I need to thank mommacomms, blueberryhope, ampharos98, zerozeroren, lemolunes, and loeise on tumblr for all the art! If you're reading, you all gave the story so much exposure, and I just can't thank you enough. -; Readers, please check out their tumblr blogs! They're incredible, talented artists!
And as always, readers, thank you for taking the time and the patience to read. You all are the best and I owe you the world.
Curse of the Dragon
Chapter 14
Rhapsody
Fakir reached up to clutch his shoulder, still warm from where she'd rested her cheek.
Grumbling under his breath, he stared numbly at the door and bit back a grimace as the knights that lined the halls and guarded the entrance to the chamber scrutinized him head to toe. Leave it to these royals to make him wait after summoning him here at such an early hour.
… Not that he'd gotten any sleep at all.
He didn't know how long he and Ahiru sat there, the young duchess entangled around his limb while they waited for their eyes to dry. Other than his humiliating display and his embarrassment at being seen, the night wasn't … unpleasant.
The cool air was a comfort above ground, the night skies vast and calm, shining in a scatter of twinkling beads stretching across a dark blue canopy—so different from the jagged edges and harsh lines of a dirt ceiling and wayward rocks and roots. The new atmosphere soothed him, alien as it was, and Ahiru's presence kept him grounded in ways he couldn't possibly fathom.
The fireflies reminded him of lady bugs, however. Despite himself and despite the villagers' ire and distrust of him, he missed his underground hut, the glowing flower fields, his sister's smirks and Autor's pompousness. The scent of Freya's fresh tea, Hermia's potato stew warm in his belly, the echo of Uzura's happy drumming across the expanse of emptiness.
Not that they'd wanted him back. Not after what he'd done.
His jaw clenched. Rejection underground was certainly better than what was offered here, though. Cold, white walls, snide and suspicious whispers, and all the attention he could do without.
Ostracized in Wyvern. An outsider in Vineta.
But in Ahiru's arms, he finally felt at home.
And the thought made him feel wretched, because the last time he felt such all-encompassing warmth, she gifted him with shimmering ink and an encouraging grin. It was always Ahiru who made him feel like this—whatever this was.
It was only when the sky lightened somewhat, the dark hues melting into the early morning, the stars twinkling their last, and the hum of fireflies giving way to the chirping of robins, that they stood up and returned to the castle in silence. The shadows of night receded, and with it, his security. His hiding place. In the coming dawn, he felt suddenly exposed.
Oh, Fae help him.
She saw him cry.
Sure, they'd come to an understanding, and he left their encounter with more confidence and more courage than before, but she saw him cry.
Thankfully, she refrained from bringing attention to it, content with padding along beside him as he escorted her to her bedchambers. He pointedly ignored the curious glances of patrolling knights and definitely avoided eye contact with Ahiru for the rest of their trek.
Just before she slipped through the door, she tugged on his sleeve, though he still refused to meet her gaze. "Together, no matter what!" she said in hushed tones, brightened by a quiet and happy determination. "Good night—oh, I guess it's morning now, huh? Try to get some sleep!"
He shrugged one shoulder, keeping his eyes to the polished tile beneath him. "Not likely. I have a—well, there's something I have to do soon."
"... Is it about what Mr. Katz whispered to you yesterday?"
Surprised, his eyebrows rose. Ahiru, for all her clumsy antics, squawking stutters, and spacey tendencies, never let him forget how remarkably intuitive she could be.
He fought back a small smirk at the thought, stricken with some inexplicable sense of pride. Finally, he lifted his gaze to meet her eyes.
"Yeah," he answered honestly, though a burning discomfort welled up in his chest at his next words, "Make sure that you don't mention anything about it to your prince." When her eyebrows lifted in concern, he bit the inside of his cheek and guiltily added, "This is at Mr. Katz's behest. Better stick to it, since you're in the know."
Her hands anxiously tangled into the fabric of her nightgown and his heart wrenched at the sight. "O-Okay."
"I'm sorry."
"Eh? For what?"
"Making you lie to him."
The smile that spread across her cheeks soothed the strange entanglement of emotions that whirled around in a confusing mess in his belly. "Mm … no, it's not you! I'm just worried, that's all. I don't know why they'd want to keep something from him, so …"
"... I'll let you know what happens at the meeting."
"Eh? You will?"
"I just said so, didn't I?" He rolled his eyes. Then, he started off along the hallway and waved his hand in a casual farewell. "Get some sleep."
"... Yeah!" He heard her bright smile in her voice. "You, too, when you can!"
Her sentiment, well-meaning as it was, would go to waste. He'd never get the opportunity to catch even a wink of slumber.
As soon as he entered the grand stairs that connected one wing of guestrooms to the other, a knight accosted him in the middle of the steps, her long face firming into a sneer. "Mister Fakir," she addressed formally beneath her sarcastic air, "you've been summoned by—"
"I know." The lack of sleep suddenly crept upon him, his eyelids heavy with tiredness (but moreso with the dread of actually having to talk more with these royals). "Lead the way."
Scoffing, the knight straightened in her armor and turned her protracted nose toward the ceiling. "I think not, Mister Fakir. I will escort you to your chambers so that you may change into a more appropriate attire."
He bit back a groan. The nightshirt and loose trousers were far more comfortable than the other clothes he'd been given, and he sorely missed his rags from Wyvern. But the knight, Dame Annerina, continued on pestering in her incessantly bossy manner, and he was much too tired to bother with arguing.
On the way, he made sure to pass by Uzura's room, the child slumbering and comfortable in a cocoon of the warmest blankets she'd ever buried herself into. In that, he was satisfied enough to leave her be until later.
And that was how he found himself staring blankly at the door to a smaller audience chamber, rather far from the throne room of the day before. Tired. Waiting. Wrapped up in a constricting vest and tight pants.
He could've been writing, too.
Damned royals.
