2,575 Years Ago
Arsenio opened his eyes, and somehow he knew everything and nothing, all at once.
He knew that his name was Arsenio, and that he had once been a human being. He also knew that he was not a human being anymore. But he didn't know how he knew that. He also didn't know why that mattered.
He sat up, and realized that there was a man there with him. The man was whooping and hollering beside him, and had been the whole time, but now Arsenio started to pay attention to him.
"It worked! I can't believe it, it worked ! How do you feel?" the man said excitedly, and then he smacked himself in the forehead. "Oh, that's right—you don't!" And he laughed, as though that was the funniest thing in the world.
This man was not human, either. But Arsenio wasn't sure why that mattered.
587 Years Ago
A woman stared at him across the room, which wasn't unusual. He could be considered handsome; it sometimes happened. And when it did, he always deflected their advances as gently as he could; and if he had the time, he would try to subtly redirect their love lives to more suitable partners. He wasn't heartless.
What was unusual about this particular situation was the woman herself. She was strange in a way he couldn't quite put his finger on. There was nothing of note about her physicality, nothing very extreme about her looks, but nevertheless she had a certain... brightness to her that drew his eye, and indeed, he noticed everyone else in the room seemed to be giving her sidelong glances too, as if they couldn't help themselves but try to figure her out.
Very casually, in as human a gesture as he could muster, Arsenio turned his head and made eye contact with her, trying to project an expression of polite curiosity and slight confusion.
She smiled at him, and he felt as though he'd been electrocuted in the nicest, most gentle way. And then she stood up.
As she wove her way across the room to him, never breaking eye contact, he told himself to run. Well, not exactly run, because that would draw undue attention—but turn away, walk away right now, Arsenio!
But he didn't.
She took the seat across from him at the table and leaned in conspiratorially. In spite of himself, he leaned in, too.
"I'm Reina," she said, fixing him with her burning, hungry gaze.
"Arsenio," he whispered back, and balked at himself. He hadn't given his true name to anyone that wasn't a fellow watch in nearly 1,500 years.
She reached across the table and put her hand on his, and he flinched, pulling his hand away—or, he tried to, but her hand was like a vise. His skin tingled where they touched.
She didn't say anything, just staring into his eyes with a smile that wasn't quite warm. Nothing about her was warm, he realized suddenly, although everything about her was somehow inviting . He wanted to know her, wanted to know everything about her. He wanted to tell her all of his secrets, too, although he felt like she might already know them.
"Do you know what I am?" he asked, before he could stop himself.
She laughed, and the humor didn't quite reach her eyes. "Heavens no! But I would like to, oh would I like to." She began stroking the back of his hand with her thumb, and he remembered that she still held it in her viselike grip. "Do you know what I am?" she asked him, hushed and breathless. Her eyes sparkled with something he couldn't understand. Anticipation, maybe?
He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.
He had a very, very bad feeling about this.
And yet... He couldn't tear himself away. He was too curious, too enamored already to really do it. He thought about how he would do it, how he would yank his hand back with strength no human could ever have, how he would flee the scene and race away and put on any of the thousand faces in his repertoire, how he would run and run and run and run , and how he would never see her again. But he couldn't do that. He didn't even want to. He should , but did that matter anymore?
"Why don't we get to know each other a little better?" she said, and her hand left his, traveling up to cup his cheek.
He nodded, electricity radiating through his limbs.
Her hand left his cheek, and he missed her warmth immediately. She stood up and held out her hand to him, inviting him to come along, and he took it without a second thought. She twined their fingers together and led them out of the tavern, down the winding, windy streets. When they came to the edge of town, where rolling hills stretched under the sunset before them, she dropped his hand and looked over at him, her eyes sparkling again. "Catch me!" she said, and took off at a run, faster than any human he'd ever seen before.
