a puppet fighting its strings. He dry heaved there on the floor, but settled his cheek against the tile. It was cool. He focused on that as his fingers dug into the grout and bled.

"S'not what I had in mind," he gasped. His voice was cracked and weak. "Happy memories, dammit…happy memories." Tears leaked from the corner of his eyes. "Can't even do that, you fucking dumbass."

"Gilbert," he whined. The shape breathing in the bed was not Gilbert. But he knew he'd be okay if Gilbert took him and rocked him in his strong arms. He'd bury his nose into his neck and anchor himself down with the smell of sweat and oil and metal. "You had to fucking leave…"

He took level breaths, managing to curl up there on the floor. It was uncomfortable but solid in the wake of unease that eroded away at reality. He thought through several memories, faint ones, wondering if it was the product of recall or delirious dreaming.

Had he ever swum at the lake with his brother?

Was there a fat black and white cat that followed him around?

Did he and his brother roll up the legs of their pants and prance around in vats of grapes to help make the wine?

It was all too much.

He felt the pressure grow, like water forcing itself out of a crack in a huge dam-like he'd shatter into a hundred pieces and the resulting flood would drown him. He gasped through a few breaths but sat up. Black blotted out half his vision. He clawed at the side of the bed to get through a fresh wave of dizziness.

He went limp there, too exhausted to think much more but too anxious to drift off again. In this way, he swam in and out of consciousness as half-formed memories twisted in his mind.

Lovino.

He jolted awake. "F-feli?"

His brother was still asleep. He glanced at the door, convinced that the soldier had come back. It was still shut tight. The lamp burned low again. In the half dark he could just barely see the palms of his hands.

"Okay, well shit, now I'm hearing things…" Lovino muttered. He was considerably calmer, though still cold with sweat. He kneaded at his forehead with his palms. "Shit."

He felt that peculiar sensation again, like his powers were leaking from his fingertips. He touched at where he could see Feliciano's ankle, as if to test them. The other flinched a bit but slept on. He'd been hunched over his pillow, but now he slept more calmly.

This filthy world needs to be destroyed.

His heart skipped a beat. "Who's there?!"

He saw the reflection of fire coiled in the face of a ruby. He blinked and it was gone.

"I'm literally going insane," Lovino whimpered, climbing to his feet. He wavered but took a few steps. "That's not something I would think…It's not me…"

How do you know?

He tasted blood, but when he wiped at his mouth his arm came away clean. His teeth chattered. "Because I know me," he muttered out loud. He wasn't sure if the voice was in his head—his own thoughts—or if he was hearing it.

You know seven years of you. What about the other twelve years?

Gilbert woke to the crunch of soft feet on the moss around him and the slosh of water from the bucket. A petite man stood nearby, filling a container with a little hand scoop. The other contained the pulp from bamboo rods, which looked like they'd been soaking for quite some time.

"Oh shit," Gilbert muttered.

The man glanced his way. He wore a high collared blue silk robe, accented by gold trimming and frog-clasps down his front. His pants were bunched at his knees, feet still dripping with water. He'd been wading somewhere, but Gilbert couldn't imagine where. Dark eyes appraised him but then seemed disinterested. He continued about his business, intense but methodical.

"O-oi, do you think you could help us out?" Gilbert asked. "Just with directions."

The man paused again. "I am able to."

Gilbert hesitated when the man did not speak further. He patted at Arthur's shoulder to rouse him. The other sat up, hair tousled. "Okay, um, then will you help us out?"

That brought a flicker of a smile to the man's lips but he nodded. "Who are you looking for?"

"A man named Lukas Bondevich," Gilbert said, "I know he lives on the North-ish side of the island, off some cliffs in a community of boat houses. I just need you to point me toward that place."

The man considered this a moment then pointed. His hand was swallowed in an overflowing rectangular sleeve. He adjusted it and pointed again, expression just as solemn as before. "Walk in that direction. Do you seek a healer?"

Gilbert nodded, "Um, sort of."

"The man has made a name for himself," the other said simply. He lowered his bucket onto the ground. "This is the case in more ways than one." He shrugged to himself, a knowing glint in his eyes as he walked away, a bucket in either hand. He ducked down into a tunnel beneath the nearest roof.