Finally, the thick, wooden doors creaked open, the knights sidestepping to allow room for the prince's attendant to greet him. Dressed sharply even at this early hour, Karon gave Fakir a quick once-over before lowering his head in a polite bow. "Thank you for coming. I understand this must've been a strange request."
Fakir merely shrugged and stepped into the chamber after Karon. A stark contrast from the white marble, tall pillars, and intricate stained glass of the throne room, this hall sported no such grandeur. The walls were of a dark gray stone, a red wooden table sitting in the center of the limited area. A map, sprawled out over the surface, was dotted with miscellaneous markers, lines, and symbols.
… It'd been a long time since he'd seen an actual map of the world. Even now, he found his eyes drifting to the valley where Wyvern rested beneath the ground, untouched and far from such markers .
He smirked. Labeled across this particular expanse were the words, "Untrodden Lands."
Finally, he glanced about the room as Karon took a seat into one of the carved chairs. Beside him sat the important figures Fakir had been introduced to the day before: the general (whose name escaped him), Raetsel, Karon, and Mr. Katz. It seemed that they were of the highest ranks below the prince himself.
… And as expected, Prince Siegfried was absent from their small party.
Without awaiting an invitation, Fakir slipped into the chair across from them, once again before them as if on trial. Maybe he'd have to get used to this.
Karon spoke once more. "Again, thank you for taking the time to meet with us."
Fakir shrugged in reply. "Your prince isn't here. I guess you were serious about that." He pointedly met each of their gazes directly.
"Circumstances as of late have … forced our hand."
"So, I take it this isn't about your party-planning."
Fakir almost smirked at the apprehension lining their foreheads, each looking more anxious than the last. Some advisors they were, allowing a prince to foolishly organize a ball in the middle of their apparent distress.
He imagined Prince Siegfried differently. Wiser, perhaps.
Mr. Katz fought down his concern and stroked his whiskers inquisitively. "I suppose I'll begin with the obvious. Yesterday, you claimed to be … well, quite old. Three hundred, you said?"
"And eighteen."
"Three hundred and eighteen. And this is the nature and result of your curse?"
"I said all this before. Yes," Fakir snapped, not bothering to hide his impatience.
The prince's uncle remained undaunted. "You've requested for some writing materials."
"And I got them, so I should be getting back to that." Rather than indulging in this redundant back-and-forth with people he hardly knew or respected.
"Curious that you seem so adamant about continuing your work. Why, may I ask?"
Crossing his arms and leaning back into the solid wood of the chair's backrest, Fakir rolled his eyes. He was going to make it keenly apparent that this entire arrangement displeased him.
It seemed he wouldn't be released quite so easily, however.
At Fakir's stubborn silence, Mr. Katz reached down somewhere beneath the table, and with a grunt, revealed a large tome, thick and old with a crooked spine. It landed upon the wood with a dull 'thud' as Mr. Katz flipped to a marked page. "It is said," the scholar continued, "that the legendary wizard, D. D. Drosselmeyer, took on a new, mysterious act later on in his career."
Fakir felt the color drain from his face.
"Stories say it was a power he valued greatly. He worked magnificent and terrible acts: turning girls into ducks, rendering young men utterly emotionless, trapping people into stories and changed reality itself.
"Some say it led to his demise. I wonder, could your desire to write have anything to do with this?"
Fakir's jaw clenched, cold shivers pricking at his skin, his eyebrow twitching.
To think that monster made more of a name for himself using the powers he violently ripped away from him had Fakir reeling in his seat. His fingertips dug into the armrests, creaking the wood. He spoke from between clenched teeth.
"Just because I want to write, doesn't mean—"
"Could you have learned such a thing from him?"
Fakir slammed his fist onto the table. The sudden movement and the ensuing rattle of the table shifting startled the other occupants in the room, his body spasming and eyes sharpening …
He grit his teeth, settling his nerves before it was too late to stop a transformation. Not here. Definitely not now.
He thought of Ahiru, the warmth of her cheek against his shoulder, and his muscles began to relax.
It was only a few moments of silence later before he felt the throb of his knuckles, the shock of the impact shooting to the bone. Slowly, he withdrew his hand and cradled it, discreetly running his thumb over the bruising skin.
"Mr. Katz," he heard Raetsel murmur over the quiet, "please. He's just a boy."
"A three-hundred-year-old dragon-boy," corrected the general, shifting in his armor and anxiety dripping from his words.
Karon stood from his chair and wandered closer to Fakir, circling the table with his hands behind his back. "... I suppose Mr. Katz was right in assuming you do have a history with the wizard. And his abilities. We only wish to—"
Fakir cut him off, his words deep, rumbling, and strained. "Unless you have a way to lift this damned curse without hurting Ahiru, then don't bring up that monster to me. Haven't I told you enough yesterday?"
The advisor sighed and continued on. "In light of all this, we cannot allow you to write freely in the Grand Chateau. If you do have these powers, however you may have come across them, how are we to know what sorts of tales you are spinning?" Karon's voice lightened somewhat. "We can compromise. You may write with supervision. But only if you answer our questions."
Supervision? Like a caretaker to a child? Perhaps, had Fakir been in a more reasonable mood, he'd see the logic in such an order, but as it was, he planned on making this as difficult for them as possible. Bitterly, Fakir scoffed, still rubbing his knuckles. "Why don't you just read your books on the legendary wizard? I'm sure there are enough tales of his mysticism and wonderment."
"With the war on the horizon—"
"I have nothing to do with the war you've gotten yourselves into." He glared up at Karon, rising to his feet to meet the advisor's gaze head-on. "I'm only here to protect Ahiru and buy some time before—"
"On the contrary," Mr. Katz interjected, "you've said yourself that the dragons may be drawn here due to your presence and Lady Ahiru's flight from their clutches. You've involved us into your conflict by taking our future queen in the first place, and now you are undoubtedly involved in ours."
