Feliciano could not see how often his companion stared at his back with a disturbingly giddy smile on his face, but he answered the questions when they came, and there were many.
"How fast can you fly?" Ludwig asked at one point. Feliciano could hear the human's heavy footfalls behind his lighter ones and feel the warm, meaty hand on his shoulder to guide him. He fancied that his other senses were growing sharper lately. In the few instances he'd peeked under his blindfold to see Ludwig's face, the other had quickly scolded him for being careless.
He lifted his wings and fluttered them a little, causing Ludwig to let go. "I'm super speedy in the air. The wind rushes in my face when I really get going. But I don't fly fast too often. Especially not lately since I'm on the ground with you."
"Can you ever soar without flapping?"
"Without flapping? No, my wings aren't built like that. They're too light, and they don't fold out horizontally like a bird's wings — just out at angles, see? But that's why my back is so strong. I can flap them really fast like this."
Feliciano demonstrated by jumping up and whizzing. His wings sliced through the air with a whoosh and caused a tiny wind to blow around him. He shot up in the air, then slowed his wingbeats and floated back down to earth. He held his arms out to balance and kicked as he descended, as he couldn't see exactly where the earth was.
"I shouldn't fly when I can't see. Where are you, Doggie?"
"I'm here," Ludwig said and placed his hand on Feli's shoulder again.
"Whenever I'm with Doggie, I feel like good things will happen!"
"That seems rather groundless."
"Well, at least he can get off the ground!" Lovino forced.
"Do not be discouraged," Kiku told him. "You must persist in your endeavors."
"That's right," Feliciano agreed. "You'll fly again, Lovi. I just know it. You'll wish for that, won't you, Doggie? You'll wish that Lovino's wing is mended. Or, you know, you can wish for whatever you want."
"Shouldn't I be the one to wish for my wing back?" Lovino scoffed.
"I agree. It's Lovino's wish."
"But it's your amulet," Feliciano sang back. "I agreed to give it to you out of the goodness of my heart, and you're glad to have it even if you don't want to express it."
Of course! That was it! Doggie wanted the amulet terribly. Feliciano knew this as the truth. It was clear as day in his mind that he was never meant to inherit Roma's sogno. The amulet was meant for Doggie all along. Doggie was simply being modest, but he was respecting the agreement. No, Feliciano couldn't entirely remember the agreement being made back in the forest so many weeks ago. But that was because it was so far in the past. Such memories were trivial when he knew they were true.
"On another subject," Ludwig said somewhat irked, "is it true that you're born with wings?"
"That's not a new subject," Lovino bit.
"No, it's not," his brother laughed. "Doggie, you've been asking a lot of questions about my wings over the past few days! Do you want some of your own? You could wish for them!"
"Well, they have always fascinated me. The way you can lift yourself off the ground and fly through the air."
"Stupid human."
"In the spirit realm, I have met a few spirits who appear to be men with wings."
The blind one grinned. "Like spirit fairies!"
"Yes, but these were the spirits of humans who grew wings."
"I'm not looking to die soon," Ludwig said with a hint of nervousness.
"Oh, no, don't say things like that, Kiku! Doggie can't die! If he wants wings, he can wish for them."
"My apologies."
Sounding a bit more irked than before, Ludwig repeated: "So is it true that you were born with your wings?"
Feliciano chortled. "Of course I was. When fairies are born, our wings are wet and fragile like butterflies'. And they're clear, too. It takes about a week for them to dry and harden, and then they start making fairy dust, and that's what gives them their color. When I was born, Grandpa said my crying sounded like singing, and everyone who heard it became really happy and started crying tears of joy. Even Lovino did."
"I didn't."
"Yes, you did! Can you believe it, Doggie? Once, Lovino was smiling! So Grandpa called me Feliciano because it means I'm happy. He was happy, too, because of my gift."
Lovino growled at this. Feliciano slumped a bit.
"Lovino, you have more magic than I do," Ludwig scolded.
The older fairy only grunted.