He looked at her helplessly for a moment as she disappeared over a hill before sprinting after her. He wasn't human, either, even if he had the body of one—he pushed himself as much as he could, even after he could feel the tingle of magic repairing his legs and lungs as he began to damage them. But she was still faster, still gone far ahead of him where he couldn't see. He skidded to a stop, looking around and trying to listen for her; he heard nothing. And then, someone tackled him from behind, and she was whooping and laughing and breathless as she sat on his chest. He gazed up at her, confused but full of wonder. He thought he had never met someone so interesting. He could never guess what she was going to do next.
"Oh, that was fun !" she giggled. "I haven't had a race like that in ages ! You almost caught me! Everyone here is so slow, but you ... Oh, you are something special, aren't you?" She tapped him on the nose.
He shrugged.
"What's wrong?" Reina's lips pulled into a pout, and he would have sworn he felt her disappointment in his own chest.
He couldn't tell her. He could not tell her what he was, that he was only one of many watches scattered around the world, that he wasn't special at all among them. Whatever inexorable hold Reina had on him, he would not endanger their entire operation just because of a— crush .
Instead, he said regretfully, "I'm supposed to be somewhere else soon," which was true. He felt the corner of his dossier digging into his ribs because of how Reina had planted herself on top of him. It didn't hurt—he couldn't feel pain, of course—but it did seem like a rather pointed reminder of his duty.
"Says who?" Reina huffed, and he was reminded of a petulant child.
"My master," he said, only slightly lying. The dossier wasn't exactly his master, but its instructions did come from his master—he hoped. He shook his head slightly to clear that thought away, lest he get into another argument with himself about it.
He sat up, and Reina slid into his lap. She threw her arms around his shoulders.
"Do you have to go?" she whined. She tangled one of her hands in his hair, and he froze, wondering if she was going to try to kiss him. "Don't you want to stay here with me?"
Arsenio's thoughts raced as he tried to calculate the amount of time he would need to get back to town to complete his tasks for the night. He could probably stay a few more minutes, but it would be better not to risk it. He had rather a lot to do tonight.
"I really have to go," he said, trying to be firm.
She made no move, continuing to frown at him, so he simply stood up and she fell off of him with a yelp. He braced himself in case she retaliated in some way, but she bounced right to her feet, smiling again in that hungry way.
"Will I see you again?" she asked softly, invitingly.
He shifted his weight from foot to foot nervously. "I shouldn't..." He trailed off, his eyes darting between her and the town in the distance. He bit his lip.
"I don't have anywhere to be," she offered.
He took one last look at her before turning away. "I'll be back in six hours and fifty-two minutes," he said, starting to walk back toward the town.
"I'll be here," she said delightedly, and he heard the smile in her voice. He wanted to see it— really see it, not just sense it like he sensed everything else—but he didn't let himself turn back.
He went back to the town and consulted his dossier, and then went around carrying out its minutiae, which included stealing a horseshoe from its place over a doorway, untying a dog and letting it out of its yard, and spoiling the milk in the gravedigger's cupboard. All of these things and more would all coalesce into a morning full of chaos, during which a farmer's daughter was supposed to meet a farrier, beginning a courtship that would someday result in a son who would eventually go on to be a great knight, if all went well. And of course it would go well. Arsenio was there to make sure it did.
But he wasn't thinking about any of those things, even as he did them. He was thinking about Reina, and wondering if she had wanted to kiss him, and if he was even capable of wanting to kiss her back.
Watches, as a rule, did not feel things. They did not feel pain, or pleasure, or even the passage of time. They existed in a numb little bubble, exempt from the world, there only to look at it, to affect it exactingly, but not live in it. Never to live in it.
Arsenio... could feel pain. Not sharply, not so much that a human would likely notice if it happened to them, but when one feels nothing at all, any sensation stood out in sharp relief. It was a strange thing. If he held his hand over a flame, he would not feel the heat from it, but he would feel his flesh burning, just a bit. Just the tiniest twinge.
If he could feel pain, could he feel other things?
He remembered Reina touching him, and he wondered if those zaps and jolts were... pleasure? Was that what a human felt? Could he really be human in one sense, in any sense? After all this time?