Aggravated, Fakir went silent.
"… And we have reason to believe that our stories are more entwined than we thought. Perhaps from the very beginning."
"What reason?"
All eyes turned to Raetsel. After taking a deep breath, she began, "I witnessed something during the Rungholtan prince's stay in the Grand Chateau. His attendant …" She trailed off, taking pause as she tried to gesture with her hands. "… There was a ritual of some sort. Candles, rose petals—strewn about in a pattern. Prince Femio was present in the room as well."
"Aye," the gruff general agreed, "And Rungholt rose to power quickly. Too quickly. They have men, resources, money that they didn't before. A particularly sudden interest in Vineta, too, from what I hear."
Mr. Katz leaned back on his chair, staring down at the tome thoughtfully. "We believed it to be possible that Prince Femio could have some relation to Drosselmeyer."
Fakir snorted in reply, smirking wryly. "If only. Ahiru's the only one left of his bloodline. If there was anyone else, we would've known."
He made certain during Ahiru's stay underground that she was truly the only living blood descendant to Drosselmeyer. Any other option would've been … better.
"The timing is convenient as well," Mr. Katz muttered, leaning his elbows onto the table, "In a matter of days—nineteen, I believe—you and your own will feel the ultimate effects of your curse. This same year, Rungholt miraculously gained the advantage on us, and their armies march across the continent as we speak. We expect their full advance to be completed in … how long did you say, General Lysander?"
"Aye, we assumed two? Maybe three weeks?"
Karon nodded. "It could all be coincidence. Mr. Katz is convinced that it isn't."
Truly, Fakir knew better than to think anything involving Drosselmeyer could be just a coincidence. But how did they know? Why did they all go through this much trouble for a hunch? Theorizing and digging in on a wizard who, for all they knew, had been dead for so long? There had to be something they weren't telling him. Something else at stake.
As he considered this, Karon lowered into a chair beside Fakir, his elbows on his knees. "We only wish to understand Drosselmeyer more. And perhaps, as someone who has met him before his demise, we'd like to learn as much as we can. That, and with the growing … ahem, dragon problem—"
Dragon problem? Fakir scowled.
Karon grimaced at the dragon's glare. "We may need to know how to comba—defend ourselves against them. On top of everything else. Just in case they come for you or Lady Ahiru. Give us the information we need, and we'll trust you."
Vineta and Rungholt. Ahiru and his family. Now Vineta and his family with Ahiru caught in between. He pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt isolated, torn, targeted by these people who wanted to understand, and yet, didn't seem to get it. Hell, Fakir didn't seem to get it, either. They made everything far more complicated than it had to be. What more was there? What were the missing pieces to this damned puzzle? His weary gaze swept across the room over these seemingly important figures and—
—the missing pieces. The missing person. The one who was supposed to be the most important.
Fakir followed up with a hunch of his own. "This seems like the sort of discussion that your prince should be a part of."
When the four others collectively paled, grim expressions falling upon them, Fakir knew he'd found the crucial detail they'd kept from him.
Karon spoke with carefully selected words. "… His Highness has been compromised due to the stress of his situation."
Stressed? Fakir hardly believed that.
Raetsel leaned forward, the determination in her eyes affirming that she would be more upfront about this than the others. "For the sake of our prince …"
"Miss Raetsel, can we trust—?"
"Karon, please." After another beat, she turned her attention back to Fakir, Mr. Katz's eyes gentle and supportive in her direction. "I feel His Highness has been directly affected by these rituals that I saw. His behavior, his manner, the way he speaks and treats others … I honestly think he may be under … unnatural changes from Montand's spells."
If the prince had truly been so compromised and in such ways, it explained their desperation for a solution.
But that wasn't what caught Fakir's attention.
"... Montand?"
"Yes. Prince Femio's valet."
This itch in the back of Fakir's mind couldn't be ignored. The sneaking chill that permeated from his neck to his shoulders and down his spine persisted, and for once, Fakir did not want to be right.
His lips parted, voice weaker than it had been all morning. "I'll … you want to know everything I know, right? I'll tell you what happened, but I don't know much more of him outside of our curse." After all, Autor was the one who admired him the most. Ironically, he missed Autor's pompous presence then now than ever. "As far as the dragons go, you leave them to me. You won't touch them."
Mr. Katz lifted his chin, his eyes respectful and observing, while the others likewise gave Fakir their full attention.
"… Three centuries ago, the wizard came upon our village. He and his protege, Monty, stayed with us for two weeks. Until the night of the Festival of the Summer Moon …"
Autor was a man of history. An observer of days long past. Born to remember what transpired before, to make way for a better tomorrow. Certainly, he was fully capable of seeking out specific events, even looking into old mysteries that have fallen into the depths of time, forever buried from memory.
But playing hide-and-seek with two escapees from something that happened two days ago?
He ran a hand through his slicked-back hair, squinting down at his blank page in the flickering candlelight. Nothing. He found nothing of Fakir, Uzura, and the very crucial sacrifice needed to take back their very lives!
His cheek still stung from where Raven struck him, a painful reminder of his current failures.
The event was simply too recent, and Autor had already been drained from his writings as of late. It was only a few days ago when he unearthed an old, ancient ritual to maintain their dragon forms with or without a curse. Raven was so pleased, and so full of beautiful promises for their futures above the ground.
Autor felt so important.
How had things changed this much, this quickly?
How could Fakir …?
Rubbing his eyes under his spectacles, Autor rested his forehead in his hands. He could've been comforting Rue right now. She wasn't the same since Fakir, Uzura, and the sacrifice left—not since she was forced to enact her powers for the first time in so many years. Undoubtedly, she needed someone.
Autor could've been that someone, had Raven not confined him to this.
He knew the importance, however. If that girl wasn't retrieved, their futures would be snuffed out in a flash of light. Just like that.