Seeing that Doggie was on his side, Feliciano weakly continued. "Grandpa was born with his gift by chance. Even when he was young, it was really strange to see someone grow up as a music caster, since there are fewer and fewer of them with wings. Our family is really one of the last… and I'm the only one in my family, now."
"Then it's a gift you have to cherish."
"Sì! I love singing so much! And playing my lute, and keeping time, and dancing! Back in Allegria, people say all the time how I dance really well. Grandpa said when I sang and danced at the same time, I even had magic in my feet! Isn't that weird?"
"That does seem odd," remarked Kiku. "Though I am no one to judge how odd anything is in your realm. I can barely understand my own existence."
"You're funny, Kiku," Feliciano laughed.
"I would not see it."
When Feliciano professed he was getting sleepy, and it was confirmed for him that the sun was getting low in the sky, they came to rest under a great oak near the town where Lovino had first seen Ludwig transform, though on the other side of it this time. Feliciano refused to leave Ludwig's side, even if his unfortunate limitation hindered his ability to protect his friend if necessary.
It was Lovino, who flourished in comfort, and Kiku, who volunteered himself to protect the older fairy, who ventured into town, leaving the two friends alone.
"Hey, Doggie, can I have my lute?"
"What for?"
"I was thinking I could sing a little. I should sing more. It really makes me feel good since a lot has been happening lately. I can't feel what you feel when I sing, but I can feel what I feel, and it really relaxes me."
"Then of course you should sing," said his friend. The instrument was passed to him, but he had to wait a minute before he could even hum to tune.
"The stars," Ludwig muttered. "No, don't touch me! Ugggh, it hurts!"
Feliciano winced when he heard the sounds of bones cracking and flesh squirming. Ludwig moaned with pain. It seemed the curse had been hurting him even more after the battle with the changeling. Such anguish persisted even after Feliciano had healed his injuries. The fairy frowned, a sense of failure gnawing at his heart.
His friend huffed out heavy breaths when the changes ceased. There were a few extra grunts of discomfort, but he still insisted the fairy not assess him for any new wounds.
"I'm fine," he told him in his deeper snarl. "I'm just very tired. Let me sleep now. And you should go to sleep yourself."
"Doggie, I want to sing for you. I want you to feel better. You're hurting even more."
"It's only as painful as it always has been."
But Feli's voice turned even more fretful. "No, it sounds worse. You never cry out so loud like that, and I know how much it hurts you even when you don't cry out. This curse is doing terrible things to you. Please let me help."
"I suppose you could sing a little song."
"Two. I'll sing two."
"Two will suffice."
Feliciano quickly hummed and tuned, then immediately started to sing his song for comfort. He poured concern and compassion into the song. It was an excellent selection, for as he sang, his own stress evaporated and faded away as mist in the morning. He himself had been stressing too much lately. The wicked mercenaries had really terrified him. Part of the reason he stayed with Doggie was so the dog-man could protect him if anyone tried to take him, though part of him shuddered at the fact that Doggie hadn't been able to protect him before.
His heart hardened when thinking of the one who distracted Doggie that night. Alfred. Feliciano didn't think he was even capable of these feelings welling up inside him. They were shadowy and smokey and clouded his heart. He… did not like Alfred. Not one bit.
And Arthur. Terrible Arthur who enchanted Feli's eyes to see whatever he saw. Why were things like this allowed? They simply shouldn't have been! And yet they were! Alfred was a wicked creature, and Arthur was proving himself to be so, and the demon who shattered Lovino's wing and the hoofed creature who kicked Doggie and the knight who lied…
They are all liars. You will never listen to them, a voice in his mind whispered eerily. For a moment he tensed, wondering if he'd told those things to himself or whether they'd come on their own. But he settled himself quickly. To question something as obvious as the mercenaries' dishonesty was ridiculous.
Comfort, he thought to himself. Peace, comfort, sleep. Firelight, moonlight, candlelight, starlight. All is well. I am happy. I am safe.
His voice swelled, and he knew it to be true.
"Ludwig" pointed to his ears and made a slashing motion against his throat.
