Hi everyone, welcome back. Thanks for coming! I know it's been a while since we've gotten together but I'm so glad you're all here. This is going to be a fun one.
(I've become such a broken record starting most of these chapters with "this is one of the hardest things I've ever written". But as sick as you are of hearing it, I promise I'm even more sick of it being true every time.)
IMPORTANT: This is a note to the part of the audience who's still reading this story via fanfiction dot net. You're quiet but my statistics page shows me over and over again how loyally you've been following this, so I know you're there. Listen to me. This website is dying. I'll be here til the ship goes down but if that happens before this story ends, please remember you can find all of this over at Archive Of Our Own. My username there is roxy_svl. In fact, you should head over to AO3 regardless for this chapter specifically. You'll understand when you get to the end. I'd hate for you to miss out. (Hint: one of these two platforms allows embedded images and the other does not). Close this tab right now and I'll see you on the other side.
Also, there are so many Easter eggs, callbacks, and inside jokes with myself sprinkled throughout this chapter. They're there for me. But if you catch the Office reference I'll mail you a bag of Doritos.
Chapter 33: And We Live In Peace (but if someone comes at us, this time I'm ready)
Song:long story short by Taylor Swift, in continuation from ch32
When I dropped my sword
I threw it in the bushes and knocked on your door
157680000 seconds
2629800 minutes
43800 hours
1825 days
261 weeks
60 months
5 years
post
war
And we live in peace
But if someone comes at us
This time I'm ready
VAMPIRE MOUNTAIN
WESTERN ACCESS TUNNEL
"The gate recognizes Sire Vancha March, Elder Gannen Harst, Elder Shane Astor, General Renley Azerion, Kurda Smahlt, and Grace Smahlt-Ver Leth! Welcome home."
There'd never been a time in Kurda's life when he didn't pick up on the subtle cues and body language of those around him. He kept his eyes trained on the guard — Patrick Goulder — who listed their names.
Patrick had been one of the six guards who'd escorted Kurda out of the mountain after his exile sentence. It was salt in the wound that they'd been friends once upon a time, back in the early decades of basic training. Not super close but good chums nonetheless. Seemed like a lifetime ago now.
As Patrick went down the list of names, Kurda waited for the pause. Waited for Patrick's eyes to narrow, or his mouth to harden. Kurda was used to this. A fleeting interaction is all he needs to determine which vampires have genuinely welcomed him back to the fold, and which would run a blade through him if not for the diplomatic immunity that came with being part of Vancha's travelling company. Kurda had been faring well in the court of public opinion lately. But he knew better than to let his defences down completely.
Patrick was smiling as he opened the gate to let them in. And not the kind of smile you fake when your boss is standing right there. Kurda squeezed Patrick's shoulder as he walked past.
"Thank you, Patrick. It's good to be home. See you at the Festival."
"Good to have you back, Kurda."
The earnest guard had no way to know the effect it had on Kurda, being addressed by his first name so casually. For so many years he'd been Smahlt, or General Smahlt, or the Pacifist, and far too often those words were laced with disdain. Condescension, even. Then for a sliver of time they'd call him Future Sire Smahlt. Which should've been great but it wasn't, because they'd say it exactly as you'd expect. And after what would've been his investiture ceremony they called him Traitor. Liar. Snake. They called for his execution. Then they didn't call him anything at all.
To forget it happened would be to forget he survived it. But how beautiful it felt to just be Kurda.
They didn't run into many other vampires on the walk up through the mountain. And those they did encounter didn't pause to chat. They waved their greetings and ran ahead.
"Nobody wants to miss our grand entry into the Hall of Princes." Vancha explained with a dismissive chuckle. Like he felt it was a silly thing to care about. Kurda's stomach clenched. He's got a thing about walking into a room where everyone is shouting for or at him, regardless of context. Imagine that.
"You vampires with your pomp and circumstance." Shane Astor scoffed. "Like a bunch of gods damned celebrities. Do you hand out autographs too?"
"Practice your penmanship, Elder Astor. You're practically one of them now." Said Renley with a teasing smirk, grinning and elbowing his unlikely friend in the ribs.
Shane fake-gagged and rolled his eyes. "Pfft. Just when I thought there was even a singular critical thinking skill rattling around in that thick head of yours."
"You bring it upon yourself. I just think it's funny when you make that face. Which is often." Renley snorted with amusement and playfully cuffed Shane's shoulder as they strolled side-by-side.
"I suspect there's a correlation between that and how much you talk. Which is far too much." Shane lipped back. His voice was dry enough to peel paint — yet even though Kurda was walking behind him, he still knew there was a cheeky glint in Shane's eye as he said it. The stoic vampaneze wasn't fooling anyone. He was almost as amused by Renley as Renley was by himself. Which was quite.
Their banter blurred into white noise to Kurda as they drew even closer to the Hall of Princes. The access corridor was just around the corner now.
How is this real?
His heart was in his throat. He was afraid to blink in case he opened his eyes and found himself back in the night of his almost-investiture, when he waited in the wings and fought with every fibre of his being not to throw up all over the immaculate white robe they'd dressed him in.
They arrived at the door. The only tangible object standing between him and Mika now.
"You're who the clan looks to in times of uncertainty. And if they're ever going to see me standing beside you… I need to know they aren't thinking less of you because of me. So if that night ever comes, that's when I'll know I'm ready."
Gracie's voice cracked Kurda's bittersweet reverie not a moment too soon as she elbowed him in the ribs, grinning up at him.
"You ready?"
The torchlight illuminated seas of emotion in her eyes for which the words didn't exist. But Kurda didn't need words to decode the feeling — it lived in him too.
"Yes." He answered. He felt a surge of pride at how steady his own voice sounded. "I'm ready now."
'Cause I fell from the pedestal
Right down the rabbit hole
Long story short, it was a bad time
Pushed from the precipice
Clung to the nearest lips
Long story short, it was the wrong guy
Now I'm all about you
I'm all about you
I'm all about you
The doors hadn't even opened and the crowd's anticipation was already palpable in the air. The vast Hall of Princes seemed so much smaller when it was packed like this.
"That night's coming. Maybe in ten years. Maybe a hundred. I don't care. Someday they'll welcome you home like the hero you are. And maybe by then I'll be able to look at you without thinking about that night. That's how I'll know I'm ready too."
Mika closed his eyes. Cued by dormant instinct, he unconsciously curled his fingers around the edges of his arm rests, digging his nails into the ancient wood that was quite literally moulded to the shape of his hands at this point.
Deep breath. Mask on. You're good now.
He exhaled, opened his eyes and the doors slid apart as if that was the cue they'd been waiting for. Their hum was drowned out by the crowd a thousand times over. The sentry had to bellow to be heard — not that the incoming group needed an introduction:
"Presenting… Sire Vancha March and his secondary, Kurda Smahlt! Elder Gannen Harst! Elder Shane Astor! General Renley Azerion! And Sire Darren Shan's proxy, Grace Smahlt-Ver Leth!"
Vancha passed through the doors with Gracie at his side. Her role as Darren's representative granted her the privilege to walk where he would've walked himself — leading the pack. One minute ago she'd been teething on the armrest of Mika's throne while he worked. The marks were still visible to this day. Then he blinked, and suddenly she was done watching the world carry on from the shelter of his arms. She was carving her name into history under no one's power but her own. The crowd was so loud Mika couldn't hear himself think. Not that there was a single coherent thought to be had anyway. He was cheering as loud as anyone.
Gannen and Shane walked in after Vancha and Gracie. The two Vampaneze Elders were visibly taken aback by the enthusiastic reception. But they took it all in stride, managing polite smiles and waves as they followed the others up the aisle.