He watched dully as a drop of ink swelled at the tip of his quill, heavier and heavier until it plummeted with a 'plop' onto the page. The black splatter dried quickly and uselessly. Just like that.
Things were quiet in this town. Quieter than usual. Rue's dance was more powerful than they remembered, the villagers obediently awaiting orders, making little conversation, focused solely on their next course of action. Some had been sent out to the surface to search in various, random directions for hours at a time under Elder Raven's orders, and coming back only to report on nothing at all. Indeed, Fakir must have flown much farther out to hide the girl. A few hours out in the air wouldn't cut it, but wild chases in random areas would be a waste.
Autor considered taking a break and a small walk, but down here in the emptiness that was even more empty than before, that would just serve to depress him further. His steps echoed more, the villagers' eyes grew dull, and Raven would be furious to see him doing anything but writing.
He thought of Rue in her hut, lying in her cot, burying her face into her pillow and blaming herself for Fakir's mistake.
Always, it was about Fakir.
Though he was never particularly fond of him, this was something he never expected of him. To turn his back on them all was uncharacteristic.
Autor frowned and sipped at his tea, his lip curling up into grimace. Even Freya's brew tasted lifeless and stale, small, wilted leaves floating uselessly on the surface.
Focus. Focus. He needed to focus.
With a deep breath, he placed his cup down and spread his hands across the page, his eyes fluttering shut as he mentally sifted through the sands of time. He imagined the doorway to the outside, the dragon insignia aglow, the dust kicking up from the scuffle of steps—
His breath caught in his throat.
There. There they were.
The beginnings of the memory reached him as his quill suddenly scratched with newfound vigor. A young man cradling a child to his chest; the sacrifice taking his hand as they began to ascend to the pearly grasses that graced the valley above; the white oak greeting them as the world opened up to the sky …
Autor's eyes opened, the pull of his own magic tiring him, but infusing him with some spirit and uplifting hope for the first time in the past couple of days.
It wasn't much, but it was a start.
Just a little more, and he'd be on their trail.
"Lady Ahiru, this is so devious~! Oh, all the trouble you can get into~!"
"Relax, Lilie. She's the future queen. She can do what she wants! 'Sides, this is kinda fun! I wonder what's got into you, milady! I like it!" Pique giggled behind her hand as she and Lilie led the way through the servants' passages of the Grand Chateau.
Ahiru grinned, glancing down as Uzura swung their arms back and forth between them. Dressed simply, Ahiru and Uzura looked perfectly unassuming. Their skirts and aprons matched Pique's and Lilie's garb, their hair fastened back beneath white bonnets. Ahiru left her nose unpowdered, her freckles blotchy across her cheeks, and she braided her red locks as Rue taught her before—in one, long twist down her back. Lamp hid comfortably in the pocket of Ahiru's apron, the lady bug's makeshift cloak a handkerchief tied with ribbon under her chin.
With baskets of food and flowers cradled into the crooks of their elbows, the giggling ladies slipped behind stone corridors and set off on their little mission. Invigorated and giddy, Ahiru was pleased to find that she wasn't the least bit tired!
She allowed herself a few hours of rest after Fakir escorted her back to her bedchamber that morning, but after that, she grew restless.
There was much to do and much to consider, but she couldn't find Fakir to talk things over. She thought of seeking out Prince Siegfried and spending some time with him, but Uzura kept staring out the windows with a glittering longing in her eyes.
A different idea struck the duchess then, and she followed her whims without looking back.
It was in execution, however, that posed the challenge.
Unwilling to let Uzura's first trip into a real town for the first time in centuries be impeded by a party of knights and advisors, Ahiru knew this would have to take some planning. The castle staff seemed adamant in keeping an eye on her, considering that the last time she ventured out into town, she managed to be kidnapped right from under the prince's nose.
Who better than her two best friends to lead her, Uzura, and Lamp out into a day of fun, without any other interruptions or restrictions?
The passages (clean and well-lit, unlike the deep corridors that led down to Wyvern) wound between main rooms of the Grand Chateau, and as they passed other servants along the way, Ahiru and Uzura ducked their heads to hide their faces, stifling laughter each time. Pique and Lilie led them at a brisk pace, excitement spurring them forward.
"This is the hard part," Pique hissed under her breath, "We have to go through the dining hall out in the open, so keep. Your. Head. Down."
"Oh, imagine the trouble we'll get into if we're caught~!" cooed Lilie in reply as they stepped out into the lavish room. Obediently, Ahiru kept her neck arched forward, hiding her eyes with her bangs and keeping her stare glued to the ornately-patterned carpet of the dining hall.
Uzura tugged on Ahiru's sleeve. "Ducky, ducky, duck-zura! Are we breaking rules-zura?"
With a smile, Ahiru reached down to pat the top of Uzura's bonnet and comfort the restless Lamp in her pocket. "It'll be okay! Just for an afternoon! I think you'll have a lot of fun!"
"Head down," Pique muttered in warning, maneuvering them around the lengthy dining table and dodging a passing maid.
"S-Sorry."
However, Uzura tugged on her sleeve again. "Is Vineta big-zura? Are there kids like me-zura?"
"Maybe! I'm sure you're going to make lots of friends!"
"Sssshhh, Ahiru!"
"Sorry!"
"But Duck-zura! Are they gonna like me-zura?"
"Of course they'll like you!"
"What the hell are you doing?"
The three ladies and lady bug froze mid-step, the last voice deep and rumbling underlined with weariness.
"Ohhhhh! Fakir caught us-zura!"
Ahiru's gaze snapped up, her lips parting and eyes blinking cluelessly. He looked … tired. Like he hadn't taken her advice and gotten rest as soon as he could. The circles under his eyes were more pronounced now, and there was a slump in his shoulders that indicated that he carried a great weight all on his own. He held a half-eaten garlic roll in his hand, but he quickly put it onto a plate and placed it on the table, wiping his hands clean.