He paused in the middle of silently digging through hay to look at the sleeping stable hands scattered around the loft. One of them was a young man, and Arsenio knew he had spent a scandalous night with one of the milkmaids—because he had arranged it. He crept over to the young man's side, contemplating whether it was an invasion of privacy to look into his thoughts and feelings—but of course it was. But who did Arsenio have to ask ? He had no friends, close or otherwise. He hesitated for a moment, and then reached out, trailing his hand above the man's head, trying to pull out the relevant memories and sensations.
Doing this was not the same as feeling them himself. He still could not feel anything—he had tried with pain, just to be sure, to see if what he was feeling was comparable, but it wasn't. But he was granted an understanding of whatever the thing was he was re-remembering. He had done this with animals before, out of boredom, trying to glean how they thought. He understood from an afternoon with fish in a pond what it was like to breathe underwater, for example. Of course, a fish breathing and a one night stand were definitely not comparable. It wasn't even comparing apples and oranges; it was comparing an apple to an ink stand. But was it really so much worse than what he did day to day?
It was, and Arsenio knew it was, but he pushed that thought away and focused on the memories from the stablehand, which didn't actually reveal that much because the night had actually gone rather poorly and he had been unable to perform, as it were. Arsenio frowned; he hadn't realized that. The milkmaid had been rather understanding of the whole thing, and from what he could glean from her, all the way across town, she might be receptive for them to try again. Arsenio made a mental note to nudge them together again the next time their paths crossed—which could be awhile, because the stablehand was currently avoiding her. He frowned and adjusted the stablehand's trajectory so that they would meet again sooner.
"Don't be a coward, Jack," Arsenio muttered, and he moved silently across the hayloft again to resume his digging around. He found what he was after, a stray apple that had gotten lost a few days before, and placed it between Jack and the younger stablehands. It was supposed to inspire them to share it when they woke up, although Arsenio could see that had a rather large chance of going poorly and leading to a fist fight that ended with two broken noses and three lost teeth. That would be fine, he would trick them into cooperating soon enough. If not tomorrow morning, then a week from Thursday would do just as well.
Finally, Arsenio accomplished all of his tasks for the night, and then he stood in the middle of the road, trying to make a decision. Should he go and see Reina? It was absolutely against the rules, but... Watches had few actual rules to follow. They were to do everything written in their dossier when prompted, to the best of their ability. They were to remain beneath the notice of any non-watch persons, as much as possible, excluding cases where they needed to be noticed for something in their dossier to work. And they were not to fraternize with each other too often or cluster together with several watches in one place, lest the balance of time be thrown off-kilter by too many weighty actions at once. That was the gist of it.
But it wasn't possible to remain beneath Reina's notice. She had already noticed him.
And if he didn't go see her... She would just come to him, wouldn't she? She knew where he hung out, and in a small town there weren't many other places to go. He was due to be in this town for another fifty years or so, and he had a feeling she wouldn't get bored of him quickly enough that he could just ignore her...
So, for him to continue with the work set by his dossier... He would have to be friendly with her, wouldn't he? Maybe if she got to know him, and saw how boring and hollow he was, she would just leave of her own accord. This was not a role he had to play; he had no script for it, no persona to put on, no face to wear atop his own. It was just him, and he wasn't even a person, not really. He could do this. He could indulge himself for a little while, and no one would ever know. As long as he toed the line, and kept up with his watch duties... He could have a private life, too. It was just a job, after all. He could have a life outside of it.
The words rang hollow even as he tried to convince himself, but he was too consumed with the thought of seeing Reina again to care.
He retraced his steps back to the edge of the forest where he had left her, but she wasn't there. He tried to feel through the darkness for her, but curiously could not. "Reina?" he called as he picked his way through the underbrush, plunging deeper into the forest. "Are you here?"
He found her in the first clearing he came to. She had built a fire, and she was dancing around it—naked.
He tried to avert his eyes.
"Oh, Arsenio, you're back!" she cried, seizing his hands and pulling him into the light of her fire. "Dance with me!"