Arthur nodded. He then sliced a hole in his sound-bending bubble and rushed to his companion's aid. Fumbling with his magic as swiftly as he could, he formed a different kind of bubble around Alfred. This one would repel magical energy. They gave each other curt nods before waiting out the threat.
Feliciano sang his song, then — the song to keep changelings away. Now that he heard it, Arthur could instantly recognize the energy winding up and down the arpeggios. Feliciano hummed with his lute, and from his throat spurted a constant wave of pure light frequency. Arthur could hear this energy. It was a very high ringing pitch — just barely audible, but as tangible as the wind.
When it was over, Arthur removed the bubble, and his dark fairy acquaintance gave him a thumbs-up.
It wasn't too long after when Feliciano realized how tired his "friend" really was, and being very worn out himself, he went to sleep right then and there. His soft little sighs breathed out into the night air like wingbeats.
"Good we sent everyone on ahead," Alfred whispered, his deep voice startling Arthur for a moment.
"Hush, now."
"I'm fairly certain he wouldn't wake up even if I committed the most incredibly hysterical antic—"
"Let's be careful now. I thought I saw him shift."
"He's told me about his sleeping habits back in Allegria. I think we're safe."
"Well, in that case, allow me to critique you. You should stop making your 'transformation' into a dramatic performance."
"I'm not being dramatic. He really does moan like that. I'm just mimicking what he does. It's Feli who thinks it's worse than normal."
After saying this, Alfred scrutinized his hands. One had greatly reduced in size and become very pale and withered and clawed. He looked at his other — the thick, brawny fingers and broad nails. The pale hand swelled and popped. Bones grew, and sinews stretched, and veins reshaped and shifted into new positions. He squeezed it as a mirror to the other. He shrugged his wide shoulders, and a few sickening cracks sounded from under his skin.
Arthur grimaced. "I still cannot believe a word you say when you tell me that doesn't hurt."
"I don't know what to tell you. It doesn't hurt at all."
"That sounded as if your bones were snapping in half."
"Ja, some of them were. Fun, gross stuff. I mean, sometimes it pinches a little, but it's not painful. Not when I'm using my powers, anyway. If I just grabbed a finger and bent it 'til it snapped, then I would scream. You know what is painful right now, though?"
He couldn't answer his own question because his stomach did for him. The gurgling was so loud he had to look back to make sure Feli was still asleep.
"Hungry? Me too. We've got food from Francis' little run earlier, but you have to share."
"Jajajajaja. Just lemme have it."
"Isn't your guise a bit more respectful?"
"I request nourishment, Herr Magier."
"Milord will do. I do think you've done a remarkable job with this charade so far. You've got him truly fooled."
"Thanks. It's exhausting being three people. My throat's really sore from switching between voices. That's not even a magical power. I'm just squeezing my throat and diaphragm in different ways. At least I have no trouble with this hilarious accent. Sk… skwoo…"
"If you're trying to say squirrel, don't hurt yourself. Now, I've got this for you, and—"
Before he could even finish his sentence, the not-Ludwig had snatched the entire baguette from his hands and was ripping into it like a starved animal. His flat teeth jutted downward into points. His eyes were wild. Steely blue yet glittering in deep excitement.
"I learned something. This body really likes bread. It's never tasted so good to me before. I want more of it. I want it to be denser."
"You can rave about it once you've swallowed," Arthur scolded.
He watched the hulking man swallow and stare back at him expectantly.
"I've taken my share, so just help yourself. It's all in here. Anything to keep you from dining on garlic-flavored fairy."
"I don't… eat… people," he enunciated very seriously. The steely eyes narrowed, and the angled jaw clenched. His great muscles twitched in annoyance.
"A-all right," Arthur squeaked. His heart thudded so loudly he was sure the other could hear it.
But then the dangerous glare of his companion broke and melted into that Alfredish grin.
"That's worse. Don't do that."
"I'm just smiling."
"Your face is all wrong. It's as if you're wearing a mask made of flesh, and I can still see your true face beneath it."
"Aw, that's creepy cool. But it's my real face." He pinched his cheeks and exacerbated the expression.