She forced out a laugh. "Ahahaaha, g-getting a snack, yeah? I-I-I was gonna take Uzura out to … Um—!" She gave up, deciding to just ask what was really on her mind. "Fakir, are you okay?"
"... We need to talk."
Before Ahiru could reply, Pique and Lilie released dramatic, scandalised gasps before they latched onto each of her arms.
"Oh goodness~!" Lilie squeaked, "The dreaded, final words~! I just see your tears falling right now~!"
Pique stared determinedly into Ahiru's eyes. "Guard your heart, milady! You can heal from any heartbreak, I promise!"
Fakir's eyebrow visibly twitched. "What."
"Ohhhh," Uzura interrupted, pointing behind them. "Miss Raetsel-zura!"
Indeed, the housekeeper stood with her hands on her hips, eyes twinkling with amusement and a smile playing upon her colored lips. "Well, what're you all up to?"
Once again, Pique and Lilie moved quicker than the rest of them. With jerks of their arms, they pointed past Raetsel and toward the vaulted ceiling. "Look, it's a thingy!" they cried. As soon as the housekeeper's head turned away, they grabbed Ahiru around the middle while Uzura and Lamp (who'd since buzzed out of Ahiru's pocket) all but dragged Fakir by the cuffs of his sleeves into the nearby servants' passage.
Unknown to them, Raetsel bit back a laugh when Fakir's yelp of, "—the hell?!" echoed from within the hidden corridor before the passage slid shut.
Finally, they exited out of a secret doorway that led to a portion of the grounds that Ahiru had yet to visit. With Lilie pushing the door open, the scent of hay and feathers reached the duchess's nostrils.
The stables! Her eyes brightened as she and Uzura scampered out, their shoes crushing fresh straw beneath their soles. Pegasi 'clop-clopped' obediently against the ground, large swans grooming themselves under their wings. Fakir lingered behind, his tired expression softening while he watched the animals meander around.
"Fakir-zura! What're those-zura?"
He lowered to a squat to meet her eyes, "That's a Pegasus. It's been a long, long time since we've seen them. And that's a swan."
"Ohhhhhh!"
When Ahiru approached, he lifted himself back up to a standing position, his eyes far away. "Back then, these creatures couldn't be tamed. Or at least no one tried. Seeing them saddled is … different."
She grinned. "Wanna ride one?"
With a shrug, he turned away. "Maybe one of these days. After I stop flying on my own."
Wasn't that a nice thought? Her cheeks and heart warmed. Maybe Rue would want to try it, too, one day. Freya, Hermia, and Malen as well.
Eventually, Pique and Lilie ushered Ahiru, Uzura, Lamp, and Fakir out of the stables, and into the open. The stables, thankfully, were situated on the other side of the glittering lake that surrounded the Grand Chateau, so they wouldn't be caught trying to run down the length of the long bridge across the waters. The town was only a hop-skip away.
"This isn't safe," Fakir muttered, the fatigue showing in his eyes again, "If Elder Raven figures out where I've taken you, he might—"
"I know! But … Uzura really wanted to, and she gave me those big eyes and they got all watery and … oh, you know what I mean! And you're here, too; we can handle it!"
She was mildly surprised that her words appeased him, and so they wandered into the bustle of Vineta without another thought.
This wasn't the first time she toured through the village, but it still felt new. The first time, she'd been so caught up in Mytho and the grandeur of her future with him, her eyes dazzled by the sights behind a lacy fan. This time, she drew little to no attention and blended right in, melding into the atmosphere rather than presenting herself to it.
A new perspective.
In the late morning that pushed into midday, Vineta still whirred with activity, abuzz with voices and footsteps that crowded the streets. A mule-pulled wagon parked on the roadside with baskets of fruit for sale. A librarian yelled across the cobblestone to greet a passing florist. Villagers hefted baskets of laundry and pails of water toward their homes. A nearby bell rang out, signifying the school-house's lunch hour as children eagerly poured from the building to skip rope or spin tops and play jacks on the square while nibbling on their sandwiches and potato skins.
"They rebuilt the bakery," Fakir observed beside her, quiet and pondering.
Her eyes followed his gaze. Indeed, that was the building he'd—
Ahiru gave him a comforting smile and took his hand, not noticing the heat in his cheeks as she did so. "And it looks even nicer than before. It's okay. See?" She gestured to the wide-open doors from which the scent of fresh bread and cookies permeated and the vast array of pastries displayed behind polished, glass windows. Beside the door, the beaming baker carried a tray of tiny rolls, offering them as samples to passersby.
Almost imperceptibly, Fakir's hand tightened around hers.
"Ahem," Pique chimed in, a sly twinkle in her eyes, "Are you two done checking out the sights? Come on, let's go to the middle of the square."
Lilie added as she led the way, "Oh, the town is so delightfully busy today! So much to do, how will these adorable villagers keep up~? Especially when Lady Ahiru and Mister Fakir are too enraptured in other things to lend their assistance~!"
Ahiru blinked. "Eh?"
Abruptly, Fakir dropped her hand and shoved his into his pockets. Instead, he turned his attention to a bouncy, fascinated Uzura with a restless Lamp in her apron pocket. "Fakir, Fakir, Fakir-zura! Can I go play-zura?" She pointed over to where several children bounced a ball back and forth in a circle.
"It's not safe—" Fakir trailed off when Uzura's bottom lip trembled and eyes glimmered with unshed tears, "—d-don't look at me like that! Argh, fine, but make sure you stay within sight." At his surrender, Uzura leaped forward to wrap her arms around his waist in a quick 'thank you' before scampering off to join the circle. From Ahiru's vantage point, she could tell the other children immediately made room, and even sounded off their names in a game of introductions that she herself used to play as a little girl in Hedeby.