He closed his eyes and let her pull him along like a ragdoll, using his extra senses to keep from toppling into the fire.
After an hour, or maybe more, she released him and collapsed on the ground in a fit of laughter, and he finally opened his eyes.
"You're so much fun !" she said giddily, leaping to her feet. She picked up her chemise and gown from the forest floor and tugged them on; they left leaves in her hair as they passed over her head. "No one's danced with me for ages ! Oh, I'm so happy you came back."
She threw her arms around him, and his arms curled around her almost automatically. A grin started on his face, but faltered.
"What's wrong?" she said.
"If I'm going to be your... friend, there are certain things that I need to make clear," he said, choosing his words with great care. He extricated himself from her embrace and sat cross-legged on the forest floor.
"What things?" she said, throwing herself onto the ground beside him. She moved so casually, so carelessly, and he envied that.
"You said that you want to know what I am... I can't tell you that, Reina. Not ever." He had to be very firm on this point. He was going to toe the line, not cross it. He half hoped that this alone would sour her to him, and she would leave right now.
"Oh, that's alright," she said easily.
" That's alright ?" he repeated incredulously.
"Yes, because I'm going to figure it out! You don't have to tell me. I love a puzzle." She grinned.
"Reina—"
" Arsenio ," she said mockingly, and she laughed, the sound peeling chillingly through the trees. "If I guess what you are, then you never told me, did you? Then you won't get in trouble! Everything is going to be just fine, Arsenio, don't worry."
That... would technically not break any rule, as much as he was already not technically breaking any rules. But she would grow bored of him long before she figured out what he was, he was sure about that.
He lost his train of thought as Reina stroked his cheek, turning his face toward her own.
"Reina..." he breathed, as she leaned toward him. "I..."
"What is it, Arsenio?" she said, the fire light dancing in her eyes.
"I don't... I haven't... I've never..." He trailed off helplessly, not knowing how to articulate his problem.
"Don't worry, I'll show you," she said, and she brought her lips to his.
For the first time that he could remember, Arsenio was not aware of anything going around him. He felt truly and wholly present in his own skin for the first time in his new life, and it was just in time for him to feel like he was going to burst out of it.
Afterward, Reina fell asleep beside him, snoring gently, but he did not sleep. He lay there, staring at the stars he could see between the leaves, and as the haze of pleasure cleared, he felt... guilt. Awful, ugly, soul-crushing guilt. He felt like he understood humans much better than he ever had before, and he did not like it one bit.
He edged out from under her arm as carefully as he could, but Reina's eyes opened immediately. Had she even been asleep? Or was she just pretending?
"Where are you going, Arsenio?"
"I have to be back in town soon," he said, and that was a lie. He didn't have to go back until sunrise, which was still a few hours away.
"Were you just going to leave without saying goodbye?" she said softly, dangerously.
"No," he lied.
She stared at him, all traces of humor gone from her face.
"I didn't want to wake you," he tried again, and at this, she smiled.
"I'll come find you later," she said, as he stood up. "I was just going to pass through this wretched little town, but now that I know you're here, I can't very well leave, can I?"
He made a noncommittal sound, and walked slowly and purposefully out of the forest, not allowing himself to run. He did not want her to suspect that he was afraid of her, afraid of the power she had over him, afraid of what he might do if she asked. He shouldn't have done that. He should never have even spoken to her. He needed to confess—
The sun rose in front of him as he walked into town, and he blinked. He was not sure where he had been, but somehow his guilt felt... not as guilty. He shook his head and looked around—had Reina cast a spell on him? But she was nowhere to be found, and as far as he could feel, she was still asleep in the forest, some miles away. No one in the town had any significant predilection for magic, so it couldn't have been one of them.
Perhaps he had simply wandered the hills like a madman for several hours? In any case, he wasn't going to trouble himself about it any further; he had work to do.
