Disclaimer: Agapostemon does not own Scott Westerfeld's Leviathan. She never claims the contrary and makes no money from the online publication of this free-to-read fanwork.

Continued Disclaimer: AI companies are expressly NOT allowed to use this work (or any of my works) to train AI models. Paws off, in other words.

Chapter Two

Three Arrivals and a Return

Alek's conversation with Volger had been both reassuring and disquieting. Volger was so sure that Dylan was totally loyal to Alek, would return no matter what. And yet this secret that Volger had kept - and for a boy he'd not much cared for, at first - sounded large enough to destabilize any loyalty.

Not Alek's. Volger was right. Alek would never abandon the man who'd given him Austria. And he wouldn't have abandoned the man, even if he hadn't given him Austria. Being loyal to Alek was so complicated that Alek was sure he could return the favor: loyalty in the face of complications.

Still. He felt itchy. He felt itchy all through three weeks of royal drudgery. He felt itchy trying to sleep. He felt itchy waking up. He felt itchy all the way down to the hangar on the day Dylan was due to return.

He couldn't be sure of the time, but he'd cleared his schedule for the day. God knew Dylan's absence, Dylan's secrets, were making Alek exceptionally useless anyway.

So, Alek was already in the hangar waiting when Dylan's biplane rolled in through the open doors.

And there was Dylan, climbing out of his biplane, helmet tucked under one arm, lemon yellow hair gleaming in the sunlight that streamed through the doors. He was the most welcome sight Alek had seen in days.

"Dylan!" he said, trying to pretend that he'd only just arrived, that he hadn't been anxiously waiting in the hangar since the early morning.

Dylan flashed Alek one of his more brilliant smiles. "Alek! It's bloody good to see you."

Alek hugged his best friend, buried his face in his shoulder in utter relief that he'd returned.

Alek supposed he could be forgiven for not noticing a second yellow haired man, even taller than Dylan, until he said, eyebrows high on his forehead, "I see we have a royal welcome."

Alek hastily let go of Dylan, who laughed at him. "Jaspert, I don't suppose you remember His Royal Majesty, King of Austria, Aleksandar von Hohenburg. His Princeliness."

Volger could make Alek's titles sound chiding. Dylan made those same titles sound like gentle teasing.

"It's good to see you, Alek," Jaspert Sharp said, grasping at Alek's forearm and pulling him into a one-armed hug.

There was no intimacy earned between Alek and Jaspert that justified the flagrant disregard for the gap in their stations, but Alek figured that Sharp men were just like that. He'd always appreciated that about Dylan, that Dylan just treated him like any other man.

"Jaspert," came an exasperated voice from the plane - though really, it was only supposed to seat two. "Stop acting above your station and come get me out of this death trap."

Jaspert grinned. "Coming mother!"

Mrs. Sharp could not get out of the plane by herself because she was encumbered by a large wooden box, stuffed with hay.

"The Lady Boffin," Dylan said by way of explanation. "She's got a new beastie she wants me to hatch and train."

"Isn't this plane only supposed to seat two?" Alek asked.

"Aye. Which is why Ma's in the cargo space with the eggs. I'd have given her the seat and stuffed Jaspert back there, but Ma insisted. Seems to think he'd break them and get himself murdered by Dr. Barlow."

"All arguments that I am a grown man capable of being careful went unheard," Jaspert said, transferring the egg box to Dylan under his mother's gimlet eye before helping her out of the plane.

"I know you, Jaspert Sharp," Mrs. Sharp said. "You're bad at details, and incubation needs attention to detail."

"I didn't know you were a fabricator, Ma'am," Alek said, feeling slightly bewildered.

Mrs. Sharp snorted. "I keep chickens, young man. Regular chickens."

For all her talk about Jaspert acting above his station, she was certainly happy to make herself a hypocrite.

Alek looked at Dylan for help.

Dylan, for his part, looked torn between humor and misery. "This was the crisis," he said. "Apparently, Ma moved into Dr. Barlow's apartment and refused to leave until I came to get her."

"Also, the eggs. Dr. Barlow was going to summon Darren anyway to come help her finish fabricating the eggs - and get the incubation underway so it might be ready to travel," Mrs. Sharp said. She did that sometimes, called Dylan by the wrong name. "That's how I knew it would be a good time to launch my attack."

"Why?" Alek said, mostly to Dylan.

Mrs. Sharp looked at him steadily. "I miss my child. You've been on the throne of Austria for nearly ten years. If the situation isn't stable enough for me to come visit now, then it never will be."

"Dylan, you can always visit Scotland," Alek said uncertainly. "You're not a prisoner here, you can always take time off."