Mika paid them little attention. His eyes were fixed on the door. For the rest of his life he'd swear up and down he saw Kurda's light coming from outside the room before he saw Kurda himself. The noise of the crowd faded to a dull roar outside the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears. His fingertips began to tingle in a way he'd learned to recognize as a warning from his nervous system to duck and cover —
And there he was.
There you are.
That was the moment Mika knew. The adrenaline lighting up his body was telling him to run — but not away. Run towards. It took every shred of hardwired discipline he had not to follow that impulse in the most literal sense.
Kurda was trying to keep his head down but it proved impossible as his attention was pulled in a dozen different directions. Humble as ever, and how bittersweet it was to witness. Gods knew Kurda should've been basking in every hard-won cheer, every toast to his good health, every handshake.
Vancha was working the crowd with wicked grins and exuberant waves. Gracie followed his lead but her smile seemed restrained. She was making a point; playing the role of the seasoned professional. Not the homesick child. Mika could tell by her posture as she glanced around the room, she was fully prepared to separate family from clan business until cued otherwise. Mika didn't blame her for following the unspoken rules of the political game.
But Gracie had the rest of her life to perform to an audience if she decided it was what she wanted. And unlike her, Mika had served his time and then some. So if he wanted to dropkick protocols and pretentiousness out the window to hug his baby for the first time in five years, he could just do that. If the peanut gallery had a problem they could take it up with Mika directly. He'd tell them to get fucked, to which they'd nod and respond right away, Sire. But it wouldn't come to that. Because sure, Mika's pretty biased. But it's become overwhelmingly obvious he isn't the only one who finds Gracie impressive.
He descended the stairs as quickly as he could manage while still appearing halfway composed. As Gracie walked into Mika's open arms she tried to roll her eyes like the fanfare was nothing to her. But he knew her too well and too long to fall for the act. She was grinning and blinking back tears as she let out an unintelligible laugh-sob that sounded vaguely like "Hi".
"There's my best friend." Mika forced out as he closed his eyes and held her tight. The words rolled off his tongue as automatically as when she was little and Kurda would bring her up here to visit on slow nights. The best nights.
But the first time since those nights, Mika wondered if maybe the real best nights were yet to come.
Gracie seemed in no hurry to pull away from the temporary respite from a world that was currently watching her every move. Mika decided he wouldn't let go til she did. But something told him to open his eyes —
Kurda was right there waiting for him. Dead centre of Mika's horizon as if the sun itself was rising in the Hall of Princes. Fiercely, defiantly beautiful.
Mika kept one arm around Gracie and lifted the other to make room for one more. The sheer level of energy around them seemed liable to crack the ceiling wide open as Kurda took the final three steps that brought his journey to an end. It would've been imperceptible to anyone else the way Kurda's frame went limp with relief as he leaned into Mika and whispered,
"Hey, Sunshine."
Suddenly it was all so simple Mika almost laughed. They were right back where they started. Everything had changed. But the best thing about him was not, and had never been the vacant wooden chair behind him. It was still them.
It's still us.
"You said five years would fly by like nothing." Gracie choked out as she reluctantly pulled away.
"I say a lot of things." Mika stole one more precious second to thumb away the tears that had collected on her cheek. "Fuck, I missed you. I know you want to be a General when you grow up, but have ever considered pursuing Quartermastery? Nice and close to home. No camping required."
Gracie rolled her eyes and laughed shakily at that. And rightfully so, it was a ridiculous notion. Then the weightless warmth of Kurda's hand on Mika's bicep made his mind go blank and reset itself so hard he almost couldn't process Kurda saying —
"Or you could just come with us next time."
For a second or two, all Mika could do was nod.
"Your ideas always were better than mine." He managed to force out at last. Then he added in a painful mockery of casualness, "Welcome home. How was the trip?"
"Cold. Long. Awful weather for the most part. Never thought I'd be relieved to be back… but here I am." Kurda was speaking with the same obligatory professionalism as Mika was, but Mika could tell he was uncomfortable with the raucous atmosphere in the room.
"Here you are." Mika echoed.
Kurda laughed deflectively as he ran a hand through his hair. He flinched as it caught on a minuscule bit of twig tangled up in it. "I just wish someone warned me how… substantial the welcoming committee was going to be. I would've taken a detour to the shower cave first. Or at least ran a brush through my hair."
"Yeah. You're a mess. I almost didn't recognize you with that branch stuck to your head." Mika snorted as he gently plucked the twig from the strands of platinum. And just like that, all traces of discomfort vanished from Kurda's features and was replaced with the familiar smile made of stardust and benevolent mischief like he knew all Mika's secrets and then some.
"That's for you, actually. I know you don't care for flowers." Kurda grinned without missing a beat. "And they don't grow around here anyway. But I didn't want to come empty-handed."
Mika knew it was a sarcastic joke. But the tiny sprig of plant fibre took on a whole new meaning as he held it between his fingertips.
"I love it." The middle word caught in his throat and he tucked the twig into his pocket with painstaking care.
Gracie bumped Mika's elbow, pulling his attention back where it rightfully belonged — reality. "So, what'd you do while we were gone?"
"I taught Uncle Arrow to play chess." Mika said. "That took up almost all five years."
"Yeah, that sounds on-brand for you guys. Now without further ado, I've been carrying this around for two months…" Gracie peeled off the backpack she was wearing and began to rummage through it. "I got you something."
Mika identified the unmistakable crinkle before she withdrew it from the bag and handed it over. It was a small red bag of Doritos. He held it in his hands like a priceless artifact, staring down at it just as he'd done with the twig.
Don't cry don't cry don't cry don't you dare fucking cry.
"Apparently I owe you a bag. Sorry it took so long. We're even now." Gracie told him.
"There was a night on the mission where we all stayed in a little motel in the middle of nowhere." Kurda recounted, eyes glinting at the memory. "There wasn't enough space for all of us to be comfortable. We just needed to get out of the cold and recuperate for a day."
Mika knew exactly where this was going — he'd been there before. Kurda continued:
"And the first thing your daughter did was buy a bag of those damn chips from the vending machine and co-opt an entire bed like she owned the place! She looked exactly like you. So I start laughing. Meanwhile she's staring at me like I'm losing my mind, so I —"
"Told her the story of her very first night with us, when I got a bag for myself and she ended up finishing it." Mika filled in. "In hindsight, that was probably where her food aggression issues started."
Gracie rounded on him, glaring indignantly. "It was a small bag. And I do not have food aggression issues!"
Kurda made a wry face. "Honey, you put Darren in a headlock when he reached for that piece of venison you had your eye on."
"He should've been faster."
Even as he dissolved into hopeless laughter over that mental image, Mika remained acutely aware that — at least for now — his time with them was limited. It had been all too easy to forget they weren't the only three in the room. He felt a prickle of resentment as Vancha moved directly into his line of vision, waiting for his turn.
"Oy!" Vancha barked, waving at Mika. "Are you going to give me a hug too, or do I have to request an audience?!"
Mika flipped him off. Vancha's grin only widened.
"Good to see you, Sire Ver Leth." Vancha greeted Mika with an exaggerated bow and a roguish wink.
Mika mirrored Vancha's mockery of a bow — although not with the same level of commitment to the bit. "Sire March. Welcome back. I barely noticed you were gone."
Vancha unsurprisingly discarded the guise of formality and pulled Mika into a rib-cracking hug that lifted him off his feet for a moment.
"All's been quiet on the home front?" Vancha inquired in an undertone as they parted.
"It's been an uneventful few years." Said Mika.
Vancha's beady eyes glinted with mischief in the glow of the dome as he winked. "Don't worry, my friend. I've returned to rescue you from your purgatory of boredom."
"My hero." Mika deadpanned.
Vancha laughed again, clapped Mika on the shoulder so hard it almost undid all five years of Jai's physiotherapy, and carried on to talk to Seba.
Gannen Harst slipped into the space his brother left, greeting Mika with a respectful nod.