"Okay, that was weird," Arthur muttered, "The locals here are odd. That's what I've heard. Never bothered visiting this place before because of it,"

"They seem like an isolated group," Gilbert said, "So they figured out the best way to survive. Leave them be." He drank the remains from the bucket. It ran down into his empty stomach, soothing it just long enough for him to unwrap a bit of bread and rip into it.

Arthur followed his example and they walked on.

Gilbert realized just why the village man had his pants tied up.

Just outside the village, they sloshed through fields of water about knee height. It wasn't particularly thick, but it was sticky with heat and humidity, where the bamboo still grew and decomposed in its hold.

"This is appalling," Arthur muttered.

"Not the kind of bath I wanted," Gilbert agreed.

"Alfred would probably love this," Arthur said. He walked with abnormally high steps, as if that would help. Gilbert caught his elbow when he nearly slipped.

"Thought you didn't want to talk about Alfred," he said, releasing him.

"Don't be cheeky," Arthur said. "And you didn't see anything."

They waded like this until the water receded and they climbed back into the moss of the forest. The bamboo began to thin out.

Arthur threw his nose into the air, inhaling deeply. "Much better—"

"It's going to rain," Gilbert said. He pointed to dark clouds shrouding the distance. From here the rain looked like a solid haze. "It's already raining over there. Look."

"Hopefully we won't get any of it. I'm hardly dressed for a downpour at this point."

"Hard to believe we're on a rock halfway up a mountain. Surprised the air here isn't thinner."

"Trees, I'd expect." Arthur guessed.

Their conversation, though forced, made the trek easier. They tumbled free from the last bit of forest out into dried grass already stamped into ankle-deep puddles. Both were sweaty and gasping through humidity.

Gilbert nearly cried from joy when he saw the colourful banners fluttering in the wind. The little community was exactly how he'd left it a week or so ago, the boats bobbing up and down, a few people out and about scanning the horizon with telescopes, setting out tins to collect rainwater in. Kids ran recklessly from deck to deck, not fearing the fall below. One grabbed at the figurehead of his family's boat—a mermaid—and twisted around it to land on the other side. The mother rebuked him harshly.

"This is…precarious," Arthur said.

"I'd pay to know who invented these boats," Gilbert said, "And how the fuck they stay suspended. It's really really cool if you think about it!"

"I suppose," Arthur said, "This is another place I'd love to take Alfred."

"Look, you can make it work," Gilbert shot back, "Because you obviously can't go five minutes without thinking about him."

"I told you it's none of your bloody business," Arthur said.

Gilbert had already boarded a ship, awkwardly squeezing past an old boatwife who stared after him. He chuckled, nervously, and gave a little wave. "Sorry—"

He arrived at the boat he remembered belonging to Lukas and quietly knocked at the door.

No one answered.

He tried the handle. Unlocked. He pushed in.

The kitchen-front room was silent, but the wisp of smoke from a lavender candle on the table betrayed a recent presence.

"This doesn't bode well," Arthur murmured.

"There's only a ninety-three percent chance that he'd murder us for breaking in," Gilbert said. "Really that's quite low." His laugh was strained. He pointed toward the door in the back. "Maybe Mathias is there…"

"It's not appropriate for us to disturb him," Arthur said. "And I'm worried about what I'd find."

Gilbert's hand had been halfway to the knob. He lowered it with a little nod. "Wouldn't want to remember him any other way than crazy-ass fearless mercenary anyway…"

"With that damn insensible axe," Arthur agreed. "He and I were never formally introduced, but I remembered seeing him drag that axe around on more than one occasion. Apparently he could wield it too, if Alfred is to be believed."

Gilbert nodded fervently. "Damn right he could."

They both took a seat at the table, neither looking at each other, but eyes skimming the floor and ceiling. Gilbert traced the grain of the wood absently. On the countertop sat many jars, and partly mashed leaves seeped cloying pulp on a cutting board. A mortar and pestle lay on its side, spilling out the crushed remains of various nuts.

"Always thought of him as an alchemist. Knew he'd picked up healing, but didn't think he'd gone all natural," Arthur said.

"Apparently he's good at it if people know of him."

The boat rocked just enough that Gilbert clutched at the edge of the table. Light slithered across the floor as the door fell open.