The morning's chaos unfolded more or less as planned, and the farmer's daughter met the farrier, and now someday the knight would be born. The stablehands in the hayloft did fight over the apple, although only Jack ended up with his nose broken, so that was going better than expected. He even managed to steer Jack into the milkmaid again as he went about his day, and she felt badly about his broken nose and told him it made him more handsome. All was well.
Arsenio checked his dossier periodically, popping up here and there in the town and generally making a nuisance of himself. No one was very happy to see him, but they weren't supposed to be. He rather thought all of this was going to lead to the town banding together to run him out, but if that was his role in their lives, so be it. People liked having a common enemy.
In the evening, when the sun was setting, Reina sauntered into town, barefoot and still with leaves in her hair. Arsenio had seen her coming, so he waited for her on the road, and when she saw him, her expression lit up. She took his hand as soon as she was beside him.
"I missed you," she said.
"I missed you, too," he said.
They walked together out of town, and this time Arsenio did not worry, because his next task was not until noon the next day.
"Do you have any guesses yet about what I am?" she asked slyly, nudging him with her shoulder. "I've already got quite a few about you."
"I already know what you are," he laughed.
"You do?" She stopped dead in her tracks, her brow furrowed.
"Of course," he said, confused. Of course he knew what she was; how could she hide it from him? "You're a witch, aren't you?"
She stared at him for a long moment, her head cocked to one side.
"Yes, that's right," she said finally, a slow grin spreading across her face. "I'm a witch."
44 Years Ago
"Oh, Arsenio, a baby! A baby! Oh, I can't believe it!" Reina danced around the room, hugging herself, and Arsenio was forcibly reminded of their first night together. At least she was clothed this time.
"A baby," he repeated, with no inflection.
"Tell me about the baby," she begged, taking his hands in hers. "Oh, please, Arsenio, tell me everything."
Her eyes were shining and happy, filled with joy he hadn't seen in her for centuries. How could he deny her?
"It's a girl," he said carefully, and Reina flittered around the room again in a tizzy.
"A girl, a girl, a girl ," she sang to herself. "A daughter! Oh, Arsenio, how wonderful!"
"Yes," he said. "Wonderful."
"I'm going to teach her everything I know, oh I can't wait to do it. Will she have my powers? Oh, Arsenio, please tell me she shares my magic, I couldn't bear it if she didn't."
He considered, briefly, telling her that their daughter wouldn't get any of Reina's magic. Maybe then he could convince her to be rid of it.
But he couldn't do that to his wife.
"She will," he said.
Reina squealed with delight, jumping up and down like a giddy schoolgirl. "Oh, I knew it! I just knew she would! Oh, I love her already." Her hands dropped to cradle her abdomen. "When is she coming?"
"August fifteenth," Arsenio said tiredly. "Give or take a few days."
Reina skipped around the room, whooping and cheering, and Arsenio felt sick.
He could not, he would not, hurt his wife. He loved her as much as he loathed her, but he could not bring himself to harm her. And harming their child would harm her. He had never, ever considered harming a child before, not in all his life, but couldn't Reina see how dangerous their daughter would be? Arsenio had wracked his brains, had spent hours studying every future presented to him, but he could not make heads nor tails of their daughter's life. He could not tell whether she would inherit his magic, too, or to what degree. He couldn't tell. He couldn't see . He was terrified.
Would it be so hard to arrange an accident? Some terrible tragedy to befall her? He would have to be away, of course, so that Reina would not suspect his involvement—but she would know, wouldn't she? She would know, somehow she would know what he had done, and that would be it. She would hunt him to the ends of the earth, and there would be nowhere he could hide from her wrath.
So he forced himself to smile, and he told Reina what he could glean from the future. Some things were certain, like her looks: His own middling skin tone and brown eyes, Reina's wavy dark hair and dimpled chin. Everything else was uncertain, but Reina was delighted to speculate.
He wished he could be so optimistic.
31 Years Ago
"Why doesn't the day ever turn out like it does in my dream?" Marisol said wistfully.
Reina paused in the middle of preparing breakfast. "What did you say?"