"Sire Ver Leth. Good to see you."
As always, the contrast between Vancha and Gannen was so stark it was comical. While Vancha was certainly capable of the same stoicism as his brother, it wasn't his default setting.
"Elder Harst. Welcome back to the mountain." But as Mika reached out to shake Gannen's hand, it occurred to him this went deeper than personal mannerisms. Gannen was strategic about how he conducted himself in a room full of vampires. And if you know Mika, you'll know he's strategic about where, when, and to whom he lowers his guard.
Case in point: a Prince's authority is worthless if he can't lead by example — now more than ever. Mika recognizes that and conducts himself accordingly. On this particular occasion, accordingly meant pulling Gannen into a hug to welcome him back in the same manner as those Mika considered family. Because that's what Gannen was now. That's what both clans were now.
Gannen looked blatantly alarmed and almost a little appalled at the warm reception. Mika didn't even blame him. But it was fleeting. A thin but genuine smile spread across Gannen's face as they parted. Shane Astor was already grinning as he elbowed his way in to initiate another embrace before Mika even had a chance to thank Gannen for his work.
Strategic and calculated as it was, Mika's embrace was genuine. Better yet, it set a precedent — Arrow took the unspoken cue and hugged each Elder in turn. Mika felt a flicker of pride as he watched his best friend revel in the celebration alongside those he once considered foes. That flicker exploded into a surge of the purest, most heart-wrenching love he'd ever known as he watched Arrow greet Gracie and Kurda in turn.
Gracie first. She practically elbowed Gannen out of the way to throw her arms around Uncle A, and Arrow almost knocked Gannen over to get to her. Mika expected nothing less from either of them. When Gracie moved down the line to talk to Harkat, that left Arrow and Kurda standing face to face.
Kurda inclined his body into a formal bow as his lips formed an equally formal greeting that ended with "Sire Arrow". Arrow didn't even let him finish before scooping him up into a full-body hug. It wasn't a PR move. Arrow wasn't the centre of attention any more than anyone else was. And he had no idea Mika was watching him.
Renley caught Mika's eye and grinned as he made his way over. The haughty, social-climbing, but ultimately good-hearted General looked the same as always. Maybe a little more world-weary, but that was the only notable difference.
"I'm out of hugs for tonight, but I can get you on a waiting list." Mika deadpanned. Renley's grin faltered. Then Mika laughed and threw his arms around his friend. The embrace was swift but sincere as the rest. Truth be told, Mika didn't think of Renley often these nights. But when he did, it was with genuine fondness. Ren had been a solitary ray of light in an era of what seemed like endless darkness. Mika would never go back to that place. But he'd never forget it.
"Good to see you." Said Renley. "You been behaving yourself?"
"Mostly. Not much else to do." Said Mika. "Congratulations on a successful mission. You've done well for yourself. I'm happy for you."
Renley rolled his eyes and made a light scoffing sound in his throat; an uncharacteristic display of humility for him. He was spared responding by Arrow's voice rising above the chaos as he addressed the hall at large:
"Council will allow us more than enough opportunities to discuss the mission at length. For now it just seems cruel to ask Sire March and company to recount their journeys before they've enjoyed a hot meal. Thank you all for assisting us in giving our good friends and colleagues a warm welcome home!"
The assembled vampires took their cue and began to disperse — albeit with a bit of reluctance. About time, Mika thought.
Gracie was conversing with Larten and Harkat in the corner. Kurda had distanced himself and Mika immediately knew why. There was one lone vampire in the clan whom Kurda would never fully win back over. Civility was one thing — it was expected of Larten by all of the Princes, not just Mika. But the possibility of friendship would never be on any table Larten was seated at. Mika hadn't known Gavner Purl on a personal level. But he did know better than to pass judgement on the complex web of grief that still entangled Larten twelve years later.
Mika made his way over. Gracie was in the middle of a story that sounded like it involved Darren, to which Larten was nodding along and clearly fighting for his life to keep his expression neutral.
"Oh, speaking of Darren…" Gracie rummaged in her backpack again, this time pulling out a piece of paper and a tape dispenser. Then she made a beeline for the last throne on the left and stuck the paper to the backrest.
Closer investigation revealed it was a strip of Polaroid photographs. Four pictures in total; taken against a backdrop of string lights and a neon sign spelling out The Hemlock-Burgesses. Darren was in the forefront of all four photos, wearing a formal sort of shirt that contrasted hilariously with every article of clothing he'd ever worn here in the mountain. He was making a series of funny faces and downright embarrassing poses. Gracie was included in the last one; they had an arm around each other's shoulders and were throwing what Mika had to assume were gang signs.
"Aw. He looks exactly the same as before. Like he hasn't aged a bit." Said Arrow with an almost paternal smile.
"Gods, I wish he was here to hear that." Gracie snickered in a way that suggested Darren's thoughts wouldn't align with Arrow's assessment.
But Larten shook his head and surprised everyone by speaking up: "No, he has grown up more than those silly cameras can capture. I can see it in his eyes."
For a moment nobody said anything. Mika kept a discreet eye on Larten. Ol' Quicksilver was pretty skilled at keeping his composure but there was ample opportunity for this reunion to get a little misty. Gracie broke the silence eventually, as matter-of-factly as ever but maybe with a bit of extra tact —
"Probably wouldn't hurt for him to hear that one too."
"I will tell him properly as soon as destiny permits." Larten replied curtly. But he was smiling, and his voice was only a little thick. This was hard for him. But he was okay. Because out there somewhere, so was Darren.
Vancha made a scoffing noise in his throat. It was laden with derision. Or maybe that was the phlegm. "Pfft. Kurda, remind me what you said about Destiny the other night. I thought that was a rather poetic way of putting it."
"Ah, yes." Said Kurda. His face lit up all over again, but this time there was nothing soft about the smile playing on his lips. His eyes blazed as he glanced around at the others. His every movement, every micro-expression was so gracefully unassuming. As if he had no idea he had them all in the palm of his hand when he said, "I believe the exact phrase was that it — he — doesn't get a say anymore."
Kurda's gaze landed on Mika's. Didn't linger. Would've been too obvious. But the fleeting glance was more than enough to ignite something in Mika. Something as profound as it was primal. Like a microdose of the phoenix fire that burned in Kurda.
"Braver words were never spoken." Said Vancha, nodding his approval as he practically beamed with pride. "Now, the quicker we debrief, the quicker we can all get out of here. Down to business!"
Vancha led the debrief. He spent just over an hour running the highlight reel of the mission. The core goal of the mission — aside from spreading word of the Treaty of Scars — was to pose a variety of hypotheticals with all the vampires and vampaneze they met with. To assess which matters either side would and wouldn't compromise on the long road to true unification. Vancha did most of the talking, but Gracie presented Darren's notes in a disturbingly uncanny imitation of his tone, mannerisms, and hand gestures. That lasted five minutes. She had to drop the act and continue in her normal voice because Mika and Arrow got laughing so hard nobody could hear anything.
"I thank you for your service to the clan, Miss Smahlt-Ver Leth." Vancha told her once she was done with her part. "You're free to go. All of you! Anyone in this room who doesn't answer to Sire — your final marching orders are to go get a good meal and some well-deserved rest before the party of the century kicks off tomorrow night."
The group began to disperse, with the exceptions of Mika, Arrow, and Vancha.
"I'll see you as soon as I can." Mika told Gracie ruefully. "Sorry."
She took it all in stride, allowing him one more quick hug before they parted ways.
"No rush." She reassured him. "I'm going to unpack, then I've got one more official errand to run. Then I'll be heading to the sporting halls to hang out with the half-bloods I met on the trip in. Meet me there whenever you're done your stuff."
"Sounds good. Go easy on them." Said Mika. Hand to the gods, he hadn't tried to raise a little warrior. It came naturally to her.