Lukas stood there, bushels of bamboo in his arms. His face and upper body was flecked with mud. His load tumbled from his arms into a little basket, which he set in the corner. Finally, he turned on his visitors. "I don't accept company." Frantic eyes darted toward the door in the back.

Arthur stood, hands up. "We didn't enter that room, if that's what you're worried about."

"Way to have common sense," Lukas muttered. He wavered on his feet, and Gilbert realized that he wouldn't be able to fight them off if he tried. "Get out," he pointed to the door. "Whatever help you're here to request, I cannot offer it."

Gilbert stood and helped him slump into his seat. "Looks like you're a captive audience."

"S'that supposed to be funny?" Lukas growled.

"No, just that you could keel over any second," Gilbert said, "And we're not moving."

"I could gut you," Lukas said.

Gilbert sighed. "Maybe in a former life, but right now you'll sit and listen. A lot is at stake."

"I don't care," Lukas said. "And I never will." His body shook with a sudden chill. He wrapped his cloak more tightly about himself with trembling hands. "Try again three years ago."

In the earliest hours of morning, before the sun had even paled the night sky, Lovino had already paced the castle halls three times over. If he focused on the slap of his feet on the tile and the scuff of carpet, he could ignore the twist of thoughts in his head, his own mind revolting. He willed himself to forget, at least until he could deal with the memories.

They persisted.

Each meaningless piece of memory—playing in the vineyard, scraping his knee, stealing food from banquets with his brother—brought strength to the voice in his head.

I need to kill the man who did this to me. Destroy the Tiers.

Lovino hissed and clawed at his hair. His teeth chattered. "S'not what I want. S'not what I want. That's not what I want."

Destroy everything.

Lovino stood up straight, brows scrunching. "That's not me. I'm not thinking those thoughts—"

Destroy everything.

He climbed up into a rounded window and stared down at the gardens below. Rain poured across the grounds. He could hear the rush of water plummeting from the Fourth Tier collection system down into the chute on the Third.

Destroy everything.

"Goddammit-I'm not even the Destroyer. I'm the Creator—"

Destro—

Silence.

Lovino was panting now. He slipped back onto the floor and paced more violently than before. It was difficult breathing past the knot in his throat. He held his head. "Oh god oh god oh god there is a voice in my head, a voice, what the fuck get out of there leave me alone—"

Silence.

He began to doubt he'd heard anything at all.

Heart thrashing in his chest, he climbed out the window and dropped down onto the balcony below, landing between two potted rosebushes which raked shallow scratches across his skin. He snatched at the plant and squeezed til blood trickled out of his fist. The pain was raw and fresh.

He was awake.

Then, he released the bush, wiped the blood on his pants, then jogged toward the edge of the balcony. Hurdling over it, Lovino landed ten feet below into thick grass, tumbling to break his fall, then scrambled for the bushes where he started to tear through in search for the wings Gilbert left. Lovino could only hope and pray that they were still in one piece. He doubted the king had found them; he would have gushed over them if he had.

Lovino's hand brushed something soft. The wings. He carefully tugged them free and started trying to wring them out where he could. The rain, as if to taunt him, fell harder, until he and the wings were thoroughly drenched.

But only one thought crowded his tired mind now: Gotta get to Gilbert.

He thrust his arms through the restraints like he was pulling on a shirt. The wings were a bit long for him, but he found that he could adjust them easily enough with a series of straps and pulleys. A bit of his power leaked into them and repaired some of the tears. The effort left Lovino lightheaded, but, with a grunt, he stood and clambered over the fence, holding tight to avoid slipping. Yelping, he fell on his ass on the other side, nearly rocking back into the torrent of water gushing through the channel just on the other side. He clutched tightly to the bars. Wind threatened to catch them and rip him off the island.

"This is stupid," he admitted to himself. He didn't even know where this Lukas guy lived or if he would survive the fall. But if Gilbert could fly up onto this island with these wings, then surely he could make it safely to the ground.

Once the wind calmed, he released one hand from the fence and pulled himself to his feet. He took one step, like a man inching along a cliff face, moving his hand one over the other to help guide timid steps.

He shuttered and clung tight as a violent gust twisted him over onto his back.

His shoulder popped out of place.

With a snarl, he wrenched himself back into the right direction.

It calmed again.

He slipped.