Dylan raised an eyebrow at him. Mrs. Sharp, though, spoke. "Please, it's hardly your fault, Your Majesty. Dylan comes home precisely as often as Dylan wants to come home. Which is almost never. You'll forgive a mother for taking matters into her own hands."

Dylan put a hand on Alek's shoulder, said, an unusual note of vulnerability in his voice, "You don't mind, do you? Please tell me you don't mind."

Earnestly, Alek put his own hand on Dylan's. "Konopiste is your home too. And any family of yours is family of mine."

Jaspert's mouth fell open. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," Alek said, not sure what Jaspert's objection was, and hoping to sound more confident than he felt.

"Does he not hear himself?" Jaspert asked.

Neither Dylan nor Mrs. Sharp answered verbally, but Dylan rubbed his free hand down his ever meticulously clean-shaven jaw. Mrs. Sharp caught Alek's eye and smirked.

Honestly, Alek had no idea what he'd said.

"He really doesn't, Mr. Sharp," said Volger, who'd apparently snuck in when Alek hadn't been paying attention.

Feeling unfairly beset upon by all sides, Alek decided to make a tactical retreat.

"Well, I'll give you all space to get settled. Dylan, you know where the guest chambers are. I'm sure you know best where exactly to put them. I'd love to hear more about the eggs when you have a chance."

Normally, Alek and Dylan spent the day of Dylan's returns together, both taking relief and comfort in being reunited, exchanging relevant intel, and getting Dylan settled back into Konopiste together.

Well. At least they could exchange intel once the Sharps were settled.

Alek peeked into the box Dylan still cradled. Three eggs were nestled into warm hay, fabricated heaters tucked around them, and a thermometer sticking out.

Good memories.

Bovril was getting old these days, but Alek knew it would be thrilled to see the eggs; its own perspacacious grandchildren scampered wildly around Konopiste.

He reached into the box and gave each egg a loving pat - ignoring how Jaspert muttered something into his sleeve - and then fled the hangar. Dylan could handle his family, and Alek would... entertain them later.

"He's going to make an excellent father," Alek swore he heard Mrs. Sharp say behind him. His ears went pink.

Dylan's voice rose in response to that, but Alek had fled too far down the hall to hear.

He became aware that Volger had followed him. "Do they know?"

Volger coughed. "It's not something he could have hid from his family."

"Is that what... all that... was about?"

"Probably," Volger said. "If I'm trying to convince Mr. Sharp to tell you, I'm sure they've been wresting with the idea for at least five years."

"Did she really just say I'd make an excellent father?"

"Yes," Volger said. "She did."

"Why?" Alek demanded.

"Mostly to embarrass Mr. Sharp," he said, and that made no sense. "Also, you are nearly twenty-eight, unmarried, and a sovereign with no heir."

Courtiers had been making noise about that, yes. But Alek just couldn't entertain marriage. He felt spoken for, somehow, by his very country. He'd fallen in love with the Leviathan, and now he was in love with Austria herself. He'd have to get married eventually, he knew that. But. Just. Not yet.

"Why would any of that embarrass Dylan?"

"Well, I imagine she wants to see both of you married. Remarking on your qualities might spur her own child into action, and Dylan sees that motive."

Well. Maybe Alek could see that. A little.

Feeling a little more settled, Alek went to his office. There was a fresh projection of Austria's next harvest yield that he needed to look over, and a petition for tax adjustments. The itchiness in his skin had calmed down with Dylan's arrival, and maybe now Alek could focus on his responsibilities.

Dylan came to find him an hour later. "Thanks," he said. "Dr. Barlow absolutely insisted I bring them here."

"We have plenty of space," Alek said. "Anyway, Dylan. How are you?"

Dylan grimmaced, and Alek remembered that Dylan's relationship with his mother had always been strained, going back to some conflict that had emerged following the death of his father.

"That bad?" Alek asked.

"No," Dylan said. "Having them here will be an adjustment, but it's been a long time. It'll be good to have them around."

"Good," Alek said firmly, then dove into broader questions about Dylan's trip, about Dr. Barlow, and finally about the eggs.

"They're a new sort of biplane," Deryn said enthusiastically. "But I'm not going to say much - I want you to be surprised when they hatch."

"I look forward to it," Alek said, then, "I want to take Bovril up to see them."

"Yes!" Dylan said. "Let's! I set them up in my chambers. They should hatch in another week and a half, but I'll be stuck on egg duty till they do."

"At least Newkirk won't kill any of these," Alek said.

Dylan shook his head, then grinned. "Blisters, but it's been a while since we've talked to him."

"It has," Alek said. "Did you meet up with any of the Leviathan crew in London?"

"Just old Mr. Hirst," Dylan said. "Retirement suits him. I think I might have run into this utter prat - Fitzroy - on the street, but he was kicked off before you joined us, and he absolutely did not acknowledge me if it even was him."