The first children Uzura would play with in … perhaps ever. Ahiru's eyes stung with the threat of tears, her lips curling into a watery smile. She looked to Fakir, though his expression was hard to read.
… Still, she knew him well by now. And she could see his awe, the bittersweet reflection in his green eyes, the corners of his lips twitching between a sad frown and a fond smile.
Why couldn't it have always been like this for Uzura?
Meanwhile, Pique and Lilie took it upon themselves to stand in the center of the square, planted upon the thick stone rim of the large fountain, the baskets of goods placed on the steps beneath them. "The castle sends its well-wishes!" Pique called out over the bustling crowds.
"Please partake in these gifts from your future king, in honor of the safe return of your future queen~!" Lilie announced with an air of drama.
The majority of the villagers stopped to smile, wave, and applaud as Pique and Lilie leaped from their places on the fountain, skipping over to Ahiru with her basket. "Go, go, go!" Pique encouraged her, "Go play and help us give these out!"
Ahiru accepted the basket with a laugh. "Is this a regular thing His Highness does?"
"Of course~!" Lilie replied, "He's been quite under the weather lately, though, so his dear subjects haven't had this service in quite some time~! The poor prince~!"
Fakir stiffened and his expression went stony, but Ahiru was accosted by several villagers before she could inquire as to the change in his mood.
Touring the village with Mytho was one of the best moments of her life.
But this … being among them and greeting them like she was friend rather than ruler …
Maybe she liked it just a bit better.
"Ahh, the castle's rolls are phenomenal! Please send my regards to your kitchens!" some said.
"How is Prince Siegfried faring? Hopefully better now that Lady Ahiru has returned!"
"Will you take this bag of figs to Miss Raetsel for me?"
"Please ask your gardeners how they grow such beautiful roses!"
Ahiru's heart burst. Yes, she liked this much better.
When her basket ran empty, she placed it into a pile with Pique's and Lilie's (and the assortment of gifts for the castle from the villagers) and followed her maids' leads in seeking out assistance where they could. Pique agreed to help sweep the school-house's porch and Lilie read (raher dramatically) stories to some of the children. Ahiru scanned around the general area, wanting to stay close to Fakir and Uzura. Her eyes came across an elderly woman hunched over a washbin full of soapy water and soaked cloth.
Rue hated laundry.
… She missed her.
Padding over to the woman, Ahiru bent forward and placed her hands on her knees with a grin. "Um! Hello! Do you want me to finish that up for you?"
"Oh, goodness!" came the woman's flustered, yet happy reply, "normally, I'd politely refuse, but it is a rather warm day and my back is bothering me lately …"
"Ah, please, let me! You should go rest, ma'am!"
Thankful, the woman stood from her stool and hobbled inside of her home to fetch Ahiru fresh lemonade for her trouble. The duchess set to work in the now-familiar motions of scraping the fabric against the washboard.
There wasn't much left of it to do. Idly, she let her hands knead the cloth subconsciously while her eyes wandered toward Uzura and Fakir. The little girl sat among a group of other children, enthralled by three spinning tops. Fakir watched from some distance away, looking less tired than he had before.
Her smile widened. Surely, once everything was over, if they could save everyone … Mytho would let those from Wyvern come to live here in Vineta, right? It would be nice to be able to see them all this happy and carefree, out in the sunshine, even after she was married and crowned queen.
… If she'd be a good queen in the first place.
She felt more at ease just like this, honestly.
After a while, she stood and reached for some clothespins and made to hang the sheet she'd just finished washing. Lifting to the tips of her toes and hopping with unladylike clumsiness, she struggled to reach the clothesline, the tips of her fingers barely brushing the cord with every bounce.
Then, it lowered, tugged down by someone much taller than herself. "Having trouble?" Fakir asked, his tone light.
She stuck out her tongue, but gratefully threw the sheet over the clothesline and adjusted the fold. "Ha-ha!" Pinning one corner, she glanced over to him. "How's Uzura? Is she having fun?"
"... Yeah."
The look that crossed his features was easy for her to read. After all, she'd seen what Wyvern used to be like. He must've been thinking about back then. What they used to be. "One day," she said, giving him a tiny smile.
"... One day."
Yes, he definitely looked less tired now. Though he still sported the dark shadows beneath his eyes, his green irises glimmered with renewed hope—like fresh grass in spring.
Then, he smirked, and released the clothesline.
"Gyah!" Ahiru squeaked, the cord jerking upward and out of reach with a sharp bounce. "Y-You—!" With a playful glare, she stomped toward the washbin, picked up a small, soaked washcloth, and chucked it in his direction.
It slapped wetly onto his face.
Falling into a fit of giggles, Ahiru bent forward and hugged her stomach, tears in her eyes and delighted pains in her sides. When she heard a splash, however, she straightened, her jaw dropping as Fakir gathered up a rather thick shirt from the washbin, balled it up into a soaked, dripping ball, and smirked again, rivulets of water running down from his face and chin.
But before he could hurl the wad of laundry in her direction, a familiar, childlike cry echoed from a few feet away. "No mercy-zura!"
"Chaaaaaarge!" they cried, six children swarming around Fakir's legs and latching playfully to his limbs.
"W-Wha—hey!"
"It's okay, Duck-zura! We'll save you, Duck-zura!"
"Whose side are you on?!"
Ahiru couldn't help it. She collapsed onto the stool, snorting with abandon and holding her sides.
Yes. One day.
They returned to the stables as the sun sank steadily toward the horizon, pinks and yellow streaks painted through clear blues. Pique and Lilie giggled incessantly to one another, Uzura gushed to Lamp about her adventures, and Ahiru and Fakir were quiet, but optimistic.
She didn't forget that there were things to discuss, and she was more than curious as to what Fakir and Mr. Katz must've talked about. But she certainly didn't want to ruin this happy mood. Not when the past month or so had been so fraught with everything but.
They could talk later. Fakir still hadn't slept, and Uzura was getting hungry.