Arsenio stared at his daughter, who looked back at him with his own eyes.
"I dreamed about this," Marisol said, looking around. "Only it wasn't like this. I always dream like that, but it's never real . Why does that happen, father?"
Arsenio looked over Marisol's head to Reina, but she was staring very hard at the tabletop, her expression unreadable. He tried to think of something to say to his daughter that did not betray his fear. "How long have you been having dreams like this, Mari?"
"As long as I can remember," Marisol said, and he felt cold.
"Do you ever have other dreams?"
"Never." She shook her head, curls bouncing. "I only ever dream of tomorrow. But things never turn out how I dream them. Why, father?"
"I don't know, Mari," he said. He reminded her: "I don't sleep."
"I want it to be like my dreams," Marisol insisted. "Mother has taught me everything about blood magic, but you never teach me anything. Teach me how to control it, father."
"I don't know how, Mari," he said honestly.
"Someone taught you how. Maybe they can teach me, too."
"No," he said at once.
"Why not? It's not fair!" Marisol pouted.
"No one taught him how," Reina said brusquely, setting Marisol's breakfast on the table. "He was made this way. Now eat your breakfast, Mari."
Marisol scowled at her breakfast but began eating before her mother chastised her.
"Why have you never mentioned this, Mari?" Arsenio asked quietly, as Reina sat down too. She had a plate in front of her, but she was not eating anything from it.
"I thought that I might learn to control it, and then you would be proud of me, father. But I haven't yet. I need your help."
"I don't know how to help you."
"You'll think of something, father, I know you will," Marisol said confidently.
"Oh, I'm sure." Reina rolled her eyes.
Marisol glared at her. "Of course father will help me! Now that he knows something is making me unhappy, he's going to fix it, because he loves me. That's what a father does."
"I'm going to try , Mari," he said gently. "I don't know what to do for you just yet."
"But you'll think of something, won't you, father?"
"I hope so, Mari."
23 Years Ago
Marisol opened her eyes, and found her father staring back at her. She smiled, and he did, too.
"Father, you're home!" she said joyously.
"Good morning, Mari," he said. "What did you dream about?"
"Oh, it was wonderful, father. I went to a meadow and picked flowers, and it brightened the whole place up. The sun was shining so beautifully, it was so nice after all this awful rain—"
Outside her window, thunder cracked, and Marisol sat up, frowning. She looked outside and confirmed the sky was still miserably gray and wet, and slumped back on her pillows, defeated.
"I told you, Mari," he said gently, "we don't know if your dreams are of the next day, precisely . It appears that you can dream several years into the future, depending."
"Yes, but on what , father? It makes no sense! You would think I would at least get the weather right!" She brandished a hand at the stormy window, and, as if to underscore her point, thunder cracked again. "Oh, shut up!" She threw a pillow vaguely in that direction.
"You are the only one of your kind, Mari," he reminded her. "We have no idea what to expect from you."
"We could ask someone," she said.
"We will not ," Arsenio said firmly. "It is too dangerous."
"And you still won't tell me what that danger is ," she huffed under her breath.
"I don't have a lot of time with you, Mari. Do you want to spend it pouting, or do you want to try my test?"
"A test?" She perked up at that, sitting up straighter.
"Yes. I was curious as to whether I could influence your visions by doing something noticeable and unexpected. Do you remember any such thing?"
She scrunched up her face in thought. "No, I don't think so."
"Try to think, Mari. Think of the past, not the future, it is much easier because it has already happened. Do you know what I did in the kitchen?"
"If you made a mess, mother will have a fit." She giggled.
" Focus , Mari."
"Yes, father." She shut her eyes, and tried to picture how the kitchen had looked last night, and how it might look now, but she could only guess. "I don't feel anything, father. Didn't you say that it feels like something?"
"Do you have a guess?" he pressed.
She opened her eyes. "Did you... put all the chairs up on the table?"
He frowned, and she knew she was wrong. She got out of bed and put on her dressing gown, hurrying out of her room to the kitchen on the floor below. Her father trailed along silently behind her.