"I can see you grinning behind Feliciano. If he peeks under that blindfold one more time, and you're wearing that monstrous expression, he's bound to be suspicious immediately."
"You underestimate me."
"You let Ludwig figure you out in the city. I know how well you can lie, but when pressured, you get nervous and lose your head. Feli's got scissors on his belt. Don't make him even question that you are the real Doggie."
"Ja."
"Stop growing claws in your sleep."
"I can't help it."
Not wishing to start any arguments that may end up waking the fairy, Arthur ignored him. "Now, we don't have anything to drink I'm afraid. I'll have to fix that. It was in the other bag."
Arthur painted a very clear image in his mind, reconstructing the exact location and object. He focused as he weaved a spell to beckon it through space and time. A tug on the fabric of reality already stretched so delicately thin. His fingers curled ever so slightly and twitched under the pressure of the releasing magic.
Pop! A glass bottle found its way into existence in his lap. He picked it up and passed it over to his companion.
"What's this?"
"It's milk. Don't act like you've never seen it before."
"Ja, but… you created it. That's crazy!"
"I know what it looks like, and I know where it is. I didn't create it. I summoned it. Now, in theory, you can change anything into anything else. It's called Alchemy, and it's a very complicated and messy form of dark magic that I spent too many hours toiling over for exams back in University. (The history, of course, not the application.)
"But creation, as you're thinking of it, is impossible. Physics, you know. But I suppose even Ivan can break those. And you can change your entire bloody anatomy using unstable magic that should've killed you ages ago yet you can control as naturally as I control mine, and you tell me it doesn't bloody hurt for your cells to rapidly—"
"Is this whole cream?" Alfred asked, completely ignoring Arthur's scientific struggles and twisting off the cap of the milk bottle. He threw the lip into his mouth and gulped down half the bottle before Arthur told him to stop.
"I said share, shadowborn."
"It's creamy, though. I like cream."
Arthur shivered. He took the bottle from a very disappointed-looking Ludwig-whose-face-looked-disappointed-like-Alfred's. He wiped off the lip of the bottle the best he could before taking a sip himself. It was cold and creamy. But the creamy part itself stuck in his mind and pried open memories from deep in the past.
The woman was crying. The hair falling into her face was soaked with the salt of her tears. She clasped her arms around the other woman — the one with the outrageously thick eyebrows — and sobbed uncontrollably into her shoulder. The second woman said nothing. There was nothing to say.
The second woman's two sons Allistor and Arthur were still trying to finish breakfast at the moment. Gareth had gone off to his music lesson earlier that morning, leaving the eldest Kirkland boy with the challenge of trying to make his three year-old brother eat without incident. Even so young, the child was strangely powerful, and to Allistor, who at this point in time was the Lord Kirkland of eight, Arthur's magical hiccups were a sign of a disappointing future.
Arthur put another spoonful of oatmeal in his mouth while he watched the lady cry. He'd never seen her like this before. She usually came from the city with scones in the mornings. Of course, the scones weren't nearly as good as his mummy's, but he ate them out of respect. That was the virtue of a gentleman, and Arthur was told by everyone he would be a fine gentleman once he grew up. ("Though all three of you will end up with our family's eyebrows. I can see it," his mother had teased her sons.)
"I look at little bitty Arthur," the woman wailed, "and I'm so afraid they'll take him, too! He's the same age! So young! They took my son, Guin! They took him!"
Arthur's mother did not offer words. There was nothing to say. Hope was not to be had.
In the days that followed, the woman's family visited while she took a time of solace in the manor. All of the children came except for the youngest boy. Arthur pouted about his absence. He liked playing with that boy and making up stories and talking about magic. Arthur had already learned his first spells, though he didn't know what he was doing and usually broke something.
He would sneak into the woman's room and ask about her youngest, and she would only begin to cry again, prompting Arthur's own mother to give him a stern look and send him out to let her rest.
He could hear the boy's siblings talking through the walls and soon came to know that he had been taken away by them. Even after hearing the stories in his books, he never believed they existed. They were fantasy like the fairy towns hidden in the forest and the people who could walk on the wind without wings.