And so Alek listened to Dylan talk about London as the two of them went to collect Bovril from the greenhouse.

Bovril didn't need them in quite the same way it did when it was young, and it had plenty of its own business to engage in, having been tapped to raise both biological children of its own and a secondary set of egg-fabricated perspacacious lorises. Still, Bovril loved them both and scuttled up the leg of Dylan's trousers to his shoulder the moment they stepped into the greenhouse.

"Mr. Sharp!" It said, still using Volger's sardonic Mister. It sniffed deeply. "Egg!"

"That's right, beastie," Dylan said. "I've got eggs. Not more lorises, though."

Bovril looked around the greenhouse. "Lorises plenty," it said. "Plenty."

"Oh, beastie, you are not wrong. How is the taxonomy coming?"

That's what the lorises were doing. They were young and being taught to sniff out connections by putting together a taxonomic tree of all the plants in Konopiste's greenhouse.

Eventually, they'd be given as diplomatic gifts across the world, as adults, to bypass their tendency to imprint on one single person if handled too young. A joint present from Britain and Austria.

"Taxonomy," Bovril said gravely. "Taxonomy."

Dylan laughed. "Let's get you a break, then. Would you like to come see the eggs?"

"Eggs!" Bovril said, then jumped from Dylan's shoulder to Alek's.

When they entered Konopiste, Bovril took another deep sniff. "Mrs. Sharp and Jaspert Sharp."

"They arrived with Dylan this morning," Alek said as they pushed into Dylan's chambers.

The eggs were still in the crate they'd come in, placed on a table by Dylan's coziest armchair. Might as well make long hours of egg sitting moderately more comfortable. Alek crossed straight to them.

"They're large," he said.

"They have to be," Dylan said. "They're going to be large enough to carry four riders as adults."

"Incredible," Alek said. "God's wounds, I always forget how beautiful fabrication eggs are."

"Aren't they?" Dylan chuckled, then. "Remember when you thought Bovril's egg was creepy?"

Alek traced a line down one of the eggs with his forefinger. "I hadn't fallen in love with the Leviathan yet."

"You were in love with the Leviathan the moment you saw us crash into the snow," Dylan countered.

"True," Alek said. "I just didnt know it yet."

Dylan busied himself with the egg thermometer, and Bovril slid down Alek's arm to inspect the eggs at closer range.

"Good eggs," it said.

"Good to hear," Dylan murmured. "I was worried the flight might scramble them."

"Not on your mother's watch," Alek said. And here, in the space above their eggs, Alek found the strength to. Well. Not quite ask the question he really wanted to ask, but at least to ask around it. "What exactly does your mother want to achieve here?"

Dylan removed one of the little biological heaters from the crate, evidently satisfied with the temperature. "I wish I knew," he said. "But mothers are supposed to confuse us, I think."

Bovril gave Dylan a stern glance, crossing its paws over its chest. He looked back at Alek and made steady eye contact before speaking, but Alek was fairly sure the message was intended for Dylan. "Mr. Sharp," Bovril said, sounding almost exasperated. "Your wife."

Dylan visibly flinched, looked at the loris, looked at Alek.

And suddenly, Alek knew Dylan's deep dark secret. Dylan hadn't left Lilit behind in New York at all. They'd eloped before they parted, and now Mrs. Sharp was trying to persuade her son to do right by his wife.

It made sense - Alex's trusted advisor being secretly married to the woman who all but ruled Turkey behind closed doors would be the sort of thing Dr. Barlow needed to know. If the news had emerged at the wrong time during Alek's fight for the throne, it would have made things very complicated.

Even today, bringing Lilit to Konopiste or sending Dylan to Istanbul would be complicated. But Volger was right - it was a complicated they could navigate now.

Dylan gave a nervous little laugh. "I guess you're probably right, beastie. She probably does want to find me a wife."

Nice deflection, Dylan. Even Bovril was unimpressed, looking between the two of them like they were both particularly stupid. It didn't say anything more, though, just let out a little puff of air and bent back over the precious eggs in the crate.

He's going to make an excellent father, Alek remembered Mrs. Sharp saying, and in this new light it made more sense, how that would be a dig at Dylan. Did Lilit want children Dylan wasn't giving her?

A pit dropped in Alek's stomach. Did Lilit have children Dylan wasn't around for?

He could practically see them, a little boy and a little girl, caught somewhere between Lilit and Dylan's very opposite colorings. Lanky like Dylan, densely built and strong like Lilit. Clever and brave, daring and kind. The best of both of them.

Like both Dylan and Lilit, missing their father.

If they'd gotten right to business, the oldest of them could be nearly eleven, though Alek suspected Lilit would not have had children that early.

God's wounds, Alek was going to be sick.