She saw the kitchen and gave a frustrated cry.
The chairs were all in their usual positions around the table; the difference was on the walls, in the form of pretty blue wallpaper.
She walked into the room and pulled out a chair, throwing herself in it and then putting her head down on the table.
"Father, it's hopeless. I'm never going to be able to do it."
He sat down across from her.
"Have you been practicing, like I told you?" he asked, although he already knew the answer. In his periods of downtime when he didn't have time to travel back here, he would watch her from afar to see how she was getting along. He had finally asked her to try using her powers while she was awake, to see if she could predict anything at all, no matter how small. In the past, he had given her several mantras to try before she slept, to see if they sparked anything in her dreams. He had also told her to keep a dream journal, detailing everything she could remember as soon as she woke, and to compare it to the regular journal she kept and wrote in at the end of the day; and then she was to cross-reference them and try to see if she ever got anything right. She had done all of these things, obsessively, as soon as he asked it of her.
He was extremely worried about her.
"I did, father," she said.
"Did it help?"
"No," she said miserably, raising her head. "I did everything perfectly , father. I know I did. I'm wrong more often than not, and if I'm right, it seems it's by coincidence. I can't predict anything ! It's not fair ! Why can you do it so easily?"
"It is a part of me," he said, deciding that he wouldn't comment that it wasn't actually easy . It was extremely difficult, exacting work. The future was in no way set in stone.
"It's a part of me, too, isn't it?"
"I'm sorry, Mari," he said sadly, and he patted her arm.
"I've failed you, father."
"You haven't, Mari. But..." He folded his hands in front of him on the table, and tried to speak diplomatically. "I need to tell you something, and I need you to listen to me."
Marisol straightened up, mirroring his pose. "What is it, father?"
"I think... that you should stop trying to use these powers," he said, and he waited for her response.
Her eyes widened, and then narrowed, and she inhaled sharply, but she did not fly into a rage, like he thought she might.
Instead, she said, "Whatever do you mean, father?"
"You're distressing yourself—"
"I'm not distressed."
He raised an eyebrow. "But you are , Mari. You frustrate yourself endlessly, and for what? You spend so much time thinking of the future that you waste your present."
She stared at him for a long moment. "I've always had these dreams, father. I don't think I can stop them."
"I want you to try. Will you do that for me, Mari?"
"I will, father," she said, and he knew that she was lying.
3 Years Ago
Dominick and Marisol sat on the floor in front of a roaring fire, in one of the lesser used parts of the castle. He had just finished expounding upon the politics surrounding his search for a wife and why he hated it, and when he had finished, he said, "...But enough about me. Everyone in the kingdom already knows everything interesting about me. Tell me about you ."
"Me?" Marisol giggled.
"Yes, tell me everything," he said eagerly, taking her hand, and she blushed.
"I'm not very interesting," she said.
"That's not what I hear," he said coaxingly.
Marisol's eyes narrowed just the slightest bit. "What do you mean?"
"Tell me about your family. I've heard a great many rumors about your mother, for instance," he began, but she frowned, and he stopped himself going any further.
"You mustn't believe what you hear about my mother. She taught me everything I know, and believe you me, that's rather more than most people learn from their mothers. She loves me more than anything else in the world." Marisol smiled. "She's wonderful that way."
Dominick nodded encouragingly. "And what of your father? I don't believe I've ever heard anything about him." That was not exactly true; he had once heard that Reina had murdered the man. But he didn't put much stock in rumors, he was only trying to get Marisol talking. She was so mysterious, and he longed to unlock her secrets.
She frowned. "My father... is a very strange man."
"Is he now?" He raised his eyebrows. Considering all the rumors he had heard about Marisol's mother, ranging from the aforementioned of her being a murderess to a theory that she was a powerful undead witch, that was saying something.
"I haven't seen him for several years." She stared into the fireplace, her mind somewhere beyond. "But that doesn't mean he hasn't seen me, does it?"
