Jane sat in the dungeon cell, and he remembered.
Not much, but more than usual, more than making fake switches out of willow branches or wind on rushes that sounded like a thousand voices chattering. He remembered the unfamiliar, of wandering, of that impenetrable feeling of being hopelessly, perpetually, lost. The sort of lost only accessible in dreams—the kind where you turn your head to look where you've been and find that it's already changed behind you.
He woke with the taste of missing teeth and fresh blood on his gums. That had been in the memory too, along with a broken hand and a new limp, but to his discomfort he found the tooth part was actually real.
Groaning, he rolled over in his spot of hay and spared a glance for Marcel. The other man was curled in a fetal position—they'd attached Seer's Band to his wrist because of course they had. Bastards. Jane was definitely going to kill them when he got out of here. He'd pointed out to Marcel that in a pinch he could gnaw his own arm off, to which he had been told flatly 'I am not going to do that'. Then, because Jane was a good friend, he offered to chew Marcel's arm off for him, to which he was again told no.
He was about to say something, to check how badly the countercharm had progressed, he realized he hadn't woken for nothing: there was the sound of footsteps approaching.
"What are you doing here, maggot?" he asked as Dell stepped in front of the slanted pattern of bars, the inventor flanked by two bodyguards.
"No doubt he is here to convince us it was certainly not he who sent the interception," Marcel spoke, not moving from where he was curled. Awake then. Good. "The council went over his head of course. Really, he's our ally in all of this."
Dell, silhouetted markedly in orange the dungeon's nearest light, only raised an eyebrow. "I'm certainly here to convince one of you of that. I think we all know you two aren't both equally guilty for the incident we have on our hands."
The silence hung. Jane felt the dry air scratch at him. Or maybe it was just the hay.
"We'd hate to lose the best Spymaster the country's ever had," Dell went on. "It doesn't have to be like this, you know."
"You traitorous little scum!" Jane slammed his fist on the door. "I am going to rearrange that hand of yours until all you can do is shovel shit with it, because that's exactly what you're doing right now! You do not put that evil crap on him and then try to recruit him."
One of the guards slammed a baton on the bars, forcing Jane to take a step back.
"I know you worked hard to get where you are," Dell kept talking. The bastard, Jane was going to wring his toymaking neck- "And you did that by attaching yourself to someone important and rising through the ranks. No one else is going to give you that same offer. You really want to start all over again?"
"…Are you arriving at a point, laborer?" the ball of immobile fae replied.
"My point is that I'd vouch for you. You're pardoned for your involvement, the council runs on, and in return you tell me whenever you pick up something useful. Things go back to the way they were, minus one child abductor." Dell leveled a stare at Jane.
"Once again, you are tragically misinformed." Marcel tiredly waved a hand. "The prince is not a child, which you would have known if you hadn't immediately tried to have us killed upon setting foot in our home."
Dell's brown furrowed. Maybe he really hadn't known, and Jane was just starting to think Marcel might be able to talk their way out of this when the opportunity passed.
"Don't matter. What matters is he," Dell jerked his chin at Jane, "was willing to throw us all under the wheels, anything to get his pound of flesh. Look where being loyal to him got you. Don't you want out?"
Marcel finally lifted his head.
It gave Jane a better look at his arm, which had withered to gray all the way up to the elbow. It seemed fundamentally wrong like that—that Marcel could be weakened, could be beaten for any significant length of time. It was why Jane said nothing when the fae rose.
Why, when Marcel approached the cell door and said, " ine," Jane only took a step back.
Marcel didn't look at him as the party left the dungeon. It was easier that way. Jane sat back down in his corner and remembered again.
Tavish tried the handle. He didn't really expect it to open, but it was worth a shot.
The thing jiggled a little bit, but gave no more illusions about opening, snapping cheerfully back into place as soon as Tavish took his hand off it. The stream of soldiers had ceased a half an hour ago, but Tavish wasn't going to risk it unless he was absolutely sure the manhunt had moved on.
He needn't have bothered. It seemed he wasn't going anywhere until the presence in this tower was done with him.
Because there was certainly a pretense—he'd suspected as much when he began to explore his environs for the foreseeable future. The endless stairs and relative narrowness of the rooms lead him to learn this construction had existed for ages, and the palace had sprung up around it, climbing higher even as the tower stretched exaggeratedly up into the sky. Childlike giggles echoed around him whenever he tried a door and found it locked, which was often, and he constantly felt eyes on the back of his neck. Eventually, he realized he'd wear himself to exhaustion trying to get to the upper floors, and headed back down to ground level.
There was a large, cushy chair with several evil looking tomes on the table next to it. He had himself a sit-down.
Another giggle came from beneath the stone floor.
"Hullo there?" he said, because he was Scarlet through and through, and the Scarlet peoples hadn't survived for centuries by making unneeded enemies of the fae. "This er…your tower?"
A random window slammed closed.
"Oh. Just rooming for a bit then?"
The collection of shrunken heads dangling from the ceiling rattled ominously.
"Me too," Tavish said conversationally, but the creature would say no more. He sighed. When fae were being bashful, there was one good way to get them to open up. He went and lit a candle.
Immediately, there was a person with him in the chamber where there hadn't been before. They wore a wizards hat, but the brim cast an unnatural shadow, of which the only thing that could be seen beneath were a pair of coal-glow eyes.
Those eyes watched the candle with fascination, and the small, robed person crept closer. Tavish watched them watch the candle. "So. Now that we're all…face to face. Is there a reason I'm locked in here?"
The fire spirit admired the flame for a moment, then cocked their head in Tavish's direction. He heard the door click open.