But he learned they were real now, and they were infesting homes like the lady's in great, terrifying waves, and they'd taken his little friend. Arthur became frightened. He took scissors and placed them on his windowsill. He helped his brothers make a magical barrier around the manor. He helped his mother crush herbs and set them in jars by the front door. He set out bowls of cream as offerings.
People were tense when he went into the city. Tense as the mysteriously sunny weather that frightened all who questioned its presence. Glass was shattered in places where riots had taken place. Phosphorescent potions from broken flasks slithered over the ground, mixing with the dirt and grime. Men and women shot each other glares and fingered iron charms around their necks. The littlest children were cuddled close in their parents' arms.
Down with dark magic whispered through the despairing countryside. Down with those who praise it. They know not what terrors it spreads. It must feed the shadows. It must bring them closer to taking our beloved children. Magicians must conspire with them. Potioneers must take their example. Down with dark magic and those who wield it. If creatures will use it for evil, why should anyone use it?
When Arthur turned five and saw the queen for the first time in his life, she was not smiling. Instead, her lips were tight, and her eyes were sad. She was not beautiful this way, trapped among guards and Councilmen who despite being as modern as everyone else, still clung to superstition and carried shears instead of guns.
He held tightly the hands of his big brothers as they walked through the square, pushing through the crowds of people.
"Restructuring our educational curriculum... redefining what magicks are socially acceptable… for the protection of the fair folk… we shall refer to ourselves only as fairies of light… to finally and completely separate ourselves from our savage cousins of the woodlands… all who practice these without a federal permit and under strict supervision, until our glorious country is free from this dark menace, shall be prosecuted… former offenders, though they may have reformed, shall still be dubbed as suspicious… "
"What does it mean?" Arthur questioned.
Such a tiny voice went unheard in such a large crowd full of families of victims and advocates. Men, women, children, and the changeling children among them; and those who were poor; and those who were educated; and those who couldn't think for themselves; and those who wanted to look more important; and those who pretended to know everything about the issue yet were just as ignorant as the untaken; and those who felt it appropriate to bring up ridiculously unrelated issues and how they affected them; and all those who came to put an end to the changeling crisis by gracing the issuing of the ban with their glorious presence and unneeded speeches.
(There was a resistance, too, but logic was crushed by sympathy.)
Arthur couldn't understand a word of the verbose proclamation and all of its articles and minutiae. He was but five, and the unnecessarily intricate horrors of politics eluded him; however, slipping in one tiny, pointy ear and out the other were in fact the words that in seventeen years' time would seal his fate.
But Arthur had been focusing his attention on the memory of the cream.
"It's all true," he whispered in wonder.
"Huh?"
"When I was a child, we left bowls of cream out at night after sunny days, and someone took them. The cream was all gone in the morning."
"Aw, that's a nice thing to do."
"It was an offering. We thought it would deter them — you — things — from taking us away. I don't know if it really helped, but… the cream was always gone in the morning. Always. And… we had a barrier around Kirkland Manor and never had any trouble. Those stories are true, aren't they? Why don't you like the holly or cranberries?"
"I'm allergic. The juice gives me a nasty rash. Luckily, I've never tried to eat one."
"Just a simple allergy? They don't make you melt or anything? Fascinating!"
"Melt? Dude, I'm a changeling, not a boggart. You're mixing up your dark creatures."
Arthur came out of his daze and looked at the humored face of the great man again. Come to think of it, hadn't he played with that lady's son soon before she'd come crying that he'd been taken? And how long had that child not been hers…?
"Earth to Arts? Artie? Artiekins? Artiepithecus? Aardvark? Milord? Milord?"
"Er, yes, you can have the rest of the milk. I'm going to take a walk for a bit to stretch my legs after sitting for so long."
"'Kay. Don't get eaten. Your blood's a great source of sodium."
"You said your kind doesn't eat people."
"I don't eat people," he said with a smile.
Blood. Yet another memory, and a painful one at that.