He's going to make an excellent father, Mrs. Sharp had said. He's going to make an excellent father.

Left unsaid, that Alek would do a better job of it than Dylan.

But Dylan was clearly not fessing up to any of that, and Alek desperately tried to cling to his promises to Volger. That he wouldn't try to figure it out. That he'd let Dylan come to him. That he'd take it well. Or at least try to take it well.

Alek tried to turn it into a pointed joke, said, "Well, we can always invite Lilit to Konopiste if it would make your mother feel better. I always liked you two together."

Dylan turned positively green. "Alek, what are you talking about?"

"The two of you got close in Istanbul. That's all. And I haven't seen you get close to another woman like that since."

Dylan collapsed in his armchair, rifled a hand through his blond hair. "Alek. We were fighting a war together. Of course we got close. The two of you got close, too."

"It wasn't me she kissed after her father died," Alek said, trying to keep his tone sing-songy and light, despite the fact that he still kind of wanted to vomit.

"Alek," Dylan said. "Alek. She sends us a Christmas card every year with Adela Rodgers."

Well, a mother with her husband living across the world would need another adult helping her, especially if she wanted to remain as politically involved as Alek knew Lilit was.

"So she has a roommate," Alek said. "They make sense together. Driven politician and driven reporter, they probably exchange important information all the time."

"Alek," Dylan said, like Alek was a particularly slow dog, and also like he was giving something away he didn't want to. "Alek. They make sense together because they're together."

"What?"

"They're lovers."

"What?"

"Lilit tried to like me in Istanbul because she was trying to force herself to like men. And I suppose she thought I might be feminine enough for her tastes."

"What?"

Alek backed into the other armchair in Dylan's room.

"Lilit and Adela are lovers. Lilit certainly doesn't want to marry me, and I never wanted to marry her, either. I was honestly a little blindsided when she kissed me. She told me the truth of it when we were in New York."

"Really?" Alek said.

"Aye, really. You had no idea?" Dylan looked at him incredulously. "Really?"

"Really," Alek said, weakly. "Should we have sent her a. Well. Not a wedding present, because I suppose they can't marry. But. A joining present?"

Dylan burst into laughter, then. "We did! Remember the set of lorises we brought to Turkey?"

Alek did remember. "That wasn't their wedding, was it?"

"Nay," Deryn assured. "Even you're not that clueless, to miss a wedding you attended. Besides, it was just before Nene passed, so I think you were a little preoccupied with running errands for her while we were there."

Nene had taken immense pleasure in ordering the King of Austria around her deathbed. It had been endearing, honestly.

Alek thought back to the way Dylan and Lilit had interacted during that trip. Trusting. Affectionate. Utterly unawkward. Adela Rodgers had been running around the proceedings, hadn't she?

It was then that Alek thought of another objection: "Feminine enough for her tastes?You were the manliest teenage boy I'd ever met!"
"The boy you'd have wanted to be, if you'd been born common," Dylan said, crossing his arms. "I remember. And Lilit saw in me the woman she wanted, if I'd been born a girl." There was a sardonic twist to Dylan's mouth, now, but Alek wasn't quite sure why.
"Woman," Bovril took that moment to say. "Mr. Sharp, born a girl."
Dylan shot the little creature an absolutely dire glare. "Yes, beastie. Lilit wished I was born a girl."
Alek didn't know what to say to any of that. Alek didn't really think there were women like Dylan Sharp. What would such a woman even be like?
He thought about it. Actually, probably not unlike Adela Rodgers. Alek could not imagine a female Dylan letting anyone tell him what women were supposed to do. Adela wrote. Lilit led. Dr. Barlow was, well, multi-talented. Alek somehow knew that a girl Dylan would have found a way to fly. Apparently, Lilit had a type.
"Huh," Alek said. Bovril had been very distinct. Mr. Sharp. Your wife. That still sounded more like a wife Dylan already had than any prospective wife Mrs. Sharp might try to find for him.
"We should invite them both to Konopiste, anyway. It's been nearly as long as Newkirk. We can invite him, too."
"A war reunion?" Dylan asked. "Sounds fun. But we can't let Newkirk in before the eggs hatch. If the Lady Boffin finds out I let him within a five mile viscinity, she'll have my head."

"That she would," Alek said. "Soon, though."

"Soon. While Ma and Jaspert are here. They'd love to meet the whole gang."

"Absolutely," Alek agreed.

Alek looked at Dylan and felt silly all over again. Volger had known the secret since before Dylan had even come to Istanbul. If he had a wife - and really, quite a bit of evidence seemed to be pointing there - it couldn't be Lilit.

Jealousy was an absurd thing to feel about all this, right? Still, as Alek imagined a woman who might be Dylan's wife, he thought jealousy might be the right word for the feeling in his chest.

Silly, indeed.