"Oh. Well. That really all you needed me for? Because now that the door's open I'd rather not be heading out if it's all the same to you…I'm a bit of a wanted man."
The spirit tapped a gloved finger to the unfathomable void where their chin would have been.
Suddenly they were walking away at a lively pace, back to those spires and spires of awful stairs. Since Tavish really wasn't interested in stepping out into the beating heart of the enemy's power, he followed. They didn't quite reach the point of gross vertigo that Tavish had given up at, but he was still out of breath when the spirit finally stopped in front of the many wizardly locked doors. They turned the handle.
"Endless Voice…" Tavish swore.
It was an alchemy lab. Not the well loved and sprawling disaster of his family's laboratory, but the sort of place where you could feel magic seeping into every crook. There were heating coils, burners, distillers, flasks, and dozens of things so ancient Tavish didn't even have a name for them. He could see drawers bursting with alchemical ingredients.
And his hands twitched to make it all explode.
He turned to the spirit. "You wee devil. Do you know what we're doing to me?"
"Huddah huh."
"Oh, that and more love. When I'm done here, the whole bloody palace is going to be a smoking ruin."
In eighteen hours, Tavish had slept for a total of forty-five minutes, eaten a slightly singed loaf of bread his new spirit friend had stolen for him, and systematically turned on every burner in the lab. He poured, and he measured, and even if he didn't need it he kept the separators running because it kept his immortal companion of fire and destruction occupied. Despite the sleep deprivation, and the week-long journey across the wilds he'd never been properly allowed to recover from, he'd never felt more alive.
When it was done, Tavish had three combustion grenades glowing on the table before him, and wanted nothing more than to lie down and nap for the next seven years. Instead he said, "any chance you could point me in the direction of the dungeons?"
The spirit waved vaguely toward the door, then tucked their hands back under their chin to watch the cortese boil.
Tavish grinned. "I'll leave you to it then."
They say that the DeGroots earned their titles and lands for their prowess on the battlefield. The Eyelander had its many stories, the invaders beheaded, the wars won on, supposedly, its powers alone. But the house had its own secrets. It was not their ferocity or their ruthlessness that gave the DeGroots their edge; it was the bloody bombs.
"Kablooie!"
The dungeon wall caved in, and Tavish was monumentally happy he hadn't accidentally brought the building down on Jane. He hadn't had any way to give warning, so he'd mostly been relying on luck.
And he certainly did feel like the luckiest man alive when Jane held up his hand to see through the dust and sunlight streaming through the newly made dungeon entrance. "Tavish?" he coughed.
"None other!"
Jane staggered—either he'd taken damage while buying Tavish time to escape, or the collapse had actually bruised him a bit. Either way, he rushed into the cellar to help.
"You…you did not leave," Jane said, amazed.
"I'm not going back. Never again."
"Where the battle rages, there the loyalty of the soldier is proved," Jane said, still barely believing. "Sun Tzu said that."
A voice came from the cell door. "Did he also say that the best way to leave a prison is through the most obnoxious and ear-splitting way possible?"
Tavish jumped, wondering how someone had responded to the alarm so quickly, but when he looked deeper into the dungeon he saw only Marcel. Who was…standing on the outside of the cell?
"I suppose you will not be needing these, then," the fae said, and held up a comically large ring of brass keys.
"Ah!" Tavish said in delight. "Good man."
"…Good man," Jane repeated softly.
"Alas," Marcel continued. "I can still contribute something to your escape. There is a ship under the name of The Tyrant's Helm down in the harbor, bound for Ambery. I suggest you're both on it before nightfall."
"You're not coming?" Tavish asked, when it was clear Jane wouldn't.
"No." Marcel shared one final, mournful look with the General. "Everything he said was right, you know. There is one place in this world where I belong."
"You can choose where that is," Jane replied.
"And I have."
Marcel smiled. It was feeble; even Tavish, who felt this conversation was going entirely past him, could see that.
The fae went on, "and I know you no longer need me." He nodded to Tavish.
"That- that is not true!" Jane sputtered. "Not that I ever needed- I mean, you- Marcel you don't have to stay with these maggots. You deserve better."
"I truly do not. But you do." Marcel spoke the last words to Tavish. "You're free of me now. This is how it gets better."
They stood, the bells still ringing, Jane still struggling to find the words. But maybe he saw the same thing in Marcel's eyes that Tavish did: a choice, and whatever consequences that would be. Jane straightened and, standing atop what remained of the dungeon wall, gave Marcel a salute.
He saluted back.
With one arm around Jane's shoulders, he guided him away, and the pair set off to catch their ship.
Jane followed him out of the debris on unsteady feet. He asked, "you think people like us will really fit in a place like Ambery?"
"Dunno. We don't have to stay. Though I've still got two more combustion grenades on me, so wherever we end up, it won't be boring."
"...And then they showed me to this big lab and, well, you know the rest," Tavish finished.
"Impossible! Uncanny! None of my friends will believe me!"
"Oi, you've been friends with a fae for decades, and you call me a liar because I happen to meet another?"
"No, I am calling you a liar because no fae on this voicedamned planet would willingly live in Merasmus's shitty old castle."
The pair lapsed into silence, leaning on the ship's rail as they watched the spires of Azure City become one with the splashing sapphire waves. The unnatural tower was the last to go: still clinging to the horizon like a splinter in the sky's foot. The salt air crashed around them, and things became more real than they ever had.
"You know," Jane said. "Merasmus is in Ambery, I think."
"You don't say?"
"Mm. Figures." Jane sighed. "There goes my last excuse not to go look him up."
"Heh. At least you've got some friends besides Marcel."
"Yeah."
Silence once more.
Jane said, "I think everything's going to be alright."