Arthur was in temporary confinement now. Just the previous night, he'd discovered his secret had escaped his grasp. Just that morning, the guards had burst into his home, seized him, and trashed his study and library. Just that afternoon, he'd attended the preliminary hearing, and he'd answered affirmatively that the crime had been his own doing.
Nightfall had come, and he couldn't sleep.
At least it wasn't a cell, he thought. Despite the usage of dark magic being considered one of the greatest crimes on the Isle, it wasn't cause for that amount of protection. Arthur had a metal suppressor on both wrists and a larger one around his neck. He couldn't use his magic, and the place was guarded heavily. His room was in a ground-level flat hugged close by the dismal walls of the court complex. Arthur knew it had seen countless people like him. Experimenters, nonconformists, traditionalists… all brought to their knees by the law. But he was different. He was a nobleman. He was somebody.
His heart quickened when he considered perhaps somebodies were even more likely to be utterly ripped to shreds by a minor act of misconduct.
Arthur shivered knowing he was kilometers from his own comfortable bed. He would've cried out in despair of what they were doing to all his books and writings, safeguard or no safeguard, but the suppressor on his neck prevented him from speaking. His hands trembled under the covers. His eyes remained open and staring at the wall. Emotions of different colors and altitudes would surface and be forced under by others. He forced himself not to panic. A gentleman never gave in to defeat. He would not let himself be defeated! He was Lord Kirkland, dammit!
A knock on the door jolted him out of his madness. Knowing he couldn't reply with a snarky remark, he feverishly slipped out of bed and opened it. He fixed his emerald gaze fiercely on the midnight visitor. Something inside had expected it to be one of his brothers. But this was relaxed when he saw it was only Alice — the Councilwoman who had led him around all day. She forced herself past him and into the small room, shutting the door behind her. She then took out a key from her pocket and removed the brace around his throat.
"I'm not technically allowed to do that, but you're such a poor fool," she chided.
Arthur rubbed his neck, feeling along the deep impressions in his skin left behind by the cold metal. He hoped it wouldn't leave pressure scars. Maybe when this was all behind him, he could finally invest in a unicorn foal to cheer him up… No, this would never be behind him. And unicorns only befriended the innocent.
His heart cracked a little when he remembered that fact.
"The results of the blood test are back," she continued, apparently insensitive to his discomfort.
"What blood test?"
"We briefed you on this earlier. When you were six, you gave a blood sample to the Court Vault for safe keeping. We used it to determine the magic signature of the spell. It's a match."
"You already used my magical pulse earlier. Why use blood to be gratuitous?"
"Sometimes blood can change. And magic can change, too," she growled, eyeing him suspiciously. Arthur held his ground. "But you have nothing to worry about. You're the real Kirkland, and that spell belongs to you."
"Jolly good time you could confirm it. I thought you imbeciles would have had the clue this morning since it's so goddamn obvious the spell is my doing, but no, magic and blood tests."
"I would watch your tongue tomorrow night."
"And what is then? You'll realize the bloody sky is blue? Or that the dark fae are evil? Or that cow pats stink in the sun?"
"I can tell you right now, Mr. Kirkland, that you will not be so willing to share what is obvious during the trial. Especially in front of so many people who know you."
Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but Alice had pulled out two clear flasks and gave them to him. His eyes widened with anger.
"The bluish one is a truth potion. You are to drink a spoonful every four hours between now and midnight tomorrow. That is when the trial will begin. If you don't, you'll have to drink it all at once, and it's far from pleasant."
"A midnight trial? Those are for the worst criminals! They used to decide what kind of animal you became during those! And speaking of animals, why are you making me drink this? This is illegal!"
"We didn't take all your precious dark magic away. A federally-monitored potion-making process for a specific purpose performed by a specially-licensed potioneer is acceptable. Wouldn't you know that?"
"I like to pretend I don't, since I never got the memo one could become a federally-monitored, specially-licensed potioneer."
"You enrolled in Yaits with the intention of becoming a licensed general magician. That you did, and with flying colors to boot. Secondly, you were unqualified for a special-interest program because of your already-present criminal record, I believe involving theft of illegal potion-making equipment."