"What do you mean? Is he spying on you? He won't take the time to see you, but he has time to spy on you? That's horrible." Dominick petted her hair, and her gaze flickered to him; she smiled, slightly.
"It is horrible, isn't it?" She sighed. "But I love him anyway. He is my father, after all."
"Of course," Dominick said.
There was a moment of mild silence, and he continued petting her hair in a soothing, regular motion.
"Can I trust you, Dominick?" Marisol said suddenly, her voice hushed. "May I tell you a secret?"
"Yes," he said immediately.
"My father wasn't supposed to have me," she whispered, staring into the fire. "He thinks I don't know that, but my mother told me. I think she thought that telling me that would turn me against him. Sometimes they play games like that, against each other..."
He had several questions, but he asked the first that came to mind: "What do you mean, he wasn't supposed to have you?"
"It's something to do with his job. He's never explained it to me."
Dominick tried to wrap his mind around this. "Is he a priest?"
Marisol laughed. "No, I don't think so. But whatever it is, he wasn't supposed to be married and he wasn't supposed to have me. But he did it anyway, and I think... I think now he resents me for it. That's why he's never truly loved me, you know."
"I'm sure that isn't true," he said uncomfortably. He couldn't imagine a father who didn't love his child.
"It is ," she insisted. "I know it is, but I can't ever get him to admit it. I don't know why he thinks it's better to lie to me ." Her face contorted, and the shadows thrown upon it made her monstrous; but then he blinked, and her expression was smooth and unreadable. "You're not going to lie to me, are you, Dominick? I can't stand it when people lie."
"I won't," he said earnestly. "I would never."
She turned to face him, taking his hands in hers. "Then tell me honestly: Do you love me?"
"I—" Dominick hesitated. He felt a certain strong attraction to her, to be sure, but was that love ? So soon? So fast?
"I love you , Dominick," Marisol said urgently, drawing him closer. "Don't you love me?"
"I do," he said, trying not to sound uncertain. If she was sure, then who was he to doubt her? She was so beautiful. If he was to love anyone, surely it would be her.
"Say it, Dominick. Say that you love me," she said breathlessly, a strange glint in her eye.
"I love you," he said, and she breathed a sigh of relief before bringing her lips to his.
Now
Arsenio finished his story by recounting the things that had touched Erika's life: His preventing Erika from running away; his mentoring of Julian as Josué that had led him to be taken in to the palace, instead of her; his saving of Anneliese and Julian's lives in the mine; Preminger's escape; how that had led to Julian seeking Josué's wisdom; and how he had had to reveal his being a watch when he couldn't hide from Anneliese's strange magic. This had all led him here, to this moment, sitting with them.
"I think that's everything relevant," Arsenio finished. "If I've left anything out, I sincerely apologize."
Erika and Sebastian sat in stunned silence.
Erika's thoughts were in turmoil, and he did not blame her. Unlike Anneliese, she had no reason to regard him favorably, and he did not expect her to. He was not looking forward to having to repeat his whole story to Dominick, with even more hedging and apologies added in. He had not wanted to tell her anything Dominick had not already, but he thought it might comfort her to know that Dominick's relationship with Marisol had not started out nicely and just soured over time; Marisol had been manipulating him from the outset, trying to secure his love and admiration far before he would be ready to give it naturally.
Sebastian's mind was blank with rage, and the only reason he was not trying to murder Arsenio on the spot was that seeing such violence would upset the queen. Arsenio wondered if it would still be cathartic for Sebastian stab him, given that he couldn't feel it and didn't bleed from it. He certainly deserved as much. As it was, Sebastian would only exhaust himself trying to leave a mark.
The door opened.
"There you are!" Dominick said, striding in. "I've been looking for you everywhere!" He kissed the top of Erika's head, pulling up a chair beside her. "What is it you needed Sebastian for? And who is this?"
Arsenio's gaze flickered to Erika and Sebastian briefly before landing on Dominick.
"My name is Arsenio," he said. "And I have a lot to tell you."