Creeping through the servants' passages, Ahiru didn't bother trying to hide her face anymore (what good would that do, considering she'd already been out and about and still no one recognized her anyway).
It was only when the group was approached in the dining hall that they stopped, Pique and Lilie immediately dipping down into low curtsies.
Before them stood Prince Siegfried, dressed in his fine, blue tunic and ruffled collar as usual. And it was only when his gaze met hers did Ahiru realize her state of dress. Soapy water clinging to her hem, soil on her apron, her unpowdered nose … Her heart clenched at her inadequacy, especially in the presence of his dignity and comeliness, and she bent into a hesitant curtsy as well.
His pinkish eyes remained steady and unmoving—unable to be read, even as he scanned her company and lingered on Fakir (who didn't know that he had to bow).
"Fine evening to you, Miss Pique, Miss Lilie," he greeted with easy refine, "I see you've given a personal tour to our honored guests."
They didn't lift their heads. "W-We're sorry, Your Highness!" Pique replied, "I-It's just—well, it's been a long time since we went to town with your gifts!"
"No matter. Run along, now. You are dismissed for the evening."
The tottered off, sending significant glances to Ahiru, Lilie's voice echoing into her mind: There's going to be a battle~!
"Lady Ahiru," he began, reaching for her hand. She allowed him to take it despite how inappropriately dressed she was, bashful and flustered when his lips pressed to her knuckles. "I've been searching for you. Shall we take a stroll together? We can share the sunset, hm?"
"Tha-That sounds nice—err—lovely! That would be lovely! May I change first, or …?"
"No, now would be preferable." He reached out to tuck her hand around his elbow and lead her away.
… Until she felt a tug on her apron. Lamp clung to the fabric in concern, and Uzura looked quizzically up at the prince, wide eyes blinking owlishly. And Fakir … looked tense. His jaw set, his shoulders back, and his adam's apple bobbing, he looked like some strange concoction of aggravation and … worry?
Fakir looked at her, communicating with his eyes alone. Be careful.
But why?
Prince Siegfried led her away, as if Fakir, Uzura, and Lamp didn't exist at all.
The last sunset she spent with Mytho took place mere moments before Fakir had taken her. This time, he took her to the gardens within the safety of the Chateau's walls, and she appeared far from presentable.
Fidgeting with the frayed ends of her apron, she gave Mytho a smile. But his eyes continued straight ahead, and so her smile faltered and she lowered her gaze.
At least the view served to calm her somewhat. The gardens were breathtaking, even in the dead of night, so sunset was nothing short of miraculous. Orange and pinks bounced off the calm pond nearby, frogs and ducks disturbing the silence with rhythmic ribbits and quacks, the well-groomed flower bushes reaching toward the last of the light before it disappeared beyond the western mountains. When they approached the fountain topped with a glorious stone swan, he let her sit upon the stone and lowered down beside her, keeping his grip tight and protective around her hands.
Licking her lips anxiously, she gave him a weak smile, searching for words. Why did she have the feeling that something was wrong again? Had she displeased him by going out to the town? "Um—! The gardens are really beautiful!"
"Yes."
"Ahah … and these flowers smell so nice!"
"Undoubtedly."
"Mmm … Um … Mytho?"
"Yes, my lady?"
"Are you … alright?"
"Of course I am," he said, a smile finally touching his lips. But they didn't reach the pinkness of his eyes. "I am with my future queen. How can anything be wrong?"
"I just … you seem … I dunno. N-Nevermind."
He chuckled, reaching up to tuck her hair back into the shield of her bonnet, the hairs on her cheek prickling with his cold touch. "My silly princess. Always so worried. It is because you love me, don't you?"
This wasn't the first time he mentioned love in this insistent way. Her blood ran cold at the thought. Distinctly uncomfortable, she took a deep breath and tried to scoot away. "Um … Mytho, I—you keep saying things like—"
"—You do love me, don't you?" He kept her where she was, his expression unchanging, but his hands squeezing her own. "Why do you always move away, my lady? Do you not remember our first day together? How beautiful you were, the way you looked at me. Have you changed your mind?"
He threw too many words at her all at once, and the sharpness in his gaze frightened her. He was a stranger, unfamiliar—! "P-Please, let go—!"
"I thought you loved me, my lady. That you were to be my queen, and give your heart to only me. And I'll not let you change your mind—!"
"You're hurting me, so—!"
Fiercely, his arm darted around her shoulders in an attempt to pull her closer. His grip was stronger than she expected, and she watched his previously composed visage melt into a scowl, eyes glimmering a terrifying, cloudy red before reverting to pink. "You hurt me! Do you think I don't know about him? Do you think I'll allow him, or your friends, or even that stupid, little fairy thing to take you away from me?!"
"Mytho, stop it!" Ahiru wrenched herself away, twisting and scrambling back and falling on her rear to the grass. She stumbled to her feet, heart racing and tears pooling in her eyes.
When she turned to look at him, he was hunched over, his hands digging into his white locks, shoulders shaking.
"... M-Mytho …?"
He opened his eyes. Watery, warm, golden irises glimmered in recognition and shame. "Oh … my lady, please … I'm so sorry, please forgive me," he uttered, his voice broken.
"Mytho …" Shaking, she reached out for his shoulder. "What's wrong? What happened?"
He shrugged her off sharply. "N-No, please … leave me be. I'll … I'll be alright soon. Time. I just need time." Rising to his feet, he stumbled deeper into the gardens, his hands grabbing at his chest. She felt the urge to follow him, but …
… He scared her.
"Lady Ahiru!"
She jumped, startled, but calmed a little when it was only Raetsel who jogged to her side, worry etched in every line of the housekeeper's face. "Oh, Lady Ahiru, are you—?" Ahiru's bottom lip trembled, and Raetsel didn't say any more. She merely wrapped the small duchess into her arms and tucked her head under her chin.