"She'll do great things." Vancha remarked once Gracie was out of earshot, raising an eyebrow pointedly in Mika's direction. "And I don't say that as your friend or as her honourary Uncle. I say that as a Prince."
"I know." Said Mika, trying not to smile. "But it won't be because of anything I did."
"When did I imply it was because of anything you did?" Vancha smirked. "Anyhow, did you happen to draft an agenda for the closed debrief?"
Mika rolled his eyes and inhaled to say, well I didn't only play chess with Arrow for the past five years. But his focus was pulled by a nudge against his arm. He knew who it was before he turned around. No one else in the world touched him that gently.
"Hey. You free for dinner tonight?" Kurda asked.
Mika stood there, ears ringing, slack-jawed and empty-headed as he tried to formulate a response to that. Of course he wasn't free. Council opened in less than a week and he had more meetings than he could fit in his planner.
"Yes." Said Mika. He'd simply drop the planner down the water closet. Or into a fireplace. Whichever was closer.
"Then it's a date." Kurda replied. And before Mika could process that, Kurda turned away from the platform and fell into step beside the others as they headed out. It took everything in Mika to wrench his gaze from Kurda's retreating back as he turned to face Vancha again.
"I'm sorry, what was the question?"
No more keepin' score
Now I just keep you warm (Keep you warm)
No more tug of war
Now I just know there's more (Know there's more)
OFFICE OF THE QUARTERMASTER
Admittedly, Gracie didn't know Larten that well. Come to think of it, she couldn't recall ever having spent on-on-one time with him before. All she knew was that both her dads held a high opinion of him. In Mika's case that meant never missing a chance to roast the shit out of him — to his face. She also knew if Mika overheard anyone else so much as breathe a bad word about Larten behind his back, it was on sight. She'd witnessed it firsthand.
She also also knew that level respect wasn't reciprocated where Kurda was concerned. But this wasn't about the late Gavner Purl. That was well above Gracie's metaphorical pay grade. This was strictly about Darren.
"Just a fair warning," she disclaimed before diving in. "I have no idea what he wrote. I'm just the messenger."
To her surprise, Larten's pale, weathered face cracked into a warm smile.
"I am sorry you were tasked with such a droll duty, Miss Grace." He told her, almost kindly. "I am certain you would much rather be romping about the sporting halls with your new friends on an evening such as this."
He wasn't wrong.
"I don't mind. It's always an honour to assist one of the Princes."
"As true as that is, it is an even greater honour to walk the path of life in the company of true friends. I am glad you crossed Darren's path."
"Me too. Ready to get started?"
"As ready as I shall ever be."
"Alright. Here we go."
Dear Mr. Crepsley -
Hi. It's Darren. I hope this letter finds you well. It's about 3am as I write this. We just got back to our hotel room after Debbie Hemlock and Alice Burgess's wedding. Vancha and I passed along congratulations on behalf of you and Harkat. They were sorry you couldn't attend but they understood it's a busy time in the mountain. We brought Kurda and Gracie as our plus-ones. I think they had more fun than you would've had anyway. All that matters is that Debbie and Alice are safe and happy after all that. That gave me hope.
I know Vancha told you I reconnected with my human family shortly after the mission began. And I know what you've been thinking — *that's not proper or conventional, Master Shan! Vampires don't need families!* But I don't care. I'm sorry. I just don't care. It was the best decision I've ever made. Mum and Dad know the whole truth now. About me, Darius, Annie, even Steve. I've been visiting them whenever I have time. I understand why I couldn't have a foot in both worlds when I was a kid. But I'm not a kid anymore, even though I still look like one. I'm a Vampire Prince. If this is the only time I use my privilege for personal benefit, so be it.
It's been a busy five years but don't worry — I've been putting my Princely duties first. Vancha said you'd be proud of me. He's known you longer than I have so I took his word for it. And now that the mission's over I get to put them first. Darius needs me. I know that sounds a little self-important. I'm not sure if I'm ready to be someone's mentor, and I'm definitely not trying to be his dad. But he needs someone who understands what he's going through. So for now I think it has to be me. I feel like I don't have a choice.6
After all this time I still wish I never became a vampire. I think about that a lot. And the truth is I'm not over it yet. Things are easier now, but if I could say some magic words that would make me human again and erase all of it from my family's memories, I'd still choose that. But I'm not telling you this to make you sad. You taught be to be honourable above all. That means being honest.
So I also I want you to know that if my destiny was already carved in stone and I never really had a choice to begin with… then out of all the vampires it could've been, I'm glad it was you. I'm grateful we parted ways on good terms. I miss you. I love you — and I know you love me in the only way you know how.
I know you're busy with council coming up, and I've got a lot going on too. But when things settle down over the next few years I hope you find time to come see me. I might even be ready to be a full vampire by then.
Take care, you vain old git.
Sincerely,
Your rude young brat.
No more keepin' score
Now I just keep you warm (Keep you warm)
And my waves meet your shore
Ever and evermore
HALL OF PRINCES
The closed debrief was wrapping up. Via process of elimination, Mika knew what was coming next. In all honesty he'd known for ages. So had Arrow. The sum of five years worth of analyzing all Vancha's periodic updates. The ultimate answer to what's next for us? had felt more akin to the solving of an equation than engineering a sociopolitical strategy. There was no other rational way around it.
"So… the bottom line is exactly what we expected." Said Vancha, as if he'd been dialled in to Mika's stream of internal commentary. "They phase out killing humans to feed. We cut our ties to the Stone of Blood… and by extension, the Hall of Princes."
And despite having known it was coming, there was something about hearing it out loud.
Or maybe it was the way Vancha's voice hitched at the end.
Mika leaned back in his throne and tilted his face up and away from the others as he collected his thoughts. Meanwhile Arrow closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, running his palms over his face, up his temples, and across his scalp as though the concept carried unbearable weight.
"I mean, it's not exactly shocking, is it?" Said Mika. He heard his own voice falter just as Vancha's had, and he cleared his throat before carrying on. "It's the biggest bargaining chip they've got. I don't blame them for cashing it in."
Vancha nodded in response. He looked almost relieved and Mika wondered if he'd been anticipating a much stronger response than Mika gave him.
"No more Hall of Princes…" Arrow sighed. "Never thought I'd see the night."
"To be fair, the Hall itself isn't going anywhere. That'd be physically impossible." Mika pointed out. "As for the Stone… I guess we'd have to decide whether we want to… misplace it while we're all still alive, or permanently close the Hall doors and let the power to open them die with us."
"You always were top of the class. Gold star for Mr. Ver Leth." Said Vancha with a thin smile. "Yes, the fate of the Stone itself will require further discussion. I just wanted to know where each of you stand with regards to the notion itself. If you're fiercely opposed…" he paused and glanced around at the other two, uncharacteristic apprehension in his eyes. "I suppose it's better to have that discussion here and now in private than in an open meeting during Council."
"Are there still to be Princes in this new era, then? Or are we out of our jobs?" Arrow asked gruffly.
"Depends how you define a Prince." Said Vancha. "If your definition is simply a vampire of exceptional standing who's passed the nomination process, then yes. Nobody can take that away from us. But if you believe a Prince is only a Prince if he has the ability to control the Hall doors… I suppose that makes us the last of the old guard. Assuming we can reach a unanimous decision, of course."
Arrow didn't like that, but he was taking it as well as could be expected. He nodded pensively at Vancha's answer.
"The Princes were the main reason the original vampaneze broke away in the first place." Mika spoke up after considering his words for a moment. "Is the consensus that they'll be willing to comply with a certain level of authority as long as we do away with the Stone?"
Vancha chuckled and shot Mika a wry grin. "Is that diplomat for 'how exactly do we enforce the new feeding rules once we've held up our end of the bargain?'"