"It was in the shop. Tell me again how it could have been illegal equipment."
"It was in the back room of the shop, Arthur. And no, you may not have used the equipment when you were sixteen, but your theft of it made you a suspicious character. In fact, it is believed you were only accepted into Yaits because of your recommendation letters and it being your mother's alma mater."
"That's not true," he fumed. "You have no right to talk to me that way, woman. I got into Yaits because of my talent. I was considered as fairly as anyone else!"
She huffed humorously. "Well, everyone can see your talent now. You're in the newspaper already."
"Oh, am I?"
"Yes. You're from Gavinshire, aren't you? The famously agreeable Kirklands? Gavinshire's seen your face in print by now. Probably stained their thumbs on your eyebrows. And we're requesting witnesses to the trial tomorrow night as well. People who know you best and those whom you've come into contact with. I spoke with two brothers who matriculated with you at Yaits. Kyle and Sean were their names. Lovely fellows. They use interesting magic on their hair."
"Yes, I know whom you're talking about. Kyle and Sean. They were good acquaintances of mine. I can only imagine the insight they might have about their dear classmate's follies."
"I'm looking forward to it. The other Councilmen haven't seen a dark spell like this one in years. Frankly, I'm not even sure they know what to think of it, or what to think of you for casting it. It's old and creative dark magic you've used. The Council Magicians are trying to deconstruct a sample so they can wrap their heads around it."
"Ah, so they're intimidated by my genius."
She snorted. "Hardly. You're not the only one who's used that spell in the past decade, though the only one to use it here on the Isle. No, no, what's impressive is how well you managed to conceal it. The only people who've stated they knew are your four brothers. Not even your mother or step-father."
He raised his ridiculous eyebrows. "It wasn't difficult to hide at all… until it…"
"But that was your doing, wasn't it?"
He said nothing.
"Wasn't it? I've read the reports. We both know how that spell works. You caused your own downfall, Mr. Kirkland."
Eye contact broke.
"That other flask. Take a look at it for me."
He came out of his embarrassed stupor and held up the other flask. The liquid within was of a deep reddish-amber hue.
"What is this? An obedience potion? Or will it give me a beak?"
The last comment made only made her laugh. "It's brandy. I smuggled it for you. You need to relax, and the truth potion will make you feel like shite."
"Er… thank you."
Arthur winced when remembering how she'd been right. Even a spoonful of the bluish liquid foamed in his throat and made his stomach twist until he was shaking. That and he could feel his control slipping away from him. His tongue became slippery, and his thinking quickened, and when he resisted the urge to say the innermost truth, a throbbing migraine overtook him.
By the trial, the flask was empty, and he was captive to the potion's effects. Any resistance was short-lived. A question would arouse the correct answer in his mind, and before he could consider an alternative, it slipped out between his lips as the cold, factual stab to his dignity.
The trial was something he didn't want to think about at this time of night. He'd already had too many revisits to that midnight in his dreams. He almost knew the trial by heart. It was ingrained in his memory as deeply as he remembered his graduation or the excitement of his first client as a magician. The same client who… now went elsewhere for material spells.
He hadn't realized how long he'd been walking when he returned to where Alfred now lay asleep. The great man must have been dreaming. His fingertips twitched. Beside him, Feliciano slumbered peacefully with the blindfold still humorously wrapped around his eyes. Feli was too gullible, Arthur decided. Not even a mite skeptical of the whole situation. A situation on top of a situation. When that spell was finally broken, perhaps Feliciano's very heart would break, too. But it had to be done. That magic within him was dangerous.
A bigger question, he wondered, was how Ludwig became cursed. Could Ludwig perhaps be beguiled, too? How could he possibly know his brother was a changeling and still trust him? How long had that curse been seeping through his body? What level of study did the caster have?
As he pondered, he soon came to realize how tired he was, and as he was supposed to make sure nothing went wrong between the winged one and the changeling, he took his place as the third among them.
The beguiled, the rejected, and the nevermore respected.