Over Raetsel's shoulder, Ahiru spotted the doors that led back into the castle, Karon, Mr. Katz, and Fakir standing by in concern and regret.
"I should've told you earlier. About everything; about your prince. I got distracted."
Ahiru tried resting in her own room, but she couldn't sit still. Instead, she found herself in Uzura's room with Fakir, the little girl snoozing gently on her lap on the bed while Fakir hunched over a blank page, quill poised between his fingers. Lamp sat beside his inkwell, her light flickering calmly.
"No, no, don't say that! We were having fun earlier. I'm … glad I know now." Ahiru bit her lip, brushing her fingers through Uzura's hair. The poor girl was probably exhausted from the day's events. "I'm kind of … relieved to know. That it's because of something else. That he's not really like this."
She recalled the conversation she'd had with Mr. Katz, Raetsel still holding her close. "Growing up, Mytho had always been rather self-conscious," Mr. Katz revealed, "despite his honorable and kind visage. Always wondering if he was nothing but a prince—if people only cared about him because he was a prince. He grew out of it eventually, but perhaps weakness of heart opens a person to a whole slew of vulnerabilities, likened to a sickness.
"Be kind to him," Mr. Katz had said, "but be wary. Sometimes, it is the prince who must be saved."
"This is all … so much," Ahiru murmured, shaking her head, "Mytho, under some kind of spell, maybe? And that person back then—my ancestor's assistant … Fakir, do you really think all of this is …?"
"Drosselmeyer always had a penchant for dramatics." Fakir scowled at his blank page, Lamp's light casting even darker shadows under his already harsh eyebags. "It wouldn't surprise me in the least. I don't know your prince as well as you do, but if he's acting this strangely, then we're dealing with something horrible enough for him to think of."
This was a lot of information to take in in one day.
Still, Fakir looked positively fatigued. Ahiru asked, "Why don't you go and get some sleep? I can stay here with Uzura and Lamp."
Hesitating, Fakir shook his head. "I need to work."
"But you're not really getting anything done. Go rest! You really must be exhausted!"
"I said I need to work," he snapped.
That startled her, but Ahiru hardened her gaze and pouted. "... What's wrong?"
"... Sorry. I just …" he trailed off, pinching the bridge of his nose, "I didn't want you to worry about this on top of everything else."
"But … I wanna know! We're a team!"
After a pause, Fakir released a breath and relented. "I feel it. I think … Autor might be on his way to finding us. The air is shifting, the world is—I can't explain it. But if I don't do something, then we won't have any time before they're at Vineta's gates." His green eyes grew sharp. "I'm not letting Raven destroy this place, too."
Vineta could be their future. He must've seen that in the village today.
"... My powers aren't what they were," Fakir confided, dropping his quill and rubbing his eyes. "Or, if they are, then I haven't tapped into them properly. It's just been so long, I don't know what—argh. I'm failing you. I wasn't thinking. I don't even have a damn plan."
Heavy and sad, Ahiru's shoulders slumped. Really, this was all far too much. And she thought the world was going to end when she was in Wyvern! Now, there was so much more at stake, and she, Fakir, and poor Uzura were in the center of it all. Now, there was a war. Now, they had to save Mytho as well ...
Could she really do nothing?
Weakly, she gave him a bittersweet smile. "After … h-how about, after all this is done with, we all … we all go on vacation!"
He raised an eyebrow. "What."
"I mean it! We'll go on a vacation! Mytho and I will take you all, and we'll go somewhere amazing! I can take you to see my cousin in Hedeby! The ocean, remember? And the seagulls! We have really good ice cream there, too, with cream and cherries on top. Have you ever tried cherries before? They're really sweet, but sometimes I forget about the pit, but I think you're not the type to forget about those things even if I always accidentally swallow them and it'll … it'll be … it'll be … great …"
She realized then how silly she must've sounded. Like always. Silly, dumb duchess, who couldn't do a thing to help.
… But Fakir stood up, and sank gently down into the bed beside her, careful not to wake Uzura. "... Where else would you want to go?"
His expression was tender, and her lips curled back into a little grin. "Places I've never been before!"
He returned her smile with one of his own. "Like where?"
"Like … like those mountains west of here! I'll bet the view is amazing!"
"Yeah?"
"Yeah! And I heard that there are big, big lakes by Kunz! That's where Mr. Katz is from, I heard! They're reflective and clear, and people have the best time swimming! Uzura would like it!"
Fakir snorted. "I don't know if Uzura can swim, actually."
"Eh?! Three hundred years and you never taught her to swim?"
"We didn't have a lake underground, but thanks," his smile widened.
She blushed at the sight of it, and turned her attention to the stitching of the quilt beneath them. Her voice quieted. "... There are waterfalls in the southern islands. They say it's warm there, year-round. Never … never snows. We can go anywhere we want, really … or at least, pretend to."
They fell into a calm silence, watching Lamp's light dance upon the ornate walls as the lady bug dozed off on one of Fakir's stacks of paper.
Until Fakir spoke again. "... It might be enough to pretend. At least for now."
"Hm?"
He stood, a flash of determination and, dare she say it, inspiration, crossing his eyes. "I can't control reality like I could before. Not yet, anyway. So we can't actually go to the places you want to see.
"But, thanks to you, I might at least be able to convince them that we did."
Ahiru's eyes brightened. "You have an idea?"
"Yours, actually." He crossed back to the chair and picked up the quill, careful not to wake Lamp. "Let's give Autor the story he's looking for."
"Elder Raven!
Autor burst into Raven's hut, panting and waving a stack of papers in his hand. "I found them!"
The elder stood, his crimson eyes sharp and menacing, the corner of his lip curling into a smug smirk. "Where?"
"They're hiding out in a mountain range, southwest of here!"
"Good. Give our scouts the vision and I'll send them off. Keep track of them, and never let them out of your sight!"