"Well, yeah." Said Mika. "Do you see a bigger elephant in the room? I don't."
"I've had that thought many times over the past few years." Vancha admitted. "While it remains true the vampaneze aren't… erm… enthusiastic about our hierarchal structure, it's the tangible link to Desmond Tiny that's the true dealbreaker for them. So to answer your original question — yes. The vast majority of the vampaneze do feel that would be an even trade-off. The Vampaneze Elders even agree we'll need strong Princes more than ever."
"First of all, I don't want either of you to mistake my skepticism for disagreement." Arrow spoke up. He was eyeing Vancha in a way that suggested he hadn't entirely ruled out disagreement. "Let's say we drop the Stone down a cavern so deep it'll never be found again. Sure, we lose our ties to Desmond Tiny. I'm all for that. But we also lose our ability to bring our clan together. And with or without the Stone, we have no guaranteed way to enforce the new feeding policy on the vampaneze. Sure, most of them will agree to those terms. But what of those who fall outside that vast majority? We ignore them and let them continue to murder humans and call it tradition? We all know some would gladly die before giving up their ways."
"No one has ever said it was going to be a seamless transition, Arrow. The questions you're asking are going to be the heart of the many discussions and debates that lie ahead of us." Vancha shot back. His weariness was starting to show; it manifested in the sharp edge to his tone as he cut Arrow off.
"And I never said I assumed otherwise! I'm not an idiot!" Arrow protested. "But you can't blame me for having questions. I say we keep the Hall and the Stone, with the stipulation that the vampaneze don't have to link themselves to it if they don't want to. That's a compromise I'm willing to make."
"Then we might as well put out a formal announcement that we're going back to war, because your plan would put us right back where we started." Vancha replied with a dark, humourless chuckle. "Arrow, you've been my friend for almost three centuries. But if you still believe these artifacts benefit us more than they endanger us… I have to chalk that up to the concussion you sustained the night we fought for the future of both clans in this very room."
"Don't you dare imply I'm not considering this from all sides!" Said Arrow, hazel eyes narrowing with ire. "There's a lot on the line, and forgive me if I'm not willing to throw it all away on a whim!"
Mika let out a long sigh. For a moment he didn't look at either of them. He leaned back in his throne, arms crossed behind his head, staring up at the glowing ceiling of the legendary room that built him, drove him, inspired him — only to break him so profoundly he couldn't believe he was still here.
"See, I know nobody sitting at this table would leverage their authority to cause harm. But by our laws… we could. And it's not the Hall or the Stone themselves that puts both clans at risk. It's the lengths some will go to, just to get close to them. And I don't blame the vampaneze for fearing that." Vancha pressed. There was an odd strain in his voice. Desperate, almost. But that wasn't what caught Mika's attention. Something in Vancha's words hit home. It took Mika a moment to pinpoint exactly how, why, and what exactly was clicking into place.
Then it hit him.
It's not the Hall.
And fuck, it was so simple when you put it that way. Like, almost embarrassingly so.
Magic or not, Hall of Princes was an inanimate object. It couldn't be held accountable for any of the traumas or triumphs of Mika's life, nor for any of his predecessors. Mika spent half his life fighting tooth and nail for the privilege of sitting in this room because he wanted it. The doors opened at his fingertips because he completed the initiation ceremony, not because they felt he was an exceptional vampire. They were just doors. They didn't feel anything. Mika had what he had because living, breathing people decided he was worthy of it.
And five years ago he almost lost everything because living, breathing, people decided they wanted the power — the arbitrary power that came as a package deal with this room — as much as Mika himself once did.
Those people could've won. The room wouldn't have cared either way. And the doors couldn't differentiate between a noble Prince and a traitor drenched in the blood of those he killed to get there.
It's not the Hall. Or the Stone.
"He's right, A." Mika spoke up. He must've been quieter for longer than he realized, because both Vancha and Arrow pivoted in their seats as if they'd forgotten he was there. "Think about Jakob Wiles. Who knows how long he would've been willing to play the long game with his secret agenda? Both of you know I don't fucking trust anyone, and he still got through me."
Mika let those bitter words hang in the air for a moment. As gods-awful as the name Jakob Wiles tasted on his tongue, he knew right away his point had landed. He could tell by the way Arrow's shoulders sagged. But not with defeat. Not even disappointment. It was acceptance.
"We were completely at his mercy — because someone else decided the Stone and the Hall were worth some manipulation. Both clans could've lost everything. Nobody should have the power to do that much damage. I vote we get rid of them both. My only regret is that it took us this long." Mika added.
Vancha held Mika's gaze and began to nod slowly. Arrow expressed his agreement by reaching over and squeezed Mika's shoulder. Mika felt neither validated by Arrow's change of heart, nor vindictive over the initial disagreement. Truth be told, all he felt was a little guilty over how little he could bring himself to care about the fate of a couple inanimate objects. He had a date.
"Don't misunderstand me, my friends. While it's true we're on the precipice of sweeping change, it's not my intention for us to hammer out that inevitably hellish maze of bureaucracy here tonight. The fine print could take years to draft, and it'll need to be a joint effort with the Elders. I just wanted to get the ball rolling." Said Vancha. And as tired as he looked, the smile breaking across his sunburned, battle-scarred face was the happiest Mika had ever seen there.
They put the matter to rest and spent the next hour drafting the shared speech they'd give at the opening ceremony of the Festival. Normally Mika lived and breathed for this. All of it, but especially this part — the crafting of the speech. This was and had always been Mika's thing.
Maybe Kurda was joking, Mika told himself while dutifully nodding along with Arrow and Vancha, only half-listening. Maybe Kurda employed the lighthearted phrase as a figure of speech. He probably just meant we should talk in private. That was inevitable. Gods knew they'd racked up a lifetime's worth of material that wasn't fit to discuss in mixed company. But Kurda specified dinner. He said are you free for dinner. You don't need dinner just to unpack emotional baggage.
Several times Mika found Arrow and Vancha shooting him puzzled glances, as if they were waiting for him to jump in and completely tear apart and restructure their additions to the blocks of text on the page. That was also Mika's thing. Which meant he could pull something pretty coherent from the back corner of his brain with minimal effort to cover up how much his mind had been wandering.
He had a date.
Past me
I wanna tell you not to get lost in these petty things
Your nemeses will defeat themselves
Before you get the chance to swing
MEANWHILE
Kurda could only spend so much time unpacking the contents of his modestly-sized travel bag in his modestly-sized cell before the hunger pangs in his stomach became too persistent to ignore. It was a long walk from his room to the Hall of Khledon Lurt. But not long enough to fully steel himself before walking into peak lunch hour.
His brain knew everything was different now. His brain knew the crowds were shouting his name with celebration rather than condemnation. They were praising him. And some of them were definitely overcompensating how they'd treated him in the past. Almost as if they knew he still felt the iron shackles gouging craters into his wrists that night. The sting of hair being ripped from his scalp as he was dragged through the crowd. And more than anything, the way his name rolled off all those tongues. Like it was a curse or a slur of the highest order.
He'd adjust to the new normal. He'd adjusted to far worse new normals than this one. This new normal was being ushered to the front of the serving line where a plate of fresh cooked meat awaited him. It was shaking the hands of those who missed their chance to greet him in the Hall of Princes earlier. It was watching them load his plate with fresh food while indulging them with vague but upbeat snippets of small talk.
What did this new normal have in common with the original version? Even while engaged in a genuinely pleasant conversation with someone who genuinely wanted to hear what he had to say — genuinely — he still found himself glancing over their shoulder, scanning the room for a quiet place to sit. But such tranquility was too much to ask on the day before the Festival. He should've known better than to look.
He also should've known better than not to look where he was going. His foot caught on something, he saw red in the corner of his vision, and he almost went down right there in the Hall of Khledon Lurt. He managed to save his plate from toppling — thank the gods for small mercies — but there followed a sinking in his stomach that subdued the gnawing hunger there as he forced himself to meet Larten's eyes.
Kurda had known from the start there'd be no redeeming himself in Larten's eyes. He'd never questioned that Larten meant every word when he looked him in the eye and declared:
"Smahlt, believe me when I tell you: you could kill Desmond Tiny himself, and you would still be no friend of mine."
"Quartermaster Crepsley." Kurda greeted him with a respectful nod and a forced smile.
"Smahlt." Larten mirrored the nod. His face was unreadable.
"My sincerest apologies for crashing into you like a runaway train." Said Kurda, wincing.
"You do appear to be in the process of running away." Said Larten.
"Is it that obvious?" Kurda groaned. "I should just pick a table and sit — and count myself lucky I'm even allowed in here."
Larten raised one thin brow. The expression was far from a smile, but it wasn't exactly hostile.
"I was going to offer up my office. It is just around the corner."
Suddenly the crowded tables looked pretty good to Kurda, but he nodded politely and followed Larten out of the dining hall and all the way to his office. It was a modestly-sized cavern, but it was kept so tidy it seemed bigger than it actually was. There was a small meeting table in the corner with four chairs around it. Larten gestured, and Kurda took a seat.
"How's the life of a Quartermaster been treating you?" Kurda inquired as casually as he could manage, unable to shake the sense of obligation to say something.
"It is my honour to fill this post. I am doing my best to fill Seba's shoes, but it has certainly been a learning curve." Larten answered.
"You've never been one to shy away from a challenge." Said Kurda. "I respect that about you. I always have."
Larten responded with a stiff nod that looked more like a twitch than anything else.
"Thanks for offering me a quiet place to eat." Kurda added. "Don't get me wrong. I fully intend on mingling once I've had a bite to eat. I really am so grateful to walk among the clan again. I've just never been one to feel at home in the spotlight, and I've been away from the mountain so long —" He was rambling and he knew it. Gods damn it all. He let his voice trail off lamely. Which was somehow worse. Normally he was excellent at reading the room and speaking accordingly.
Larten was staring back at him, face unreadable as ever. The thing about Larten is that his poker face is equal to — or better than — Mika's. And despite lack of use, Larten's poker face wasn't rusty by any means. Kurda's heart sank. This had been a mistake.
"Offering a brief respite is the least I can do for you..." Larten paused so long Kurda assumed that was that on that. He took another bite of bat broth. The sooner he finished, the sooner he could escape this purgatory of awkwardness. And then Larten looked him dead in the eye and added:
"…considering I never did thank you for saving Darren's life."
Kurda really doesn't like to swear. Not even in his internal commentary.
But, fuuuuuuuck.
His stomach clenched at the memory and he almost spit out a chunk of bat broth. He longed to abandon what remained of the meal and make himself scarce, but such a move would've been cowardly. Larten had his faults but gods knew he deserved better than that.
"I never was much good at minding my own business." Kurda replied at last, after rearranging his face into something he hoped would look more like a rueful smile than a pained grimace.
"No, you were not." Larten sighed. "Gods knew you had every reason to mind your own business twelve years ago. You were on the precipice of your investiture and… erm… everything set to unfold after that."
Kurda felt a wave of nausea at the memory and it must've showed on his face because Larten shook his head dismissively and pressed on.
"It is not my intention to relive the past. My point is, you did not have to take Darren under your wing. It would have been far easier for you — in every aspect — to leave him be and carry on."
With no small amount of difficulty, Kurda swallowed. His throat was dry and sticky. "You're not wrong." He croaked at last. "But I couldn't help myself."
"Precisely. You could not help but care for Darren as if you had known him all his life." Larten continued. He spoke with stoicism but he struggled with these memories too. Kurda could see it in his eyes. Larten paused, drew a shaky breath, and continued. "And when his back was against the wall, you could not help but fight for him harder than anyone else did. Myself included. You risked the security of your own goals for someone you barely knew. And regardless of my personal opinion on the goals you had at the time, or your execution of them… My former apprentice is only alive because you could not help yourself. And for that, Kurda, I am indebted to you."
Kurda was so floored to hear Larten call him by his first name he almost didn't process the rest.
"Don't. You don't have to say that." Kurda forced out eventually, shaking his head at Larten. "I would've done the same for anyone in Darren's circumstances. You know I would. The reason I wanted to climb the ranks was to bring change. To prevent exactly what Darren endured."
"That is my point." Said Larten. "At the time I chalked up your compassion — or coddling, as we called it at the time — to the fact that you had a daughter his age. But I was lying to myself in an attempt to justify my own callousness. I have known you since long before you adopted the young human. Therefore I know that is simply who you are."
Kurda took another bite of bat broth. His appetite hadn't returned, but he needed to buy a bit of time to mull that over.
"You weren't callous." Kurda told him quietly at last. "And you aren't a monster for showing loyalty to the system that built you. I know you've loved and protected Darren in the only ways you yourself have been loved and protected."
That was too personal. Kurda should've known better. Larten's posture went stiff and his lips drew into a thin line.
"He really has been thriving." Kurda added, far more conversationally. "Even while struggling to balance his commitments to the clan with his promises to his nephew, Darren conducted himself with strength and honour beyond his years. I am proud to call him my friend and colleague."
Larten smiled. Finally.
"You are proud? Imagine how I feel."
And he's passing by
Rare as the glimmer of a comet in the sky
And he feels like home
If the shoe fits, walk in it
Everywhere you go
SEVERAL HOURS LATER
HALL OF ARRA SAILS (FORMERLY BAKER WRENT)
Mika made a point of keeping a low profile as he slipped into the Hall of Arra Sails to find Gracie. He snuck through a side entrance, choosing not to bother with the private observation deck reserved for Princes. The view from there was pathetic, and it was beyond Mika why the thing had been built in the first place. Nothing makes someone perform like shit like knowing their superiors are analyzing them from up high on a pedestal. Of course there's a time and a place to learn how to work under pressure. But that time wasn't now. It wasn't why Mika was here. And ironically these young vampires were so new to the scene they'd have no idea who he was anyway. They might know his name, but they didn't know his face yet. If they happened to notice him sitting in the corner of the bleachers, they'd think he was just some guy.
It was peaceful, hiding in plain sight while Gracie did her thing. She was one of about a half-dozen youngsters taking turns duelling one another on the lowest set of bars. The baby bars, in Arra's words. Gracie shot Mika a quick grin when she spotted him, but her attention didn't waver from her opponent til she beat him squarely. She went on to complete three more duels before the group dispersed. Her limited amount of formal combat training was enough for her to win two of the three.
She met Mika at the bottom of the bleachers, and got started before he even opened his mouth:
"Before you say anything, I know I had an unfair advantage because this is their first time in the mountain and I've trained on the bars before." She blurted out. "And I won't let the win go to my head, even though they were all bigger than me. And I know I —"
Mika laughed and shook his head as he cut her off. "I was just going to say good job. Your form was solid for someone who hasn't had time to train regularly in five years. I'm glad you won. But what stuck out to me the most was how happy you looked."
Gracie raised an eyebrow in amusement. There was a starry gleam in the ocean eyes she shared with Kurda, but there was also a calculated shrewdness that Mika recognized as his own.
"Yeah? Would you still say that if they'd mopped the floor with me?" She snorted.
"Oh, no." Said Mika seriously. "I'd pretend I didn't know you."
She socked him in the upper arm. He pretended it hurt a lot more than it did; which was actually more than he expected.
"I like the new sign." Gracie remarked as they walked out the main doorway, gesturing up at the fresh slab of wood where The Hall Of Arra Sails was carved.
"Me too."
"I miss her. I don't think I truly grieved her until the war ended." Gracie continued after a pause. "So much was happening the night you told me she was gone. It felt like the whole world was ending so I guess I never processed it at the time. I know that sounds insane because so much time had already passed, but —"
"Me too." Mika repeated. This time the words carried a whole new weight and left his throat raw and burning.
Gracie nodded. Neither of them spoke again til they arrived at a two-way split at the end of the corridor.
"Should we take a walk down to the lower caverns and visit Lovely?" Mika suggested. "We're already halfway there. And I've got nowhere to be for a few hours."
As expected, Gracie raised a skeptical eyebrow."Pardon you? Since when do you voluntarily acknowledge Lovely? Much less set foot anywhere near the spider caves?"
"You've been away for a long time." Mika replied cryptically.
So down they went.
The sight of the spider-encrusted walls still ignited a sensation in Mika's mind and body that could only be described as curdling. The key was keeping his eyes fixed on Lovely specifically. Establishing a friendship with one spider had been hard enough. He had no desire to get comfortable with the rest of the community.
Lovely was always easy to locate. He was one of the biggest spiders in the place, and he was the only one who made a point of approaching any person that visited the cavern. There was not a single survival instinct to be found within that eight-legged ball of yellowy-grey fluff, but it worked well for Mika's purposes. Those purposes would soon become clear to Gracie.
She grinned as soon as she spotted him. "There's my guy!"
As usual Lovely scampered right over, immediately recognizing his number one person. He moved at a brisker pace than usual, even bowling over a few other spiders who were unfortunate enough to get in his way.
Mika had been training harder for this moment than he cared to admit. He stepped in front of Gracie, facing towards the wall as the massive tarantula made his approach.
"Watch this." He said. "Come here, Lovely."
He held out his hand and Lovely strolled into his palm — just like they practiced. Even after almost five years of microdosing on his greatest phobia, the sheer body mass of the tarantula still sent a chill down his spine. He'd long since accepted the fact that total desensitization wasn't on the table for him. But by the gods he tried.
It was worth every last second of nausea, dizziness, and full-body tremors to see the look on Gracie's face. (Which he almost couldn't see because his vision was already blurring). Her eyes were wide with disbelief. One hand was covering her mouth and the other was pointing at the scene before her, as one might point at a close acquaintance if they were to sprout a second head without warning. She might've been less shocked by that.
"I — you — you're holding him? Voluntarily?! Dad, are you on drugs?!"
"Gods, I wish." Mika winced. "Surprise."
"…Why?!"
"I tried not to worry about you. And for the most part I was okay. But the odd time I wasn't… I'd come down here."
"You D-I-Y'd exposure therapy?!"
"I don't know what that means. Can you take him now? This is actually the longest I've ever gone. Let's quit while we're ahead."
Gracie scooped Lovely out of Mika's hands and held him up to her face at eye-level. "Wow, you're hefty. Grandpa's been feeding you lots of grubs, hasn't he?"
Mika shook his head. "That's all Seba. I draw the line at handling grubs. And Grandpa. We're not doing that. I'm too young to be Grandpa. I'm barely old enough to be your dad."
She looked him dead in the eye, face devoid of expression. They held each other's gaze for almost three full seconds before they both dissolved into laughter. (The punchline is that he's old).
"I've got one more surprise. Wait for it." Gracie said once the laughter subsided.
Mika didn't know if she was talking to him or the spider. That would soon become apparent.
Gracie kept Lovely cradled in her right palm and rolled up her left sleeve to reveal a small tattoo of the creature himself, brought to life with black ink and unsettling detail.
"Look, buddy. It's you!"
It was positioned directly below her first tattoo; the crown. As if ink-Lovely was wearing it on his fuzzy little head. Fur-Lovely seemed intrigued by the sight of his two-dimensional counterpart. He was staring at her arm as if admiring himself in the mirror.
"Oh, good." Said Mika. "You got the tarantula on your skin. Forever."
Really, truly, from the bottom of his heart, he did intend for that to sound upbeat and unsarcastic. It was an objectively well-done tattoo. Based on Gracie's expression, he did not communicate that effectively. She rolled his eyes at him.
"I mean it!" He insisted, nodding encouragingly and tried to redeem himself. "Looks great. So lifelike."
"Darren has a matching one. He got Octa in the same place."
"Who's idea was that?"
"It was kind of a mutual agreement. He wanted to do something special for his thirtieth birthday a few months ago. I told him he should get an Octa tattoo. I was joking, but he was kind of into it. So I told him I'd get a matching Lovely if he followed through. I didn't think he'd actually do it. But here we are."
Even as Mika shook his head he couldn't help but laugh at her retelling. He could picture them both so clearly. Just kids being kids. Gods knew they deserved it.
"Lovely's cuter, I'll give him that." Said Mika. "Octa gives me the creeps."
Gracie glanced surreptitiously around at the walls. "Don't say that too loud." She warned him. "Between you and me, she's also a lot smarter than Lovely. And hungrier."
Mika took a few instinctive steps back, getting himself closer to the escape hatch and further from the spider wall in case Queen Octa got any ideas. But something else in her story caught his attention.
"Wait. Darren's thirty?" He blurted out. "Fuck off. There's absolutely no way."
"Darren's thirty. Which shouldn't seem that old to you —"
"I know, I know. He'll always be twelve in my mind, though."
"He's very aware that seems to be the common consensus among the clan." Said Gracie. Her tone seemed rather pointed. "He's actually pretty self-conscious about it."
"Thanks for telling me. I'll be sure to bully him accordingly upon his return." Mika remarked.
Gracie shot him a glare, and he realized he had to elaborate a little.
"It's our job to keep each other humble. Nobody else will." He explained. "But if I ever hear a single other vampire speak poorly behind his back, I'll go out of my way to embarrass them in front of their peers, on the spot. That's how it works. And I know he'd do the same for me."
"The office culture here is truly one of a kind." Gracie shook her head in exasperation as she stood there letting Lovely scamper up and down her arms and across her shoulders.
They stayed in the spider cavern for another hour. There was an unspoken agreement between them that the time for reminiscing and reflecting had passed. Memory lane held no appeal to either of them, so they chatted about the upcoming Council. Specifically the Festival of the Undead. Gracie was brimming with excitement to take part in her first Festival. Mika raised a counterpoint; this was technically her second Festival. She'd barely learned to talk when she got up there on the podium with him 24 years ago. But she had sufficient vocabulary to assist him with the opening speech that accidentally passed into legend. The one where Mika tried to cue her to say 'luck' — only to realize that word was awfully similar to another one she heard on a far too regular basis. She F-bombed the entire clan and got a standing ovation.
They laughed for another undetermined stretch of time. Wonderful, mystical time. Maybe five minutes. Maybe another hour. Neither of them were keeping track.
"I know I just got back… but would it hurt your feelings if I skipped dinner and went back to the sporting halls?" Gracie ventured once the laughter had subsided. "Hale is giving a last-minute tutorial to help the newcomers get ready for the Festival? I'm not technically a newcomer but I really don't want to miss it."
Mika's heart lurched at the word 'dinner'. It wasn't that he'd forgotten, but he'd spent the past several hours giving Gracie his completely undivided attention. It was easy after five years apart.
"Go ahead. That actually works better for me." He told her earnestly.
Gracie looked both appeased and offended by his response. You wouldn't think it's possible to combine those two reactions, but she managed. She raised an eyebrow, seeming to scrutinize him for a moment.
"What, you have a date or something?"
"I do, actually."
Mika immediately regretted his honesty as Gracie's jaw dropped even lower than when he held Lovely. That was all it took. The skeptical adult disappeared, leaving the wide-eyed little girl in its place. And gods, that twisted Mika's heartstrings now more than ever.
"Is it with Dad?" She asked. Both her voice and eyes were charged with poorly-disguised urgency.
"Fuck… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."
"So it is with Dad?!"
"I don't know if I'm supposed to tell you or not." Mika groaned, running a hand through his hair. Sometimes he found it hard to be entirely honest with her. Other times it was all too easy. And how honest are you supposed to be about something like that?
"If it's not with Dad, I swear to the gods I'm going to — hey! don't look at me like that! You know I'm kidding." Gracie laughed forcibly; downplaying the living hell out of it. Because she's (approximately) thirty now. She gets it. But all Mika could see was the kid who wanted her family whole again. And it took everything in him not to say for the third time that night — me too.
"…Do you want it to be with Dad?" He asked quietly after a pause.
"No, I want to do alternating Christmases for the next 500 years." She deadpanned. The adult was back.
Mika nodded wordlessly. He didn't have to read into it any further than that. That told him everything he needed to know about where she stood on the matter. And it mattered. She was the core of everything Mika and Kurda had once been.
They stood side-by-side in silence a while longer.
"I'm so sorry you're still stuck in the middle of this." Said Mika eventually. "And I know you know we love you either way and you'll be fine no matter what… but I'll never forgive myself. For any of it."
Gracie's expression softened.
"I promise I'm doing better than you think." She told him gently. Then her eyes lit up with a mischievous glint that was so very Kurda – "But we can call it even for all the trauma if you give me that one really nice sword in your collection. You know the one I mean. Leather grip. Black diamonds on the hilt. Killed the Vampaneze Lord."
"You're getting the whole collection." Mika replied. "It's in my will."
She frowned. "I have to wait that long?"
Mika had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. Of course that was her response. It would've been his too.
"What would you do with that sword anyway?" he snorted. "It was built for a six foot tall man. It'd throw off your balance."
"I'd manage."
"I don't doubt it. But wouldn't it be easier to just design a custom one of your own?"
"That's an option?"
"My favourite bladesmith arrived for Council last week. I'll see what he can do."
"Are you serious?!" She gasped. For a moment it looked like she almost dropped Lovely in shock, but fortunately for Mika she kept a secure hold on the creature.
"We can go see him tomorrow." Said Mika casually. "As long as there aren't any conflicts in your social calendar, of course. I know you book up quickly."
"Of course I'll go! I can't believe I'm getting a custom sword. I thought you didn't want me to have one til I finished basic training!"
It isn't easy to get an expression of pure, earnest, childlike amazement out of Gracie. It's not that she's jaded — thank the gods for that — but she's been a lot of places and seen a lot of stuff. She's tough to catch unaware.
"Might as well get it started. It'll take him a few years to source the materials anyway. The turnaround time depends on how rare your taste is. And if you're anything like me, he's going to have his work cut out for him. My black diamonds alone took him four years to find."
Mika did his best to list all the various customization options she'd be able to choose from. There were so many he couldn't be sure he was even remembering all of them, but his efforts took them all the way up from the spider cave to the upper corridors. They stopped in the middle of the intersection where they'd part ways for the rest of the night. Gracie would go back to the sporting halls. And Mika would head for his room where he'd spend 45 minutes deciding which black t-shirt to wear.
"You nervous?" Gracie asked. Like she read his mind.
"Yeah."
He'd already been too honest. Why stop now?
"That's perfectly normal. You'll be fine. Just be yourself."
Mika rolled his eyes and waved his hand in a shooing gesture. "Get out of here. Go play with the other kids."
She shrugged and turned to go, pausing only to glance over her shoulder and add with a wayward grin —
"If it helps, I think he likes you."
And I fell from the pedestal
Right down the rabbit hole
Long story short, it was a bad time
Pushed from the precipice
Climbed right back up the cliff
Long story short, I survived
Now I'm all about you
Kurda spent far longer in the Hall of Perta Vin Grahl than he normally did. He made a point of taking his bath during the dinner rush — and sure enough he had the cave all to himself. The icy water was soothing on his weary muscles and aching joints after all that travelling. Getting properly clean for the first time in far too long was a bonus.
And then it was time.
Sure, he'd seen Mika earlier that day. But he couldn't shake the feeling that it simply didn't count. There'd been so many eyes on them. So much happening. His heart held untold volumes of words he needed to say to Mika. Words that may very well die with him if Mika was still in a place where those words might do more harm than good.
The spark of golden hope had never truly died from Kurda's chest. Not twelve years ago. Not five years ago. There was a time it grew so faint he thought it had died. But he knew now that spark was what kept him going. Had it truly died, he wouldn't still be here.
Kurda knew not to get ahead of himself. What would be would be. But the look on Mika's face the moment Gracie ran into his arms and his eyes met Kurda's over her shoulder… that single droplet of hope landed like gasoline on Kurda's spark.
He found himself standing in his old bedroom. Analyzing his reflection in the cracked mirror he'd half-assedly dusted off. His hair was longer than ever. Fell past his shoulders now. He ran a comb through while it was still wet, meticulously sorting out every last tangle til each strand fell in a perfect line. He liked how he looked; the attention to detail he put into his personal grooming was for him and nobody else.
And not that it matters, he recalled with a smile, but Mika always liked it too.
He didn't wait for his hair to dry. He didn't waste another second debating between the white t-shirt or the navy one. Navy won because it was closer.
And Kurda had a date.
Adrenaline coursed through his body with such ferocity he could feel it bouncing off the walls of his body. With every step his heart felt more and more in danger of beating a hole through his chest.
Up the stairs.
Down the corridor.
Left turn.
Another corridor.
Right turn.
Small flight of stairs.
Another right turn.
So little distance remained between them now.
Second door on the left.
With a shaking, clammy hand… Kurda knocked. Heard footsteps immediately. The door creaked open. All these years and your perfectionist ass still hasn't bothered to get someone to oil that hinge?
And there he was.
There you are.
Mika stood where his mahogany-edged doorway framed him like a portrait. For the stupidest moment, Kurda felt something oddly akin to surprise. Like, fancy meeting you here. In your own bedroom. When we had plans.
For a moment Kurda stood there, rooted to the spot. All his carefully rehearsed and curatedly casual greetings slipped free from his mind. He had nothing. It was all blank. He felt so dumb. Don't just stand there! Say something!
Til he realized Mika looked just as surprised as he felt. And Kurda could read every last one of the man's countless micro expressions and subconscious mannerisms like a book. Mika couldn't make any more sense of the feeling than Kurda could. Just like Kurda, Mika was internally shaking and pinching himself. Trying to quiet the voice that feared what might happen if he let himself accept this wasn't just a dream.
"You're here." Mika whispered. Same two syllables he'd forced out in that infirmary bed, caked in blood, waking from what Destiny intended to be a far longer sleep than what Kurda was willing to accept.
Kurda took a step closer and nodded, keeping his eyes glued to Mika's as he echoed firmly — "I'm here."
And there it was again. The same flicker of light that started behind Mika's eyes and slowly grew til it lit up his whole face, just like earlier in the Hall of Princes. This time Kurda didn't have to share it with a single other soul. His body caught him off-guard by releasing an involuntary and painfully shaky sob-sigh-gasp the moment Mika's powerful arms locked around him. That was when it hit Kurda once and for all —
He made it.
He was here.
I'm still here.
Long story short, it was a bad time
Long story short,
I survived
I'm so sorry to cut off here, of all places. I know exactly what happens next (and bffr, you know too). But word count for that segment alone was at 6k — before the chapter draft was even complete. What happens next was supposed to be the finale of this chapter before I realized that'd put us at almost 18k words. And even for me that'd be reprehensible. So I decided to split it here. You're allowed to be disappointed. Angry, even. But you'll understand when we meet up back here next time.
Thanks for being here! And again, ff dot net gang - PLEASE consider switching to AO3. I know. I'm sad too. This site made me who I am (yikes) but if Mika can say goodbye to the Hall of Princes, we can adapt too.
- roxy